#LOVE TO HONOR THIS TAG AGAIN its been a while | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanteguccir · 2 months

Text

It's noted | Chris Sturniolo

Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Y/N is part of the Sturniolo Triplets fandom and makes videos about them on TikTok. After years of creating content, one of her videos seems to catch the attention of none other than Chris.

Warning: None.

Requested?: Yes, from anon.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

PS.: I used this tiktoker as an inspiration for the content that the reader creates on this.

PS. 2: I'm thinking of making a tag list for my Sturniolo Triplets x reader, so if you want to be included in it and be tagged on every Sturniolo x reader that I post, comment here please! 🩷

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

It was true that the Sturniolo Triplets fandom grew so much in such a short time thanks to the fans themselves, who play a big role in bringing the channel to other people through social media - mainly TikTok. It was also true that, at least 90% of this part of the fandom works with edits of different types of the boys; compilation of parts from a certain video or podcast, edits and even memes.

But there was a small portion that made videos talking about the boys, showing their faces and voices while explaining their content, work and even giving tips on how the triplets themselves could increase their audience or improve their brands.

And Y/N was part of this small portion, having been in the fandom since mid-2021 and not missing any videos of the triplets, she could talk about them for hours on end.

Her biggest hobby was making videos giving ideas for their channel and brands: some brands they could collab with, theme ideas for car videos, topics for podcasts, prints for hoodie sets and t-shirts - both for the triplets' brand and for Fresh Love -, different flavors and themes for Space Camp, and so on.

The girl applied all her love and knowledge to all her videos, editing the backgrounds and explaining her ideas with the smallest details, making them understandable. She had perfect lighting, audio, and set equipment for her work, which made the quality equally good as her content.

Her trademark was her strawberry frappuccino, which she was always drinking every time she turned on her phone camera. Fans joked that her obsession with the drink was like Chris's obsession with Pepsi.

And all that was exactly why fans loved her so much. Y/N had more than 400 thousand followers on her TikTok account and all her videos reached an average of 150 thousand likes, in addition to the many comments saying how smart she was for having those ideas, her kindness in sharing them with the public and even complementing her beauty.

The girl spent hours of her day reading each one of them and interacting with fans as if they were best friends, always being very kind. She laughed her ass off at the comments from people who madly tagged the boys, especially Chris, as it was a well-known fact that he was her favorite - she loved to make that very clear.

Some fans even went so far as to say that if Chris was ever ready to get romantically involved with someone again, they wanted it to be with Y/N. The girl read that type of comment with a huge smile on her face and red cheeks, feeling honored. Although she imagined that the boys would never even notice her, she allowed herself to travel through the world of delusion from time to time.

So it was an understandment to say that she was super surprised when, after waking up on a typical Saturday and picking up her phone for the first time in the day before even getting out of bed - a bad habit of hers -, she saw the notifications in triple the volume of its normal.

She felt dizzy with so much information, trying to find in the midst of so many comments and messages what was really happening.

Finally, after traveling between her TikTok, Instagram, and Twitter for long minutes, she finally found it.

Chris Sturniolo had commented on her last video.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

It was Friday, and the triplets had just returned home after finishing recording their new car video that would be posted in a few hours.

Chris was currently lying in his bed, the lights in his room dimmed, and the low noise coming from his phone filling the four walls.

The brunette was just getting ready to take a shower minutes ago, having opened his TikTok and scrolling through his For You for a few minutes, about to take off his clothes used in the filming, when a video of an unknown girl talking about himself caught his attention.

It was very normal to have videos of and about himself on his For You, after all, the hours over the last few years that he spent liking one video or another showed the algorithm that he liked this type of content. Edits and memes of him alone or with his brothers filled his app, and he spent enough time watching, laughing, liking, and, sometimes, reposting some of them.

But it wasn't normal for him to have a completely unknown person talking directly about him, with her face and voice exposed for the world while doing it. And what surprised him most was what she was talking about, that specific video being about different prints and colors that he could use in the next Fresh Love collection.

His blue eyes lingered too long on the girl's face, admiring her features, her sweet voice serving as a melody for his ears.

When Chris dragged his thumb from the right to the left of his screen, entering the girl's profile, he finally noticed her name.

"Y/N." His voice came out in a whisper, enjoying more than necessary how the name slipped off his tongue so easily.

His fingers wandered across the screen, going from one video to another, listening to the ideas carefully - even writing some down on his Notes app -, saving some in a separate folder and browsing the comments, only then realizing that practically all of them were from fans tagging him.

Laughter escaped his lips at some of the jokes the girl made every now and then, while fascination filled his eyes with the effort she put into each idea.

The sound of knocking against his bedroom door startled him, his body jumping as he turned sharply towards the source of it, Matt's head appearing between his door and the frame, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes traveled around the room briefly.

"You've been listening to this girl for so many hours that I thought she was here with you." Matt commented, opening the door wider and approaching Chris.

The youngest of the triplets rolled his eyes, suppressing the urge to lock his phone screen and keep Y/N all to himself, but she was well known in the fandom and her videos were about him and his brothers, the possibility of her content getting to them as quickly as it got to him was huge.

"It's a girl who appeared on my For You today. She makes videos of ideas for our channel and brands, can you believe it?" Chris looked at Matt as he showed his phone screen with Y/N's profile open. His eyes were wide with fascination, and his lips stretched into an enthusiastic smile.

Matt observed him for a few seconds, noticing his body language and the way he spoke about the girl, it was different from all the other times the boy commented about tiktokers or videos others made about them.

"Send me a video of her, I'll take a look later. Now go upstairs, I bought us something to eat."

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Another Monday had arrived, and Y/N was looking for strength in her body to get out of bed and face another start of the week.

The thought that in a few hours, she would have a brand new Sturniolo Triplets podcast was what made her tackle her tasks.

Her eyes traveled to the time on her phone and to her notification bar every 10 minutes, as if she was expecting Nick to release the podcast earlier than usual - it was obvious that that wasn't going to happen.

After last Saturday, where she had woken up to a comment from none other than Christopher Sturniolo, her weekend was complete madness.

She spent hours staring at the little comment as her mind tried to process whether she was actually awake or still asleep and in a very good dream.

"loved the idea! it's noted ;)"

"it's noted"? What did that even mean? Did he actually write down her idea for future use? Should she be prepared to wake up some other day and see that he has launched a new collection with something she suggested in one of her videos?

And what made her go crazy the most was that Chris Sturniolo had seen her face, and not only that, he found her attractive enough and her idea creative enough to watch it until the end.

She spent almost the entire previous two days waiting for him to comment again, or even like one of her videos, but that didn't happen. Instead, Y/N received thousands of comments from fans going crazy with her about what happened. At least she had a good laugh with them.

Now, she was in her bedroom, the light from the movie playing on the TV was the only source of illumination. Y/N was lying in her bed, already in her pajamas and with her pre-bed cup of cappuccino on her lap, keeping her legs warm, her eyes on the television, but her mind somewhere else.

The sound of the YouTube notification came from her phone and Y/N had never moved so quickly, her hand taking the device out of her bedside table and unlocking the screen while muting the television, clicking on it with her thumb without even looking at the other notifications.

Her fingers worked on increasing the volume and screen brightness, setting it to the best resolution and getting comfortable on her bed, preparing to stay in that position for the next hour.

The podcast was already at minute 35, and Y/N felt her cheeks hurting from how much she was laughing at the topics brought up by the boys. Nick was especially funny that day, making Chris and Matt laugh at every moment.

In addition to the senseless fights that would arise between the three of them out of nowhere, which made Y/N roll her eyes playfully, already accustomed to their way with each other.

Until her big smile was replaced by an expression of a mixture of fright and surprise.

"Can we take a moment to talk about the intense crush Chris developed this weekend?" Nick interrupted Matt's laughter, taking a sip of his Doctor Pepper.

Chris turned abruptly to his brother, his eyes wide at the comment as he shook his head, almost begging through telepathy for him not to talk about that.

"It's true, Chris spent the weekend obsessing over a fan of ours who makes videos on TikTok with different ideas for our channel." Matt agreed, looking briefly at Nick while his hands moved the microphone support, pressing his lips together as he tried to suppress his laughter at Chris's reaction.

"Yeah, she is super pretty, and her ideas are very interesting. I think I only saw her profile once, but I listened to all her videos through Chris's phone." Nick continued, raising his right hand and directing his palm towards Chris, pretending to cover his figure with it and ignoring his desperate expression. "He literally spent the entire weekend watching her."

"Her name is Y/N. Search for her guys. We might even use one of her ideas on our next podcast." Matt added, his voice coming out low despite his mouth being almost glued to the microphone.

"You guys are horrible, I hate you." Despite the distance, the camera lens that focused on Chris's image captured his red cheeks as he tried to suppress a smile at the thought of the girl who took over his thoughts, rolling his eyes to his brothers.

"Now he will be silent for the next 10 minutes." Nick continued, amusement in his voice as he picked up his Space Camp watermelon lip balm, playing with the object in his hands.

"He's in love Nick, give him some credit." Matt mocked alongside the oldest triplet, a small smile on his face as his eyes watched his brother's reaction.

"Okay, next topic." Chris interrupted loudly, his voice cracking with embarrassment. He raised his arms and moved them from side to side exasperatedly, earning laughter from the other two, before Nick briefly passed his eyes on the document open on his laptop, starting the next topic.

"Oh my God." Y/N whispered, clicking once on the screen and dragging the small ball in the bottom bar to the left, going back a few minutes of the podcast and rewatching that specific part.

The girl repeated that action at least three more times, her brain still processing that Chris Sturniolo had been watching her TikToks all weekend - as if she were some kind of famous artist - and that, apparently, he was developing a mini crush on her as well.

Her heart was beating too fast to be normal as her cheeks burned, a red tinge taking over her skin. Goosebumps ran through her body as her fingers trembled slightly. Her jaw was already hurting from the time she held her mouth open, but no sound escaped from it.

A notification suddenly appearing at the top of the screen caught her eye, her right hand instantly flying to her mouth while her left hand lowered her phone, resting the device on her mattress.

Her eyes were now fixed on the wall in front of her bed, as her mind screamed at herself.

christopherturniolo sent you a direct message.

"hey!"

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. Feel free to send requests or anything at all 🩷💋

Also, again, I'm thinking of making a tag list for my Sturniolo Triplets x reader, so if you want to be included in it and be tagged on every Sturniolo x reader that I post, comment here please! 🩷

Asked tags: @lustfulslxt @soimightlikeoldmen69 @p1xieswrld @lovrejoana

256 notes · View notes

seravphs · 8 months

Text

Act One, Chapter One: half agony, half hope

Knights are bound by duty and honor, but Gojo is more devoted to his princess than he ever was to his oaths.

Main Masterlist | AO3

wc — 10k

tags — royal au, knight gojo, princess reader, forbidden love, ballroom scene, dancing, court politics, blood, minor character death, period-typical misogyny, complicated relationships with fathers, secret meetings, flouting social etiquette by sneaking out to meet your childhood best friend who is also your loyal knight, title from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Next: the beginning of devotion (coming soon)

He was so still Shoko almost mistook him for a dead body. It was a common misunderstanding in her line of business, but not one she was usually startled by. As a poisoner, legally and officially a herbalist, the occasional corpse on her table wasn’t such an unexpected occurrence. A lord, on the other hand, was.

Especially if it was him.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t just a lord. He was the son of the former Hand of the King, the greatest swordsman in living history, and connected to the princess. There wasn’t a man alive who didn’t know the Gojo name. It was synonymous with the royal house itself as the clan that had produced scores of advisors to the king. In nearly every generation, the heir to the throne was accompanied by a Gojo, acting as a living sword and shield.

But even with that storied history, this one was special. A young man who had risen to prominence during The Silent War, he returned home from hell as a knight unlike any other. The bards would adore him. They already did.

Most generals earned their titles by leading campaigns. Gojo hadn’t needed one. He turned the tides of the war as a single man army. They had started calling him a grim reaper, a god of death.

