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leahluvr · 7 months

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nothing’s wrong - lucy bronze x reader

genre: reader gets diagnosed with a heart condition right before the euro finals, angst

warnings: chronic condition, injury

(requested)

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the last few weeks had been great, but awful. while the excitement for your teams progression in the 2022 euros was unimaginable, your underlying illness threatened to overshadow your joy. before the euros had kicked off, unbeknownst to your long term girlfriend, lucy, you had been feeling agonising chest pains, almost like palpitations, a shortness of breath, feeling lightheaded when standing up after sitting down or after a long day of training, and a plethora of other unusual occurrences. even during times of intimacy with lucy, you struggled to pluck up the courage to ask to slow down, feeling your own heart race and beginning to hyperventilate. you did your best to hide your pain from lucy as you knew she would become overbearingly cautious if you told her anything. you couldn’t burden her.

seeing that you had progressed further into the tournament, you made the responsible decision to visit the gp, brushing it off to lucy, letting her know it was just a ‘yearly checkup’.

“yearly checkup?” she asked, “but, love, we have regular checkups at camp all the time?”

“i know but,” you stopped to think of something to come up with, “my mum’s still got me signed up with this clinic; got the memo from mum and the gp to head in so…”

“alright, well if you say so,” she didn’t look so convinced, but to her, why else would you need to visit a doctor? “good luck, babe!”

she pressed a quick but deep kiss to your lips before you left out the door, keys in hand.

you sat in the waiting room impatiently, your leg shaking uncontrollably. again, out of nowhere, you clenched your chest in pain. you were even more eager than before to find out what was going on with your body, it posed as a constant reminder of your fragile state.

“yn yln” a nurse, holding a tablet, looked around the room before you stood, sending you a forced smile.

“right so, to definitively explain any of these symptoms your experiencing,” the doctor who sat before, you rested his hands on his knees, “we are going to need to run a few tests,”

“and since the mri is available in this schedule block, we’ll get that out the way, other wise you’ll be on a waiting list for possibly weeks.”

you kept your mouth shut and nodded in compliance.

after one uncomfortably claustrophobic mri, a couple of blood tests and other tests you couldn’t quite wrap your head around or understand, you were sat down in front of your doctor again.

“now, you won’t get the test results back for at least a week, so we’ll have you come visit again when we get those processed. given your symptoms and based off previous patients, i’d say you have postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, more so known as pots,”

“which means; before you get any prescription medication, i’d advise you not to partake in any vigorous cardio activity like running, long distance walking, swimming or cycling.”

your jaw dropped and you chuckled at the suggestion in utter disbelief.

“i’m sorry but, i’m a professional footballer, i’ve got a semi-final and possibly a final game coming up to play, i’ve never gotten this far before, it’s a once in a life time opportunity. i have play.”

“look, i’d heavily advise you not to play your games at all but, if you do, i’d highly recommend for you to chat to your coach or manager to cut your time on the pitch, you need to let your body rest even if you aren’t experiencing extreme symptoms.”

you weren’t going to let some stupid heart condition stop you from winning that euros trophy with your national team and the love of your life. so what did you do? you didn’t listen. you disregarded your doctors advice with a hefty cost.

the semi-final had a positive outcome, england dominating and leading into the final. you had managed to play for the first half of the match and sat down, breathless and dizzy; you were fine. the test results from the appointment were still yet to come, so you didn’t visit the doctors again before the final game.

you quietly sat next to the right of lucy on the coach, her hand intertwined yours, thumb moving back and forth on your hand to soothe the nerves. the two of you had your heads lent against each other, finding comfort in one another’s proximity. suddenly, you were grasping at your chest, it ached terribly; it felt as though it was burning slowly in molten lava.

“babe, are you alright?” she looked at your with concern, eyes frantic for an explanation.

you eased your expression of pain with a short laugh.

“i think i ate my cereal too fast this morning from all the nerves,” you say, gritting a smile, “i’ve got heartburn!”

“you stupid girl,” she smiled gently, “have some water, love.”

she passed you her water bottle, and as you chugged it down, you were washed with the slight relief of pain and relief of lucy believing you. you could not cost lucy stressing out over you; of all people, especially before a final.

when you took a step into the stadium, the fans roared in anticipation. the energy was palpable, but so was the pain in your chest.

when the whistle was blown, your body moved on sheer willpower, adrenaline drowning out the cries of protest within.

you made eye contact with lucy on the pitch several times, her eyes fixed on you, mixed with pride and concern.

the first half passed in a blur, and as you retreated to the sidelines, you gasped for air, your vision blurring at the edges. lucy rushed to your side, her worry etched into every line on her face.

“sweet, what’s wrong?” she asked, placing a hand on your cheek, “i think you need to stop, yn, sub off for the next half, you look so burnt out.”

“i can’t let the team down, lucy. i’ll be fine!” you managed a weak smile trying to reassure her.

but even as you said the words, doubt crept in. you’d have to push through another 45 minutes of the game. your heart flooded with guilt, seeing as lucy was still unaware of your body’s intentions.

“yn!” sarina called for you, “what’s going on? you’re playing really badly, losing possession of the ball. if you don’t get your head in the game for this next half, i’m going make you sit out, there are other girls here who want to experience the game.”

you looked towards the ground in regret, you knew it wasn’t right for you to play. still, you wanted to contribute to the win, selfishly.

“sorry boss,” you apologised, shooting a smirk, “think it’s all the nerves about winning!”

sarina laughed and let you run off.

during the second half, you found yourself struggling to keep up. despite the excitement of providing the assist to tooney’s first goal for england, the pain in your chest intensified. your breaths came in ragged gasps and your legs felt like lead. despite the signs of your body begging for you to stop, you persisted. you couldn’t give up, there were still a view minutes to go.

in the final moments of the game, you pushed forward, using your last reserves of energy to fuel your movements.

as the crowd erupted in cheers, you collapsed to the ground, hands clawing at your chest that was constricting with pain. the action of having your eyes closed in contribution to the consecutive jabs you felt in your heart, dulled out the noise of your surroundings.

none of the team, not even lucy, had noticed you struggling, they’d all been huddling together and celebrating their history-changing win. you managed to push yourself up from the ground, which was a bad idea. as soon as you stood, your vision began to blur; pitch combining with the crowd. it felt as though gravity pulled you down, as you roughly collapsed to the grass from feeling faint, the next thing you know; everything went black.

it didn’t take long for the team to notice your lack of presence, as they heard the cheers of the crowd had transitioned into gasps and screams.

lucy was by your side in an instant, her hands quickly coming to the base of your neck for support.

“baby, yn, wake up please,” her voice quivered, she brushed your hair away your face and pressing a hard kiss to your forehead.

the team and medics surrounded your limp body, seemingly baffled by the sudden fainting.

but as your body began convulsing and your breath went from unusual to gone, your younger teammates began to cry, turning away from the scene.

“get the paramedics!” lucy’s voice cracked in panic, looking around frantically for someone to say or do something. tears began falling from eyes, and she pushed them desperately away with her hands.

she could see hempo sprinting to the sidelines, asking to get the paramedics that had specially been on standby for the final.

it didn’t take long for the paramedics to have their hands on your chest, wasting no time to check your pulse, going straight to compressing firmly and quickly with no prior precautions.

lucy’s heart shattered when she made out the sound of a few of your ribs cracking from the compressions. was she going to lose you?

lucy had encased your hands in hers the whole ride to the hospital, drowning in fear. but lucy couldn’t look at you, way too scared and worried for your health. the paramedics had managed to get your heart beating at a regular rate and breathing in control, but you were yet to awaken.

the hospital room you were now situated in was quiet, heart rate monitor beeping from normal to moderately high, in waves. lucy stayed by your side, staring at the iv drip slowly releasing into the needle plunged in your arm.

there was a knock on the door and a nurse walked in to look at lucy, a smile on her face.

“hi, a friend, i’m assuming?” she asked, looking back at forth between your unconscious body and lucy.

“nah, girlfriend.” lucy replied.

“oh i’m sorry, um so i’ve got a bit of a synopsis for you. so yn here, seeing she’s been recently diagnosed with postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, the doctors just said that she’s had a severe pots episode, very similar to a heart attack. she’s got a couple of broken ribs from the cpr but, they’ll heal in no time. not to worry, she’ll be okay in a few weeks time.”

“i’m sorry, she’s been diagnosed with what?”

“postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome or you probably know it as pots,” she informed lucy, quickly noticing her face of shock and confusion, “…she hadn’t told you yet?”

“no,” lucy whispered a reply.

“i’m really sorry, it’s a chronic heart syndrome. well, she’ll be awake very soon, so i wish you luck with your conversation. let me know if you need anything.”

lucy curtly nodded to the nurse and watched her walk out the door before repositioning her attention to you. her eyes wavered over your sleeping body.

she placed her hands over her face and broke down crying. she sobbed for minutes, though it felt like hours to her. obsessive thoughts clouded her head, subsequently haunting her.

why hadn’t you told her? were you to scared to tell her? did you not trust her? didn’t you tell her everything? why? did you even love her?

you slowly opened your eyes to the harsh fluorescent lights beaming from above. the sterile smell of the hospital room filled your senses and you tuned in to hear the beeps of the monitor and quiet sobs and sniffles coming from beside you.

“darling, don’t cry,” you croaked, lifting and reaching a heavy arm towards her, though it felt like it was anchored to the bed.

lucy almost plunged towards you when she noticed your voice and lifted her head to see your eyes, droopy, but open. she had to restrain herself from embracing you tightly, as she was reminded of the broken ribs that the nurse had mentioned earlier.

“you scared the shit the out of me,” she whispered in your neck, as you caressed her head gently, “why didn’t you saying anything?”

“i’m so sorry luce, i was so worried i was going to scare you,” you sighed, “i didn’t want to stress you out before the final, so i was going to wait before i told you.”

“yn, i would rather want to make sure your okay, then win some stupid football game. you mean everything to me and i don’t want to lose you.”

“i’m sorry, lucy, i love you.”

“i love you too,” lucy whispered, voice full of emotion, “but promise me you’ll never shut me out. this is such a big thing to hide. we’ll face these things together, no matter what, okay?.”

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an: dk if i like how this turned out 🧍‍♀️

#lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze imagine #lucy bronze #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #engwnt #woso one shot #woso community #woso

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jaehymrk · 5 months

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you are losing me.

jude bellingham x fem!reader. angst authornote: whatever this was, angst. it is not the best, but i did it for my own sad life, thank you for reading. <3

It is not the first time you have been in a relationship. There were plenty that left and plenty you left yet there was a string of hope that bloomed with Jude, you felt this man, with all the hardship, it was the endgame for you.

With every moment with him where you laughed, smiled, and cried pierced into your mind as you stomped your way through the building he was sharing in England before returning back to Madrid.

The humiliation that burnt on your throat only ranged worse in every bitter minute. Tear filled in your eyes as you slammed his door open, ignoring all the greetings that were given to you in the hallway. "You cannot fucking do that to me." You laughed dryly, feet dragging toward him.

Jude stood in front of you, eyes scanning the room to see of his teammates lurking around. Glancing the face you missed so dearly while he was away. You shut your eyes not wanting to lash out, while you clenched your hand to resist touching him, to feel the man on your skin.

"Give me a reason," You asked stepping out from his boundaries. He stood in utter silence. His eyes soften as it landed on your eyes that were staring at his, that were begging his. He sighed still not giving you a word.

You nodded your head, "Alright, give me a fucking excuse." You screamed, hands on your hip in frustration on the man who broke you off through a simple text. You scoffed rushing your hand through your hair on the absurd situation.

Jude had explanations dancing on his tongue yet how stupid would he sound if he said out loud that his feelings were starting to become a burden, that he has no capability to put you or this relationship before his career and how not being around you has become a habit that with you, Jude has nothing to offer but meaningless words.

Yet his heart twitched seeing your eyes in tears that he caused, trembling lips he once kissed, and loved is now sobbing cries; and it is all him.

You nodded, "I understand distance is too much for you but we talked this through before, did we not?" You asked, pleaded for Jude to speak saying he did not mean it, to assure you he is not going anywhere, to hold you in his embrace.

"We have done this distance before and we were doing well."

"And for how long will we keep doing that?" He spoke loudly.

His voice crushed your heart on how much he was bringing himself to reason out this with you. With his eyes, it crushed your heart harder as for the first time, you saw the tiredness hiding in his eyes, the light for you getting dimmer. You smiled sadly, accepting his words and every meaning behind that did not leave his lips but pinched through your heart.

Jude has given up on you.

"See it was not that hard, was it?" You dryly chuckled, stepping further away from him. Jude reached out for you only for you to reject his touch. He has lost his rights on you, on each part of you.

"This would not have happened if you could have just explained yourself properly through your fucking text," You hissed at the man in anger, there were no reason for you to hold onto the brick of anger in pain. "Fuck, I am just standing here like a fucking fool in front of a man who does not even love me anymore."

Jude stared sternly. "Watch your fucking words."

"Am I wrong though?" You challenged.

Jude wanted to scream out, to agree that you were wrong, oh, he just wanted to hold you, hold you so much, to deny that he does not love you anymore, he does. He wanted to go down on his knees and ask for your forgiveness; but what can he offer you after?

Again, with nothing, he stood there. "Fuck you and your fuckass attitude." You shook your head in disbelief.

Sighing, you decided to walk out.

"If I still love you, what would happen next?" He asked, eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Frustrated with himself, with you, with this relationship that he has risked out for the sake of letting you go that he was really doing it for himself.

"Then we fight for this fucking relationship, jude. This is what we do when we decide to love each other earnestly, did we not?" You grieved out, reasoning out to fight, fucking fight for you.

Jude answered in silence.

You paused your footsteps outside the door, "I am giving you one more chance. Tell me we can do this together and I will forgive you." You screamed for him to hear, your back facing him. Tears free flowing down your cheeks.

"Jude, please." please, please please.

Pathetically you tried, "If I crossed this fucking door, I will never take you back, I will forget about you, I will . . never ask about you. So, just do not let me leave please."

Jude sat down on his couch, tears trippled down his cheeks as no words left his lips.

Pathetically you tried one last time, screaming, not caring who is out there to listen. "Do not ever show me your face, never."

"Denise, hi." You waved cheerfully in front of the Bellingham door with your fuzzy hat secured on your head and gloves on your hand. She smiled back, nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"Would you mind asking Jude to come out for awhile?" You requested, kicking the snow out from your way. In all truth, you were nervous, still nervous of her despite her apporval, "It is just, like, it is raini- hold up, not raining. I mean, snowing crazy. I just wanted to enjoy it with Jude." You giggled in uneasiness clear on your tone, endlessly touching your neck.

She glanced at you deeply. "I will ask him to come out, darling. Please, wait inside." You shook your head fiercely, there were not many confidence in you left to speak to Mark. Denise had already made her way in to notify Jude.

Hearing upon that, Jude rushed inside the shared room with Jobe, hurriedly grabbed his scarfs, mitten and a cozy hat before exiting. He saw you shivering regardless of wearing multiple layers under.

Jude rushed to embrace you from behind, spinning you around and around. You shut your eyes, giggling at your boyfriend's childish behaviour. "We will fall, babe." You whined to your boyfriend responded with more giggles leaving from him.

"Oh, we are falling, oh god, wai-" Jude laughed as he landed on the snow. You landed softly on his chest. With rosy cheeks, and red ears that were not covered enough.

You prayed for the moment to last forever but Jude has bigger dreams ahead of him that do not revolve on you anymore.

With no words exchanged, you laid on the road, Jude followed next to you. In silence, you observed the full moon up in the sky. The round moon that were as clear as your lover's eyes that stared down at you with so much love and pain.

"I am not ready to imagine how much I will miss you once you are gone but I know, I will be able to find you." You reassured the silent boy next to you. Jude did not speak, worryingly you glanced to see his eyes buried in his own tears. "Like how you will find me at the end right?" You chuckled, holding his hand tighter.

"I love you so much." He whispered, wrapping his arm around your waist burying his face on the nape of your neck. You nodded, "I know, baby. I love you too but you know, I am never going to give up on you."

You raised your hand to remove his face from your neck to look at your more closely. "Even if you break up with me, I will come running to you." He mumbled that were inaudible as you had your palm pressed on his cheeks.

"I will never do that to you." You assured.

How bittersweet that Jude Bellingham was your lover, but how fruitful that he was your first love, the lover you shamelessly stalk at the middle of the night to see more about his whereabouts, the lover you would talk about to your friends, or your acquaintances that you have experienced love that it was raw and true.

#jaehymrkwrites #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham scenarios #jude bellingham fanfiction #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham

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midnight-in-town · 7 months

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Let's talk about the "Fenian brotherhood" theory !! :D

Firstly, in case you don't know about it, please go read the theory that our!Ciel's birth name might be Fenian/Fionn/Finnian by @azuresins. It is incredibly relevant to what I'm about to explain next !

TBH, I don't really care about discovering our!Ciel's birth name. However, I truly enjoy this theory and I think it makes a lot of sense, because I absolutely agree with the idea of Vincent supporting (secretly or not) Irish independence, turning him into a political enemy of Queen Victoria...

...which could be very much why he ended up dead.

This theory comes from a private convo with my friend, @dorkshadows and I'll sum up their thoughts (and some of mine) below the cut !

First of all, while we think Claudia, Vincent's predecessor, may have been a personal enemy of Victoria because of whatever happened when Albert died in 1861, Vincent strikes us more as a political enemy precisely because of Brown's comment in ch108.

After all, if our!Ciel, who just managed to thwart their plans of getting the sulin gas, is "more like his father everyday", then it makes sense that Vincent "got in the way" of some of Victoria & JB's war/political plans too. >_>

Now, about the Fenian Cycle book: it was an important symbol for Irish independence and the Fenian Brotherhood that started in the 19th century before it got dissolved in 1880. To quote Wikipedia:

"The Fenian Brotherhood traced their origins back to 1790s, in the rebellion, seeking an end to British rule in Ireland initially for self-government and then the establishment of an Irish Republic. The rebellion was suppressed, but the principles of the United Irishmen were to have a powerful influence on the course of Irish history."

But how would Vincent even get involved with it and why?

In the theory that OC's name is Fenian/Finnian, @azuresins mentioned that maybe it's all related to Cedric K. Ros having Celtic origins. Since we do have one sketch by Yana of one twin bringing the Fenian Cycle book to the Undertaker (the most likely candidate for Cedric K. Ros)...

...it might indeed be a partial answer.

There is another possibility though, entirely thought by @dorkshadows, which is that Rachel (and Ann) might have been of Irish origins too.

After all, a common stereotype for Irish people in many stories is red hair and it's hard to forget that it was a very distinctive characteristic of Ann, Rachel's sister !

In fact, one of their first interactions is Vincent telling Ann to be proud of that hair, which we were told she inherited from her dad, the twins' maternal grandfather.

So Vincent might have not just been talking about Ann's hair color in that scene, but more specifically about her taking more pride in her Irish origins. Obviously though, Dalles/Durless aren't very Irish names, but it is possible that their original family name got anglicized into a more traditionally English name.

In any case, Vincent met Rachel and Ann after already knowing their father :

So it's possible that Vincent was, as the Watchdog, investigating Lord Durless as a nobleman with Irish lineage and possible ally of the Fenian Brotherhood. After all, to quote this article, "the Fenians in England and the British Empire were a major threat to political stability". Then Vincent met and fell in love with Rachel, thus deciding to support the Brotherhood instead.

I'd add that Vincent supporting such a cause simply makes sense, considering that the Phantomhive family, too, might have been burdened by the Watchdog's duty generations ago, because of their "different" lineage (full theory here). On top of that, if you add the possibility that Cedric/UT also was of Celtic origins (many decades or centuries ago) and that Vincent knew Claudia's death was Victoria's fault, it only makes sense that he'd eventually politically antagonize the Queen (both for his parents' sake and for Rachel's).