Shoko disliked him on principle, but she couldn’t kill a man like that. They’d have her head on a pike. She didn’t mind the idea of dying so much. What she did shrink from was the idea of dying painfully.

The princess was known for abstaining from most decisions involving the crown despite being in line to inherit it, but Shoko somehow doubted that she would remain so passive if her favorite knight was murdered. Thankfully, Gojo let out a soft breath to show her that he did remain among the living.

“I thought you died,” she remarked.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

She said something else, but Gojo wasn’t listening anymore. He was floating through a shapeless world again, chasing that moment. It slipped away from him despite his redoubled attempts to capture it. He remembered the tang of iron in his mouth. Blood spraying in the air, a mist that he could smell and taste. The leather grip of his sword in his hands, slippery with sweat.

He was trying to win back enlightenment, briefly attained and lost again just as quickly on the battlefield. A feeling of deep and solid peace had settled over him as he hacked through bodies, as if that was what he was meant to do. It should’ve concerned him. He already confused the ever thinning boundary between man and monster. That bloodshed brought him such euphoric tranquility could only mean it was growing worse, but he hated things he couldn’t understand.

He needed to experience it again. Just one more time, so he could make sense of it. The smell of blood. Wading through the dead and the dying, thigh deep in gore - it was no use. Frustrated, he let it go.

There was something soothing about the cracks in the ceiling. He stared up at it, letting his breaths come as shallowly as they had while he had been immersed in his meditative state. Shoko’s basement was chilly and dark, but it was necessary for the illegal autopsies she performed at his request. Those, and the poisons she crafted for him, were its primary purpose. It was only a stroke of luck that these qualities were also helpful for his attempts to recover his short-lived state of grace.

He was tempted to try again, but not today. There was someone too precious to keep waiting if he delayed any longer. He wouldn’t impose upon her the way he often imposed on the elder lords who tried to remind him of his place by pulling rank. While they deserved his spite, she didn’t.

Even Shoko was surprised by his sudden desire for punctuality. “You’re not going to stay?”

“I have a princess to rescue,” he said. “Dragons to slay, things of that nature.”

Shoko scoffed. “You are the dragon they have to save princesses from.”

Well, Gojo thought as he hurried down the corridor, she wasn’t wrong. He was sure others agreed with her. He didn’t waste his time with children’s tales anymore, but he remembered his mother’s voice whispering to him in the dark, curled around him in his bed. A dragon was a tool to lock princesses away. His presence deterred anyone from coming too near to his princess, so by that definition, he was most certainly a dragon.

Gojo found that he was a little proud of himself for that. Thinking of his mother had made him nostalgic. He thought she might be proud too, that he had taken such good care of the princess she herself had looked after. A dragon might trap, but it also guarded and hoarded. He had polished his princess like a treasure, lavishing her with attention until she had become a gem.

She was beautiful.

He was a soldier, so he had long since rid himself of the ability to lose his breath, but if he still could, he would’ve choked at the sight of her when he broke past the doors. She was seated so that the eye of anyone who entered the ballroom would be drawn to her first, but he would’ve found her regardless. He had promised.

Wherever you were, he would always find you.

It’s difficult to hide, being as tall as he is, but Gojo managed. He didn’t want you to see him coming. Already, he has to bite his lip to fight down his smile as he draws closer and closer. A few more steps, a detour to duck behind some random noble, and he’s in front of you.

“May I?” You don’t have a chance to speak before he’s already dragging a chair closer.

The smile on your face doesn’t match the harsh delivery of your words. “The next time you leave me alone with these miserable fools, I’ll order you to fall on your sword.”

Gojo laughs, unfazed. “Good choice. You’re too pretty to get your hands dirty. Although, you are a bit more murderous than expected for a princess.”

“You try putting up with Naoya’s simpering gibberish for an hour.”

“I don’t have to.” He slips into the chair beside you, avoiding you neatly when you try to trip him. “Watch your feet, my lady. People like me don’t have to put up with Naoya.”

People like you shouldn’t have to, either. You’re both higher ranking than he is, a princess and a lord each, yet Gojo’s the only one who gets to escape his painful-to-witness affections.

It’s only natural. A royal dowry comes attached to you. Any eligible man would have to be an idiot not to fight for your hand, but really, they’re vying for a chance at kingship. You can’t go one day without someone reminding you that you’re a physical embodiment of the crown, something to want and own.

Gojo pours himself water with a heavy hand, bypassing the wine. Watching him sip at it, you realize you’ve actually never seen him drink.

“Come now,” he says, a little softer. “Don’t look so desolate. What will I do if everyone sees you pouting? You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“You don’t have a reputation to ruin.”

“Don’t underestimate the things I’d do for the smallest sign of joy from you. Shall I procure one right now to destroy for your amusement?”

You know he wants you to smile, but you can’t. Even if Gojo can usually pry laughter from you with the ease of a trained jester, this time, your sadness weighs over you like a heavy wool cloak. It’s your birthday, but it’s not a happy occasion. Every passing year tightens the noose around your neck.

You’re a princess, and that means your life was arranged for you before you breathed your first breath. There’s nothing you can do about it. You’ve never had a choice.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make that face,” he says. “I’d marry you. If it came down to it, I’d take care of you.”

His words nearly cause you to spill your drink all over your finely embroidered dress. If it set in, it would never come out. He grasps your hand just as the cup begins to tip, saving you.

“Did you mistake your water for wine?” It’s a genuine question from you.

He waves his goblet around carelessly. You’re worried he might be actually drunk, but you smell no alcohol on him. He couldn’t get inebriated from just a sip, anyway. Whatever wild whims have overtaken him tonight are entirely of his own design.

“Better me than Naoya, no? I’d keep you safe.” He cracks a crooked smile in your direction, like you’re sharing a secret. “Admit it. I’d be a good husband. If I were around, you’d be untouchable.”

He’s telling the truth. If Gojo Satoru was your husband, no one would dare anything with you, but you chase the idea from your mind as quickly as Gojo plants it. You’re your father’s daughter, raised on his practicality. You don’t waste time on pipe dreams. Better the hideous truth than a lie costumed in beauty - the bite of thorns was infinitely preferable to the impermanent fantasy of petals.

Instead of answering him, you push your plate in his direction. You don’t even have to ask. Gojo dutifully takes your knife and fork in hand to cut up your meat. “Not even going to consider it, princess? I’m hurt. That was a serious offer, you know.”

“You’re insufferable. Be quiet and eat.”

Gojo’s mother used to say that the more adamantly someone denied something, the closer to the truth it likely was. You can only hope Gojo doesn’t remember, because she was right. The reason you won’t give him even an inch on the topic of marriage is because a proposal from him is the only thing you want but can’t have.

Predictably, he ignores you. He’s never known when to quit. With so little that can genuinely stand in his way, Gojo has difficulty understanding the concept of a limitation. You’re both spoiled in that sense, noble children who had never been told no.

“Think about it,” he says casually. “We’d be invincible. What other house could stand before our union?”

“I said- hello, father.”

“A little early to be calling- oh, hello, Your Majesty. You look well tonight. Is that a new ring?”

Your father cuffs Gojo around the ears. “Brat.”

He’s in a good mood, then.

“My little girl,” he says to you. “How pretty you look. I’m surprised no one has stolen you away from me yet.”

You’re not so little anymore, but you forgive him. It’s just the two of you, ever since the queen died. He’s the reason you are what you are, as cultivated as a rose in a greenhouse. The climate that nurtured you is one carefully tailored by his own hand.

“Not for lack of trying,” Gojo says brightly.

“Boy,” your father calls him, despite the fact that Gojo isn’t a boy either. A deep sigh escapes his lungs. He looks truly sorrowful for a moment. “You look just like your mother.”

Gojo’s smile freezes on his face. It’s true, he does. Through him, the king’s former hand lives again, but you know Gojo doesn’t want to be seen as an extension of her, even if he misses her more than anything.

You’re familiar with the way your father knows exactly what to say to make you feel small again. The king is someone who exudes power. His uncanny ability to pick out what you’re most sensitive to and exploit it makes even the most proud of noblemen revert to children in his presence, as if they’ve been scolded by a nanny for stealing tarts from the kitchen. It’s strange that you feel the need to protect Gojo, the strongest person you know, from that.

He reaches out and pats Gojo’s cheek now that he’s reduced him to silence. “Enjoy the night, my dear child.”

When he leaves, Gojo slumps back in his chair with a tick in his jaw. Even if the king is your father, he can’t help himself. “Nasty old man,” he mutters.

You pinch his thigh beneath the table. “Smile and look pretty.”

“Ugh, who is it now?”

“Lord Zenin and his son haven’t gotten their fill of tormenting me.”

“Hm,” Gojo says. “I wonder.”

“If you have a plan to avoid them, hurry. They’re nearly here.”

“I don’t know,” he teases. “I don’t think you’d like it very much.”

“Yes, well, I don’t like conversation with Sir Zenin very much either.”

He grabs your hand. “Then you’ll forgive me for anything that happens tonight?”

“Anything is questionable, but do as you please.”

He tugs you from your seat, pulling you through the crowd of people. Caught in his wake, you float past faces familiar and unfamiliar until the patriarch of House Zenin and his infernal spawn fade behind you.

When you turn to face him again, he’s dipped into a bow. His smile is sweet, boyish. It’s as if you’re children again, and he’s stolen you from your lessons to waltz in an empty ballroom, motes of dust that you’ve stirred up floating in the sunbeams.

He extends his hand, a sapphire burning on one finger. A dragon curls around the silver band of the ring, a nod to his heritage. Though the Gojos are a powerful and ancient house, in this moment, Gojo looks young, foolish, and all the better for it.

“May I have this dance, my lady?”

You giggle, wishing you had a fan to pretend to hide behind. You’re playing pretend again, acting as if you’re characters from a storybook.

“I’d be delighted to, my lord.”

The music swells. Gojo takes your hand and presses a kiss to your bare knuckles. His lips are soft against your skin, temptation incarnate. In his grasp, your fingers tremble slightly, torn between wanting to seize him and wanting to run away.

You’re terrified by how much you want him.

If you let him in for one second, you can imagine how easy it would be to never stop. He’s every one of your desires and hopes made manifest, tied up in a single person. Although it’s impossible, you still feel the heat of him. The warmth of his lips linger on you, a stolen moment before he sweeps you up in his arms.

This is how you remember he’s a boy no longer. The breadth of his shoulders is wide. He’s lost the roundness of youth, his face growing angular and cunning. There’s solid muscle underneath your hands as he pulls you with him, his feet beating a steady rhythm that you have to fight to keep up with.

He’s doing it on purpose, you know, testing how much you still retained all of those years of tutoring. You’re determined to show him they weren’t for naught.

When you catch your breath and master the music once more, gliding with him rather than being tugged along, he smiles like he always expected you to. He’s been like this since you were young, dangling challenges in front of you that he’s equally as excited to see you pass as fail.

The music slows. All around you, the frantic steps melt into slow swaying. You’re feeling brave tonight, so you step closer. You allow the arm curled more tightly around your waist, the tender look in his eyes. When you steal a glance around, no one is watching the two of you, but how far can you go before you lose it all?

“Don’t talk to Naoya again,” he murmurs against your skin. It tickles, and you squirm until he presses so close it petrifies you. “I don’t like the rumors around him.”

“What rumors?”

“Bad ones. He tumbles girls and leaves them with nothing. Hurts them, takes whatever he wants, and ruins their lives. I don’t trust him, and especially not with you.” His hand smoothes over a stray ruffle on your petticoat, the gesture impossibly loving. “Never with you, princess.”

You shudder at the way he says princess, feeling cut open, exposed. What has gotten into him tonight? You don’t understand. It feels like drowning, your brain always three steps behind, struggling to break the waves of your confusion.

You know you’re weak. It’s your name that protects you, the threat of your father and the royal house behind you. Alone, you’re a lamb to slaughter. You’ve been spoiled your whole life, leaving you naive and helpless.