@dorkshadows also pointed out that, to this day, we don't know if the twins' maternal grandfather is alive or dead in canon : he was important enough to be mentioned in Red's flashback but has been missing from the narrative ever since. Timeline-wise, he could be dead, especially since we never saw him in the Blue Memory arc (our!Ciel's flasback), but we never know with Yana (look at Claudia being hinted in panels ever since the circus arc and probably being incredibly relevant), so it's worth keeping in mind.

Then, moving on to ch132 we know that, when the twins were born, Rachel is the one who named them.

Coincidentally (read: it's probably not a coincidence xD), ch132 had the cover with Vincent reading the Fenian Cycle book to the twins and it's also the chapter in which Vicar Rathbone casually says that one twin/both twins (it's deliberately ambiguous in Japanese) have a name that is "rare for England" :

Many fans, myself included, thought that "Ciel" was the name being discussed there, but maybe they were actually talking about our!Ciel's celtic birth name ! To quote @azuresins, in that case that'd basically mean that, in that scene above, "Vincent said to an ENGLISH PRIEST [...] that people of Celtic origin deserved freedom, and to be treated better and that it probably was soon to come".

No wonder that Vicar Rathbone would immediately change the topic lmao ! xD

Vicar Rathbone be like

It is also very meaningful that Rachel decided to give the "Fionn/Fenian/Finnian" name to our!Ciel ("the spare"), as if to emphasize that he was free to make his own path in life, as the second son, unburdened by earldom. Choosing such a meaningful name might even be a parallel to Vincent's own situation with Frances as his spare, since both also have names with a meaning relating to victory and freedom.

Another important detail, as @azuresins already explained here, is that Fenian Cycle is also a tale of revenge and that our!Ciel parallels Fionn big deal, making it all even more relevant. And maybe Yana left other hints in her artworks too...

Finally, historically the Fenian Brotherhood officially got dissolved around 1880 (the twins were 5 years old), but it's always possible that, in Kuroverse, Vincent managed to make it thrive secretly as the Watchdog. The Fenian Brotherhood caused several incidents, including after 1880 (they assassinated a British Chief Secretary in 1882), so it wouldn't be impossible that the Queen eventually found out that Vincent didn't properly take care of them, because he was supporting them.

And when she found out? Well, she branded Vincent a political enemy and we know the rest (the household was massacred in 1885 and the killer most likely received help from real!Ciel, more details in the real!Ciel mastermind theory hehe).

The idea that Vincent ultimately became a political enemy of Victoria because he fell in love with Rachel makes their death...

...even more emotional to me, since Rachel probably died trying to protect Vincent. T_T

TL;DR that's the Fenian Brotherhood theory: because they supported an Irish rebellious group that wanted freedom, Vincent & Rachel were branded political enemies of Victoria and she & JB plotted their deaths, which led in happenstance to the RCMT.

(friendly reminder that the twins are 7, when Vincent asked Dee to look after them should he die)

I hope it was clear ! Thanks for reading. :))

#kuroshitsuji #vincent phantomhive #ciel phantomhive #rachel phantomhive #angelina durless #madam red #cedric k. ros #finnian #kuro132 #fenian brotherhood theory #ciel's real name #kuroshitsuji theory #dorkshadows #my analysis #blue memory arc

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skiller0dani · 1 year

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The Noble House of Gaunt | Ominis Gaunt

M A S T E R L I S T Other Masterlist Harry Potter Masterlist

angst | slytherin!reader requests info w.c | 4.9k summary | An unexpected visit proves to Ominis that as long as you, a Muggle, love him...you'll never be safe.

Alexa play Ready to Run by One Direction & All I want by Kodaline.

My Aunt Tara passed away from cancer in December, so I chose to name your characters Aunt after her. Love you Aunt Tara.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Blurb

Ominis always knew that being with you would put you in danger, with him being who he is and you being who you are. Blood status has never mattered to him, he knew you were a Muggle before you presented a magical ability when you turned 15. He knew you knew nothing of magic before coming to Hogwarts, and he didn't care. He had every intention of keeping his distance when you were sorted into Slytherin- as he did with most people. Ominis has a reputation among most of the students who attend Hogwarts. They knew who his family was, knew that they did to Muggles. He was ashamed to have their name.

The only two people who didn't flinch away from Ominis in the hallway's or duck into empty corridors to avoid him were Sebastian and Anne. The siblings he desperately wished he had instead of the family he was stuck with. It was halfway through First Year when Ominis stopped going home, and yes he had received more than a few Howlers from his Mother as a result. By the time they were in Second Year, most Slytherin students had dropped all misconceptions of Ominis, the rest of the school remained wary however. He didn't blame them.

Ominis had planned on keeping his friend circle fairly small, he wanted to pass through Hogwarts as small and unseen as he could. He spent most of his time with the Twins, and Imelda occasionally. He spent 4 uneventful years at Hogwarts, save for Anne getting cursed by the Goblins. As soon as Sebastian lost his Twin, he became obsessed with curing her. His obsession was slowly leading him towards the Dark Arts and down a path Ominis wasn't sure he could follow. His already small social circle seemed to keep shrinking and there was nothing he could do about it. It was a maddeningly helpless feeling, although not one Ominis was unfamiliar with.

Being born blind meant Ominis was born at a disadvantage. He was behind most of his pupils and that meant he had to work doubly hard to catch up. Learn how to do things differently, and it was important for Ominis to be independent. He was determined to figure things out on his own, he was nobodies burden and often rejected help if it was offered to him. Maybe it's because he's stubborn, maybe it's because Ominis has a hard time trusting other people. His Mother drug him all across England in search for anything that could cure his blindness, but time and time again his Mother was told there was nothing that could be done for him. That perhaps if his family hadn't partaken in incestuous habits, then Ominis wouldn't have been born with this defect. Hearing that made Ominis hate his family all the more, he's blind and they are to blame. Paying the price for a choice he never made, it wasn't fair.

By the time Ominis turned 11, he had received his Hogwarts letter and went to get his very own wand. Apparently the wand that chose Ominis had been sitting on the shelf untouched for many many years, harshly rejecting any that attempted to buy it. It was meant for you boy Mr. Ollivander had told him. The wand chooses the wizard, that much Ominis knew. His wand was different, even Mr. Ollivander seemed in awe of the bond between Ominis and his wand. His wand became his eyes, it helped him navigate the world, and every spell he cast would hit its target. The wand would help correct Ominis's aim, would pulse if he were about to bump into something. His wand began to feel like a friend. Ominis was very excited about his wand, his Mother was less so. She wanted her son to be perfect, not blind with a wonky wand.

Going to Hogwarts felt like a blessing, he could spend 10 beautiful months away from his family. Luckily Ominis's older siblings had all graduated by the time he started Hogwarts, he only shared one year with his older brother Marvolo who was a 7th Year when Ominis started. After he graduated Ominis knew he was finally free, and for once he felt like happiness was finally possible despite the horrors he endured during his childhood. Then he met you, and so many things seemed to fall into place.

He originally met you through Sebastian, who you'd beaten in a duel on your first day. He was rather prickly when you first met Ominis, but Sebastian reassured you that Ominis is like that with everybody. You made it a personal goal to break down Ominis's walls, his heart was more well guarded than Azkaban. But unfortunately for him you were never one to back down from a challenge, and you knew there was something about Ominis you were helplessly drawn to. You spent nearly every waking moment with Ominis, well when you weren't running around crypts with Sebastian.

You spent a lot of time reading to Ominis, and while he didn't need your help reading he liked the sound of your voice. He read braille books, and Madam Scribner had been more than gracious enough to order over 150 braille books specifically for Ominis, seeing as he was the only blind student attending Hogwarts. But sitting down in front of the fireplace with you while the soft sound of your voice read whatever book you were reading aloud was addicting. Sitting close enough to smell the scent of your shampoo, the strawberry tarts you so loved, the smell of old parchment as you flipped through the book. Ominis was developing feelings for you before he had a chance to stop it. By the end of 5th Year, the two of you were inseparable.

Then he learned you were Muggle born, though it wasn't something you were trying to hide. You never mentioned it before because nobody had ever asked. You lived with your Muggle Aunt before coming to Hogwarts, both of your parents had been killed when you were a small child. Perhaps that's why you bonded with Sebastian so quickly. To say that Ominis was panicked when he learned of your blood status was an understatement. What if his parents found out he was dating a Muggle? What would they do to you? He couldn't care less what they thought of him, what they did to him. All that mattered to Ominis was you.

"You sure you're okay?" You ask Ominis again, bumping your nose tenderly against his. Something you learned about Ominis after you started dating him is that physical touch is very important to him. He always has to be touching you in some way, holding your hand, pressing his forehead against yours, light kisses when nobody is looking. Besides his super sonic hearing, touch was one of his strongest senses. It's how he navigated the world, through touch and after you got together you'd allowed Ominis to run his hands over your body. His fingers gently feeling out the shape of your face, down your arms and across your back. Goosebumps had risen on your skin, and your face flushed hotly. If Ominis could see, then he would have known where your thoughts traveled to as he innocently felt the shape of your body. All he was trying to do was get a sense of what you looked like, to picture every curve of your body the best he could. You were head over heels for him, no doubt about it.

"Yes of course, couldn't sleep last night is all." Ominis answered, his chest warming as you gently nuzzled your nose against his. You leaned forward to tenderly press your lips against his, your hand squeezing his before you stood from the couch. The common room was bustling with people, Ominis was a tad overwhelmed with so much noise. Large groups of people are when Ominis struggled the most, his hearing was very sensitive and listening to so many people talk at once was sometimes disorienting. Which is why he spent so much time tucked away in the abandoned corners of the castle, where everything was soft and quiet. He could no longer feel the heat of your body pressed against his, you hadn't even said goodbye yet and he already missed you.

"Gotta go meet Imelda, wants my help preparing for Quidditch tryouts- y'know now that Black has finally lifted the ban. See you at lunch!" You explain, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before he hears your footsteps heading towards the stairs. Ominis sat on the couch, nervously fiddling with his fingers before he finally stood. He thought about finding Sebastian, but he wasn't quite ready to forgive him for the events of last year. Anne is still utterly devastated, and Ominis felt a pang of guilt when he thought of Anne. He had gone to check on her during the break between 5th Year and 6th Year, and she had confessed to having feelings for Ominis. He remembered his cheeks burning all the way to the tips of his ears as he stammered out that he'd been dating you for a few weeks already. He'll never forget how Anne deflated, how he had caused it. He felt awful about it for days.

Instead of looking for his used to be best friend, he decided to take a stroll along the castle grounds. It was nice outside, you had told him. The sun was out and the breeze was light and warm, and sometimes being outside helped clear his head. You still hung out with Sebastian, you cared for him which worried Ominis at first. He never thought of himself as the jealous type but seeing you spend so much time with Sebastian genuinely worried him. Until you reassured him with a kiss that Sebastian was practically your brother. You were an only child, had no extended family beyond your Aunt Tara. Ominis didn't like to admit it, but he often felt inadequate compared to other guys. He had a defect...he was defective. He knew you'd scold him heavily for ever thinking of himself in that way but its true. Sebastian had described you to him during 5th Year, and Ominis so wished he could see your radiant beauty he'd heard so much about from other people.

You usually reminded him that he could see a beauty in you that nobody else could see. Told him he could see into your soul, that he could see what truly mattered. That usually made him feel better.

Ominis stepped through the front doors, thanking the person who had held the doors open for him. It was easy for other people to assume that Ominis couldn't do basic things, like figuring out how to open a door. He reveled in proving them wrong. He felt the warm breeze you described to him, and would respond with a smile as people greeted him. The rest of the school had warmed up to Ominis considerably after discovering that he was dating the 'Hero of Hogwarts'. You made every part of his life better. Although it was slightly irritating having to converse with people so often, they felt the need to incessantly talk to him. He wasn't trying to be rude, he just preferred to keep to himself. Oh come on Ominis, don't be like that. He can hear your gentle scolding in his head, so he continued to smile politely every time someone said hello.

"Hello Ominis dear, I've been looking everywhere for you." A smooth voice spoke calmly from in front of him, and Ominis prickled at the sound of her voice.

"M-Mother?" He stammered, he suddenly felt very small and helpless. The hand holding up his wand dropped limply at his side, his entire body was shaking from head to toe. Why is she here? What could she possibly want? There's no way she found out about you...no this can't be happening.

"It's been a long time Ominis, you wouldn't be avoiding us would you? Your own family..." Her voice was worryingly calm, it put Ominis on edge. He heard the click of her heels as she took a few slow steps forward, her cold finger running along his jaw.

"I've heard some troublesome rumors Ominis, troublesome enough to warrant a visit." The venom was beginning to seep into her tone now, but she was still far too calm. There must be people around.

"I've heard you've found a special someone, and you didn't tell your own Mother. Ominis I thought I raised you better than that...consorting with a Mudblood. You haven't mated with it have you?" She asked, tutting at him. Her finger turned his jaw up, forcing him to face her. She stared into his glassy eyes, fogged over and covering the beautiful blue of his eyes. She could see the fear in his face, could feel his body trembling. It brought a smile to her face. Ominis's chest tightened, she is here because of you. If Mother is here, then so is Father and likely so is Marvolo. He had always done all he could to please his parents, he was just as evil as they were- if not worse. His other siblings were likely off causing strife and misery elsewhere.

"I...we-" Ominis stammered, his voice shaking. He needed to somehow convince her the rumors were wrong. He wasn't dating a Muggle, no no the rumors were wrong. That's the only hope you have of being safe. "No, no I'm not seeing anyone."

"Don't lie to me you pathetic child." She snapped, her nails digging into the skin of his neck. He's sure her other hand is curled around her wand, the spell he's the most afraid of dancing on the tip of her tongue.

Crucio.

His heart drops into his stomach, he loves you. That was incredibly selfish of him, he put you in danger every time he spoke to you, held you, kissed you and yet he continued to do it. He couldn't stay away, you made his life so much better. He should have stayed away.

"The Mudblood has corrupted you Ominis, did you not take pleasure in their screams? You remember don't you Ominis, what it felt like to hurt them." She sneered, a lightness in her tone as she spoke of the torture Ominis tries to desperately to forget. His jaw clenches and his palms twitch every time she calls you a Mudblood. He could never see you that way. His Mother is going to hurt you, and it's because of him. All of this is Ominis's fault.

"As fun as it is to catch up, I'm here to warn you dear. In 5 days I will return with your Father and your dear brother Marvolo. You have until then to severe all ties to this Mudblood, or we will deal with her ourselves. I don't like you'll approve of our methods of removal." She explained, turning Ominis's blood to ice. Crucio. He can't let that happen to you, he can't. The thought of breaking up with you made him feel nauseous, but the alternative is much much worse. Her hand ran along his cheek, feigning the touch of a loving Mother. She leaned down to press her cold lips to his forehead.

"Don't disappoint me again Ominis, or your precious little Mudblood will pay the price. I do wonder what beautiful screams we can pull from her lips..." She muses before the air changes and she's gone. Ominis slowly crumples to the ground, tears falling from his eyes. Sometimes he thinks it would have been easier if he'd never been born.

When lunch time came around, you looked around the Great Hall for Ominis but couldn't see him anywhere. You feel a pang of anxiety in your chest as you hesitantly sit with Imelda, your eyes glued to the doors, hoping you'll see him. Ominis is never late, never keeps you waiting. He always meets you when he says he will, always. So the fact that you're nearly halfway through lunch and you still don't see him is making you panic. Imelda eyes you curiously, at first you hated Imelda. She was unbearable and rude to you but once you'd beaten her fastest times she softened. She's become one of your closest friends, as has Poppy. Imelda watches you nervously chew on your cheek, your eyes still searching for him.

"What's wrong with you?" She asks, watching your distracted eyes flicker to her for a second.

"Ominis, he isn't here." You say nervously, forking another bite of mashed potatoes into your mouth.

"I'm sure he's fine. He's smart, and he wouldn't put himself in any danger." She tries her best to reassure you, but you're not really listening. You wait a few more minutes before you're standing from the table and heading back to the common room as fast as you can. You don't know why you're so worried, surely him forgetting this once doesn't mean something bad has happened. He's fine you know he is, and yet your heart will not stop hammering against your ribcage. Your palms are shaking as you push the doors to the common room open, you will tear this entire castle apart to find him if you have to. Ominis is easily the most punctual person you know, never late to classes, turns in assignments on time, and always meets you when he says he will. Always.

You find him sitting in front of the fireplace, his shoulders slumped and traces of dried tears on his cheeks. Your entire body tenses, panic crawling up your neck. Something happened, something bad. Ominis never shuts down like this, and he never shuts you out but now...you feel like a wall has been built between you two. You can't read him as easily as you could before, he's retreating from you and you don't know why. He can hear you before you sit next to him, can smell the sweet scent of the shampoo you use. You always smell like sweets and flowers, he's going to miss that.

"Ominis, my love what's wrong? You didn't meet me for lunch..." You ask hesitantly, reaching for his hand. He doesn't say anything, doesn't turn his head at the sound of your voice like he usually does. Ominis knows that if he speaks, the only thing he will say is going to break your heart- and his own. He has no choice, but he wants to put it off as long as he can. He feels you reaching for his hand and he lets you take it. He wants to feel the warmth of your skin, of your love, until he can't anymore.

"Ominis please talk to me, you're scaring me." You plead, and he can hear the emotion in your voice. You try in vain to keep the tears at bay, but they continue to fall every time you blink. Something really bad happened, you can see how shaken up he is. Please don't push me away you beg in your head, screaming it so loud hoping somehow he will hear it. He won't even move, his gaze downturned and his entire body slumped against the couch. Who did this to him? You feel anger surge through you, somebody hurt him. Somebody did this to him.

"I can't see you anymore." The words are whispered so quietly you almost miss them. But as soon as he says it, he's pulling his hand from your grasp.

Wait, what?

"Ominis..." You trail off, you feel frozen. Your heart is breaking and you can swear you feel the pain of it. He turns his head away from you, building his wall brick by brick, the wall you spent so much time tearing down. You need to know what happened, everything was fine this morning.

"Why?" Your voice sounds so small, so broken, nothing like the strong girl he's come to love. He hates that he's doing this to you, but then Ominis can hear the echoing screams of the Muggle's his family has tortured in his head. Reminding him why he's doing this, why he has to push you away. Why he needs to make sure you stay away.

"I'm better alone, I always have been." Ominis says, keeping his voice void of emotion. Maybe that used to be true, but it isn't anymore. He knows he's going to be lost without you, but he needs to keep you safe. He has to. He stands from the couch, keeping his back turned to you. Ensuring you can't see how broken he is, how much this hurts him too.

"No, I deserve a better explanation than that. There's more to it Ominis, tell me the truth." You plead, voice wavering as tears continue to cascade down your face. He can't tell you, he wants to but he can't. He doesn't want you to be afraid, but more importantly he wants you to stay away from him. If he tells you the truth... you'll try to help him. Try to protect him, you'll stay with him regardless of the danger.

So when you say, "have you found someone else?"

He doesn't deny it, he simply nods. He could never find someone who could compete with you. Nobody on this useless planet could ever come close, but if you believe he's a scumbag who cheated on you then you'll definitely stay away. Which is what will keep you safe. He can hear you gasp, as if he's wounded you. In a way, he has. Your hand clutches your chest, feeling it tighten. You never thought Ominis was capable of...of this. Of hurting you in this way, you trusted him. All this time he's been falling in love with some other girl, holding your hand while thinking of her. You feel sick, so sick you can't stand to be around him any longer. You turn and rush up the stairs to your dorm room, slamming the door shut behind you. Ominis hears you leave and he slumps against the couch again.