Gojo is someone you trust implicitly. He’s always protected you. You’ve relied on him for as long as you’ve been alive, but perhaps that’s conditioned you to feel comfortable putting your hand into the mouth of the beast. Even at the chance of exposing how poorly you’ve been trained for the court’s schemes, you don’t hold back when you’re with him. He makes you feel at ease to speak freely without fearing how much you’ll reveal of your own vulnerabilities.

“I can’t,” you tell him honestly. “House Zenin is one of the Three Great Houses. I can’t refuse Naoya without good reason.”

“Then marry me,” he says softly. “Marry me and be done with all of this. They don’t deserve you, anyway. They won’t treat you like I will.”

You close your eyes, feeling the telltale hotness of incoming tears burn behind your eyelids. Why did he do this to you? He was so gentle it hurt, even though you knew he was capable of terrible things. Somehow that made it worse, the knowledge that he was choosing to be kind.

“You should go,” you say instead.

Marriage between you and Gojo would never happen. Forget your father. An alliance between the strongest house and the royal house? It would be akin to tyranny. There would be blood in the streets before any of the other nobles would allow it. It’s better not to dream about impossible desires.

Thorns, not petals, you remind yourself. You can suffer the truth.

“Why?” He says. “I want to stay with you. I want to be good to you.”

“This isn’t something to joke about, Satoru.” He looks like he’d rather you have slapped him. “Never talk to me about this again. Find someone else to dance with.”

There. Your brain snags on something to distract you. You’ve been dancing with him for too long. It’ll reflect poorly on your reputation to give an unmarried man so much of your attention.

“Pick another partner,” you urge him.

His brow creases. Stubbornly, he holds onto you even tighter. “Don’t want to.”

“You have to. Everyone will whisper. I’m surprised they aren’t already.”

“Then let them,” he pleads. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Regretfully, you pull away. Darkness clouds his beautiful face. It’s unnatural. When you remember him, he’s always smiling. The instances when he directs a genuine frown at you are few and far between, but you’ve already made your decision.

Gojo stalks off in search of a new partner. Somehow, even though you were the one who forced him to leave, your heart stings to watch his back fade into the distance. If you didn’t want him to go, you shouldn’t have said anything. This is what you hoped for. Still, it’s painful.

You want to find somewhere to rest after your spat, drained from a rare argument with him, but nowhere is secluded enough for you to let your guard down. Suddenly, you feel a wave of hatred for your stupid, glittering palace and the stupid, glittering fools infesting it. You just fought with your best friend and you’re tired, but you still have to keep up appearances.

Somewhere nearby, Gojo is spinning another girl, her skirts flaring out around them. You wish you could press your palms to your eyes, letting the pressure relieve your headache, but you’ve shown enough weakness tonight. Instead, you tilt your head back and breathe, trying to appear calm and in control.

It’s a good thing you restrained yourself, because Naoya is the one that finds you. His shoes are the first thing you see, black leather with steel accents. Steel, not silver, because he wants it to hurt when he kicks.

You know. You’ve heard the stories.

“Abandoned by Satoru, my lady?” You hate the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. Gojo makes it sound so intimate, like it’s for you and him only. Naoya’s version is a bastardization, much like the man himself.

You’re too tired to deal with him, and yet, you’ll have to. House Zenin is important to your father and thus, important to you, especially when you inevitably replace him. “What are you insinuating about your princess, Sir Zenin?”

You use the proper address, the way he should’ve spoken about Gojo. They’re not close enough for him to be calling the other man by his first name.

“Nothing, nothing,” he says. “Don’t get defensive now.”

You want to tell one of the knights stationed around the hall to drag him away. Instead, you smile and let him prattle on. Court politics. If you ever want to prove to your father you deserve everything you’ve been born into, you have to play the game. No matter how terrible some of the players are.

“Since you graced Satoru with one, I hope you wouldn’t mind another dance.”

Turning him down isn’t an option, but when you see that everyone’s watching, you realize even more how much it really isn’t an option. He probably arranged it that way too. Demonspawn. You’d curse his house if you could, instead, you offer him your hand, cringing internally when he tries kissing it.

You can’t help but compare the two. Gojo did it better.

Like any son of a high born house, Naoya’s a good dancer. It’s the one compliment you’re willing to grace him with, as everything else about him, especially his personality, is hideous. His hand is solid against your upper back, the other leading you as you spin around the room. It makes you want to scrub yourself clean, even under the layers of clothes.

You’re doing this for your house. Your throne. This is nothing. None of your mantras diminish your desire to shove Naoya’s head in the cake waiting at the banquet table.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time,” he tells you.

“Forwardness is unbecoming in a man,” you say with a smile, as if he’s telling you the sweetest nothings. “What would my father say?”

“Don’t play coy, princess. We both know how this ends.”

“Please excuse me,” you say as soon as the song ends. One is enough. “I find myself rather dizzy.”

Naoya’s lips whiten with anger. He tries to grab your wrist, but someone steps between you. “Watch your hands with Her Royal Highness, Zenin. I won’t tolerate your disrespect.”

Naoya’s eyes flash, but the interloper is sweeping you away already. His hands hover above your dress, never actually touching, as he guides you in the opposite direction.

“Sir Getou, what are you doing?”

Getou looks down on you in amusement once you’re a safe distance away. “Satoru sent me to rescue you, of course. I didn’t think he was serious when he said you would get into trouble without him.”

“Trouble finds me,” you reply archly.

“Yes, yes,” he placates, sparking annoyance even though he just saved you from Naoya. “Are you tired of dancing yet, or do you have room for one more? I’m hoping to make an impression on potential wives by dancing with the princess.”

You’re smart enough to know that one more is rarely truly one more, but Getou did save you from Naoya. Besides, if you’re busy with him, no one else can ask for your hand.

“I suppose I can spare you a dance.”

Like Gojo, Getou is an adept dancer. He is, after all, a trained court noble, and the sons of House Getou are unusually predisposed to the arts in any case. If the Gojos are known for their strength, the Getous are known for their crafts.

Getou doesn’t flinch from your unwavering gaze. If anything, he seems to find it amusing, although in the way one would find a puppy amusing. Gently, he leads you around the ballroom.

“Stay alert, my lady. Someone’s watching you,” Getou warns.

You follow his gaze to Gojo. There’s a beautiful woman in his arms that takes you no time at all to place, so infamous is her notoriety. Yuki of House Tsukumo is second only to Gojo in her blatant disrespect for everything the elders held dear.

They make a striking couple. Everywhere they go, heads turn to watch them pass. Her gold to his silver, her lion to his dragon - it would be a powerful match. They would be perfect for each other, if only because no one would be able to challenge each other like they could.

Excellent dancers each, together they become an instrument for the music to shine through. Getou is gentle with you, each movement as delicate as lilies floating across the surface of a pond. In contrast, Gojo and Yuki dance like they’re fighting, each trying to gain an advantage over the other. They’re magnetic, drawing every eye in the room to watch them.

Everyone else may be entranced by the pair of them, but the pair itself seems disinterested in the crowd around them. Yuki’s eyes are closed but Gojo-

Gojo’s looking at you. Your cheeks heat with his attention. His stare is intense, eyes half-lidded. Every move is prowling, almost predatory. His eyes remain fixated on your face as he and Yuki move in a complicated, sinuous series of circles. There’s something impossibly filthy about his gaze. It borders on indecency, combined with the way he barely seems to be paying attention to dancing, giving you all of his focus instead.

“We can’t let them steal all the attention,” Getou says. He really is Gojo’s brother-in-arms. “Let’s give them a show.”

You’ve never been trained in statecraft, but you’ve been given the very finest of tutors in the elegant manners of the court. A show, as Getou puts it, is more than within your capabilities. You close your senses to the rest of the world, focusing on the shift of your skirts and Getou’s quiet voice as your steps weave intricate patterns across the floor.

He’s a naturally friendly man. It’s easy to talk to him, whispering between each peak in the music. Although he’s friends with Gojo, your social circles rarely overlap enough for you to spend much time in Getou’s company. You’re almost surprised by how much you enjoy it.

“I think it’s time to change partners,” calls a familiar voice.

As Getou takes the hands of Lady Yuki, her eyes still closed as she sways, someone takes his place. Gojo’s hand slides from where Getou’s were placed appropriately on your upper back down to your hip. You drag them back up, ignoring his pout. He’ll be your last dance of the night.

“Should I be worried about being replaced?” He murmurs.

“It was only one turn,” you tell him.

“And I never want to do it again,” he says. “The other girls don’t dance like you do.”

He’s an unrepentant liar. You might have been tutored by the best dancers your father could find, but at this level, first and second place might as well be interchangeable. He’s only saying it so you know that he wanted to come back to you, despite the fact that you forced him away.

Gojo’s a contradiction wrapped inside a paradox, at once sadistic and merciful. No one’s capable of making you feel as much as he does. Without the guidance of formal tutors to give you the education of a prince, you have no idea how to navigate the dangerous world of alliances and betrayals, war and peace. Once, you clumsily blundered through diplomacy, watching your father’s disappointment grow by the hour. You’ve since learned that complete silence is preferable to gaucheness. At least that is something your education as a princess has taught you.

But Gojo knew you before you grew into the woman you are now. He still remembers how to pull smiles and tears from you, how to push you to the brink of exasperation and coax you into brilliant happiness. He has a key to all the gates you’ve erected. No matter what you do, he always slips past your defenses.

If you keep letting him do as he pleases, you’ll be the only one who loses. Gojo is a man. If he’s rumored to be attached to the princess, it’ll elevate his reputation. He’s already the best swordsman in the entire kingdom. Being thought of as a profligate would only make them worship him more. People love a little hint of degeneracy to their heroes - not too much to make them immoral, but enough to make them attainable.

A princess is not a hero. You’re not someone to attain, you’re someone to obtain. When people look at you, they only see the crown. If you’re thought of as a ruined woman, it would prevent you from finding a husband. It would destabilize the entire kingdom.

It hurts to realize that you’re that selfish. Gojo would’ve chosen you over anything, but you’re letting something as empty as reputation displace him.

Not that it’s exactly a choice. Your life has been forfeit since you were born. You don’t belong to yourself, but to the royal house. As the only child of the king, you can’t allow yourself any mistakes, not when even the barest twitch of your fingers is scrutinized.

When Gojo offers to escort you back to your chambers at the end of the night, you swallow down the desire to agree. His eyes are hopeful, mirroring your own expression. It could be like back then, when you were children, running through the halls of the grand palace without a care in the world. Except you know you can never return to the halcyon days of your childhood, before your mother died, before his mother disappeared, before everything went wrong. You try not to let the disappointment on his face bother you when you allow the knight your father sent to bring you back to your rooms instead.

You attribute the strange feeling you get in the morning to the leftover melancholy of last night. Sunlight trickles across your face lazily, not enough to raise you from your bed but just bright enough to remind you that morning was here.

You’ve never slept long enough for the sun to warm your face while you were still entangled in your sheets before. The window faces your bed at such an awkward angle that the sun has to be high in the sky before it can light across your pillows.

Usually a maid wakes you by now if you aren’t up already. Where were they?

A gentle knock at the door only makes you more apprehensive. It can’t be Utahime. You know the sound of her steps. The pacing is stilted, awkward, as if whoever was behind the door was nervous.

“Hello?”

“Oh, princess!” Definitely nervous. Not a voice you can recognize. A new maid, perhaps? But why would they-

The door bursts open. You scream as a cloaked figure lunges at you. She throws herself on top of you, trying to pin you to the bed so she can run you through with the knife she has raised in her left hand.

She’s crying. “You weren’t supposed to be awake!”

Crying and angry. Fluffy white down bursts into the air, obscuring your vision as she stabs a pillow so brutally it vomits its contents. She’s not very good, which explains her terror. Unfortunately, you aren’t very good either, and you’re pinned underneath her. Thrashing doesn’t work - at the very least, she’s stronger than you, if badly trained.