He hates himself, and he loves you. Not like it matters anymore.

The next 5 days were spent with you actively avoiding Ominis whenever you saw him in the common room or hallway. You barely ate, hardly left your dorm except to go to classes. You spent most of your time crying or sleeping. Imelda tried to talk to you, but you always brushed her off. She even tried reaching out to Ominis but got nearly the exact same response. You told her what Ominis said, that there was somebody else but she thinks that's a load of crap. For the last few days, Ominis has been sulking around doing the same thing you were doing. Not eating, not leaving his dorm and going to classes. If there was somebody else, wouldn't he be with her? Not sitting in the common room with a kicked puppy look on his face?

Imelda couldn't even bring herself to be angry with Ominis because anybody with at least 1 working braincell could tell that Ominis most certainly didn't cheat on you. There's more to this, she knows there is and for your sake she wants to find out what's going on. He's never been seen with anybody else, doesn't really have friends except the Twins and he hadn't even been seen with Sebastian lately either...an idea struck Imelda then.

Sebastian!

If anybody could find out what's going on in Ominis's head, it's Sebastian. Last she saw he was heading towards the Library, so Imelda stands and exits the common room, finally leaving Ominis alone. He knows it's nearly time for his wonderful family to drop in and make sure he's taken care of the...problem. So he stands and straightens his cloak and does his best to look like he isn't stuck in the deep pits of depression. If he looks heartbroken they'll know you matter to him, and they'll punish you for it. He hears your cries every time he wanders by your dorm, he knows you never leave the dorm, knows you're barely eating. Its beginning to scare him, he doesn't want you to hurt yourself because you're so heartbroken. Ominis never meant to hurt you, he wished he could tell you that.

Imelda finally found Sebastian tucked away in the upper levels of the Library, sitting near one of the windows with a book he isn't reading in his hand. She quickly makes her way towards him, plopping herself down in one of the chairs next to him before he could protest. One of his brows raised in surprise, his expression apprehensive. Imelda never talks to him.

"Imelda." He says simply, his eyes turning to his book.

"I need your help." She says simply, causing Sebastian to look back up at her, signaling that he's listening.

"Ominis broke up with Y/N, and they're both totally devastated. He said it was because he met someone else but I think he's lying to cover something else up." Imelda rushes out, causing Sebastian to finally put his book down. Sebastian's eyebrows pull together, met someone else? No way.

"Ominis practically hates everybody except for Y/N and Anne so its unlikely that he met someone else. Why do you think I can help?" He asks, he wants to help. He loves Ominis, he's practically Sebastian's brother and you're practically his sister. He cant sit around and do nothing while you're both suffering. But he doesn't think Ominis will want to speak to him right now... not after last year.

"Uh because you're his best friend? Talk to him, please." Imelda asks, her tone pleading. Eventually, Sebastian nods and stands to go find Ominis.

Ominis however is pushing his way out the front doors, making his way through the castle grounds. He isn't sure exactly where his family will meet him, but he's sure it'll be somewhere away from the castle grounds. He continues to walk, his ear straining to hear anything when he hears the familiar sound of someone apparating nearby.

"Hello brother." Marvolo taunted, and Ominis knows Mother and Father are here as well. Ominis's body went rigid, but he did his best to stay calm. As long as he tells them what they want to hear they won't hurt you.

"Marvolo." Ominis's tone is clipped and he hears a chuckle from behind him.

"Come now Ominis, don't be like that." His Father says, his words mirroring your own and causing a pang of pain through his heart. A hand is placed on his shoulder, icy cold.

"Hello dear, have you handled your little problem?" Mother asks, running her hands along his shoulders and he can feel her breath fanning on his neck. She must be leaning close to his ear from behind him.

"Yes Mother I have." Ominis forces his voice to sound certain and unwavering. He can't allow any emotion in his voice or on his face when he talks about you.

"And how do you feel now my darling?" There's that tone again, the tone she only uses when he's said something that makes her happy. When he's being the cruel boy she expects him to be.

"Much better, you were right all along about her." Ominis says simply, feeling sullen and dejected. Her hands cup his face, forcing his head up to look at her.

"Your face looks sunken in dear, have you been well?" His Mother asks, although Ominis knows she doesn't really care.

"Yes Mother, quite." He responds robotically, and it seems to be enough to satisfy her. A groan comes from Marvolo, who's crossed his arms like a pouting child.

"Does that mean we don't get to torture the Mudblood?" He asks, sounding genuinely put off.

"Oh hush now Marvolo, we shall find another for you to play with on our way home. Care to join us Ominis?" His Mother scolds lightly, her tone gentler when she addresses Ominis. He feels his stomach turn.

"No Mother, too many assignments I'm afraid." He says calmly, hoping she accepts his no and lets him go. Please just go.

"Very well, we will continue to check up on you Ominis. To ensure you don't fall pray to weakness." His Mother says, her voice sharp and dangerous at the end. He merely nods and a few moments later they're gone.

"So that's why you did it." Sebastian says from behind Ominis, causing him to jump slightly.

"I don't know what you mean." Ominis says, his tone turning icy. Sebastian knew he wouldn't be happy to see him.

"Ominis, your family threatened Y/N didn't they?" Sebastian questions, causing Ominis to freeze.

"And what of it? I've dealt with it." Ominis snaps.

"What about Y/N?" He asks, and just hearing your name makes Ominis's heart clench.

"What about her? We're over Sebastian, and that will never change. So long as I'm a Gaunt, she will always be in danger. We can never be together, I should have known that." Ominis says bitterly.

"That's not true, if you love her then-"

"Then what Sebastian? Sometimes when you love somebody, you have to make sacrifices. Not like you would know anything about that." Ominis snaps, his shoulders rigid. He turns and makes a beeline for the castle, leaving Sebastian standing in the courtyard.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

#ominis gaunt #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy spoilers #angst #breakup angst

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jakes3resin · 18 days

Text

More Modern Reincarnation AU thoughts

"So what brought you to town?" Buck asks.

"Ah," Bucky stares down at his coffee. The ice has already started melting in the late summer heat. He fiddles with it, swirling it around. "It's a bit complicated."

"How so?" Buck leans in.

"A bit too complicated for a first meeting," Bucky says with a sad smile. "I don't wanna scare you off when I just met you now do I Buck?"

"Well, I don't scare so easy." Buck reaches out placing a hand on Bucky's own. "But I won't force you."

"Thanks," Bucky squeezes Buck's. "But, that doesn't mean we can't talk about you."

"Ha," Buck breathes out a laugh. He still hasn't pulled his hand away. "I see how it is. Dodge the question, so you can repeat it. You turned the tables on me real quick."

"Just curious," Bucky laughed. Buck stared at him wide-eyed. "Don't get a lot of boys telling me I look like an old friend from Wisconsin, and I'm curious about the one who did."

"Well," Buck draws out the word. He still hasn't taken his eyes off of Bucky, and it's hard work fighting a blush with those blue eyes taking in his every feature. "I'm a student at Georgetown. Trying for my PhD."

"Wow," Bucky pushes his glasses up. "In what?"

"Interplanetary physics." Buck says it with a smile. "Bit nerdy, right?"

"Not at all!" Bucky leans in affronted that someone would dare say that. "Who told you that? They're just jealous."

✨️

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this," Bucky laughs. Shakes his head and starts to pace because he really can't explain it, and it drives him up the wall. "There's just something different about you? I think."

Bucky pauses, shakes his head again as if that'll clear his head. Buck hasn't stopped staring at him.

"You're something else, Buck." Bucky stops pacing to just stare right back at Buck. He doesn't do that very often, stare back at Buck. When he does, a weight presses down, down, down on his chest until he can scarcely breathe. Buck never looks away, but Bucky always has to.

✨️

"Why do you go by the name Egan?" Buck asks him one day while they're slaving over textbooks and assignments in another coffee shop. Bucky found this one online a week ago. The lemon tarts are divine, but the coffee is so so. Though that may be because he chose a lavender oat milk latte instead of his usual caramel macchiato. Sue him, the sign next to the tarts had said they paired well together. Bucky shrugs, not lifting his eyes from his reading. Buck has to tap him on the nose to get a better answer.

"Easier, I guess." Bucky pushes up his glasses with one finger. Buck still stares at him as if every motion or movement is brand new, like he's one of the stars Buck adores so much. Bucky still can't stare back for too long. "No one expects someone with my family name to change it, so I can fly under the radar. Live my life without the burden of all those eyes."

I have SO MANY thoughts about this AU! Someone please take them out of my head, I need to focus on England Arc for my a/b/o fic series!

#mota #masters of the air #buck x bucky #john bucky egan #clegan #gale buck cleven #mota au #mota fic #mota reincaration au #bucky egan #buck cleven #bucky is a big bundle of secrets and trauma in this au and buck would listen to every secret with stars in his eyes still #also bucky is a history major because i think he' be cute with his classes carrying around old books and writing obscure essays #plus he'd be like the weird darling of the department because he is so obssessed with ww2 but not in the gross way most men are #i was a history major so i dealt with so many gross ww2 buffs meanwhile bucky would be the idealized history boy with his glasses and curls #i just think we as a fandom need to write more pining buck #buck who is head over heels for his sunshine boi bucky

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eviesaurusrex · 2 years

Text

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜱᴏ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ

Harry Styles x British Royal!Reader

Her Royal Highness Princess YN, daughter to Prince Charles and late Princess Diana, Prince and Princess of Wales, younger sister to Prince William, Duke of Cambridge, and Prince Harry, Duke of Sussex, and granddaughter to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II and His Royal Highness Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh would’ve never thought to meet Harry Styles by accident—by literally running into him. And Harry Styles would’ve never considered meeting the Princess of England again after that seemingly fateful afternoon.

faceclaim: Saoirse Ronan

author’s note: I still can’t comprehend the immense feedback and support this series got so far! Thank you so damn much for that, it seriously means the world to me <33 Attention: this is long. Like, really long.

series masterlist

;

sunflowerbutterfly Why am I still part of this circus.

Liked by murderbane, archielives, gingerprince and 4 others | 10 comments

archielives 🥺🥲

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I should’ve hidden in your suitcase when you left for the states 💀

↳ archielives I should’ve just grabbed and taken you with me.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly That’s categorized as treason, my friend. Would’ve made you the enemy of the state but not the Will Smith kinda type💀

↳ archielives I don’t care. The President of the United States would’ve understood it.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly … you mean the 🍊? I don’t think so. President Obama? That’s another story.

liked by archielives and murderbane

gingerprince What did Granny do this time?

↳ MacMark Better question: What did she not do?

↳ gingerprince Touché.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I’ll text in our group later ❤️

↳ MacMark Should I bring you something, lovely? Cookies? Lemonade? I think I saw some strawberry lemonade on my way up.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly That would be actually kinda sweet, Meg 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

liked by MacMark and gingerprince

murderbane Who do I have to murder?

liked by archielives, sunflowerbutterfly, MacMark and 2 others

↳ sunflowerbutterfly No one, Mer.

↳ murderbane I would do it.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly No, you wouldn’t because you’re not even capable of killing an insect.

↳ archielives YNN is not wrong.

↳ murderbane I hate you both.

liked by sunflowerbutterfly and archielives

;

“So, let me repeat that to get that straight into my head,” Meredith started while YN sipped her cocktail through the colorful straw accompanying it, chin propped up in her palm. “You have Harry Styles’ number for a week and a half saved in your phone and still didn’t call him? Are you sick, YNN?! Do I have to call an ambulance?” Her voice raised a couple of octaves, but YN only could shrug her shoulders half-heartedly. “It is complicated, okay?” More didn’t leave her mouth before her lips closed around the straw again, and the princess took a long sip, feeling the alcohol seeping into her body and letting her feel lighter. The burdens, usually resting on her shoulders, almost flew above her now.

She knew that alcohol never was the solution, but sometimes even YN couldn’t resist the tempting liquid.

Mer watched her over the edge of her own glass, blonde brows furrowed, and forehead wrinkled. “I saw the pictures, YNN. It didn’t seem complicated in that Starbucks or that park.” Her voice was softer now, and YN felt as if she wanted to cry right on this very chair, in this packed bar, somewhere in London. A thought seemed to strike her best friend while YN started to nibble listless and without appetite on a mozzarella stick. “What did she say?” The princess didn’t need to ask who Meredith meant by she. There was only one she who could ruin her week, and it certainly wasn’t Camilla. Her father’s wife was a nuisance on worst days, but nothing more.

Shrugging, YN let the mozzarella stick fall back into the basket before wiping her hand with the tissue lying next to it. “Rambled something about he isn’t a proper association for a princess and that I have to think about my family and my position.” Her voice was laced with unbelief and something resembling… rage. The latter was unlike YN because she usually was truly a peaceful individual, always searching for a way to solve conflicts—without hatred and anger.

Meredith choked on her cocktail and coughed to get the liquid out of her windpipe before taking a deep breath. “She lost her mind,” her friend decided, and YN laughed joylessly while Mer furrowed her brows even more. “What was her reason for this rubbish?” The blonde princess pulled the straw out of her glass and let it fall onto the tissue next to her hand before grabbing the drink and taking a bigger sip than necessary. “He is a singer, and, most importantly, it’s the way he dresses. His fucking clothes, Mer! Utter bullshit,” seethed the internally boiling woman, and Meredith couldn’t help it but chuckle softly at her rare outbursts, even though the topic wasn’t something she could laugh about. Meredith emptied her beverage and showed a final nod. “It’s official. The Queen of England threw her mind out of the window. No wonder Archie left this shitshow. Sorry.” YN hummed softly; the sound got almost swallowed by the sea of noises around them and the beating music in the background. “Don’t need to apologize, love. It’s true—my life is a shitshow. Think about it. I’m never utterly and truly free, even though they try to mask it that way, but at the same time, ordering me around and trying to control which people I am allowed to consider friends. Utter. Bollocks.” YN fell silent, emptying her cocktail and letting the glass hit the table a tad too hard. “No wonder my mom lost her mind.”

Sadness etched its way into her mind, and the feeling of longing wasn’t an unusual companion for the young woman. In such situations, she missed her mother more than she already did every day of her damned life. YN believed it would be easier to handle if Diana was still alive and still by her side to guide her through the strong tide of protocols, rules, and demanding people. Diana would help her escape from time to time—fully escape. But all of it was a silly, childish dream because her mother was dead, and no power on earth could bring her back.

Camilla would know how to prevent that.

A soft hand clasping hers pulled YN back into reality and out of her spiraling mind. Her eyes found her best friend, a worried and apologetic expression on her face. “Don’t say that,” she pleaded. “You are not your mom. You won’t live like her because I’m here, and I’m here to help and stay. And that’s why I’m telling you to call this angel of a man. I’m sure his personality will brighten up your day. Think about it: He gave you his number. He wanted you to call.” YN swallowed dryly at that thought and lowered her gaze, her pointer finger following the edge of her glass. “He said he wants to see me again. That day of our first meeting,“ the princess confessed to her best friend, and just as anticipated, Meredith almost freaked out but remembered where they were and lowered her tone. “Are you freaking kidding me?! YNN, that’s… that’s amazing! And so sweet!” But the excitement soon died down at the face her friend showed. “Oh no,” the Brisbane mumbled, while the blonde only pulled her shoulders up to her ears—a clear sign of her spiraling thoughts and rising anxiety. “What if he only wants to see me again for the tabloids, the paparazzi, his impact on social media? What if he only sees the princess when he looks at me, the titles, my family, the attention he can gain through me? I experienced all of it, and it never seemed as if that were their intention. Never.”

She really had stood last in line while the universe had distributed the luck a human had in life. She always found the assholes within the sea of individuals. Or maybe she was a magnet for such people; a screaming, beckoning light in the dark ocean that was their miserable life until they could ruin a person. It was exhausting.

Meredith cocked a brow. “Do you really believe a single word you just spat out?” She looked up from her empty glass, chewing on her bottom lip. “I don’t know, Mer. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to think and what not. It’s a mess up here.” She pointed to her head and shook it. “I probably don’t believe a single word floating through my mind, but the fears are there anyway. I can’t turn them down or even off. And that’s probably why I haven’t called him yet.” Her best friend sighed while she softly patted YN’s hand. “What about a deal? You gonna call this poor man who is definitely sulking somewhere in England, asking himself what he did wrong because his phone still isn’t ringing, and if he turns out to be an asshole like everyone else, you hit me up, and I will end this bastard. Deal?”

Swallowing, YN nodded, and suddenly, Meredith pushed the basket with the mozzarella sticks right in front of her. “Perfect. And now, you’re gonna eat those damn sticks because they’re part of your culinary journey in becoming a peasant—and because I paid eleven pounds for these bastards.”

;

sunflowerbutterfly Hi, I’m YN, and that’s 100% me.

By the way: Behold and witness my immaculate photoshop skills. ✨Digital art is my passion✨

Liked by murderbane, archielives, and 3 others | 4 comments

murderbane Do I have to move my ass over to Kensington?

↳ sunflowerbutterfly …no.

↳ murderbane Call him. NOW.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly Stop screaming, I’m sensitive!

archielives Call him. NOW.

liked by murderbane

↳ sunflowerbutterfly WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU

↳ archielives Call him.

↳ archielives Now.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly Remind me again not to send you anything for your birthday.

↳ murderbane I will send you something, Arch!

liked by archielives

;

It took her another day to finally take the phone from its station.

—

Harry had just ended a fresh verse for a new song that had stuck in his head ever since that day, as his phone started to vibrate, announcing an incoming call. His band members had never seen him react this fast; usually, Harry barely acknowledged his phone when writing songs inside the studio, but in the past almost two weeks, he had acted differently, and not only Sarah suspected something.

“Yes, hello?” He sounded out of breath, his heart jumping in his chest and up to his throat. “Mr. Styles, this is the Royal Palace of Kensington. Her Royal Highness, Princess YN, would like to talk to you. I’m connecting the call now. Have a good night, sir,” the authoritative, nameless voice explained without waiting for even a second if that was alright. Well, it certainly was, and probably no one in his right mind would decline a call from the palace, so it made sense. Still, it felt odd to the singer, but those thoughts vanished immediately as a short beeping sound announced the connected call.

Silence settled into the line before her voice spoke up. “Uhm… hi? Oh gosh, is this even the right number? Shit. Uhm… if you are not Harry Styles, then I am truly and immensely sorry for bothering you, and even if you are Harry Styles, I am sorry for bothering you so late. Shit, I did not check the time before deciding this, I-…” Harry chuckled lowly and closed his pen. “YN?” His voice asked softly into his phone and let her pause. “It’s me, and it’s totally fine. You didn’t wake or disturb me,” he promised with a gentle smile spreading on his lips.

Sarah and Mitch, who had wanted to go over some things, now sat awfully still and quiet in the studio and listened to him with wide eyes.

A deep, relieved sigh traveled through the call. “Oh God, for a second, I seriously thought I gave them the wrong number. I am too bad with numbers. This always ends in a catastrophic disaster, so please, keep that in mind if you ever want me to calculate something. I am not even able to remember my own phone number correctly, which I have owned since 2009. And now I’m rambling. Gosh, I am so sorry. And now I’m apologizing again. Universe, please send some help.” The last sentence was definitely not meant for his ears, but her whispering was too precious, and Harry was glad he had heard that. It made her even more human—and so, so relatable. “I keep that in mind,” he grinned, leaning back into his chair but turning a tad serious now. “I thought I’d never hear from you.” He almost mumbled the words, not wanting to pressure her in anything or make her feel guilty. Another sigh reached his ear. “I know, and I’m sorry for that too. I had a lot of responsibilities, and after a day that started at four-thirty in the morning and ended way past ten in the night, I didn’t feel like I would be great company. And… well, I am not self-confidence in person, so that came on top.”