When she finally immobilizes you, she has a growing bruise over her arm from a terrible punch you had thrown, trying to mimic the way Gojo does it. Keeping your thumb outside your fist was all you remembered, and it went wide. You barely managed to hit her, and it came with a cost. She snags your wrist and pins it down.

The knife plunges towards you. It’s rusty, which terrifies you almost as much as the implement itself. If by some miracle you survived, you’d be at risk of infection.

Blue eyes flash before you. In this moment, an inch away from death, you wish you had gotten to say goodbye to him. Fear robs you of rationality. You don’t know anything but that you want to see him one more time and feel the warmth of his embrace.

“Princess, it’s okay. I’m here.”

You crack an eye open. The girl is no longer visible. The only person leaning over you now has white hair and the characteristic Gojo eyes, impossible to fake. You decide you must’ve died already. This is heaven, where your wishes have been granted.

Gojo pulls you up. His hands are warm and solid. Vaguely, you realize that you’re trembling with the same nonchalant distance that you would use to catalog the color of the pillows.

“You’re not dead yet.”

“Did I say that out loud?”

He chuckles. His thumb is rubbing soothing circles into your palm. “No, I could just tell by the look in your eyes.”

“The girl…”

“Dead.”

You scramble to the edge of your bed and peek over. Sure enough, she’s lying in a pool of her own blood. Her throat has been cut so surely her head is nearly separated from her body.

You gag.

“Wait,” Gojo says. He kneels to tear off her cloak and holds it in front of you. “Here, princess.”

You don’t want to give in to your queasiness, especially not when he himself is so stoic, so you shake your head. More insistently, he pushes it towards you.

“It’s only natural,” he soothes. “I’m used to this. You’ve never seen a dead body before.”

“Just come here,” you say weakly. “No, actually. I’ll come to you.”

“Give me a second,” he says, dropping to his knees. Under the bed, he retrieves your silk slippers. He slips them onto your feet gently, standing when he’s finished with his task.

Obligingly, he waits as you gingerly step over the girl. When your slipper threatens to dip into the red stain spreading across your floor, he simply grabs you underneath the armpits and lifts you over it.

Even though it’s a horrific scene, you can’t look away. Her face is frozen in a still mask. Bile fills your stomach. Gojo gently turns your head in another direction with two fingers, the touch delicate. “Don’t look.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“I told you not to restrain yourself,” he says disapprovingly.

“You’re not- you’re-“ You can’t figure out the right way to finish your sentence. “Does it really get that easy?”

His laugh is short and brutal. “Easy? I didn’t even think about it. All I know how to do is kill. I don’t mind it, for you.”

You shake your head. There’s nothing to say, with a body between you and blood pooling around both your shoes, but still, your heart aches. You had known him when he was a boy. It would always be hard to see him with calluses where once his hands had been chubby and soft.

He chucks you under the chin, the gesture fleetingly affectionate. “Don’t be so despondent, princess. I’m glad to do it. That’s what knights are for.”

Knights and maids, all meant to lay down their life or other lives for you at your convenience. Utahime was too loyal to have let an assassin into your chambers by choice. Your breath catches. It concerns him that you’re teetering into upset again, just when he’s calmed you down.

“Satoru, is Iori-“ The thought is too horrible. You can’t finish it.

“She’s not dead,” he says.

Noticeably, he doesn’t say that she’s alright.

Utahime will be scarred forever. They found her slumped at the bottom of the stairs, her body dumped unceremoniously after they stole her from outside your bedroom. A massive gash opened her right cheek up, crossing just slightly over her nose bridge.

You almost can’t bear to look at her. Not because her scar makes her hideous - far from it. Utahime will always be beautiful to you. The scar is only a reminder of how you’ve failed her.

You’re a princess without any power. All you can do is fuss over her after the fact, unable to change the past.

“Princess,” she hisses, jerking away from you for the third time in as many minutes. “You must stop! I’m your lady-in-waiting, not the other way around.”

“You got hurt for me,” you say, hands balled helplessly at your side. You refuse to touch her more aggressively, for fear of aggravating her wound. The bandages wrapped around her cheek are an ever present reminder of how much she’s sacrificed for you. So are the whispers. The looks. She holds her head high, acting as if it doesn’t bother her.

“I was glad to do it. I didn’t want to be shipped off to some far away baron anyway. Be grateful,” she cracks a smile you don’t feel. “I certainly am. At least I could still join the church, if anything.”

Why do the people around you insist on destroying themselves for your benefit?

“You don’t need a baron.” Loyally, you vow, “I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.”

“Be careful, my lady. Some would take that as a marriage proposal, and then I’d have twice as many death threats.”

“I’d protect you.”

“You, princess? I doubt that,” Gojo calls.

You’ve been watching the knights move in and out of the arena from your vantage point on the royal balcony, but very few of them have dared to address you, much less speak to you so casually. They’re all too focused on the tourney you’re set to watch this afternoon. Only he would be so familiar with you and so unconcerned about the sparring, knowing his chances.

Utahime lets out an aggressive sigh with no regard as to whether or not Gojo could hear her. In fact, she’d probably prefer it if he had overheard. Gojo, for his part, ignores the chance to antagonize her for once in his life in order to focus on you.

“You know, my lady, I’ve heard an interesting rumor going around.”

You walk to the edge of the balcony and peer over the railing. Utahime gasps in fear and grabs onto your petticoats, afraid that you’ll tip over the fencing. “Go on, Sir Gojo,” you say.

“If a fair damsel grants a knight her favor, he’ll fight ten times as well. Twenty, even. And all the more so if it’s the princess, who everyone knows is the fairest in the land.”

Unwillingly, a smile twitches to life upon your lips. “Is that so?”

“Won’t you grant your most loyal knight a token of your affection?”

“Don’t,” Utahime gripes. “What has he done to deserve it?”

A scrap of pale blue fabric flutters in the light breeze, reminiscent of doves. Gojo catches the ribbon you’ve loosed from your hair, his fist enclosed in armor. He brings it to his lips for a chaste kiss he can’t place upon you. The entire time, his eyes are on yours, searching.

“I’ll win this whole thing,” he says. “I’ll defeat every knight here for you.”

The trumpets blow, calling the contestants. He’ll be wanted. Utahime shakes you lightly as he leaves your sight. “Get yourself together,” she says sternly.

“But mama, I love him!” You joke.

Her frown can’t last in the face of your teasing smile. She fixes the lace on your sleeve and collar, though they’re hardly ruffled. She can’t help herself. It’s her second nature to dote on you.

“Ah, my princess,” she sighs. “You worry me.”

You poke her uninjured cheek, trying to get her to smile. “It’s not me. You worry too much.”

Another voice cuts in. “I feel the same way sometimes, my dear Lady Utahime, but I trust no one more than you. Her mother left her to your capable hands, after all.”

Your father has arrived. Utahime smiles as the king kisses her cheek, but you can’t. You know he means it lightheartedly, but it galls you all the more that he says it so blithely. When your mother fell ill, Utahime had been the one who took charge of looking after you.

Not your father.

Not your only living parent, the man who was supposed to feel all the closer to you for your loss. Instead, he pushed you away.

You knew you weren’t being fair.

The king had been wracked with grief over the passing of his beloved wife. Along with his other royal duties, he couldn’t possibly have been expected to watch over an infant as well. You know better than anyone the toll the crown takes on a man. Stewardship of this land asks a heavy price. It’s not an easy role.

No, you can’t blame your father for choosing the country. It’s his duty, as it is yours.

You only wish it hadn’t been Utahime’s burden to carry instead. She was just a few years older, a child still when she had raised another child. In many ways, she had been a mother to you. Only now that you’ve grown older than she had been back then do you understand how much responsibility she had accepted at such a young age.

Your father turns to you. “Are you enjoying the tournament?”

“It’s barely started. Only the squires have been jousting. We haven’t seen any of the real knights yet.”

“Those squires will become knights themselves one day. Watch carefully, and you may discover a treasure worth keeping.”

As he speaks, you finally find someone worth watching, as if your father only had to say it to cause it to happen. A boy with rosy hair lunges towards his opponent. He disarms him and forces him to the ground - only to offer him his hand in exchange.

The other squire hesitates. Doubt crosses his face. Finally, he accepts the proffered hand like someone expecting an attack at any minute, but all the other boy does is pull him to his feet and dust him off. He’s more honorable than most of the knights of the realm you know, too focused on humiliating their opponents to flaunt their own glory.

Your father doesn’t notice your distraction. He’s still speaking. You bring yourself back to the conversation just in time to hear him say, “Sukuna, the King of the Curses.”

“Sorry?” You laugh.

“It’s no laughing matter, I’m afraid,” your father says gravely. “He’s the ruler of the Western Kingdom, the land where the sun never sets. Perhaps he’s grown tired of his arid land and seeks gentler climes, for his invasions have earned him the title ‘King of Curses’.”

Utahime’s lip curls in disgust. “King of Cruelty is more like it. I’ve heard of what he’s done to his prisoners. That man has no honor.”

“None,” your father agrees, “and yet it is necessary not to antagonize him. We are small if prosperous. We can’t afford it.”

Utahime looks as if she wants to speak, but she holds her tongue. She’s always been good at navigating the court. Trained under her, you wait as well. Taking your cues from her is something you’ve done since you were a child.

“Yes,” your father says, his eyes distant. He’s ruminating over something he won’t share. “He can’t be provoked. The representative he sent us for this tourney must be carefully attended to.”

That representative, Uraume, doesn’t fight like any knight you know. Their sword is wider than most of those found in your country, and half as tall as a man. Precision is lost in favor of brutality. They wreak havoc with the brutality of a butcher, tearing through the ranks of your best and strongest. Of course, he’s not the only strong fighter. There are other knights to watch as well.

“That Lady Tsukumo is doing quite well for a woman,” your father notes in surprise. “What prodigious talent. I don’t think her house has produced a fighter like that in years.”

“She’s better than half your knights,” you remind him. “Lady Tsukumo already defeated most of her bracket.”

“Yes, yes,” your father laughs. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I’m simply admiring her.”

As the day progresses, clear victors emerge in each division of the tournament. Uraume is one of them. Gojo is another.

They placed him against Getou for his penultimate match, knowing the crowd would go wild for a contest between not only two of the best knights of the realm, but sworn brothers. Although Getou is better than most, Gojo is more of a natural disaster than a real, human adversary. At the end of their round, Getou smiles even as Gojo brings him to his knees.

The next round is even more hotly anticipated than Getou and Gojo’s.

Gojo strides into the center of the arena with the classic arrogance he’s known for. He delights in riling the crowd up. They cheer louder and louder on each circuit he laps around the arena on his silver stallion, pale as moonlight. By the last, they’re nearly delirious with passion for him.

Uraume has no such pretenses. They’re a cold creature, as frigid as they come.

It matters not. Gojo beats them so easily that it can only be described as disrespectful. He rides past Uraume and thrusts the hilt of his sword into their stomach with such force they fall off their horse. Gojo dismounts casually. He hadn’t even used his blade. He flips Uraume onto their back with a boot and steps onto their breastplate, pinning them in place. His sword hovers underneath their chin, a whisper away from death. “Yield,” he says pleasantly.

You, remembering your fathers speech about Sukuna’s chosen representative from that morning, glance to the side. He’s smiling as gently as ever. Underneath his cloak, where only you and Utahime can see, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles have turned white.

After the match, you recognize one of the men rushing Uraume off to be one of your father’s most trusted advisors. He must be doing damage control, but then again, when is he not when Gojo’s around?

Your father stands, as composed as if he had never been upset in the first place. You envy that self-control. You’ve always aspired to your father. In your eyes, he was the perfect ruler - perhaps because he was the one who taught you what a ruler should be.

Gojo waits in the center of the arena. He’s beautiful as always, as fierce as an avenging angel. There’s a fine sweat beading at his temples in a way that makes you want to wipe it off with your handkerchief, but you abstain, knowing thousands are watching.

Gojo has no such scruples.