Harry felt his heart leap in his chest at her words. So she thought about me too, the singer grinned before standing up and moving to the cushioned corner in the studio. “I totally get that, don’t worry. I just thought… well. I don’t know what I thought. Maybe that I made a mistake or offended you in any way, I wasn’t aware of.” The brunette heard a chuckle, and he had to laugh softly as well. “Maybe we should decide right here, right now, to just jump into the cold water in any case of doubts and episodes of overthinking,” YN suggested with another chuckle, and Harry thought that he had never grinned this wide in his entire life. “I think that’s a great idea. Maybe we should toast to our deal with another coffee.”

He swallowed hard after the suggestion, which had slipped out of his mouth without a second thought on how that sounded, but her answering voice, instead of the beeping sound of an ended call, saved his rapidly beating heart from exploding. “Smooth, Mr. Styles, exceptionally smooth.” He could hear her grin from the opposite end of London. “What about a day trip? Just… getting out of London and maybe somewhere more peaceful? Don’t get me wrong, I love this city with my entire heart, but-“ Harry continued her sentence. “-but the paparazzi are horrible.”

He knew that feeling all too well.

“Yes! Exactly this. So… Would you be up for it? We don’t have to drive far. Maybe Reading? Oxford is a bit farther, but not as far as Brighton or Portsmouth…” Harry had to admit that he loved to listen to her ramble, slipping into the depths of her mind. It was the most adoring thing he had ever witnessed, and he hoped instantly to hear it even more often. “We can go wherever you want to go,” he returned and meant it with every single part of his being. “Reading, Oxford, Cambridge, Brighton, Bath… Road trips are fun.” He could hear her smile again—she almost always let a very short, very quiet chuckle out while forming her lips into a smile. It was strange how fast he had caught up to one of her habits. Harry had to ask himself what else he could explore when spending more time with the princess. Everything in his body tingled at the prospect of more time with YN.

“Bath is a bit far for only a day trip, don’t you think? And… do I need to prepare something special for a… road trip?” The princess spoke the word as if it meant traveling to the moon, and Harry had to cock a brow. “Your Royal Highness, do you try to let me know that you never experienced the magic of a road trip?” His voice had gained a teasing tone, the nervousness finally disappearing. Her groan made him laugh under his breath. “Do not dare and tease me about my lack of experience and knowledge! Meredith—my best friend—is not particularly hyped for long car journeys, and Archie—my other best friend—didn’t have a driver’s license until he moved to the States. And asking my two shadows always seemed kind of… odd. Not to mention my family, even though Harry would have done it if I had asked really nicely.”

The other Harry—it was funny thinking like that about himself—hummed, interested, listening intently about her life and family. He only had known the things made public, and even those were probably straight-up lies. Well, most of them, at least. “I would never think of it,” he grinned before humming again, deep in thought now.

“We would need a good playlist for the road.”

He could hear her scribble on paper.

“Consider this done,” YN decided, and Harry thought further.

“Snacks and drinks, of course.”

“That’s my job as well.”

“You can cook?” He didn’t intend to sound this surprised, but YN gladly only laughed wholeheartedly. “Yes, I am capable of following recipes and actually am able to cook and bake without them—without poisoning everyone around me, thank you very much.” Harry fully ignored Sarah’s and Mitch’s stares at his loud laugh escaping him now. “I’ll keep that in mind. But I’m providing the drinks. Is it true that you love strawberry lemonade, or is that just a straight-up lie created by tabloids to boost beverage production?” He waited for an answer while already planning to ask his mom for her recipe. “This one is, surprisingly, very true. But don’t believe the things about my morning routine if you ever stumble upon them. Who drinks Earl Grey with raw eggs? Is that even a helpful concoction in the eyes of the beauty industry? I believe not.“

It was official: Harry could listen to her all day long and wouldn’t get tired of her voice. Quite the opposite was the case—he craved more and more of those soft sounds leaving her lips.

“I can outdo this easily. I only have to say three words: bull testicles moisturizer.” Her escaping laugh was almost like music in his ear, and he wanted to write songs about it.

Harry, deep breaths. The century’s biggest crush is showing.

But it was too hard when she was not only stunningly beautiful but also funny, intelligent, and one of the gentlest and most compassionate human beings walking on this planet.

“Tabloids only hire a certain kind of people, don’t they?” YN still laughed but took a deep breath. “Okay, back to the topic at hand: do we need a picnic blanket? I mean, it is still February, and the last snow only melted yesterday, but… I don’t know, the thought seemed so enticing in my head, but it is probably not manageable without getting a horrible cold. Which I cannot cast upon you, fine sir, and I am not allowed to get sick any time soon either.” Harry could hear incomprehensible mumble reaching his ear, and he already figured out what that meant. “Busy schedule?” He desperately wanted to know more about her life; maybe he could help her a bit, and if it would just contain road trips here and there, he would do it. “Kind of. The birthday of my uncle—Edward—is coming up, and Granny is head over heels for the idea of a ball. Nothing big or fancy like the Royal Caledonian Ball in May, but still something I have to attend in a fancy, uncomfortable dress and torturing heels,” she explained with a soft groan, and Harry smiled at her being so completely normal. If the world only knew that… “How about that: We will leave the picnic blanket for now, but we’ll take it on a road trip another time?” He had spoken the words without thinking—again. He wanted to hit himself.

“Are you already planning another trip with me, Harry?” In his panicky screaming mind, he couldn’t process her tone, or if YN smiled, so he stammered around it. “I… It shouldn’t… I didn’t…” But her gentle laugh silenced him, though he could feel the blood rushing into his cheeks. “I was only teasing you, Harry. I’d be honored to have a road trip companion. So… When do you think we can do it? I’d love to say we could leave right away or tomorrow, but I’m visiting a children’s hospital.” His heart almost jumped out of his chest, and Harry had to take a deep breath. “What about next week? Tuesday? Most tourists will be around during the weekend.” He tried to think about anything that would make this day impossible to maneuver around it. “Tuesday sounds perfect. Do you want my number? Just in case something comes up?” Harry swallowed, eyes widening, but he nodded even though YN couldn’t see it. “That would be great, though there won’t be coming anything up.” He would know how to prevent that from happening.

After he had scribbled down her number next to the verse he had written earlier this evening, there was a short silence between them before YN cleared her throat.

“…Harry?”

He perked up. “Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you were my collision partner in that Starbucks.”

The singer could hear her smile appearing again—and he smiled as well.

“Me too, YN.”

;

haroldsmind He can’t stop writing. Wonder why that’s so. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with those phone calls he always accepts within a millisecond, nope 👀 Sincerely, Mitch (yes, I stole his phone for this post)

Liked by annetwist, gemmastyles, pillowpersonpp and 3 others | 5 comments

jefezoff Or that free Tuesday he demands he needs 👀

gemmastyles Phone calls? I need details? 👀

annetwist Mhmmmm 😇

haroldsmind And I wondered where my phone was. Thanks, man.

liked by mitchrowland, jefezoff, and pillowpersonpp

↳ mitchrowland I had to do it.

↳ haroldsmind And why’s that?

↳ mitchrowland Capturing it for the future so I can say “I told you”?

liked by pillowpersonpp and jefezoff

pillowpersonpp Don’t mess this up, Haz, thank you.

↳ haroldsmind I don’t know what you mean.

↳ pillowpersonpp Don’t act dumb, I want to meet her.

sunflowerbutterfly And suddenly, a bouquet of flowers appeared on my doorsteps 🙊🥺

Liked by MacMark, gingerprince, archielives and 4 others | 6 comments

archielives Excuse me while I cry in my pillows (out of pure happiness)

liked by MacMark and murderbane

MacMark Mhmmmm? 👀

↳ sunflowerbutterfly 👉🏻👈🏻

↳ MacMark I want to hear everything after that horrible family dinner tonight.

gingerprince Okay, yeah. Interesting. Do you mind pointing me in the direction of the suitor, so I can play out the big brother act?

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I seriously don’t know what you mean.

↳ gingerprince I call bullshit.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly Ah ah ah! Don’t let Grandmother dearest hear that. She could get the impression the Americans rub off on you 💀

liked by MacMark

↳ MacMark What a shock it might be if she learns that Harry was already like that before we even met 👀

liked by sunflowerbutterfly

;

YN would’ve lied if she said she wasn’t nervous as she climbed into the waiting Jeep after Bernard had pulled up in front of the palace. He had handed her the keys with a smile—he knew just as well as she that she hadn’t driven her car ever since returning from Oxford—while Aaron and Egil situated themselves in the black Audi behind her. At least she would have some privacy before picking up Harry, so she could try and calm her nerves a bit.

“Everything will be fine. Everything will be okay. It’s nothing. Just a day with the hottest and most handsome and wonderful male individual gracing this earth with his presence. It’s nothing unusual, YN. Nothing to worry about.”

She tried to calm herself with the newfound whispered mantra but failed miserably, even until the last intersection she had to cross. It was as if she was back at square one and as if the nightly phone—and even FaceTime—calls didn’t happen for the last six days. It was maddening.

Stopping at the given address marked the point of no return, especially because the door leading to his property had already got opened, and Harry bloody Styles appeared in all his handsomely glory. He held a basket in hand on which two thick blankets laid, neatly rolled up, and an umbrella in his other hand—you never knew in England. Harry turned after closing the door and spotted the described Jeep immediately—plus the sleek black Audi waiting behind it.

“Hey,” the man smiled after putting the basket in the trunk and climbing into the car seat. YN released a relieved sigh and returned the smile. “Hey,” was all she could return before—in an impulsive reaction—she leaned over the middle console and pressed a featherlike kiss on his cheek. He chuckled after YN pulled herself back onto her side of the car, cheeks trying to challenge a hydrant. “I guess the flowers arrived?” The princess nodded with another smile and started the engine to leave London behind for the day. “They did. And… and they are breathtakingly beautiful. Thank you. How did you know that periwinkles and cream roses are my favorites?” A curious expression settled on her slightly concentrated face as she maneuvered through the heavy London-ish traffic, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from staring and watching her. “I didn’t,” he grinned softly. “I just went into that flower shop, saw the florist unpacking a fresh box of cream roses and periwinkles, and thought, They look gorgeous, I have to send her them, and the rest is history, as one would say.”

She could feel how her cheeks proceeded with their goal to be just as similar as a hydrant while turning onto the A40, heading to Oxford. They had decided upon her beloved city of scarce freedom two nights ago while talking about their respective lives, and YN had sucked every word of him up like much-needed oxygen. But somewhere along the FaceTime call, during which she had settled in the comforts of her bed, the princess had fallen asleep, and Harry still couldn’t comprehend the burning but soft, warm feeling that had spread through his body at the sight of her peaceful sleeping face—because his voice had guided her into slumber. He still felt privileged because he had seen her in her most vulnerable state so far: in the comforts of her home no one outside her family and friends had ever seen before and her trust to let him see her sleep.

Don’t try to talk yourself out of it, Harry. This crush is still there, and you are falling even harder for this woman.

It was probably very true.

“Then you must be a wizard—or the Fates had their fun,” YN grinned, eyes quickly jumping up to the rear mirror before changing the lane, black Audi still behind her. She could never outrun them, not even if she took lessons with the Fast and the Furious cast. “You know, I can drive us as well.” But at his words, the princess settled into an even more comfortable seating position—almost slouching in the driver’s seat. “Nah-uh. You can drive us back home if you like, but maybe I won’t let you then either because it was my idea.” She paused, and her thumb softly stroked over the steering wheel. “And I missed driving, to be quite honest. Haven’t done it since returning to London full-time.” Harry slouched as well; long legs outstretched and an elbow propped up on the small space next to the window. “So, this is a drive along memory lane?” He asked, and YN nodded with a radiant smile. “It totally is, yep. I always took this road when driving back on Sundays if my presence was needed in good ol’ London. Same car, same black Audi behind me, with the exact same men inside it. But this now… this is much better.” Harry could witness the transformation from that radiant smile into a shy one and—again—couldn’t stop staring.

YN chuckled, embarrassed, and shook her head softly. “That sounded too cheesy, even for my standards,” she mumbled, but suddenly, she felt a warm, much bigger hand enveloping the one resting on the gear stick, lacing their fingers together. The princess only spared a quick glance down but was taken aback at how good their hands looked together; how they fitted almost perfectly. She had never thought that this was possible—that her brain went into overdrive just at the mere sight of two hands together. Or that her stomach fluttered like a tornado of butterflies at the feeling of his warm skin pressed against hers in the most innocent but intimate gestures this world had to offer.

But there was probably always a time for firsts.

“Not too cheesy,” Harry almost whispered, and YN couldn’t stop but push their fingers closer together, getting a better hold on them and reveling in this unexpected feeling. “Okay,” she grinned softly and pointed her finger in the direction of the audio system. “Would you mind? I’m a bit… preoccupied.” Laughing, Harry watched her as she helplessly shrugged her shoulders; one hand at the steering wheel and the other clasped in the soft embrace of his hand. “Of course.” He touched the display to wake it up and was suddenly faced with a fully prepared playlist. Instead of looking through the titles YN had put on there, he only started the list and widened his eyes as the first tunes of Heart Of The Country by Paul McCartney filled the car.

“Where did you…-“ Harry couldn’t even end his question, too stunned he felt, and YN reveled in his expressions. “I wasn’t an A-student for nothing.” The satisfied grin was accompanied by her thumb gently caressing his hand—YN could not not cave into that desire. “I took my research very seriously,” the princess nodded proudly, while Harry leaned even further back into the seat and shook his head unbelievingly. “You constantly amaze me, Your Highness,” he finally spoke as Heart Of The Country ended, and Bridge Over Troubled Water started. YN granted herself one very quick look over to him, saw his slightly blushed cheeks, the small smile on his lips, those mesmerizing eyes settled entirely upon her, and looked back to the traffic in front of her.

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

She really wasn’t sure.

His following chuckle would’ve swept her off her feet if she didn’t sit already.

“It’s more than just a good thing.” So much more.

;

ynismyqueen Excuse me while I sob uncontrollably.

SHE WAS ONLY A HANDFUL OF FEET AWAY FROM ME.

I BREATHED THE SAME AIR AS SHE DID

‼️AND HARRY WAS WITH HER‼️

Liked by royalistsbitch, yn_harryshipper, yourfan1, hsfan1, and 358 others | 99 comments

royalistsbitch I spilled my tea.

yn_harryshipper WHAT?! IS MY DREAM REALLY COMING TRUE

↳ ynismyqueen I THINK SO??!!! They sat SO close to one another 😩 And their expressions were EVERYTHING 😩

↳ yn_harryshipper screaming crying dying right now.

hsfan1 another account posted the pictures of Harry, but I can’t find them anymore!!! 😭

↳ hsfan2 perhaps you mean harrystylesfanpage?

↳ hsfan1 Yes. YES! Thanks so much!

liked by harrystylesfanpage and hsfan2

yourfan1 Can somebody recall a day in the past months where she looked this happy???

↳ yourfan2 Nope.

↳ ynismyqueen Only the day she met Harry in that Starbucks

↳ yourfan1 True! I missed her smile 🥺

↳ yourfan2 +1

↳ ynismyqueen +2

harrystylesforever I probably died, and this is just the afterlife where all your ships become a reality.

Liked by ynismyqueen, yourfan1, hsfan1, hsfan2, harrystylesfanpage, and 1,219 others | 311 comments

hsfan1 i kinda love the content, but i kinda feel bad because those photos violet their privacy, urgh

liked by yourfan1 and 113 others

↳ yourfan1 Same, bestie, same.

hsfan2 Look at how they sit 😮‍💨

ynismyqueen Still not over these two. And it’s so sweet that they do it here in Oxford because Oxford means so much to YN 🥹❤️

↳ yourfan2 Had the same thought. She probably showed him her favorite spots in the city 🥺

harrystylesfanpage We’re really rooting for these two now. Haters gonna hate soon, but we don’t care. We love a happy Harry! And a happy YN!

;

sunflowerbutterfly Who needs cooks when they have a cooking Harry? 🤷🏼‍♀️

Liked by murderbane, gingerprince, MacMark, and 3 others | 4 comments

MacMark Harry Styles is in the palace kitchen, and nobody thought to give me a heads up?

↳ sunflowerbutterfly We sneaked in. No grand announcements possible 🤷🏼‍♀️

↳ MacMark Aha 👀

gingerprince You are lucky I’m not there.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly 🙄💀

↳ gingerprince But seriously, YNN. I wanna have a word with him if this continues.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I don’t know what you mean, Henry Charles Albert David.

↳ murderbane COULD YOU PLEASE STOP WITH THE SELF DENIAL?!

liked by gingerprince

↳ gingerprince Thank you, Meredith. What she said 👆🏻

liked by murderbane

↳ sunflowerbutterfly I hate you both. If you’ll excuse me, I have a guest.

archielives YOU GO GIRL!!!

murderbane Will the cooks keep their mouths shut?

↳ archielives They will. They adore YN to pieces.

haroldsmind Chef Harold is here to save the day👨🏽‍🍳

↳ sunflowerbutterfly Well, the food is already smelling (and looking) delicious

↳ murderbane I can’t see the first reply, but I’m sure it’s Harry, so here is the 1,000,000£ question of the evening: Do you really mean the food or the cook only inches away from said food?

liked by archielives

↳ sunflowerbutterfly 🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

↳ archielives Those emojis won’t save you, dear.

liked by murderbane

;

“Do you need anything else, Your Highness?” One of the cooks asked after Harry had divided the spaghetti between two plates—the plain white ones, not the fancy porcelain with the white gold designed edges—and YN shook her head while Harry gathered the two plates and a bottle of wine. She already held the two mugs in hand, out of which they would drink it. Who needs fancy glasses made out of crystal? “No, Chef Laurent, but thank you. You all can head home and to bed—we will be just fine. But please don’t lock the freezer, that would be really great, and I would appreciate it on an entirely different level.”

Who knew, maybe she craved ice cream at night?

The chef of chefs nodded and started to usher everyone out of his realm. “You know it is only Laurent, Your Highness,” he scolded her with a smile, but YN shrugged. “And you know I told you I would start using only your name if you drop the title as well. Good night!” YN coaxed the bottle out of Harry’s grasp, smile on her face, so that he could use both hands for the plates, and guided him back to her apartment after passing the several stairs to the second floor of the east wing. It was far enough away from her brother, Kate, and the kids to be quiet enough but not too far away if YN felt the need for her eldest brother’s hugs or advice from her sister-in-law. And so the entire second-floor wing belonged to her—including the attic above her six-room apartment.

“They really love you,” Harry said, and the princess cocked her head slowly from side to side, unsure. “Maybe. Maybe they are just friendly because they have known me my entire life and always had to keep up with me stealing the cakes out of the cooling room. Maybe they are just friendly because they get paid to be. Who knows.” She always had a hard time believing that people actually liked her for herself and not for the title, her family, or position—the latter containing connections and relationships with powerful and influential people. She had learned early in her life that it wasn’t her title that contained said things because even with a title, one could be as insignificant as a stone in the mud.

Her uncle Andrew was only the most recent example. The thought alone made her skin prickle in the most unpleasant of ways.

But Harry thought differently about the kitchen staff. “I believe they do. I’m not blind; I saw their faces when we entered, and you greeted them. They love you. They would cook you the grandest dinner in the middle of the night if you’d ask. And, to be honest, it doesn’t surprise me a bit.” They had reached the last step and turned right to pass the long corridor and finally reach the french doors to her very own realm. “Why doesn’t it?” YN had to ask. Harry grinned down at the blonde, and if he didn’t carry their dinner, he would stretch a hand out to push that blonde strand out of her face and behind her ear, maybe steal a quick touch of her soft skin. But instead, she did it herself with a hectic move which he knew that it screamed insecurity. “Because you, YN, are a compassionate and loving person. You treat people with unbelievable kindness and tend to them if they need you. I saw those pictures from your trip to the hospital—every single one of these kids, and even their parents and the staff loved you. They respect you. It’s who you are. And it’s inevitable to fall to your feet.”

He swallowed before turning again and walking to the mentioned doors, the princess closely next to him. She opened one of them without a single word and let them into her sacred halls. Harry let his eyes wander again—they had been up here shortly before going down to the kitchen and making dinner—and he still couldn’t grasp the coziness of this place. Everything seemingly screamed “YN” in every octave and sound he could imagine. He may not know her for long, but it was enough to picture the perfect home for the woman now striding to the small coffee table in front of the fireplace to clean it off books and paperwork. Two comfortable-looking pillows found their way onto the softly looking carpet; two fluffy blankets followed just as closely. He carried the two plates over, settled them onto the table, and plopped down next to YN on the ground, watching her as she skillfully decapitated the wine and poured it into the two mugs.

She finally looked up to him again because even while sitting, Harry almost loomed over her. “Which one do you like?” The question got asked with both mugs in hands, raising them now onto eye level, so Harry could inspect each of them more closely. “A fancy and noteworthy selection, miss, and a tough decision.” She nodded, suppressing her grin. “Indeed,” YN answered with the most serious tone she could master. “I will happily take the I survived my trip to New York City mug if you don’t mind.” The princess handed the white mug with the yellow cab over to the singer while taking a better hold of her own mug Meredith had made for her birthday three years ago. The dark blue “YN’s Rule #16 - Never mess with a Princess’ coffee if you want to live” still made her chuckle every time she looked at that mug. She may have graduated with honors, but she definitely had pulled many all-nighters with Mer to watch every single episode of NCIS. She still was a young woman with a burning passion for tv shows and Hollywood movies, after all.

“An excellent choice, sir,” YN grinned before taking the first sip of some white wine she had found in the kitchen—and which suited their dinner if one could believe a world-known chef. But then, she turned serious again, swallowing dryly before opening her mouth and asking the boiling and tickling question. “You said something about it being inevitable to fall to my feet. Does… does this statement include… well, you?” Only a second after the question mark had left her lips, the princess felt the blood rushing into her face, and her lungs stopped working entirely while her heart working overtime. Almost hectically, the blonde turned to their food and tried to find the manual on how to use a fork again in her brain. But emptiness was all that greeted her up there. “I’m sorry,” YN whispered then, not daring to raise her gaze. “I shouldn’t have asked that. It is none of my business, I suppose, so… forget I ever asked.” The muscle in her chest ached, and YN wished desperately to reverse the past twenty seconds to return to the fluffy mood they had created with those silly mugs.

A warm finger underneath her chin guided YN’s face gently into another direction, pushing her to look Harry right into his handsome face, those sea green eyes intently wandering over her face before they stared right into hers. “If you allow it.” His voice was a husky whisper in the silence of her living room. YN blinked slowly, not daring to move too fast in utter fear she would destroy this moment when moving too suddenly. “What?” Her voice had never sounded this breathless in her entire life. Harry softly grabbed her chin with his thumb, his pointer finger still resting underneath it. “If you allow me to fall to your feet, I will happily do it. I’m probably already at your feet without even knowing it, hoping to have the honor to get to know you better, spend more time with you, show you how you deserve to be treated every single minute of every single day. To cook for you after a road trip, full of singing along the playlist, in that massive kitchen downstairs, while you’re sitting on the counter, reaching for every spice I need, adorable smile on your pretty face. To show you my kitchen and living room where we could play Monopoly all night long while eating Chinese takeout, reading the notes of our fortune cookies out loud. To take you out to a proper sushi restaurant because takeout sushi doesn’t count. Convincing you there that green tea and sushi are a delicious combination. I will do all that and more if you allow it.”

Harry stopped for a short moment to take a deep breath and tried to soothe his rapidly beating heart. Forgotten was the steaming pasta next to them, the wine in their silly mugs, the unfamiliar environment the singer found himself in.

Only YN had space in his mind.

Only YN was important now.

“Will you allow it, YN?”

And her barely observable nod was everything he had ever wanted.

;

haroldsmind Incognito 101: how to pull off the sunglasses-hat-combination without a single ray of sunshine.

Liked by pillowpersonpp, gemmastyles, annetwist, jefezoff, and 5 other | 8 comments

gemmastyles I think I just hyperventilated.

↳ annetwist Deep breaths, love 😇

↳ gemmastyles Don’t be the calm one now, Mom!!!!

jefezoff So, this is where you disappeared to today 👀

↳ mitchrowland I told you 👀

↳ jefezoff I know, but I thought it couldn’t be true 👀

pillowpersonpp Excuse me, I have to get my worldview in a new order.

sunflowerbutterfly I just entered this magical realm and suddenly faced myself. That’s surprising.

↳ sunflowerbutterfly (No, it is not because you asked very lovely if you could post this one here.)

↳ haroldsmind 😊

liked by gemmastyles, pillowpersonpp, annetwist, and 2 others

↳ gemmastyles He is using emojis. I’m repeating, he is using emojis.

↳ haroldsmind 🙄

liked by gemmastyles and sunflowerbutterfly

;

Lying between pillows, blankets, and comforters spread over the fluffy carpet in front of the now crackling fireplace, YN held Pride and Prejudice securely in her hands. Harry laid beside her, propped up on one arm, eyes fully taking in the woman next to him, while her lips moved and let the words of her most favorite novel out in the air.

“But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.”

The singer smiled at the sight of her closing eyes with a deep, comfortable sigh escaping YN and letting the old book slowly rest on her chest. The cover, though… “Wait. Is this the same book…?” Harry didn’t even need to end his question because YN turned her head, eyes opening, and her slight grin gave him the answer. “It looks so old. I remember thinking the same, especially while holding it, but I thought Harry, she would never bring an old book to a Starbucks.” Now, her grin held a piece of secret knowledge, and the princess sat up in their self-made coziness. Harry followed her close, still resting his weight on one hand that rested closely behind her back, and looked over her shoulder to see what she was doing. Her fingers let the pages fall back into their usual position and opened the first page. The tips of her fingers softly stroked over the old, yellowish paper until they reached the printed year of release. His eyes fell on the black ink above her finger, and the singer felt as if his eyes would pop out of his head.

“What the….-“ His voice died down, and he scooted closer, not thinking about it further, and not even the pressing feeling of their legs against each other could pull him out of his disbelieving daze. “This can’t be…” But her chuckle proved otherwise. “It is,” she grinned, and Harry stretched out his hand to intently grace the surface of this first edition. “And you brought this first edition to a Starbucks? Seriously?” YN chuckled again and let her thumb tenderly stroke over the cover after closing it. “It’s a bit… no, very posh, I know. But I never owned another copy of Pride and Prejudice because I never think about it when I’m in a bookstore. And… I’m biased in buying another edition, to be quite honest. They were my firsts, you know? Thanks to them, I fell in love with literature, with books, and the written word. It feels like betraying my one true love.” YN chuckled with a head shake.

But Harry understood it and nodded his head. “It’s like for me with music, with my guitars, my piano. I understand. It’s still more extra than I have ever thought could be possible.” YN shoved him playfully to his side, and the singer laughed loudly, the princess following close. “Better carrying one first edition volume rather than all three, don’t you think?” The brunette grinned up at the woman still sitting upright on their makeshift island of comfort. “True,” he agreed, and after YN had put the book on the soft cushions of the sofa next to them, she settled back onto their island, head slowly resting on Harry’s outstretched arm.

She moved her face to look up at him, furrowing her brows in question. “Is that okay?” The man hummed in agreement at the almost whispered ask—soft expression settling on his face while watching the blonde woman, settling closer to his body without even thinking.

“Was there ever a time when you wanted to do something different than what you do?” Her question pulled Harry back to her after losing himself in the view of her right next to him, head resting comfortably on his biceps. One shoulder got shrugged, and he was quiet for longer than intended because YN had started to play with a loose thread on his hoodie. “Before everything—before X-Factor and finding the boys, starting the band, going solo—I thought of attending university as my sister did. Maybe something along law, sociology, and business. But then everything changed, and I remember how I once sat in my room, trying to figure everything out, and thought how music had changed my life and, finally, that music was the one thing I wanted to do. Plus, I never was a good student, so university would have probably been a struggle throughout.”

While talking, Harry had looked upwards to the ceiling, but now, his gaze settled back on YN, realizing that she had observed him while telling her all these things. And at the sight of her bright blue eyes, which always reminded him of a spring or summer sky, he had to ask something. “Do you mind it?” Creases formed on her pale forehead as YN knitted her eyebrows. “What do you mean?” Her voice was quiet, not to disturb the peace they had found after dinner. “Do you mind I never went to university? Never graduated and earned degrees?” The princess propped herself up on one arm and starring down onto the brunette with still knitted brows. “Are you asking me if I mind that you’re a singer?” At his nod, YN sighed gently and, with her fingertip, booped his nose. “Of course not, silly,” she smiled. “I actually admire you and your decision to do what you love, to follow your heart. It’s more than I have ever done.” Now it was her turn to shrug her shoulder. “My decision to study literature was the only thing in my life I actually decided myself without getting pressured into it.”

Now thinking more closely about it, YN decided that her life was not only sad but pathetic.

“What would you do if you had the choice?” Harry’s question let YN settle back closely next to him—he was so perfectly warm and invitingly comfortable to snuggle up to, and his arm the best pillow in the world. She didn’t need to think long about it. “Probably something with literature. Maybe an editor—finding new talents in the writing industry, publishing them, giving them a voice. Or maybe something with art.” The easel in the other room almost screamed for her undivided attention. Harry looked surprised but impressed. “I didn’t know you painted,” he said, and YN hummed, moving her head slowly closer and closer to his shoulder. “Few people know about it. The public does not belong to this circle of knowing people, though. There are few things they don’t know about me, and I revel in every single one of them—my painting and drawing are a part of it.” Harry chuckled at the mischievous glimmer in her blue eyes. “You little devil,” the singer whispered, a grin tucking at his lips, and, without a second thought, pressed a tender kiss to the princess’s forehead and hairline.

YN closed her eyes at the feeling of his lips against her skin; relishing in it because it had been long since her heart had fluttered like an excited bird in a cage, shortly before it would get opened to release the little creature into freedom. “It’s a lonely life,” she suddenly whispered, barely above her breath, because the princess had never admitted this part of her mind, not even to Archibald or Meredith. “Tell me about it.” Harry’s response was just as quiet as hers. “There isn’t much to tell. It is just… lonely, especially when one of your parents is already long dead and your father has a new wife you never warmed up to, and when you are constantly surrounded by people who do not care for you. I’m barely alone. And yet I feel incredibly lonesome. I have Meredith, of course, but she has her own wonderfully successful life, and I am so immensely proud of her and her achievements. Archibald escaped this life because it was easy for him—too far behind in succession to have a realistic chance. But I cannot… leave. I have to stay and hope to not lose my mind like my mother somewhere along the road and do something irrational and destroyingly.” YN stopped to breathe deeply; trying to fight down the rising tears. “I’ve never expected to be so lonely and to feel like I am trapped constantly,” she finally muttered, feeling Harry’s arm slowly enveloping her shoulders and tightening his hold on her. But it didn’t hurt—quite the opposite: she felt protected in the best possible way.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered into her blonde hair, feeling her shrug under his arm and hand. “I should be used to it by now, but sometimes the feeling and thoughts return like a crashing wave, and I have to figure out how to prevent being dragged down under the surface by the current and thrown into the ocean. I never intend to become a delicious snack for sharks.” The singer laughed under his breath at the comparison but tightened his hold further nonetheless. “If you ever consider finding a job, let me know. You would be a great songwriter,” he tried to lighten up the mood but meant it at the same time because YN was good with words. Probably better than many people in the industry. “Don’t be silly,” she laughed against his shoulder. “I would write novels, short stories, or children’s books—fewer rules, more creative freedom. Songs have to rhyme, have a rhythm, and I am not good with either of those. I preferably enjoy music made by others than me—yours, for example.” YN lightly nudged the man into his side, and while she tried to nuzzle her face into the soft fabric of his—deliciously smelling—hoodie, her eyes fell on top the small clock settling atop the still crackling fireplace, but the flames slowly died down, the wood already half-eaten.

Her eyes shot open, but YN didn’t let her body shoot up in panic. Instead, the princess hummed interested, acknowledging, and Harry made a questioning noise somewhere deep in his chest.

“Do not panic—“

“It’s never soothing to start a sentence like that.”

Giggling, YN looked up and reached for his lips to put her fingers on top of them in order to silence the man. “Shush.” She could feel him smile against her fingertips. “Do not panic, but it’s already half past six.” Her voice lowered itself as if it was forbidden to be still wide awake. Now it was Harry’s turn to look at the clock with wide eyes. “How did that happen,” he asked, curiosity clear in his voice. “I don’t know. Do you mind? Is it bad? Do you have an early morning?”

She should’ve checked earlier—or asked him before they even drove to Oxford, to begin with.

His headshake soothed her bubbling anxiety. “No, of course not. Everything is alright. It just didn’t feel like we spent more than eight hours talking and reading. And I don’t want to… to let this end already.” YN watched how his eyes jumped over every inch of her face, desperately trying to remember every mark and freckle. “Hey.” Her soft voice and even softer skin of her knuckles caressing his cheek let him stop. “I will not disappear, H. I will be right here.” The nickname had slipped without thought, and the singer felt his body burn and heart racing. “Okay,” he mumbled with a dry mouth. “I am only a phone call or text away. And if I don’t react immediately, don’t worry—I will call or text back, pinky promise.” YN moved her hand off his cheek and stretched her pinky out for him to grab with his own. He did it without hesitation. “Same goes for you, y’know?” The princess nodded slowly before taking another glance at the clock.

“I can drive you home if you want,” she suggested, but the knitted brows of the singer let her stop right away. “That’s not how this works. I’m the one who brings you back home. I won’t let you drive alone back here, in the dark and cold. Nope, not gonna happen.” YN sighed with a smile tucking at the corners of her mouth. “Well, okay, fine gentleman. At least let me call you a cab and bring you down to the gate then.” She would’ve loved to ask Bernard if he could drive him so he wouldn’t have needed to wait in the cold, but she didn’t want to wake the poor man in the middle of the night.

This was something Harry could live with, so he nodded and waited until YN had peeled herself off his shoulder to stand up. The brunette stretched a hand out, palm facing up, and the blonde took it without hesitating a second, letting him pull her up, and the woman couldn’t stop her wandering eyes from resting on his strong biceps hidden by his sunflower-yellow hoodie. Calling herself out mentally, YN averted her gaze and slipped back into her sneakers, waiting next to the French doors, and wanted to open them, but Harry was quick to hold the door close. With a questioning expression, the princess looked up, raising both eyebrows, watching the man who stared her down.

“Coat?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, it will not take hours.” And she tried to open the door again. But Harry was as persistent as she loved to be. “Coat. I won’t let you out without another layer.” Another eye roll followed, but the woman finally rounded him to grab her hanging coat. He turned as well to help her slip into the thick and soft fabric before Harry gave her a once over and suddenly grabbed right over her shoulder to retrieve a scarf. “Oh, are you bloody kiddi…-“ But he had already started to wrap the article around her neck; his concentrated expression made the princess chuckle into the fabric. “Satisfied?” She asked Harry as he seemed to be done, and the singer grinned down at her covered form, plucking the scarf to its perfect position. “Now? Yes,” he agreed and finally let her open the door while slipping into his coat himself.

They walked the stairs in comfortable silence, and as they slipped out the front door, YN shrieked at a sudden movement to her right. She clung to Harry’s side, fingers burrowed into the arm of his coat, eyes wide in shock as they stared at an already working Bernard. “Your Highness,” the driver chuckled while bowing swiftly. “Bernard!” YN pressed a hand to her rapidly beating heart and inhaled the cold early morning air deep into her lungs. “I thought you’d still be at home.” The middle-aged man and Harry nodded to each other respectfully before he looked back at the princess. “Your brother and sister-in-law have appointments to attend, but there is still much time in case you need my service, princess.” YN quickly looked from Bernard to Harry—she let go of the poor man’s arm as it dawned on her that she still clung to it—before looking back to her favorite driver. “Actually…,” the blonde started. “Would it be possible to get him home safely? We forgot the time, and I do not want to dump him into a cab.”

The singer tried to protest because he didn’t mind taking a cab, but the driver was faster in his response. “Of course, Your Highness. Mr. Styles.” YN rolled her eyes with a smile and led Harry to the shining black SUV. “How does he know who I am?” He only dared to whisper the question. “He has two sixteen-year-old daughters, plus barely anything is secret within these walls. The bush radio never sleeps,” she whispered back, chuckling softly as they arrived at the back door.

Harry opened it while Bernard had already situated himself behind the wheel and started the engine, his eyes resting on the blonde’s face. She smiled up at him. “This was by far the best day in a very long time,” YN spoke first and let his face settle into her memory, saving everything she could put in a folder up there. But instead of saying something himself, Harry grabbed her hand softly and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her middle. He could feel her arms encompassing his neck and how she leaned her hairline against his jawline after he had bent his head a bit. “I‘ll call later,” Harry murmured and dared to touch her temple with a feather-like kiss. “Get some sleep first,” YN mumbled back and pulled gently back. “Text me when you get home, okay?” The man grinned tenderly at the evident concern lacing her voice. “Will do.”

With that, he got into the car, and after one last look at her, Harry closed the door, and the vehicle ventured off the palace’ grounds, leaving a squealing YN with reddened cheeks behind.

;

This one got… long. Holymoly. But it’s here! I hope y’all enjoyed it as much as I did while writing it. As usual: Comments, reblogs, and likes are much appreciated <3

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lazyalani · 1 year

Text

| Mikage Reo × [GN!Reader]

| Love is

| Angst, No Happy Ending, Acceptance, Understanding, Not Proofread

| Summary: When your boyfriend's ex suddenly comes back running to his life, what becomes of your relationship?

| Blue Lock Masterlist

| Main Masterlist

"And there's one more boy, he's from my past."

To you, Mikage Reo is a gentle, lively, and caring person. A lovely boyfriend who tends to your needs all the time. He spends time with you and takes off something in his schedule when it clashes with your plans. He takes care of you when your sick, you have cramps, or just small headaches. He buys you the things you need and want, eventhough you don't ask for it. He brags about you to other people. He talks to you about his daily life. He asks for your day. He comforts you. He gives you advices. Sounds perfect, huh?

To other people, your relationship is perfect. You were known as the perfect couple. Small arguments and disagreements here and there, right amount of affection every single time.

To you, it's what makes your relationship imperfect.

Something about Reo's smile whenever people compliment your relationship irks you to the bone. Whenever he smiles when people ask how long have you been together. The way he looks at you when you lie down in bed together. The way he smiles at you when you watch movies, play games, and hold hands. Something inside you cracks little by little. The way he stares at you..

like you're somebody else.

When you look into his eyes, you see someone else.

"We fell in love but it didn't last."

Yukimiya stares at your dazed figure from across the table.

"Hey, you okay?" He worriedly snaps you out of your trance.

You blink once. "Oh, yeah, sure, I'm fine."

He nods his head disapprovingly. "You don't honestly expect me to believe that, do you?"

"Well, I sure hoped you did." You exhaled heavily.

"Let me rephrase my question, Are you and Reo okay?"

You chuckled bitterly. "I'd say yes and lie again but that'd make this conversation longer."

Your friend sighed and leaned back to his chair. "Is it about..."

"His ex, yes."

Yukimiya grimaced at your fast answer.

You stared at him blankly. "I'm not as naive and clueless as you all think I am, Yukki. I may be acting like the usual lovey partner of Reo, but I'm not dumb."