When it’s time for him to be awarded his laurel crown, he kneels - not to your father, but to you. A gasp rises from the crowd. You stifle your own shock. Here, where every sign of weakness is clearly visible and easily taken advantage of, you can’t reveal that this wasn’t planned. The royal family’s control over its retainers must appear immaculate - even if Gojo had always been uncontrollable.

Wordlessly, your father passes you the laurel. You know something is brewing. He can only tolerate Gojo’s outlandish behavior so many times. But this isn’t the place to worry about your father’s incumbent wrath, so you take over the duties of honoring the victor. It’s easy. You’ve seen your father do it enough times to be able to replicate it in your sleep.

Gojo rises from his knees, a hungry smile on his face. “I told you I’d win.”

“That you did,” you reply noncommittally, trying to figure out how you’re going to discreetly get him out of the arena without your father attempting to try him for treason.

He frowns. Knowing him and the type of maneuvers he’s likely to pull, you put a respectable amount of distance between the two of you as you mark his brow in gold paint.

When you grasp his hand to lift his arm into the air, he presses something into your palm. Years of sharing secrets and playing pretend at espionage have trained you not to flinch. When you lower your enjoined hands, you slip the shred of paper he’s passed you into your pocket.

People are cheering. You notice with warmth that he looks heroic, like he’s stepped right out of an old legend. Your father doesn’t seem to agree.

Arguments between the two of you used to be few and far between, but lately it seems like you can’t do anything right. You’d forgotten what it was like to retreat to your parents’ bedroom for a scolding. It hadn’t happened since you were a child, yet here you were again, studying the fabric of the draperies to avoid eye contact with your father, just like you had when you were younger.

“He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful,” you start. But that’s not true, and you know it. So you try again. “He wasn’t trying to cause problems. He cares about the kingdom, father. He was just trying to show off his - our - strength.”

“Gojo is a liability.” How easily your father casts him off, marks him as defective. He’s always been like that - clinical in his appraisal. You lacked that precise, indifferent ruthlessness. You’ve tried.

“He’s a good man, a good knight. House Gojo has always been loyal to us, father. Remember his mother? Remember Sorashi? She wouldn’t want you to treat her son like this.”

Your father flinches. First comes sorrow, then, anger. “Don’t speak to me about Sorashi.”

“You can’t just pretend like they never existed! Sorashi, my mother-“

“Child, you are testing my patience dangerously.”

You fall silent, hating yourself for it. Always a child. Never someone worth listening to.

“You don’t understand anything,” he says more gently.

“I don’t understand anything because you won’t tell me anything!”

“You’re a princess,” he snarls. “You’re not supposed to know anything!”

You reel back, stunned. You had always been afraid that this was how your father truly felt.

“You have no sons, so it’s me or no one else.” Disgust fills you at the fear in your own voice. Weak. Pathetic. After all these years, the lessons your father gave you still haven’t sunk in. Perhaps he’s right, and you’re not fit for the throne after all. You’re still begging for what you want instead of demanding it like it’s what you deserve. A prince wouldn’t act like this, but you’re not a prince - only a girl who was never taught how to rule.

He throws up his hands in exasperation. “I didn’t say anything about sons. See, you’re too young and inexperienced. This is why I won’t let you in yet. You’re not ready to rule.”

“But I will?”

He gives you a wan smile. He’s tired. Guilt seeps through you. These days, all you do is fight. You miss the times when it felt like you had worked together. At the end of all of it, you love your father. You hate that it’s been like this.

“All in time, my child. I love you, I really do. But you’re not ready.”

Mutiny curls under your tongue. You’re not ready because he waited too long, hoping for a male heir until your mother died. By then, it was too late for you to catch up on years of lessons you should’ve had. Regardless of what he says, you know how he feels. You were never the one he wanted but-

He’s still your father. When he reaches out to stroke your cheek, a peace offering, you close your eyes against his hand and don’t give voice to your treasonous thoughts. It’s nothing to suffer the humiliation of your status for a while longer. You have all the time in the world to earn your place.

Your father is right, in the end. You can be patient.

Back in the privacy of your room, you unfurl Gojo’s note. Gojo’s mother had him trained in elegant cursive that he uses for formal documents and letters. In his messages to you, it degenerates into chicken scratch. It’s a lucky coincidence that it’s all but unreadable to anyone else, making it a code only you can decipher.

The gardens at midnight. - S.

Only a place and a time. Is he trying to tempt fate?

You indulge in the idea of not going, especially since things are already tense with your father. All the way up until the hour you need to leave, you let yourself believe it’s not happening. It’s too risky. People are already suspicious of you as it is. The minute passes, and if you go now, you’ll be late, so you won’t.

You grab your shawl with a huff of annoyance. You’re going. You were always going to go, from the very moment you got the note.

You aren’t used to sneaking through hallways you usually glide through. There are several close calls as you make your way closer and closer to the gardens. Multiple times, you’re forced to make a run for the nearest door or drape to hide behind.

You’re barely two feet away when you’re finally caught. A hand slaps over your mouth before you can scream as someone tugs you into a dark corridor. You kick and lash out, forgetting everything Gojo has taught you in favor of blind violence.

“Shh,” comes a voice in your ear. “It’s just me.”

You bite him.

He hisses and pulls back, shaking out his hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Why would you do that? You scared me!”

“You’re not careful enough, princess. Did you even notice the maid coming up the left hallway?”

Admittedly, you hadn’t. It’s lucky that he was there to save you.

Gojo has always been there to protect you. The tension bleeds from your body. You sigh and lean into him. You can’t help it.

He laughs. “Are you that happy to see me?”

“If you don’t be quiet, I’ll show you exactly how happy I am.”

“Come on,” he tugs you out towards the gardens. It’s dangerous, but you follow him anyway. Being with Gojo is so threatening not despite his strength, but because of it. You rely on him too easily, trusting him to see you safely through any peril. His very presence is the promise of security. It makes it too easy to relax when he’s with you.

You expect him to tell you why he called you here, but he remains silent when he tugs you down on the bench next to him. “Satoru?”

“Here,” he says, opening his hands. A single crushed violet sits on his palm. You raise it to your eye. It’s all the more fragrant because it has been mangled, the delicate petals bruised to release the scent into the air.

Gojo’s mouth lifts in a smile. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize.”

“You really know how to win a girl’s heart,” you tease.

“Hopefully I know how to win over her father’s too.”

You freeze.

“If not marriage, then knighthood. Let me be yours, in whatever way I can have you.”

“You have me,” you tell him. “You always have.”

You don’t know how to answer such devotion. Besides the obvious political ramifications of being wedded to Gojo when your marriage is meant to be a bargaining chip used for the sake of your kingdom, you don’t want it. Not like this.

Gojo has been your dedicated shield for so long, the two of you have forgotten a life where he wouldn’t give up everything to protect you. He’d do anything for you - even that which he should hold sacred for himself. His very body is littered with scars that he’s received on your behalf. How much more can you take from him?

Does Gojo really want to marry you or does he want to protect you? Will he play the part of the devoted servant for the rest of his life?

“You don’t have to…” You realize you don’t know how to say it. Or that you don’t want to. Selfishly, a part of you can’t bear to release him from the oath he gave you when you were children, though he couldn’t have known. Neither of you could have understood what it meant for him to kneel at your feet and swear his life to you. It had all been in good fun, the way children understand things. “I don’t want you to- Oh, Satoru. You don’t owe me anything. You’ve done enough for me.”

For a second, your imagination plays tricks on you. The cobalt of his eyes kindles into a terrifying flame, like the lightning in the town he hails from. It’s as if the draconic blood his ancestors claimed still lives within him.

He continues as if he hadn’t heard you. “I’m going to ask your father tomorrow. I want to be your dedicated knight; I won’t wait any longer. I’ve waited enough.”

His pushiness feeds your annoyance. You cling to it, preferring it to the dreadful hopelessness inside of you. The right thing is not always the easy thing. Gojo deserves his freedom after wasting his youth on keeping you safe, yet letting him go feels as difficult as willingly driving a nail through your hand. You want to cling to him forever, reassured by his strength.

“Don’t,” you say, trying to sound firm.

“At the ceremony,” he says determinedly. “When he gives me captainship in the army. He’ll have to say yes if I ask him then.”

“Satoru, please-” Your voice wobbles embarrassingly, and you have to pause. Silently, you beg your tears not to fall. The way he disarms you is humiliating. You turn away, but Gojo understands. Years of watching after you has taught him a lot. He bandaged the scrapes that you refused to cry over and avenged your honor after you pretended your pride hadn't been hurt. He can see right through you. “Please don’t.”

You see the frustration on his face. He’s not a man used to holding himself back, and yet he does.

“It’s alright,” he says. “We can wait.”

It’s just another number to add to the tally of favors you owe him. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be my guard,” you say in a small voice. “I just-”

“I know. Though I do think the king will ask me anyway, so this is all pointless.” He looks away. “I just wanted you to- Nevermind.”

“Really?” Doubt colors your voice.

“I’m the strongest. Who else would your father ask to protect you but me?”

“He doesn’t like you,” you point out. “No, he does, but it’s a very begrudging like. I don’t get it.”

It makes you smile, thinking about the way your father can’t stand Gojo but won’t allow anyone else to speak poorly of him. He’s still a Gojo after all, no matter how much trouble he causes your father, and your father loves Gojos. The royal house has always held their house dear. They had been close for decades. Always, they were something to the other, no matter what form that something took.

“There you are,” Gojo murmurs. His fingers trace the arc of your mouth. “So pretty.”

You glare at him through tears. “And whose fault is it that I cried?”

“Your father’s?”

You scoff. “You see? This is why he doesn’t like you.”

Gojo looks at you seriously. “I’ll get down on both knees and beg him for it if I have to.”

“Don’t do that,” you gasp.

“I don’t care,” he says. “You’re what’s most important to me. More than pride, more than honor.”

You look at the crushed violet in your hand.

Who else but Gojo?

He breaks you down so easily. You press the flower back into his palm. “I know you’ll do what’s right.”

His eyes soften. He leans closer.

“Gojo,” comes a voice. “What are you doing in the gardens this late at night?”

You stiffen. The owner of the voice is drawing closer.

“Do you trust me?” Gojo asks, as cool and collected as ever.

You nod, fearing your voice will give you away. He cups your face in his hands and ever so delicately presses a light kiss to your cheek, tilting his head towards you. Does it look like a real kiss from afar? Did he mean it to?

“Stop,” he tells the man behind you. “Don’t come any closer. You’ll scare her.”

“A new plaything?” Asks Yaga. “I’m not so scary, am I?”

Gojo notices you tremble harder as the voice registers. Lord Commander Yaga is close to the King. As the captain of the kingsguard, he could ruin everything.

Gojo lifts a hand to the back of your head and presses it gently towards his shoulder, obscuring your face. He pulls you towards him, arranging your legs around his waist. A soothing hand traces a warm path up and down your back. It calms you as much as it shames you. You’ve never been this close to any man, not even him, and now you’re cuddling only for the sake of protecting your secrets.

“The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard is a terrifying man, or so I’ve heard,” he says casually, as if the two of you aren’t trapped in an extremely compromising position. As if your father wouldn’t demand his head on a pike if Yaga realized who it was.

“Just escort her to her room when you’re done,” Yaga says gruffly. “I don’t need to tell you to be a gentleman, do I?”

“No, sir,” Gojo says cheerfully.

That night, you breathe a sigh of relief. Yaga gave no sign he recognized you. He acted as if he normally would upon encountering any soldier of his on a late night escapade, profoundly disinterested and deeply desirous to get away. Only in the morning do you begin to doubt your deception.