"Nobody said you are..."

"But I know you all want me to be."

Yukimiya stayed silent.

"You all want me to stay clueless, naive, unknowing. Just so what? Just so I don't get hurt? So we can keep the act of being the perfect couple? So I can remain the same person who thinks Reo only has eyes for me? The same person who thinks they have Reo's heart." You held the tears prickling on your eyes. You don't want to cry in public.

"'Cause the second I figure it out he pushes me away."

"I know you didn't have bad intentions, Yukki. But I'm tired. Tired of being the person who doesn't know anything. Tired of being the person who's kept out of reality. The person who's stuck at a Fairy Tale Fantasy."

"And I won't fight for love if you won't meet me half way."

You come inside your shared apartment with Reo, taking of your outdoor shoes and preparing to greet him when you heard him talking to someone in his phone. He seemes so immersed in the conversation that he didn't hear you opening and closing the door.

"You have guts to call me even after everything, you asshole."

Your eyebrow raised. Who was he talking to? Does Reo have an enemy or something?

"You're coming back where?"

Your blood ran cold.

"And why the hell are you telling me this?"

"You... you can't just call me and tell me that after... after what you did!"

You felt your heart racing. Could it be?

"You left me! You left me to chase that dream of yours! You left me for England!"

You took a deep sigh and tried to steady your breathing.

"You could've stayed with me and played for england at the same time, Nagi! But what did you do? You called me a burden, a hassle, you walked away like it was nothing and left me."

You could feel your heart bleeding.

"I still love you, you bastard."

"And I say that I'm through but this song's still for you."

Your heart broke with him. You couldn't stop the tears from falling this time.

"You need a place to stay when you land? No, you can't stay in my apartment, I..... I'll just find you a hotel or something." And he quickly hang up.

You steadied yourself on the wall. You didn't know if the pain you're feeling is from the headache or your heart. But maybe it's both.

You wiped your tears and forced yourself to stand up and face him. You walked inside and called out to him.

"Reo..."

His head quickly turned to you, and you watched as his face turn horrified when he saw your tear stained face.

You smiled bitterly. Ah, I thought I could have a little bit more time with him.

As you stare at his messed up hair and equally tear stained face, you decided you couldn't do it afterall. You couldn't bear to be with him even for just a little bit more time.

"[Name]... I--" He knew you heard just from your face. He didn't know what to say either, should he say sorry first? Should he explain and try to fix whatever is broken?

He didn't know what to do, so you decided for him.

"Reo, let's talk calmly, hm?"

The guilt that settled on his stomach came up faster. He sat across from where you are standing.

You took a deep breath. "I.... I had wondered before when it went wrong, where it went wrong, but as time passed by, I realized something, it nothing went wrong, it was always wrong."

Reo closed his eyes hard and held his tears.

"I always knew something wasn't right. With our relationship, with us. I guess I just chose to ignore out of... love. I chose to be ignorant. I got upset when I realized that our friends wanted me to stay clueless, but I ignored the fact that at one point, I myself wanted to remain naive. I wanted to be still and keep on living at the same daydream I had created in my mind. The daydream completely opposite from the harsh reality. The harsh reality where you don't actually love me. The same daydream in where you love me, and only me." You kept yourself from stuttering and sobbing.

Reo shooked his head and stood up. He went up to you, cupped your cheeks with both of his hands and held your foreheads together.

"Don't say that, I love you, okay? I love you, [Name], so don't say I don't, hm?" His voice was shaking.

"But I'm not the only one, right?"

His tears fell down as he kissed your forehead.

"All I want is love that last, is all I want too much to ask?"

This time, you didn't stop your tears from falling.

"It was him. It was always him, right? When we lay down for cuddles, when you hold my hand, when you brag to our friends, when we watch movies, when we play games, when we eat, when you take care of me." He kept shaking his head as you say everything.

"When you tell me 'I love you'. It was always him, wasn't it?"

"Is it something wrong with me?"

He runs his fingers through his hair and brings you to the couch, sitting you on his lap and keeping your foreheads touching. "No, no, you're wrong. You're wrong, [Name]. It wasn't him. It wasn't..."

You sobbed harder. "But sometimes it was, right?"

Both of you are a mess. Physically and Emotionally.

"All I want is a good guy,"

"Reo, it's time."

He shook his head harder. "No, it's not."

"Reo..."

"It's not." He sobbed and hid his face on your neck. "Please, don't leave me, too."

You close your eyes and bit your lip to stop yourself from screaming your heart out. It breaks you even further to see him like this. You were mad at Nagi for breaking Reo like this.

But you were going to stand your ground and you were not going to change your mind. You weren't going to destroy yourself for someone, not even Reo.

"Reo." You cupped his cheeks and turned his face to yours. "Listen to me, we can't go on like this." You cried.

"I'll-- I'll work hard to move on from him. I won't talk to him, I won't reply, I won't... I'll be better. It will only be you."

"Are my expectations far too high?"

"And won't be able to live with the guilt knowing I made you do something you don't want. Reo, we both know you don't want to stop loving him, and we both know you can't."

He doesn't say anything and just cries. You both just sit there in silence for minutes. And he thinks during those minutes. About everything.

He makes up his mind and decides not to be selfish. He takes your face and brings your lips to his, kissing you as if it's the last time. When your lips part, he cups your face once again and tells you from the bottom of his heart,

"I love you, [Name]. I love you, I love you so much. I never want you to think that I never loved you during our relationship. I want you to remember that even in all this pain I've caused you, I love you. I'm sorry, darling. If-- if you could just promise me one thing, to never forget these, okay? Hm?" He looks for your answer and you're too busy wiping your tears so you nod furiously.

"I forgive you, Reo."

He shooks his head. "You don't have to--"

"I forgive you because I understand. I understand what it feels like to be in so inlove. I don't hold a grudge against you, I'm disappointed that you pursued me while still loving Nagi, but I don't hold a grudge. I know what it feels like to be greedy, to just want to be happy, to be selfish. Yes, I'm hurting, yes, you hurt me, but you're hurting too. And me, knowing that feeling and being inlove with you, is enough for me to understand and forgive."

He had his eyes closed during your speech, cherishing the way you gently soeak to him, relishing in the way your thumb brushes his cheeks--your touch brings him peace.

"So Reo, thank you, for making me happy."

"No, thank you, for everything, [Name]."

"Will you stay with me just until morning, darling?" You agreed, marking this as your last night and morning together.

You both lay down in bed, sticking your last moments toegther in your memories.

You packed your bags and left in the morning, refusing to wake up Reo.

As you were passing through the bedroom door, you saw Reo's phone in the living room, lighting up from the side of your eye, vibrating, but no sound.

My Treasure..... Calling...

A tear fell down and you left.

"Try my best, but what can I say,

All I have is myself at the end of the day."

Oh my fucking God, it hurts.

Love is..

Selfish, and Selfless, at the same time.

"But shouldn't that be enough, for me?"

#blue lock #blue lock angst #blue lock x reader #mikage reo #mikage reo x reader #nagi seishiro

313 notes · View notes

widowsofchaos · 2 months

Note

could you please do prompt 168 with carol x fem reader? if you’re comfortable writing that of course:)

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐭

synopsis: Trying to find peace at your job’s gala, but a familiar haunting shadow finds you once more.

pairing: dark!Carol Danvers x brown!fem!reader

ao3 // modern au // 5k words.

warnings: dubious wlw smut (forced stimulation, vaginal fingering), stockholm syndrome, toxic established relationship, domestic violence, mention of childhood abuse.

a/n: Carol’s outfit reference. title is a reference to the song, Mary by Alex G. requested 168. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” from this dialogue prompt list. dog metaphors, because I must write pain. Channeled my inner amy dunne for Carol. I’m sorry that I’m just finishing this 2 years later, but I hope whoever requested this, I hope you see this! <3

“She became the parent, the lover, the friend you’ve always craved for—- and yet, here you are,”

The truth can sting, just the sharp tip of a knife, flickering at the raw flesh. Poking and prodding till there’s small plots of ichor forming.

“——broken…” Her index finger arched, halting her words, still a vivid memory, “…. but not beyond repair.”

A scoff escapes.

“What is love without hate, I guess.” Unconsciously it spewed from your lips, the vowels felt like acidic vomit. A pregnant silence arose.

That all knowing head tilt, with those observant eyes—- always earned uncomfortable tension within you.

“Love isn’t meant to be confused with hate.”

The cigarette burns slow between your clenched fingers, nursing three fingers deep. Brown liquor swishes against the carved rocks glass, its clear silver grooves twinkles under the gala’s vermilion hues.

Fragments of words compulsively knock against the walls of your brain; as you mull at the gala’s open bar. A scorned woman who just wants peace, and quiet. Lingering stains of hurt that can last a lifetime settles to silence for once in a long time.

Showered an ugly duckling with affections, and built the pillars of security. Growing up in a childhood filled with anxiety and fear of attachments, lingering stains of abuse from the very beings who birthed you into this world.

She cleaned you, bandaged the scars, and assured you that she was the only one who adored you—- persisted that she was the only one who would.

Now, fighting violently in the legal battlefield of divorce, these past weeks have been mentally exhausting —- all whilst handling the burdening responsibilities of your profession.

Your very mind and hands helped craft this sophisticated gallery.

Your boss, Mr. Laufeyson, opened a new exhibit in the National art museum—- Norse history, one of his niche fixations. A man birthed on Norwegian soil, but raised in the monarchal land of England.

An established man who often seeks to explore the rich culture of his ancestors with much sophisticated adoration, and esteem. The Norse exhibit is now the largest section of the institution, with vast collections of rare artifacts protected behind hard stainless glass.

He breathed down your neck for long weeks, you had the task of restoring each piece that had been brought in, nearly breaking your damn back from all the hovering.

A gala bustling with a sea of middle-class folk, and self-proclaimed aristocrats of New York. You sought solace at the open bar, smoking a stogie—- and slipping into the whiskey.

It wasn’t a preferred choice, but it helps give a quick kick to your nerves. Seeking solitude away from pressures to gallant with faux professionalism, and an particular noisy friend, who should be presenting the Norse gods section.

Earlier, she was pestering with a thousand questions flying by the mouth —- if you ever gave thought to rekindling with Carol.

Dissociating into a mindless static, flickering at your clear square nails, as your cigarette burns slowly. At first, the mention of this exhibit with your boss months ago sent you into a frenzy of joy, but now—- it’s a dreadful experience.

All you long for is to start your weekend, to cuddle with your daug—-

“What an incredible scent you have—-”

Oh God, no.

“—- is that Histoires de Parfums, 1969?”

Fuck.

“I haven’t been around that perfume in a long time.”

It’s as if she can smell you a mile away.

A sensual, purring voice whispers near you. A shadowing silhouette eclipses the shimmering ceiling lights from your peripheral vision.

Your lips wrinkle, restraining the foreboding tears of frustration. Tightly nodding, swallowing a sob. Your breathing becomes heavier.

A hum, “It really smells wonderful.” With precision, the shadow sits onto the empty seat beside you.

“Thank you.” A forced smile curls at your mouth.

“With that scent, I’m surprised you’re not being hounded by the men here tonight.” A subtle wordplay, are you looking for anyone tonight?

As if your mind has forgotten all the bad, and reminisces on the good, all the fun, all the beauty that once blossomed.

“It’s not men I'm looking for.” You whisper, snuffing the cigarette into a provided ash-tray. A creamy hand strokes your knuckles, and your skin shivers under your blouse.

A jolt to your groin, and your breath hitches. All she can do is just touch you, and it’s as if you can get on your knees, and forgive her for everything.

“Why?”

You can see that pearly grin, from the corner of your eye, teasing and twisting.

“They’re too easy to hunt?”

You exhale a chuckle, eyes still trained onto the glistening counter.

“They bore me.”

“So—” Her voice lulls as a moan, “—- see anyone worthwhile?” Her fingers curl around your glass, twirling it by the rim. Your lipstick stain faces her direction, and bold as always, she lifts for a sip. Connecting the lip stain to hers, her eyes never leave yours.

It’s not tacky, nor forceful. How she moves is as if it is her nature.

Your eyes gaze over your shoulder, taking a full look. Finally, to drink in the force of nature that is your estranged wife—- Carol.

Her blonde tresses cascade on her shoulders, milky breasts on display. A pristine, black dress, that cuts and splits at the chest hem, polished nails, and clean skin. Her dress halts near her knees.

“Well, I have my eye on a blonde tonight.” You say timidly. Tenderly, your eyes glance fleetingly, a quick trace over Carol’s bodice, nearly losing your composure.

A pregnant pause.

That pretty pink mouth stretches smugly, as if the cat that got the cream. The hooks caught the flesh.

“You like blondes.”

Her tone lingers as an open question, guising the truth.

“Just one in particular.”

Sinking now, the hooks are tugging.

“Really?” Carol leans, her eyes hooded. “Which one?” Pretending to scan her eyes across the ocean of people.

But your eyes remain fixated on her. As if you were a lost puppy, just gazing at its human. Lucidly, influcating between the spaces of yearning, and guilt.

How at ease Carol is, as if nothing was wrong. The charming woman, the woman you thought she was. The woman she wanted you to think she was.

“The one in the black dress.” You say softly, and defeated brown eyes.

Carol’s eyes gaze back at you from the corner of her oculus, downcasting with a mirth, humming a chuckle. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” She shakes her head, an enticing warning.

A dangerous but delicious fruit hanging at your reach. She wants you to take the bait, urging you to—- to get you back in her grasp, and if she does, she won’t let you go.

This game, a cat and mouse play, is all too familiar. Playing as strangers, attracted together by lust, and curiosities—- the type of curiosity to feel the other’s flesh, subtle carnality. Act out, with playful words, pretend to be different people.

It slowly suffocates you, a twang in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t normal.

She isn’t normal.

Carol can be an array of personalities, she can be the doting wife, the whore in bed, the mother—- she can be the bitch with a violent mouth. Different faces for different folk, no one knows her true self, and she’s good at it —- real good.

So, when you tried to seek help from friends, they couldn’t believe it, nor did they want to. You’re not surprised that Carol snuck into the gala—- your co-worker, Maria, who you thought was a true friend —- the matchmaker from hell, let her in, unknowingly allowing the terror onto you.

But, that’s no surprise. Maria has been Carol’s right hand since their days in the Air Force.

None of your friends believe you—- and, it’s hurtful to admit, you’re too scared to speak about all the hurt Carol made you endure over the years.

Barely spoke of the discomfort Carol used against you, and all your shared friends thought you misinterpreted. All saying that Carol is just head-strong, and that you two are perfect together.

Carol feeds the fire with a ‘She’s just going through a tough time.’

Boundaries aren’t respected, everyone trying to push you back together, inviting Carol in social events —- to the point where you didn’t go out anymore, and just drowned in work.

“I like challenges.” Carol softly leans in, her breath fans the bare skin of your shoulder, “All the more fun when I win.” Her voice drops low, to a wispy whisper.

Her body heat engulfs you, and your eyes droop with haziness for a slick second. You can’t—- not again. No matter how intoxicating she can be, how delicious, it’s not worth your peace.

You’re too drunk for this.

“This cat is too tired to entertain.”

“Who said you were the cat?” Carol’s brow arches, halting you in your step. Carol’s infliction hardens, from the corner of your oculus, you can see the clench of her jawline. That pretty mouth morphed into a restrained frown, the same one you see before a punishment.

An offense has been made.

“I didn’t realize the roles were switched.”

The mask slips.

It’s always her way, her rules. Because no matter how clever, how coy the mouse can be, the cat always wins.

“You’re getting brave on me?” Carol asks.

And now the mask has been dropped.

“I think it’s best I leave.” You quickly collect yourself, a bit wobbly from the alcohol. Leaning against the counter to regain your composure, trying to stand upright.

Not this time. You won’t fall for her charm.

Carol sucks her teeth, “You’re seriously going to leave? Aren’t you tired of this childish bullshit?” Crossing her arms against her chest, lips wrinkling into a scowl. Carol talks as if scolding a child.

Your body twists in a haste, “My bullshit?” Your teeth are gritting harshly, hissing. Angry eyes pierce over the hill of your shoulder, fingernails digging into the leather of your purse; if not the leather, her eyes preferrable.

But this is a place of work, no matter how elegant the night is, you will scream if you have to—- just to escape her. You click your tongue, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I mean I’m usually amused by your brattiness,” Carol laughs sarcastically. “But, now it’s gotten too far.” Her fingertips graze your arm, toying with you, soft and playful—— her fingers grasp your arm in a clutch, earning a whine.

Her eyes are hooded, nearly tugging you downwards. A whine bubbles at the pit of your throat, too terrified to even move.

“You have to come back home.” Carol says, a strain to be sweet, but it’s as if a monster tries to be human. “I miss you.” She purrs, but her eyes … are cold, and agitated.

You remain silent, closing your eyes shut, gliding down in your seat. “Carol… have you signed the divorce papers, yet?” Your eyes stay glued to the sticky counter.

Carol chuckles, “You’re going to try to talk business to me, and you can’t even look me in the eye?” Her baby pink polished nails thump against the bar, thump thump thump.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“And neither do I.” She sips her drink, smirking into the cup, “But it seems my wife likes to play games.” So light, so sarcastic, chastising you as if this was a running joke on your end.

“Carol, for fucks sake.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “You made me go crazy.” You bite on those words, full teeth. Fingers curling into makeshift claws, vowels spilling as acidic vomit.

“Controlled me, like I was your puppet.” Your fingers curl and slither in gesture. “Manipulated me against the world, against our friends.” Your mouth opened again, the words weighing heavy against your mouth, but a hum interrupted.

“Look up at me when you talk.” Carol says, your eyes peer up through your lashes, owlishly. “If you’re going to lie, you might as well make it convincing.” She licks her lips, tasting the remnants of her liquor.

“I —- I—” you can’t find the words to even respond. You stare at her incredulously, she will never admit to it. Even now, she has you questioning your own sanity, if it was even worth fighting against her.

It’s not worth screaming about it. Not anymore.

“I have to go.” Swiftly, you stand up, with a bated breath.

“That’s how you talk to the mother of your child?”

Stiffening, as the hairs that align a cat’s spine, “Don’t you dare!” Your index finger pointing, shouting in a hush. “Stop using Kamala against me—” your voice wavers, throat nearly choking a sob, “You did enough of that in court.” Big brown eyes sheening wet, the last nerve shot.

Trying to maintain a level of calm, eyes fluttering back and forth around, seeing if anyone has witnessed your outburst.

“I don’t even have to do that,” Carol’s open palm gestures to your rigid stance, “she can see perfectly fine how erratic you’ve been.” Carol hisses, making your nose scrunch up.

Kamala adores — idolizes— Carol. So memorized by her strong, willful mother, since she was a waddling baby.

You haven’t dared utter a bad word about Carol in-front of Kamala, fearing to shatter the fragile bubble you curated as a shield for her. You wouldn’t let her witness the court meetings, especially the negotiations of joint custody.

By every fiber of your being, you’ve tried to make this separation as discreet as possible—- but Carol has been a devil, bulldozing those efforts. To make you appear as the bad parent.

You can’t stand her lawyer, Carol hired one who hails from Hell’s Kitchen—- fitting since he’s a thorn upon your rib. Subtlety bringing up your mental health, questioning your abilities as a mother —- no doubt, Carol was chewing his ear off about your past.

All Kamala knows is that her mothers are splitting up, with foreign lawyers, and that she now has to split weekends—- those pained brown eyes, her puffed cheeks, it kills you deeply—- all the guilt weighs on you, it feels as if you’re to blame for all the problems.

“You’ve taken so much from me, Carol.” You lean in, kneeling at her eye level. “My dignity, my peace— shit— even my sanity.” Your body anxiously fidgeting, breath quickening.

“But I will not, let you take my child away from me.” Your fingers dive into your purse, fumbling with irate, snagging the last cash you had—- with the finality of this conversation, slamming the money onto the marble countertop.

You carried Kamala, incubated inside you for nine months, fed her from your breast—- you will not lose her, not over your cold dead body.

“Goodnight, Carol.”

Sharply, you turn on your heel, leaving Carol without turning back. Walking with a gait, faking confidence, but truly at your core, a gnawing sense of uneasiness.

The corridor stretches as a miniature maze, the more you descend out of the gala, the less crowded it is. Turning left and right, trying to find the exit.

The ambiance is of grainy gray, the tinted blurred windows are foggy with the night’s shadows.

The echoes of clicking heels are faint, your mind doesn’t register, as your own feet and mind are stuck on auto-pilot.

“There she goes again,” an agitated voice snags your attention, brows furrowing, “always acting like the little victim.”

Not granted the chance to realize, in a flash, just as quick as you turned your head, rough hands grab you by the curve of your shoulders, throttling you against the chilled wall pavement.

Earning a hiss, and a gasp, stinging pain births and stretches along the muscles of your spine. Quickly, your fingers fruitlessly try to claw at Carol’s, but all it does is make her more enraged.

Carol thrashes you once more against the wall, and another for good measure; airy gasps of pain escapes you, tears beading at your lashes. That militant discipline seeps from her pores, it’s not a stranger to you, the rough edges of her touch is a familiar bruise.

“It may have worked with the rest of the world,” Carol barks in your face, nose to nose, “but it’s not going to work with me.”

Sniffling, your chin wobbles, trying to restrain a sob that burns your throat raw.

Carol hums, that tut of a sympathetic mother, “Look at us.” Her thumbs rubbing your shoulders, pressing on the blooming bruises. “I don’t like it when we fight.

Eerily, she influcates from predator to savior, “You always get erratic, and you know it upsets me.” Leaning in, her pink lips press a kiss on a falling tear.

“Where’s my special girl?” Carol whispers. Fear is beating inside of you, buzzing as tv static. Staring at Carol through your hooded lids, terrified, and confused.

Carol purrs, awaiting for an answer.

“I’m here.” Barely a murmur, you speak softly.

Carol thrives off of her aggression. But it’s not the traditional masculinity that some women possess in their personalities. She feels it’s the only gift her father ever gave her.

“It’s very cute that you try to fight me.” Carol mocks, her knuckles stroke your cheek. Carol hums, her eyes tracing over every facial feature.

“Let me see if she missed me.”

A string of no no no slip from you meekly.

One of Carol’s hands graze over your shoulder, twirling her fingers into your hair—- gripping between her fingers tightly. To then cup the nape of your neck, her thumb pressing slightly over your pulse point.

As she has you pinned by the scruff, her other hand flows down your cavlices, to your clothed breast—- she snags the collar to expose skin.

Groping a handful of your tit, she mutters still so soft, traveling down the path of your navel—- with a quick precision, Carol snatches your groin; more like clawing.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and all she does is laugh.

A quick glance at the end of the hallway, praying that nobody turns the corner. Carol snickers. “Afraid someone will catch us?” You exhale a huff, nose flaring.

“I remember you used to be quite adventurous.”

“That’s when I was young and stupid.”

Her eyes narrow, pinching your vagina in her hand even tighter. With her knee, she wedges her thigh between your shaky legs, spreading you more open.

Slithering her hand through the stitched fabric, her knuckles stroking your sensitive skin. Your breathing becomes heavier, and all she does is smirk.

Moving your panties to the side, Carol’s makes herself home to your body. Ashamed to feel yourself grow wet, and Carol moans.

“It seems she missed me.”

All unbridled frustration hits the hilt, you cry in a stretched whine, thrashing in her hold. In need to escape, you wanted to go home, away from her.

All these weeks of trying to flee from her, do the right thing to gain custody, to live a good life, give your daughter stability —- all of it goes down the drain by her simple touch.

Beating on her arms with fists, slapping and trying to knee her in a weak spot. Carol’s eyes darken—- as if she’s bored of the insolence.

Carol pushes her weight onto you, pinning to the wall. And her fingers don’t cease on her assault.

“I hate you.” You choke on a wail, your head tilting up as a child.

“I’ve saved you.” An expert circular motion of her fingertips, sending a jolt to your bundle of nerves.

“Who else can say that?” Carol leans in, her head tilting, as her lips meet your cheek.

Softly, she kisses you, caressing and grazing against the skin of your cheek.

“I took care of you, and you just want to leave?” Carol’s pink tongue slithers between her lips, licking and nibbling. Boldly, her fingers dove between your folds, playing with your wetness.

“You wanted a savior, baby, I’m it.” The bridge of Carol’s nose traces yours, humming at the wet sensation of your tears. “You were nothing before me—-” another finger plunging inside you, “—- and you will be nothing after me.”

“I — I — would rather be alone.” You say with a stammer, lips wet with tears. Mouth curling into a brave scowl, regaining some bravery, “I’ll be fine.”

Carol’s face leans a little back, tilting her head mockingly. “When I say nothing after me, I mean it—-” Carol’s teeth bare as fangs, “you’ll be buried six feet deep, before I let you go.” Her fingers grip the nape of your neck, tugging you in.

“No one can ever have you.” She whispers.

Your eyes are owlish, you don’t doubt her…. her time in the boot camp was extensive, you felt her trained strength many times—- she loves like a knife. Many bruises healed over the years.

Not brutal beatings, but very handsy.

A glimmer of fear suffocates you, your body keels as a leashed dog.

Her fingers slither against your peach fuzz, slipping between your mound, toying with your wetness. Splitting your velvety folds apart, Carol vulgarly strokes you with her fingers sloppily, staining the hem of your panties.

Carol grinds herself onto your thigh, you can feel a wet spot pooling at her silk panties. Your fingers are digging into her forearms. A rough dance of humping and grinding, both reaching for a high.

Your wet walls can’t help but suck her inside, clenching tight. Fiercely plunging in and out—— it’s been some time. Since the last time, you were touched. It’s bordering on painful, a bit tight.

You did entertain another for a while. A woman you met at a bar. Short dark chestnut hair, a soft posh english accent, a bold yet cheeky mouth. She said her name was G’iah, you never met anyone with such a name.

Despite the attraction, the idea of offering yourself physically was too overwhelming. But, the emotional energy was wonderful. It was a breath of fresh air.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to love another.

Skin screaming for touch, yet your heart is trying to fight back. The flesh only reminisces the good, but all the hurtful memories are chained to your mind.

Carol’s mouth ajar, hovering over the meat of your cheek. Your face scrunches, eyes tight, a whine boils at your throat. She breathes a chuckle. She always finds amusement in your misery.

Carol loves to play God—- the Old Testament God. In the carnal sense, and in spite. Worship her, and only need her, obey every command, but commit a sin—- and she shall see to it, that her pettiness will rule over your life.

Her fingers spread, your slick connects to her fingertips, flickering the gossamer thin threads between her expert fingers, diving into you.

Her teeth grazes your cheek, her warm breath cascading against your mouth. Torn between closing your thighs to stop her, or thrust your hips into her hand.

Carol’s tongue slips out, and kitten licks your parted lips. Her pink tongue licks your canines, inhaling your breath. Sweet scent of liquor coats your tongue, Carol suckles into her mouth, moaning at the taste.

A lewd pop comes from Carol pulling back on your tongue, as her fingers curl harsher. Bordering on pain, the pleasure is electric. Pulsing through you, as her thumb toys with your swollen clit.

Her moans are animalistic, you can feel her pussy splitting, a sensation of silk and waxed bare skin. Her clit is grinding fully onto your thigh. It feels so damn good.

A part of you wants her to cum on you. To use you.

Carol’s face tilts away from yours. Her brown eyes swirl with malice, narrowing for a split moment. A smile stretches.

“Kamala would be so hurt to lose her mommy—” Carol’s words earn a mean eye from you, but all she does is laugh humorlessly. “How could you abandon our child?”

Like a stab to your heart, Carol just twists the edge deeper. Her fingers still deep inside you, clenching in need for her to finish— to get you right at the precipice.

“I would never leave Kamala,” you speak with a strain, a rough slice at your throat. “I love her.” Bordering on pleading, your eyes water-sunk.

“Then why do you make her cry?”

“What?”

“Every night she asks why her mom isn’t home,” Carol leans more of her weight on your belly. Her fingers fucking you harshly, hitting that sweet spot so perfectly. Your juices are now soaking down her hand.

“She cries till she falls asleep. She thinks you hate her.”

Torn between rutting your hips into her palm, grinding and fucking her fingers as if it was one of Carol’s toys —- and the need for space, to free yourself from these clutches.

Salty tears fall to your wrinkling lips, shaking from silent tears.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Carol says, her voice smooth and affectionate. Her lips pouted, “We can be together again.” Her shiny blonde hair kisses her lashes, in the grainy city lights, she looks innocent.

“Don’t you want to be a family again?”

She pushes her fingers further, slowly playing with your clit— and then stops, edging you. She can feel your spongy walls nearly spasming. Carol knows how to play the strings of your flesh.

Damn her.

“I do.” Your voice gurgles in a sob.

You know she’s tricking you… and you enjoy it.

In some deep seeded—- an absolutely fucked —- part of you, relishes in it. Because it’s all you know. But, it’s that glimmer of tenderness, the kisses, and honeyed words that pulls you back in.

Back to mutilate yourself on her knife over and over again. And isn't that what love is? Carol would say, time and time again, after the dust settles from her fits of rage.

Wet squelching floods your ears, echoing throughout the empty hallway. Your hand trails to her waist, gripping her dress, roughly grazing the smooth skin of her waist.

Legs entangled, and Carol’s thrusts are getting faster, sloppy. Her moans are getting high-pitched, away from primal and more girlish.

You cling to her, in this moment, you just need to feel anything. And you know she needed it too.

A burst of euphoria, hanging onto each other, as if both would fall apart. Carol felt it, how you spasmed on her fingers. Clenching so tight, trapping her hand for a moment.

Bated breaths dance against each other, hair flying by the breeze of huffing. Yours are gasps of relief.

In a desperate plea, you reach for a kiss, but Carol pulls away.

“I hope you learned something …” Carol hisses, her fingers stroking between your slippery folds, agitating your over-stimulated clit. The meat of your thigh quivers, tailbone pinching as you try to mesh into the wall, far from her.

Carol takes her fingers out, leaving behind an empty feeling—- like a void. Without blinking, Carol unabashedly suckles on her two fingers, tasting you.

“I hope you make the right decision.” Carol whispers against her tips. Pulling her warm weight off of your bodice, a chill sweeps against the tepid sense of your belly.

Carol hums for a moment with a stony face. She tugs on the collar of your dress, the top of your bosom exposed —- it was a stiff gesture.

Without a word, Carol posed her spine, and walked away, a snide side-eye.

Leaving you behind with an ache between your thighs, love bites across your chest, and fresh bruises. Left behind in the chilled hallway, and in wrinkled attire —- as if you were a used whore.

Your head falls, crying into your chest. Your fingers pulling your dress down, your inner thighs tender. Your fingertips touch the wet spot Carol left behind near your knee.

A pause.

It’s wrong, but you crave her taste. Suckling your fingertips into the cave of your mouth.

You can still smell her fragrance lingering—- and yet, you crave it, hoping it clung to your dress.

Timid footfalls carry you through the high-end residential hallway. Bated breath, and in wrinkled clothes, you lift and loosely drop your luggage in your grip. Pacing back and forth, trying to salvage any scrap of courage to knock.

Your head is bowing down, chin to chest. A stop in-front of the door. The reasoning motivating your surrender blurs—- is it for Kamala only, or is it also that a loyal dog who always forgives?

A silent white flag has been waived.

A lonely dog always comes back.

Dull steps creep closer, syncing with the beat of your heart. One unlock, and another follows. Defeat seeps from your pores, a bone-rattling warning siren echoing in the rush of your ears.

The door knob slowly twists, as if she’s mocking you. But not a second more, the door creaks open. Green eyes blink back with mirth, and a smile.

No words are needed.

Carol hums, stroking your hair, fingers gliding down the terrain of your neck, guiding you inside by the nape of your neck.

Awaiting on the bed is a silk nightie, and skincare, curated by Carol’s choice. Pristine, wrinkled-free silk. Not one flaw in sight.

She knew you would come back. A cocky woman, and yet she’s never wrong. A stir of irate coils in your belly, but it’s snuffed before it can disrupt.

In the dark, you tip-toe down the hall. Elated and relieved, it felt like a century crept by, but it was only a week of separation.

Weekends weren’t enough. You needed to see her everyday.

Brown fingers slowly grasp at the knob, twisting open. The white walls are adorned by the flash of a night light that glows small stars glimmering against the ceiling.

A room of action figures, anime, music posters and a wall dedicated to her drawings. That familiar scent that never really went away, that baby smell that clung to her as an infant.

Kneeling into her bed, curling under the blanket. Legs curling underneath you, knees bent, as you caress Kamala’s scalp, furling her hair behind the shell of her ear. Your brown fingers melt into the onyx shine of her tresses.

Her sleepy cheeks puffed, she looks like a sleeping cherub. Silently, tears cascade against the hill of your nose, staining the pillow sheet.

For months, you’ve tried to conjure ideas on how to run away from this life with Kamala, but all your ideas end up in the possible reality of being arrested with charges of kidnapping, and never seeing your daughter again.

The truth of the matter is -— you will crawl skin bare in the deepest parts of hell just for her. Suffering silently in these marital ruins, for the sake of being able to raise your only child, is what you will do.

You don’t know what you want with Carol —- you don’t have anything else to offer as a wife, besides submitting your entire being as a sacrificial offering.

It’s all she ever wanted. Wholesome love is seen as a defect in Carol’s eyes, a trait taught to her by her father. Control over everything is what brings her peace. And being cared for is what brings you solace.

The only person in the world Carol doesn’t unleash her wrath upon, who she adores entirely, is Kamala. Never once has Carol raised her voice, nor her hand at Kamala.

It’s disturbing, to see Carol be so genuine in her affections.

But, you’re ever so grateful. Despite being a masochist, under all the rubble harboring in your cavity— is a little girl suffocating for tenderness. For anything, just for someone to hold her.

Carol is a peculiar creature, and yet she has driven you to the brink of madness over the last stretched months, because she can’t bear to lose you —-- that has to mean something, right?

But as you lay here, wallowing in the dead silence, staring at Kamala slumbering —-a thought came to you; a lingering fear. Paranoia gnawing at you, chewing away bit by bit.

You wouldn’t want Kamala to suffer like this one day.

#widowsofchaos wrote this #carol danvers x reader #dark Carol Danvers x reader #carol danvers x female reader #dub non con #dark elements #lesbian Carol Danvers

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clandestinegardenias · 4 months

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Okay how many of your are into The Terror (2018) I need to follow more of you and burden you with musings about my fic ideas (which currently include about 10,000 words of “how well would Fitzier deal with their futures being back in England if they HAD been rescued?” and the answer is “not especially well!”)

#the terror #tell me to follow you I need to feed my obsession #pspspspspsps <- me attempting to attract new fandom friends

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xximpressions · 10 months

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The Duchess (4)

Anthony Bridgerton x Duchess!reader

Series Summary: After coming into a title you did not expect, you have a chance encounter with a handsome rescuer.

Chapter Summary: Kindness

Word Count: 2,020

Bridgerton Masterlist

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The rest of the dinner continued on in an uneventful fashion for at least another hour.

During that time, you and the Viscount conversed on a variety of things. But the overall topic that directed your conversations came about when Anthony asked how it was you spend your free time. After huffing a small laugh, you replied that you were not aware such a concept existed given that you were the one running all of the estates that used to belong to your late husband.

After taking a second to process what you had said, the Viscount came back with a plethora of intrigued questions since he wanted to understand how you were solely in charge of almost a dozen different profitable estates when he himself could barely manage two.

Even with all the education he had received from England’s top schools and universities, he often found himself struggling to keep up with the demands asked of him as the head of the household. So to learn that you not only shouldered the same kind of burden, but were also carrying a much heavier load, left him feeling impressed to say the least.

Likewise, you found you too were enjoying the back and forth taking place between you and the Viscount, and had only just placed your finger on why.

In your admittedly short marriage, your husband made it very clear that while he wanted you to be seen, he did not expect you to be heard. So to converse with a man who not only knew you had your own thoughts, but also encouraged you to share them was an unexpected, but pleasant surprise.

So caught up in your conversation, you both had to hide your visible disappointment when the Duchess of Hastings stood and promptly announced,

“I think it is time we ladies adjourn to the drawing room so the men can linger here over their port.”

Lighthearted agreements went around the table as all the women started to stand. The gentlemen began to get more relaxed in their chairs while servants offered cigars and brandy to those remaining behind.

Just before you stood, you felt Lord Bridgerton’s touch as he discreetly caught your gloved hand in the movement of it all while saying in a quiet, but imploring voice,

“Listen to whatever it is my sister tells you, okay?”

You locked eyes and gave an affirmative nod, and it was only then that the Viscount freed you to take your leave with the other exiting ladies.

Approaching the drawing room, you saw the Duchess of Hastings was standing at the doorway in order to welcome her guests in as they entered.

At least, that is what you thought she was doing until she started to make her way toward you. Momentarily confused, you slowed to a halt once she was about an arm’s length away.

The other Duchess waited till it was just you and her standing there before saying with a subtle undertone,

“I have heard that you are an avid reader, so I wanted to suggest you take a tour of our library while you are here. It is just through there if you are interested.”

Watching as she pointed in a specific direction, you remembered the Viscount’s parting words and instantly realized what, or rather who, would be waiting on you should you decide to follow her suggestion.

Peeking over your shoulder at the unassuming door for a moment, you turned back unconsciously wearing an expression of minor uncertainty that soon vanished when the woman in front of you reassuringly said,

“He is only doing this because he cares.”

Without needing to specify any names, you both knew who she spoke of, so you had to give her a grateful smile as you decided to dispense with your sudden anxiety by giving her a determined nod and beginning to move.

It did not take you long to find the library after you turned in search of it, and shorter still for you to become immersed in browsing through the many titles you saw on the multitude of shelves.

However, soon after your arrival, you heard the door to the room open and close in quick succession.

Turning to face the entrance, you were not at all surprised to see your once rescuer now standing in front of it.

The silence that momentarily surrounded you was broken when the Viscount gestured to the shelves behind you and said,

“I am glad to see that the rumor of you liking books was not false.”

Looking at the novels as well, you smiled as you replied.

“Yes, well a woman must know her own mind these days. And books can be great companions when you have few.”

Though you both made attempts at polite smiles following your statement, you each felt a pang when reminded of how lonely your life had been thus far. But in not wanting to dwell on such a thing for too long, you began to make your way toward the couch and casually said,

“Speaking of rumors, I hear that we have actually started one ourselves.”

Raising a brow of surprised amusement, the Viscount replied,

“Oh really?”

As you took a seat on the sofa, and he took a seat on a nearby armchair, you responded with more than a hint of humor.

“Indeed! It seems this Lady Whistledown has decided we have been secretly courting and has chosen to give her approval.”

Chuckling at the absurdity of such an idea, Anthony went on to say,

“Well I suppose that should have been expected, especially after our walk through the park. But that said, she is not the only one to have given her approval of us.”

When your mind flashed with intrigue, you curiously asked,

“Truly? Who else supports our supposed match?”

Smiling once more in your presence, the Viscount explained,

“Apparently, my youngest sister. She has decided that my search for a wife should now be over after meeting the person who found her missing ribbon.”

Immediately flashing back to the conversation you had all those days ago, you could not hide from your expression that you knew exactly what he was referring to.