#sera writes #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojou satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

678 notes · View notes

stomach-bugg09 · 1 year

Text

summary: [y/n] has always been an angry girl. why wouldn't she be ready to fight any avatar that puts their hands in her siblings?

sully family x sully!reader

a/n: i just did this one for fun because i wanted one where she's an absolute boss and a half. love her !! remember , reqs are open and waiting. i probably won't write anymore fali x [y/n] stuff unless i get specific reqs because they're really difficult to write without direct inspo and ideas. once again , motivation is really important to keep me writing , so please comment feedback + reblog !! i would seriously appreciate it. ( also , for some odd reason my two most recent works have barely gotten any interaction -- idk if that's just bc tumblr is being a problem , or if it's because fali has lost his magic touch ( which if so , i completely get it ) , but if you guys could help me out to try and figure out what's going on ?? )

warnings: violence, guns, fighting, weapons, death, killing

tags: @rafeslovergirl @wxnderingthoughts @liyahsocorro @bonnibuckets @hjkshshjkhklhkl @itssiaaax @grierpilots @23victoria @nyotamalfoy @gcldtom @eywas-heir @historygeekqueen @missroro @sweetheart-bo

angry spirit

nobody quite understood the rage that naturally flowed through the veins of the women in the sully family. nobody quite understood the urge to protect that seemed to be carried between each and every one of the children that jake and neytiri shared and adored together. nobody quite understood… not until they experienced it themselves.

and trust me, plenty of people have experienced it, humans and na’vi alike. even from a young age, there were times where one of the kids were ( one-hundred and ten percent ) willing to fight another kid if it meant they would stop picking on their siblings.

luckily — of perhaps unluckily, depending on the perspective — that shared agreement only seemed to get stronger with age. as the relationships between each kid developed, as more seemed to join the family in general, there was a camaraderie between the five sully kids. even tuk, just a tiny thing herself, was well aware of her willingness to risk her own life if it meant she could save her sisters and brothers.

that being said, there was absolutely no way any of her older siblings would ever let that slide, but it was a sweet sentiment on its own.

even though this habitual response seemed to run through every sully’s blood, it was strongest in the eldest girl.

being neteyam’s twin — younger by just a few minutes — allowed for [y/n] to balance him out. while he had the expectations of future olo’eyktan on his shoulders from the moment he graced pandora with his birth, [y/n] was a freer spirit.

she was also a much more angry spirit.

not that she held fury against every person she interacted with, but [y/n] wasn’t scared of disliking anyone. she also wasn’t scared of letting them know that she didn’t like them; a blessing and a curse, the sully family often called it.

but it stemmed further than that. it ran stronger than that.

from a young age, jake taught his oldest daughter how to channel her anger much healthier. what did jake sully consider a healthy outlet? well, fighting, of course.

so, the sully child that’d been this close to fighting another kid in lo’ak’s honor? yeah, that was [y/n].

not to mention her iknimaya — the rite of passage that quite possibly boosted this girl’s ego far too high. she deserved it, though. not many young na’vis could complete the event in such little time, especially against the pain that her ikran was.

he was a bitter fellow, similar to his spirit sister. angry at the world for every little thing and always ready for a fight. they truly were connected in every possible way.

but, her iknimaya was physical evidence that fighting fire with fire never worked. the truth was that one flame had to overcome the other — one flame had to envelop the other. it was just a matter of which flame was stronger.

[y/n] knew from the moment she locked eyes and that joyful, adrenaline-filled grin blessed her face that she would win.

thank eywa she believed in herself, because neytiri and jake nearly lost all of their faith at the sight of the monster that towered over the young girl.

another notable moment — or perhaps a series of moments — of her oh-so optimistic and joyful personality was prompted by her very own father. if there was one thing that the oldest daughter was confident in, it was her father’s love. she knew that he loved her — loved all of them — and that made it extremely easy for her to argue with him on any topic she disagreed with.

as annoying as it happened to be to jake, neytiri loved that she was raising a strong woman. it often reminded her of herself at a young age.

but, every single one of those stories were child’s play compared to the raw anger that surged through her body when her and her siblings’ lives were held under knife and gunpoint.

[y/n], the original rebel and inspiration for lo’ak’s ‘admirable’ choices, was happy to join the crew on their adventure through the jungle. with lo’ak grounded from flying due to his choices just the other night, he’d practically begged his older sister to join them.

they were partners in crime, afterall.

once neteyam decided to become all responsible and stuff ( not that [y/n] blamed him… but it was disappointing ), [y/n] and lo’ak seemed to have magnetized toward each other, although that might be a sign to turn the other way and run as fast and as far as you can.

either way, [y/n] found herself exploring the similar jungle scene alongside all of her siblings minus neteyam and with the additional presence of spider.

as soon as the familiar scene turned not-so familiar, it seemed that [y/n] had a feeling. a feeling that something was wrong, that something else was creeping. she should have listened to her gut.

and that same thought resurfaced as soon as the stomach-dropping view of the avatars overcame her view from the bushes.

it was only once said avatars put their hands on her baby siblings that the familiar settled, bubbling beneath her thick layers of skin. it was only when [y/n] fell into an eerie silence and state of pure calm that every other sully sibling felt their own fear.

even as tuk squirmed and cried against the bruising grip of the avatar’s, even as kiri cried out at the sharp knife edge against her throat, even as spider fought his restraints, even as lo’ak stared into the terrifying eyes of the same man that had nearly killed his father…

[y/n] stayed perfectly compliant. stuck on her knees, queue throbbing at the feeling of her opponent tugging it, [y/n] merely stared straight at quaritch. silently, her urge to fight was building, and everybody that knew her was perfectly aware. and ready.

she ran her tongue smoothly against her fangs, eyes narrowed straight at the man that threatened the lives of her siblings.

a solid thirty minutes had already passed, eclipse coming quicker than [y/n] would’ve preferred. she just had to hope that, without being used to their forest and bodies, the avatar’s didn’t have the same keen night vision as she did.

“you okay there, kid?” the avatar teased, attempting to startle her with his threatening voice. he tugged her braid, nearly drawing a hiss from deep within her rib cage, but she held it back. he seemed to be bothered with the fact that her eyes hadn’t once left the body of their colonel.

but, for once, she drifted her gaze to meet her perpetrator and summoned english for his benefit. “ask again in a few minutes.”

and, almost as if [y/n] could feel the presence of her parents, a familiar bird call echoed through the nighttime breeze. her ears pressed back against her head in shock before she quickly recovered and flashed an innocent smile to the avatar.

he merely grunted, pulling her braid one last time for good measure, and looked back up at quaritch.

now, she just had to be patient. she could do that. well, as long as she got what she wanted in the end, and that was a good fight. she deserved it after letting the chains rub back and forth against her wrists, eating at her skin through the friction.

that being said, as soon as her mother’s signal became clear, she straightened up and locked eyes with lo’ak. a discreet nod was enough between them. grab tuk and go. she knew kiri and spider would handle themselves.

plus, the extra connection between spider and quaritch was just another layer of protection for her baby sister. perhaps it was a terrible way of thinking, but [y/n] wouldn’t dwindle too much on it. the urge to survive had its faults, afterall.

and finally, once neytiri’s arrow soared through the air, it was go time.

while lo’ak and tuk bit the arms of their restraining avatars, lo’ak also doubling duty and releasing whatever gas canisters had been accessible on the guy’s belt, kiri and spider were lucky enough to be given a chance to run as soon as the avatars lifted their guns.

[y/n] liked to do it the hard way, though.

she swung her legs in a swift motion, wrapping them around the avatar’s. she weighed his bottom half, keeping him from being able to move far, and in a split second, neytiri’s arrow was embedded in his chest.

[y/n] let go, scrambling to her feet and up the nearest tree, finding a moment of solace nested in the upper branches. she could see everything, and they couldn’t see her — she was a master of disguise and hiding, if anything.

and then, it seemed the world went a few clicks quieter, gunfire calming down just a tad. one scan of the scene, and [y/n] knew it was because they’d lost sight of her siblings.

“the kids are gone.” a voice crackled through the walkie strapped to a dead avatar’s chest at the base of the tree, the small noise quiet against the chaotic scene. [y/n] was merely lucky she was in little enough of a proximity to even catch the words.

“what do you mean gone?” quaritch. she could tell from his stingy accent and infuriating pronunciation of vowels.

a beat of quiet against more raining gunfire. “the boy and youngest girl ran off. tarzan and the other girl split to the opposite direction.”

“which other girl?” [y/n] felt a familiar smile on her face.

“what do you mean —”

quaritch was angry, and [y/n] couldn’t help but find pure enjoyment from the scene. little did he know that the young na’vi girl could now see him from her spot in the tree, eyes narrowed on the colonel hunched behind a fallen log.

“there are two girls. one of ‘em quiet and useless, the other looks like her devil of a mother.” the same mother that managed to kill him the first time.

[y/n]’s eyes focused on the demon in na’vi skin, watching his face contort at the familiar arrow pierced in the wood beside him. it was almost as if he’d conjured her very own “devil of a mother” into existence. “seems that very mother might be in attendance this fine evening.”

[y/n] scrunched her nose in disgust, her skin crawling at his words. she really could not stand him. but, her attention was quickly pulled back to reality when he dropped the walkie and called into the open air, all while reloading his gun, “that you, mrs. sully? i recognize your calling card.”

instantly, [y/n]’s head whipped around, locating the exact tree in which her mother hid behind. unfortunately, [y/n] was a few feet away and at the worst possible angle to help.

“why don’t you come on out, mrs. sully?” quaritch continued, and [y/n]’s eyes followed a different avatar that began to creep past the colonel. “you’n i, we got some… unfinished business.”

“demon!” neytiri’s voice caused panic to spike in the young na’vi’s heart, blood pumping with adrenaline. “i will kill you as many times as i have to.”

it was only when [y/n] looked back at quaritch that she noticed the other avatar was missing. a million different curse words rattled deep within her brain, eyes widening in fear.

meanwhile, quaritch would not be distracted from his tangent. “i guess you an’ the corporal have been pretty… busy, haven’t ya? got yourself a whole litter of… half-breeds.”

what could she do?

as quickly and as silently as she could, [y/n] scrambled through the wet tree branches, cursing herself every time her feet lost grip. nerves added up with rain never helped.

at the very last second, [y/n] reached a spot in which she could just barely see her mom. well, her mom, and the avatar that had a gun aimed right at her. just as [y/n] opened her mouth and prepared to scream a distraction, an arrow flew right through the avatar’s body.

gunfire followed almost immediately after, and her dangerous balance finally lost way, causing the girl to topple from her position and into the muddy ground below.

[y/n] was quick to stand up — she had to be — but the scene was not a pretty sight to behold.

she was surrounded. surrounded by three different avatars, each with their own weapon that could quite easily hurt her, if not kill her on the spot. she just prayed that, if they did manage to get to her, she could make them scream first.

[y/n] knew she would. it was always just a matter of mentality, right?

and so, as if the clock slowed down just for her, [y/n]’s eyes flashed around her and gauged every detail possible. the machine gun, loaded and prepared ( although she had noticed that it was already halfway empty ), in the hands of the avatar to her right, the two knives ready in the hands of the avatar to her left, and the last avatar just in front of her. nothing but his fists.

a smile surfaced.

she could deal with that.

and then, before the rest of her body returned to the consciousness of time, her feet began to move. [y/n] lifted her arms so she could see her wrists — still wrapped in chains — and she leapt upwards.

her long legs gave her a higher jump, bringing her and her hands to the perfect height to wrap her chains around the weaponless avatar’s neck. she swung herself around, legs hooking his torso as she tugged with every bit of strength she could muster.

at the chaotic sounds around her, [y/n] knew that bullets were being fired now. lucky for her, she had her very own personal shield, but that meant the tree she was choking was about to go timber.

once she felt the warm splatters of his blood against her stomach, she knew she only had a matter of time before getting squished under a dead man’s weight. [y/n] shifted her weight, unhooking her legs and placing her feet on his hips very carefully.