So with a coy smile, you said,

“Oh yes, I remember now. But to be honest Lord Bridgerton, when your littlest sister proposed marriage between us on your behalf, I never imagined it would be taken seriously.”

Finishing with a teasing grin, you watched as one grew on his face as well. Though the smile on his lips was a bit more sly as he replied,

“Ah, and therein lies the problem. Seems to me that in this instance, you lacked imagination.”

With your jaw dropping as you laughed heartily at his unexpected words, you amiably said in return,

“Be rest assured, I can imagine quite a bit, my Lord. More than you in fact since I have actually been married—”

The abrupt cutoff was noticeable as you realized you had just broached the one topic you did not like to discuss with the one person you were learning would not let it go. And though you had tried to reel it back in, the damage was already done as the once light atmosphere took a turn and you both proceeded to look anywhere but at the other’s gaze when silence caught up to you.

This went on until the Viscount patiently looked your way in order to ask,

“So, will you finally tell me what is going on?”

Your silence continued a little longer than his as you built up the courage to explain all that you had been through. But at some point, you just exhaled a deep sigh, closed your eyes, and resignedly said,

“Yes.”

And after opening them again, you began to speak.

“As you know, I was married off about a year ago. At the time, the only thing I knew about my husband was that he was not a bad man.”

Wanting him to understand what you meant, you elaborated on your previous statement while looking at the gloved hands held in your lap.

“He was titled, he had an abundance of wealth, and his reputation amongst society was respectable which meant he was a good man for any young lady to marry.”

Unable to hide the bitter smile that grew on your lips, you said,

“At least, that is what my aunt told me when she announced our engagement not even two weeks after my first formal introduction to him.”

The appalled expression now visible on Anthony’s face went unnoticed as you continued by saying with a reflective look in your eyes,

“And while it is true that he was not necessarily bad, that did not mean he was filled with an abundance of kindness either.”

In an attempt to avoid going into the full details, you swallowed before vaguely saying,

“I found out on our wedding night just how…unkind he could be.”

Anthony’s eyes dropped to the floor as he quickly deciphered what you were not saying, and you went on speaking in a strong voice.

“Before going to sleep that night, I did wish for an escape from the life I was now sentenced to live. But I did not think the fates would answer so swiftly, nor with a life of their own. And yet, the man I had married came down with a fatal fever the very next morning.”

Your gaze was now unseeing as your mind flashed back to your husband’s last days.

“When it became clear that he was not going to make it, he had me send for two people: A solicitor so he could get his affairs in order, and his brother since that was all the family he had left in the world.”

Suddenly, the look in your eyes hardened.

“His younger sibling arrived first in a drunken stupor and heartlessly announced how glad he was that this was happening since he felt it was about time he had a proper inheritance to his name, nevermind that it would come at the death of his older brother.”

Recalling that cold moment with clarity, you said,

“As you can imagine, that did not go over well with the man I married. So when the solicitor showed up after his brother was kicked out, the late Duke immediately had his will changed so that I would inherit when he passed. Since there was a small chance that I had conceived during our wedding night, he wanted everything he owned to go to his potential child rather than his pitiless brother. However, I did not get pregnant. So when he died, I simply remained the Duchess.”

Looking at the Viscount, you went on to say,

“That is why my once brother-in-law wants to marry me now. If he does, he can reclaim the title and estates he thinks are rightfully his to own. Otherwise, he has to live off his own merits which has obviously been difficult considering his love of drink. And despite turning him down twice already, he still seems insistent on pursuing me if only for his own personal gain.”

Coming to a close, you concluded your explanation with,

“So this, Lord Bridgerton, is what you stumbled upon in the gardens at that ball.”

Done recounting your tale, you saw the contemplative expression now resting on his face and allowed him a few moments to process all that you had revealed.

Seconds later though, when he turned in his seat to face you, the Viscount’s tone was deliberately warm and reassuring when he responded with a slight tentativeness.

“So, I believe I have questions…”

Placing the ball on how you wanted to reply in your court, he only had to wait a moment in order to hear,

“And…I believe I have answers.”

A small smile grew on your face when your handsome rescuer gave a definitive nod and said,

“Good,”

While looking your way with his own little grin.

And as he did so, you noticed how the smile on his lips radiated one thing, and one thing only:

Kindness.

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@helen06dreamer | @swordofawriter

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x black!reader #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction

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wardenparker · 4 months

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At First Sight

Alan McMichael x female Reader

Rating: G for General Audiences, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Alcohol, flirting, period manners, fluff, scheming family members, undesirable dance partners. Summary: Alan's sister Eunice is finally engaged and their mother is throwing a grand ball to celebrate. It is the last place that he wants to be...until he meets a young lady who wants to be there just as little as he does. Notes: It's been so, so very long since I wrote anything solo. Please be kind -- all errors are my own, and this is definitely not beta read. It's just a little piece inspired by my downtime at work and countless rewatches of Crimson Peak. Alan deserves some happiness, so I wanted to give him a bit. If there's interest I'll try to write more for these two, but I'll understand entirely if there's not. Thank you so so very much for reading! Dedicated to @julesonrecord for her tireless patience in putting up with me babbling about this character and how he deserved better. And to @ruflirtingwithme for always letting me keep Wade in my pocket wherever I go. There's a bit of him in this as well, for sure.

Despite the tailoring of his tuxedo, the familiar weight of the costume, and the well-traveled ballroom he finds himself standing in, Alan McMichael shifts uncomfortably. He’s lost weight this past year, worry and injury taking their toll, and the tailor assured him that it could barely be seen but took his jacket and the waist of his trousers in anyway. He isn’t as fit as he once was. He isn’t as strong. Not since he followed Edith up that mountain in England, only to bring her back down again to dual hospitalizations and true exhaustion. The doctors at the sanatorium don’t allow him to visit anymore .They say it causes episodes of hysteria.

So now they must live inside their own heads separately, and his mother has taken that as meaning it is time to push him to move on. “It’s for the best.” His mother had said. But Alan couldn’t be sure. Still, he was forced to resume his everyday life, and now it has been a full year since that fateful trip to Crimson Peak.

Eunice’s engagement has been a blessing to distract Mrs. McMichael. Her ploy to whisk her daughter off to New York City in the early summer had paid odd and now Eunice is engaged to the son of some banker who claimed to have an ancestor lead the charge at the Battle of Cowpens. They were all, Mrs. McMicheals told everyone in earshot, quite proud.

Now it was Alan’s turn to once again have marriage prospects pushed on him, and he stood in the ballroom ready to receive guests alongside his father with a false smile and a belly full of dread.

* * * * * *

“I thought you didn’t like Mrs. McMichaels?” The question hands in the air as you finish getting ready for the ball this evening. Spending the Christmas holiday in Buffalo with your aunt and uncle had been your brother’s idea – trying to see that you were taken care of without directly saying that having you in his house would be a burden. So you had reluctantly agreed, giving most of your staff the better part of three weeks off and taking only your maid with you to Buffalo.

It’s not that I dislike her entirely, dear heart,” your aunt Joan insists. “I adore her soirees.”

“How foolish of me.” It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes but your maid recognizes the expression and smiles privately. “I ought to have known. You and Uncle Christian will want to stay until daybreak, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Aunt Joan quips, appraising herself in her vanity mirror. “Her cook makes the most divine fruit crepes.”

You could point out that her usual overt piety discourages desire and gluttony, but at near seventy years of age, your great-aunt has earned a little indulgence from life. Instead you hum a non-committal agreement and pick up your gloves., “Then it will be well worth staying until breakfast,” you encourage, offering her a smile instead.

“Indeed.” She seems most pleased at the prospect and shoes your maids away with finality. “Your dance card must be full tonight, child,” she warns with an alarming hint of mischief in her voice. “If we want you engaged before the worst of winter snows threaten to keep us all at home.”

* * * * * *

The McMichael’s ballroom shimmers with candlelight and each guest who is announced at the door is another jewel in the crown of the evening. Mrs. McMichaels flits about like a bird with a rare and precious seed, showing it off to everyone around her, and the guests who have eagerly arrived first bask in the shared glow of witnessing such good fortune. Fortunately, very certainly it is a fortunate thing, your Aunt Joan and Uncle Christian do not believe in arriving early to parties. They believe in leaving their home at the time the party is listed as beginning in order to appear both desirably busy and aloof, which means that your trio is squarely in the second half of arrivals to the McMichael house this evening. Even if it is only by a measure of twenty or thirty minutes, the less time you must spend with eligible men being foisted upon you, the better.

“Mr. and Mrs. Christian Tate,” are announced along with your name, and Aunt Joan practically shoves your out in front of them to make sure you’re seen. Not that anyone would have noticed you otherwise, so perhaps it’s wise. The peacock colored gown you chose shimmers softly in the gaslight, but the ballrooms of Buffalo do not have the large, expansive windows and glass doors that you are accustomed to in Newport. It is all mahogany and walnut paneling here, and all the ladies but you – in their pinks and creams and honey yellows – knew better. You will be lost in wainscotted corners in your deep blue, green, and purple hues. Though perhaps it is for the best. This is not your society anyway. You have no intention of ending your time in Buffalo engaged no matter what Aunt Joan might intend.

The two gentlemen at the center of the ballroom could not be anymore obviously father and son, but where the father jokes and jovially signs dance cards at praise of his skills in the country dances, the son seems dour and aloof. His pinched smile does not precisely forbid conversation but it certainly does not encourage it, and he all but sighs in resignation when your Uncle Christian seems happy to see him.

“My wife’s great-niece,” you hear him saying, just before you are shuttled forward again. “Visiting from Newport for the holidays.”

“A pleasure,” the man intones, though you cannot think he means it.

“Is it?” You offer your hand only because your aunt clears her throat so pointedly. But it is at this point that the skyscraper with blonde hair you are being introduced to chuckles. The sound is broken but warm, and you are not so displeased with being here that you miss the way his blue eyes sparkle like aquamarine in the flickering light.

“Perhaps,” he muses, catching the dance card dangling from your wrist before you can take your hand back. “Perhaps you are the first young lady to arrive tonight not to simper and curtsy over the supposed honor of being my mother’s guest. And perhaps I can recognize a fellow soul was was strong-armed into attending.” He looks tired, the heaviness of it hanging deep in his handsome features. Because yes, he is handsome. Intriguingly and admirably so. But that isn’t what is drawing you in to him like a rope tied into your ribcage that tugs you forward whenever he speaks. It’s something else. “Perhaps we will be allies tonight, you and I.”

“Allies?” You watch his hand as he claims both waltzes on your dance card, the first gentleman to do so and claiming what are arguably the most intimate of dances. “How terribly Napoleonic of you,” you droll in response.

He laughs again, a little more deeply, and shrugs his shoulders. “I would avoid the elder Mr. Davies if I were you,” he advises, clearly demonstrating his intent as that very ally he has claimed to be. “His wife passed last spring leaving him with three young children. He has become so desperate for a wife that he is inclined to propose to almost any new young lady he meets.”

“How very concerning for the young ladies.” You murmur back, glancing over at the man being subtly pointed out to you. He is squirrelish and balding, all the hair on his head seeming to have fallen to the bushy mustache adorning his upper lip. “Is there anyone else I ought to be wary of?”

“Oh, a dozen at least.” The mischief returns to this man-shaped mountain’s eyes and he offers you his arm. “It is well worth discussing. Perhaps over punch?”

“Mr. McMichael, I think you are using me as an excuse to abandon the receiving line.” You hum in amusement, not really able to say you blame him for such a thing. Or that you mind.

“Perhaps.” His grin has a shade of mischief and guilt to it. “But perhaps you are using me to avoid the attention of other guests who might bore, annoy, or otherwise rankle you, or even step on your shoes. Which I’m sure are quite beautiful and not to be defiled. This arrangement seems better for us both, don’t you think? I can promise you with surety that it has been more than a decade since I trod on a lady’s slipper at a ball.”

“I had intended to feign lightheadedness from the crowded ballroom halfway through the night,” you confess with a sly expression all your own. “Perhaps I still will. Or perhaps this mischief will prove diversion enough all on its own.”

* * * * * *

There have been many dances in your life that have made you terribly glad for the barrier of gloves between you and the man leading. Whether it was their manners that were unsuitable, the sweat of their palms, or some unsavory odor lingering around them like a drought-stricken pond, there seemed always to be some partners with whom dancing was as undesirable as an overturned stagecoach.

Tonight you fear it might be you.

Dr. McMichael — Alan, he has insisted that you call him Alan — is a divine dancer. The grandeur of his stature does nothing to inhibit his grace and as he twirls you both about the ballroom you have the oddest sensation of floating that has ever been. But as if grace and poise were not enough, the man has a damning and wicked sense of humour as well. It has taken only the smallest encouragement from you to earn you scathing reviews of the other partygoers from you. The descriptions have you nearly in hysterics in his arms, but worse yet is the way that he smiles. It is a sly and puckish expression that makes his eyes light and sparkle in the candlelight, and every time he aims it at you, you can feel yourself sweat in the most unbecoming and unladylike way.

Moist palms or a damp dress back do not make for a desirable partner, and all you can do is hope desperately that your gloves and corset are providing ample barrier so that he has no idea how deeply those smiles and jokes and bright eyes are affecting you.

“I must sound deeply cynical,” he comments after a pause. He has just told you the story of the two Misses Shrewsbury and their positively ghastly attempt at conning the attendants of a seance he attended in Albany some years ago. “I am not. Or at least I do not mean to be.”

“Is it society that you disapprove of? Or faith?” Neither question is a judgment on your part, but you tilt your head to him conspiratorially as you dance. “I have found myself weary of both in the past, that is why I ask.”

“It is neither,” Alan admits, though he does so with a wistful sigh. “I think perhaps I yearn for times past when I reveled in dancing and philosophical pursuits. When the contents of conversation at a dinner party provided fascination for days afterward.” Subtly, so that you can feel it but it is not seen to the plain-eyes observer, he shrugs. “Life soldiers on, I suppose.”

“It does.” You cannot dispute that, and you would not try. You know the trudging on of time as well as any other touched by tragedy. “May I ask what changed? Or is that impertinent?”

“It is not impertinent.” He casts his eye around the room then back down at you. “But I am afraid it is not polite, either. I would not shock you so, to tell it all. I will only say that I lost my dear friend very recently.”

“Then I am very sorry to hear it, but I have every belief in your humanity. Your taste for society, your faith, and your fascinations will return.” The look on his face says he wonders how you can be so sure, and you half-smile. The hint of sadness in your eyes keeps it from becoming full. “Take the word of an orphan of two beloved parents, Dr. McMichael. You will come back to life again after the loss of your friend. It may simply take time.”

“Alan,” he presses softly, reminding you of his insistence. “And I am sorry to hear of your sadness, as well. But it seems that perhaps God or the ghosts of our past have seen fit to introduce us tonight. Whichever it is that you believe in.”

“Whichever it is, I welcome their intervention.” It seems to you at this point that he does not care much for spiritualism or ghosts of any kind, so you will not speak your mind on that topic. As for God? His guidance has not been the one you sought in many years. No, tonight you will not give credence to any of it, if only to keep the mood light and perhaps make Alan laugh again. “I think, however, that I shall ascribe it entirely to my great-uncle. As he was the one to see us introduced.”

“So he was.” As the song ends, Alan bows quite deeply in deference to his admirable partner. “I believe I shall have to thank him for it.”

* * * * * *

“Why don’t I know the girl your son has been doting on all night?” Mrs. McMichael is behind her fan to her husband from the edge of the dance floor, inspecting the dancing and overseeing the needs of all her guests. Her guests. Which is why she is so perturbed not to be able to identify this young woman immediately. “Who is her family? She must be with one of your business associates, yes?”

“Let Alan flirt.” Edwin McMichael waves one hand dismissively, not even looking in his only son’s direction. “It’s good for him. He’s been too dour for too long.”

“I don’t care if he flirts.” Ellen ruffles, her lips pursed and ready for an argument. “So long as he flirts with the correct young ladies.”

“How do you know she is not correct?”

“Because I do not know who she is or who she came with.”

“She is Christian Tate’s great-niece.”

Ellen’s nose wrinkles. “The orphan?”

“The orphan with an eight million dollar inheritance and a palatial cottage in Newport in her name.” Mr. McMichael raises one eyebrow as he peers down at his wife, knowing precisely the sort of affect this news will have on his wife. After all, she married him for his fortune — why should Alan not marry a fortune as well? “Let Alan flirt. It makes him smile.”

* * *

He finds you again later, outside of the ballroom when you’ve wandered away to breath air that hasn’t come from the mouths of five other people first and doesn’t smell distinctly of stale cigars and brandy. He finds you when you are slumped, unladylike, in the window seat of his father’s library gazing out the window at the snow as it drifts lazily down from the pitch-black sky.

“I thought you’d run away on me.” His voice is light but the undercurrent of worry, or else embedded sadness, is there if you listen. Like a weariness that had taken hold in him sometime since the loss of his friend that he had not been able to shake. Rather than apologizing for it or paying it any mind, Alan simply holds out one of the delicate cups of mulled wine that he brought with him when he went in search of you. “I’m very glad to see that isn’t the case.”

“I had to make myself scarce from the quadrille,” you admit, having the good sense to look at least a little sheepish about it. “That Mr. Davies…the one you warned me about? He caught sight of the fact that I had been left out of the dance before and attached himself to me.” Though the conversation could not be considered so terrible to be characterized as harrowing or torturous or anything as dramatic as all that, you still had not enjoyed his overbearing presence and unfortunate lack of manners. “I’m afraid that I feigned a headache to excuse myself.”

He laughs. Truly and thoroughly, and from his belly. Alan McMichael laughs so entirely that you bury your face in one hand after you accept the offered drink from his hand and you sigh audibly. “I’m sorry…” he chuckles, gasping for a dramatic sigh when he can catch his breath. “ It’s just that you’re so terribly apologetic and sweet about it. No one would be cross with you for avoiding an impertinent man old enough to be your father.”

“I see you have not met my Aunt Joan.” With a dutiful but resigned sigh, you stand from your place of respite and sip the rather delicious drink that he has brought you. At precisely 4:02 in the morning it is both horrifyingly too late for such a drink and far too terribly early – a dichotomy that delights you. “She has done her best to see me partnered with every single man here tonight. It is only my ill luck that I encountered the only desirable partner so early in the night. To dance together a third time would expose us both to comment.”

“So?” Alan sips his own wine and gazes down at you curiously, wondering whether or not you actually give a damn about all of this convention and these rules that seem to have been mutually agreed upon by the same people who determined what food is served at each course at formal suppers. That is – someone very long ago and far away that no one can remember any longer. “I’d like to dance with you again. And you just said that you’d like to dance with me. So who gives a damn if someone talks about it?”

“Won’t your mother be cross with you?” He had said something earlier about his mother wanting him to dance with just every young lady at the ball tonight. And you know for certain that he has not just as you have not danced with every single man.

“My mother is routinely cross with me.” He admits, enjoying a laugh at the truth of it. “I try not to let it disappointment me too much.”

It is all you can do to consider him – broad shoulders stretching that jacket of his and bright eyes sparkling with mischief, the tilt of his smile and the invitation of his outstretched hand – before you are sighing in a rather dramatic show of resignation that barely shields the actual delight written on your face. “Very well,” you acquiesce, taking his hand and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Let us be the object of idle gossip tomorrow. Let tongues wag. I will be gone in a week anyhow and that will be the end of it. For tonight, at least, we shall have a bit of fun.”

______

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#Charlie Hunnam #Charlie Hunnam character fanfiction #Charlie Hunnam fanfic #Alan McMichael #Alan McMichael x you #Alan McMichael x reader #Alan McMichael x female reader #Alan McMichael x f!reader #Crimson Peak #period romance #just some flirts #I don't even know what I'm doing

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