[y/n] kept her ears aware at all times as she leapt up and off of the now dead avatar, pushing him onto the ground with her jump. her ears moved vigilantly, picking up the sounds of the bullets just before they were shot so she could move just in time to avoid any casualties.

and then her favorite sound rang through the air. an empty cartridge.

at that, her infamous smirk surfaced as she locked eyes with the now useless avatar.

now, behind her, the third avatar with the knives thought she was being slick, creeping behind her with both weapons raised to stab her in the back.

luckily, [y/n] was far too aware and far too pissed to miss such an important detail.

just as the third avatar broke through stabbing distance, [y/n] whirled around and disarmed her in a quick movement. both knives flew into the air, and she swiftly grabbed each of them.

each blade found their own homes embedded in the chests of her enemies

and then, just like that, she’d won.

[y/n] huffed for air, three dead avatars laying around her feet. blood pooled, swirling in an overwhelming pool of maroon. and none of it was hers.

#avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #loak sully #sully family x reader #sully family x y/n #tuk sully #tuktirey #sully family #kiri sully #sully!reader #sully kids #sully family x platonic!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #neteyam x sister!reader

885 notes · View notes

neverchecking · 7 months

Text

Day 8: Breeding- Calamity

KIBFFF i was so excited for this day bc breeding is lowkey my specialty (Its not lowkey. Very very highkey) but then i got bad burnout from my midterms and school and my field placement and gfogbg BUT ITS DONE <3

Smut so Minors Do Not Interact. If I find out a minor has interacted with my blog, I will block you.. Thank you!

Smut CW: Cal NO LONGER being a virgin >:) He is down ATROCIOUSLY bad. he just like me fr Anyway, it is gender neutral despite the theme.

This is Day eight of My Kinktober so be sure to come back and check out the other days! Friendly Reminder that all of my smut is tagged 'Cindersins' including this, but this will also be tagged as 'Cinder's happy halloween' along with the run of the mill smut tags.

Kinktober Masterlist <<< Day 7>>>Day 9

It had been a long time since he had first laid with you. Had first felt your hands on his skin and the delicious warmth you would envelop him in. But every time to him was a blessing. It was the gift of you letting him bathe in your divine glory.

You could use him anyway you saw fit and he’d thank the golden three for it everyday.

There were times, however, where you expressed you felt ashamed of the feeling of using him. Of riding him until he was nothing but a sobbing mess, clinging to you like a man void of any free will. Of holding him while he mindlessly rut against you, cock aching with overstimulation as you marked his back with your own show of love. Of running your fingers through his hair while he lapped and sucked at your sex, eagerly cleaning you of anything that might sully your precious skin.

Even before this you felt you were using him to fulfill your own desires, but how wrong you were. He couldn’t even begin to describe the pure euphoria that thrummed in his veins at your request. You had come up to him, with cheeks a soft cherry red, and asked him so nicely to keep an open mind. Little did you know, Cal would swallow hot coals if it meant pleasing you. Nonetheless he listened, holding your hand within his and feeling how soft they felt compared to his. Then you had softly asked for him to breed you. To pump you so full of his very essence the only thought you could comprehend being him. How he felt inside of you, how his own form shadowed over you, how he would pin you down and use you like his own personal toy. You wanted him to use you for once.

And oh, how delicious of an idea it was.

It was his absolute honor to lay you down, prepping you so carefully before pulling your hips to rest on his thighs, tapping his cock along your shiny hold before slowly slipping inside. Something about this time felt so different, he couldn’t explain it. Like some part of his hindbrain was just so laden with the need to please you and the primal urge to just give and take. To give you a kid of his own, regardless of whether you could or would carry or not. To just pump you so, so full, it would drip out in heavy bulbs of cum and your own fluids, leaving milky trails down your skin before he would scoop them up with two of his fingers if only to plunge them back into your fluttering hole, listening to your whimpers of overstimulation just to watch it all over again.

He’d commit it to memory.

And when all is said and done and you would grow cranky with the thought of more cum spilling out of you? He’d show his pure devotion to you, on his knees before you (His rightful place if he did say so himself) and use his tongue to sing his prayers to your ethereal being.

219 notes · View notes

sanjisblackasswife · 1 year

Text

How OP Men Ask to Be Your Valentines (SFW/Fuff)

Some are short and some are long. Also they all read poems.

Sanji, Zoro, Luffy, Usopp, Ace

Black Fem Reader in Mind

Luffy

Wellll….he didn’t even know that day existed.

He seen Sanji decorate the deck the day before with heart shaped tapestries and making love theme foods and he explained.

When sanji realized that Luffy didn’t know he then asked if he asked you to be his Valentines and he obviously said no after a following “what is that.”🧍🏽

Needless to say after some yelling Luffy went to go find you

It wasn’t the most traditional way, but Lord help him he tried.

He stole some cupcakes and cookies and even a balloon Sanji had put up in the kitchen and rushed over to you.

Unfortunately none of the sweets survived except half a cookie, but you still had a balloon though!

“Y/N! Tomorrow be my Valentines! Okay?”

Before you could say yes or no he shoves the cookie in your mouth and hands you the balloon. He’s so proud of his declaration you couldn’t be upset.

“Oh wait! Sanji said i need to tell you a poem!”

“Violets are red, Roses are blue, please be my Valentines or else…”

“….or else what.”

He just chuckles at you while squishing your cheeks.

You don’t know if he was actually threatening you or didn’t remember the poem.

Honestly you haven’t been more warmed in your tummy to see the slight blush in his face when you nod in agreement and kiss his chubby cheeks

9/10 would love to see again.

Zoro

Only knows about it because of how much you talk about the special love day.

Yet

Still manages to nearly forget to ask you.

All day you been hinting on him asking

“Sanji asked all the girls to be his valentines…”

“Pathetic.”

“…You don’t think it’s cute he asked them?…y’know…seems pretty cute.”

“He made a fool of himself.”

It irked you he didn’t even have a light bulb moment and just ask right then and there and ask. You would have appreciated it, but no.

Forgot.

It wasn’t until Robin and Sanji asked what did Zoro gift you to ask to be your Valentines and nearly smacked himself on the head for it.

“THAT’S WHY SHE WAS ASKING ME THOSE QUESTIONS?! WHY DIDN’T SHE TELL ME!?”

“CUZ IT’S YOUR JOB DUMBASS!”

Luckily Robin was going out to a floral shop and Zoro tagged along. She assisted him on what flowers to give you and even a card with a pretty gold necklace (he now is in debt from nami again)

You were in your room pouting up until you seen Zoro awkwardly walk towards you with something behind his back and plop the flowers and gifts on your side.

He then plops HIMSELF on your lap and buries himself in your tummy while wrapping his arms around you

“Read the card.”

And you do so

“Blood is red. My shirt is blue. Be my Valentines, but either way I’ll screw you.”

….

“I’mma beat yo ass, Zo.”

“WHAT! That is IS A WONDERFUL POE—OW!”

Usopp

Poor boy is a nervous wreck asking you (his crush) to be his Valentines.

All week he has been drawing you. You both took a picture together a few weeks prior and since then he has been struggling to draw you the perfect Valentines Day Card

Of course he draws you beautifully but that doesn’t stop him from being a little scardey cat about it

“Hey! Y/N! Uh…can i give you something!?”

You smile and nod. “Of course. You made a another contraption?”

He smiles timidly and shakes his head no before he got lost in thought.

You see a rose inside a pretty pink card and it says on the front “Please open!”

You do and its a small drawing of you, Usopp, and the Going Merry and it says:

“Just as I am brave and smart, you’re even more with your sweet, kind heart. It would be my honor to be your Valentines, and if that goes well will you eventually be mine(s)?”

It was written so funny so you chuckle a little, but you then gasp to see the art he done for you. It was so detailed and gorgeous in contrast to the tiny doodle he did inside the card

“Us….WAIT USOPP!”

Poor boy ran before you could answer

Luckily you caught him and let him know of course you can be his Valentines

And a little more too…because you felt the same way about him.

Sanji

Genuinely surprised why his birthday isn’t on Valentines Day but we move

Obviously Mr. Prince wouldn’t dare NOT to ask you for your hand in being his Valentines, especially since you’re his girlfriend.

He plans out the entire 2 weeks of spoiling you (more than usual).

He acts like youre ganna say no somehow when everybody knows youre not

Zoro absolutely cannot stand him all two week

Everything is heart shaped

The food

The snacks

The desserts

Everything all for you and everybody has to endure it

You swear his eyes are a Crimson pink now this entire month.

And by February 13th he takes you on the deck after dinner and hands you MORE gifts

“Ji! You can’t keep giving me—“

“Just read it.”

The night was perfect, he was wearing a beautiful blue and black suit lighting up his cigarette with one hand as his other was still filled with another gift. He even got you the dress you’re wearing. You felt spoiled rotten. And you were. And Sanji knew that but he didn’t care.

He’d give you the world if you asked it

You open the pretty card and rose petals fall out and it says:

“My love for you cannot be compared. My love for you cannot be tested. My love for you cannot be measured. Even until the end of time my love for you shall never perish. You bring me light, you bring me joy, you are what I think about when I need remembrance of what I am fighting for. You are the calm in my chaos. You are my escape. My love. My Mademoiselle. I love you. -Your Prince, Sanji”

By the time you look up he is putting his hand out to you with warm cheeks and a smile,

“Be-“

“Yes! Sorry…i just..YES I wanna be your Valentines!”

You were overjoyed kissing your now bloodied nose man on the cheek and he hands you one last gift.

It’s a fake flower.

“I’ll stop loving you when that flower dies.”

Fuck he was corny but so romantic with it.

704 notes · View notes

ruiniel · 3 months

Text

Hidden

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: 🔞

Count: 1.5k

Tags & Warnings: Alucard POV, frustrated masturbation, Adrian get yourself together hon, pining, romantic angst, resolved emotional tension, finally they talk, this can only go on for so long, one chapter left

Part I - Part II - Part IV

III. Moments between

He paces up many coiled stairways, clawing carelessly at the wall with one taloned hand.

Why did you do that? You’re leaving, you sounded undecided but you will probably follow, and he’ll never see you again. He could barely keep himself from telling you all the things that sprouted like poison from his heart in those moments, but he tried, tried to be the friend you needed.

Because he is a fool who waited for too long, and in the end, he does wish you well.

Adrian slams shut the door to his chamber, wondering how he ended up here as he gazes long at its darkness, its barrenness. With clipped movements he discards his coat and boots and slowly walks forward, dropping unceremoniously on the bed with his head in his hands.

He's a fool, yes, and an idiot besides, because the pain of the tiding you imparted tonight is only surpassed by the sweet, hot silk of your tongue on an inch of skin.

He rises again, walking to and fro like a trapped animal in a cage.

Why the hell did you do that? You're not the kind of person who would toy with another, and yet... he couldn’t read the look in your eyes. He sits back down, wanting to both cry and scream, not brave enough to go back there and ask you. And why, to make things worse? He's come to know you and he most certainly has come to love you in so many ways, and hell knows he respects you enough to not intervene in such an important moment of your life.

And still, the most basic instinct curls like a cornered wolf inside him ready to pounce, shattering those honorable thoughts; the wetness of your mouth won't leave his mind.

Lying on the bed, he breathes in, breathes out, trying to shut it all from thought. He tries, but his body won’t listen. He tries, even as he slowly undoes his belts and trousers.

He shouldn't, he has no right to use the memory of you this way. Adrian growls low in his throat, arms falling at his sides. While he can gut night creatures with his bare hands, the guilty pleasure trickling like nectar from the warmth of your tongue makes it impossible to win here.

He'll be selfish. He'll have this, at least, for his own. He slides his trousers down his hips and takes himself in hand, and his fingers are soon sticky with his slick. He’s never been easily affected by these things, but now he's so sensitive it might consume him alive if he doesn't do something to ease the pressure and it doesn't take long, either; the thought of your closeness and the conjuring of his imagination is more than enough, and he strokes almost spitefully, until he's shivering and groaning, spilling himself over his hand.

Panting, he stares up at the ceiling without seeing it, lying still with his trousers undone and his shirt in disarray.

At least he can think now, but that is no improvement, apparently. His low, bitter laughter fills the silence. “Pathetic...” Adrian shakes his head, eyes closing against tears that mock.

He does his best to avoid crossing paths with you for the following days. He fills his time with every chore possible and roams the forest at night, running with the animals that see him as their own when he shape-shifts. His feelings fall in the background in that state, which provides much needed respite as the time of your departure approaches. Even though he tells himself he can't and won't be there, come the time, he's on the battlement high up, watching the cart he knows is yours depart on slow wheels.

He's not even said farewell, and you hadn't sought him out, either. It's better this way, Adrian keeps repeating, close to doubling over from the grief drowning the shores of his spirit.

He walks away when the caravan disappears from sight, descending towards the laboratory and library on a known path strewn with many memories, berating himself for his cowardice for a while, but concluding with a sigh at the futility of it all.

“You're here.”

There is no greater absurdity than the sound of your voice. Has he gone mad? But then it’s accompanied by the sight of you, sitting at one long working table, a vial in hand and a tome in the other, looking straight at him.

Adrian goes rigid, a million conflicting thoughts pinning him to the spot. “... so are you.” He dreads asking, and he's never feared anything in his life before. “Why?”

You cast your eyes down. “I decided to stay,” you say, raising your gaze to his. “Here.”

He can't quite grasp it yet, merely waiting for you to continue.

“The gist of it is... I thought long about it: about what I want, and what I don't want. Matei and I spoke... we parted amiably enough.” You sigh, closing the tome.

If you're miserable for your choice, he's the lowest of beasts for the relief bursting through him. “You're staying.”

“I'm staying,” you repeat, not quite smiling. “And you've been avoiding me.”

Adrian takes a step further, then another. “I had to.” Damn his heart, choking on the words. “I needed to,” he admits.

“No,” you rise and near. “You don't need to explain yourself. I'm sorry for... I didn't think that night, I didn't mean to...”

Damn this. “You didn't?” He looks down on you now, taller as he is, because your face shows... vulnerability, the kind he's never, ever seen before, but now he can’t stop whatever pushes him.

You're staring at him strangely. “Adrian I... you don't know... you don't know...” You turn away, hiding your face from him and how he wishes you wouldn't, because this feels like cleaning a festering wound: necessary.

He nears you, daring to place a hand on your shoulder. “Will you tell me, then?”

Your shoulders rise then fall. “I stayed for myself, yes. I stayed because it would be such a shame to throw away my purpose... but I also stayed to be near you. I couldn't imagine myself... so far away from...”

A pause. Elation. He feels like a jester whose cunning has been strangled out of him by a mad king. “I'm happy you stayed,” Adrian says simply. The admission hangs in the air, a fragile bridge spanning the chasm between you.

You turn your head, and in your eyes there is horror melded with surprise. Your hand goes involuntarily to your chest, and he knows what you're reaching for. “How so?”

He's dangerously close to shattering, but speaks anyway. “The night I gifted you that pendant, I wanted to ask you something, but then… well.”

You swallow a tremble to your voice when you speak. “What did you want to ask, Adrian?”

You’re standing there, closer than you've ever been. Everything is turned on its head, his sadness melted by the cinders of hope. “If you’d join me, if you'd go away with me, on a trip. Just you and I, together. I know a path, I’ve been… I’ve been going for years, at around this time. It involves a lot of trekking, but the sights are splendid, worth it.”

“Just you and I?”

You’re tilting closer, a hand on his arm.

“Yes. It’s safe besides.”

“I'd feel safe with you anywhere,” you murmur, your lashes heavier. The speed of your heartbeat rouses his blood. “ And I really didn’t mean to… last time, but I…” Your hand reaches for his, and he can but watch with bated breath as you hug it to your chest then kiss his palm, eyes closing. “I couldn’t help it.” And as if to prove it, you gently nip at one finger.

There are times in one's life when a single moment separates a chapter from another, but it may be so short that one breath of hesitation is enough to chase it away. No, Adrian thinks. Not this time.

His finger glides along your lips, pausing midway. “You didn’t answer,” he follows gently, bathing in the sight, scent, and sensation of you.

You seem trapped by the gesture, lips parted as Adrian slowly wets his thumb on the lower one. He’s beginning to see, to understand.

“Yes,” you utter, eyes lowering just as his fingers wrap around your chin and he dips his face to yours.

You fall into him when he takes an eager taste of your mouth, and Adrian thanks his innate balance but lets himself be happily affected, an arm wrapping around you as he props himself against the nearest shelf. Your hands are on him, your body leaning into his with complete trust. And when you break apart, it’s with a clarity that overwhelms him, starved and haplessly relieved.

“Sweet, sweet girl…” Adrian soothes, running both hands up and down your back; you shudder, and the rush he feels at that is beatific. He doesn’t dare speak it aloud, not yet.

But there are steps, voices.

You both quickly tilt towards a more secluded space, wrapped around each other, watching a study group walk into the library.

Adrian closes his eyes, reminded of the time then looks at you, placing a short kiss on your forehead. This is far from over, you need to speak, there are so many things … you both need. “... My chambers?”

You nod without hesitation, coiling your arms tightly around his neck.

Part IV

#adrian tepes x reader #alucard castlevania x reader #castlevania x reader #x reader #alucard x reader #adrian tepes x you #ruiniel:fanfiction #castlevania alucard x reader #castlevania x you #castlevania imagine #character x reader #alucard x you

88 notes · View notes

paracosmic-murdock · 10 months

Text

Tell me what are my words worth ; Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Chapter 1: "La détermination qui coule dans mes veines"

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: While the other ladies have grown with the mindset of marrying and having children, you, as the daughter of a man who wanted a son, grew up being both. You learnt how to embroider, play the pianoforte, fence and manage the estate. However, there were some things that not even the Duke of Burgundy could do, so after he passed and you thought there was nothing left for you, you decided to move to London for a while and go to the Royal Academy of Art.

Nothing was going to keep you from what you wanted, and you would do whatever it takes: you would lie to everyone, you would live to death, you would pretend to be a man. You had a plan and it would be a piece of cake for you. But again, when has something that she wants and should not do easy for a woman? Especially when a man like Benedict Bridgerton gets in the way in more ways than one.

Warnings/tags: idiots in love, eventual smut, love triangles (but not really), lgbtq+ themes, bisexual benedict bridgerton, feminist themes, historical inaccuracy (for the sake of the plot), inspired by mulan (1998), song: the lakes (taylor swift), other tags to be added

Chapter summary: Going to London was an easy decision though a difficult change, but nothing was going to stop you from getting what you wanted, and what you wanted was to go to Art School. For now, you only had to arrive and attend whatever event your godmother told you to. The only good thing that came from all of it, was that you reunited with a dear old friend of the family.

Word count: 2.9K

❁ Series masterlist

❁ mila's paracosm (main masterlist)

You knew you would leave for London for a while. You had made the decision, you had sent the letter, you had packed the suitcases, but you were yet to announce your departure.

The possibility of being stopped by your cousin was higher than the mountains, and in order to avoid it, you would only let him know about your trip to London the day before you left. However, his plans did not leave you the chance to.

Running away was not easy because everything you have keeps you attached to that piece of land that belongs to you, that is your father's legacy and your responsibility to keep alive.

Not a change was easy for any human, and you wouldn't be the exception.

So you looked at yourself in the mirror, hesitation long gone after minutes of silence.

You didn't know how to do it, you just hoped for the best of fates as the scissors cut short your dampened hair. No hairdresser would give you the cut you wished for, the one you needed, so you had to do it yourself.

After a quick glance at the packed suitcases and the room that will remain vacant for a pair of months at least, you put on the black cloak and ran away.

The determination ran through your veins just like you were running through the hallways of the Château de Germolles, it has been doing so since the moment your father passed because there was nothing left for you at home if you did not have a man by your side saying the opposite. Certainly, your cousin replaced your father as the lord of the house, but he has never given you any sort of security in your own home. Two years have passed, and you would wait no more.

"Lady Y/N," le Seigneur Cartier, your father's right hand, interrupted your path. "Are you entirely sure about this?"

"Lord Carrington is expecting me, Seigneur Cartier," you answered. "And I have never been more sure about anything in my life."

He nodded, helping you get inside the carriage. "I will send you letters weekly."

"I will be expecting them," He closed the carriage door, and you peeked through its window. "I trust you to honor my father's wishes while I am gone."

Cartier nodded and made a gesture for the carriage to start, and you looked at the Château for the last time in God knows how long.

"One day until we arrive in Calais, one hour to Dover and seven hours to London," Antoinette, your maid, commented with a tired sigh. "Lady Y/N, are you sure about this journey?"

"I am sure, and I would appreciate it very much if all of you just stopped asking me that," you stated, annoyance slipping through your voice. "I am to be received by Lord Carrington, my godfather, and I will live in London for however long it takes."

"They are not in the Social Season, or so I have heard." You pursed your lips.

"I am not looking to marry as of now, my wish is to fall in love, Antoinette, because whoever is to be my husband must love me dearly before I display my everything to him. There shall be love, trust… He must be a man capable of ruling, not some mere lord. I will not hurry, and a specific time of the year will not stop me from finding a reliable husband. And I am not here to find a husband either way."

"I apologize, Lady Y/N."

The following hours were ruled by silence, there was little to no sentence said even during the hours of rest before continuing the lengthened voyage. No thing other than instructions were told during the two days and a half that it took to arrive in Lord Carrington's mansion.

It was bigger than you remembered, but again, the last time you were there was about ten years ago.

You were welcomed inside, not without looking around and admiring the art your godfather was a fanatic of.

"Oh, Lady Y/N! You have grown so much! You are a ravishing young lady, dear," Lady Carrington exclaimed, taking your hands in hers with a smile. Her loud nature was always remarkable, annoying to most but adored to you. "Hugh, darling! Lady Y/N just arrived!"

Lord Carrington appeared in the room with a smile that matched his wife's, an exuberant chuckle as he saw you. "Dear Heavens, you look just like your Mama!"

You laughed tiredly. "I am grateful to you, Lord and Lady Carrington, for welcoming me into your home. I had been setting my heart on spending some time here in London."

"So were we," he noted with a nod.

"Hmm, you must be dead tired, my dear. Let me show you your room for your stay." Lady Carrington motioned you to follow her.

"I am indeed, thank you," You smiled, to then announce your departure. " Excusez-moi."

You followed her through the infinite hallways and endless words, hearing her talk about the ball they were invited to just last week and the one they will host in five days.

"Did you bring ball gowns with you, my dear?" she asked you. "You must attend the ball as our guest of honor."

"I could not fit much in these suitcases, Lady Carrington," you replied. "However, I figured you could take me to the modiste soon. I will pay whatever the price is for some Paris here in London."

She smiled. "The modiste, Madame Delacroix, is French, my dear! I shall take you there tomorrow first thing in the morning."

"It is a plan, then, Lady Carrington."

"Perfect, dear," She nodded. "Rest, I will have someone wake you up for dinner. Tomorrow, in the afternoon, you will accompany me to Lady Danbury's for tea. She is a lovely woman, you will get along pretty well, I am certain!"

"I'd be honored."

"There is a lot of catching up to do, my Lady," she commented. "I had not seen you in a year."

"Not many remarkable events in my life, but I sure will have thought of one by the time we speak," you complied. "Uh, I was wondering when, and if, I could join Lord Carrington to the Royal Academy of Art."

"Well, that you must converse with him." She smiled and left your room.

You quickly changed your clothes to your nightgown, and fell asleep in less than a minute.

"Bonjour !"

You smiled politely at the woman who greeted you and Lady Carrington. " Bonjour, ça va ?"

"Very well, merci." she replied. "I am afraid we have not been introduced yet. Madame Delacroix, enchantée."

"Lady Y/N Voclain," you nodded slightly. "Êtes-vous française ? Lady Carrington m'a dit."

"Oh, speak in English, dear," Lady Carrington commanded. "Some of us don't speak French."

"Of course, I apologize," you chuckled slightly. "Lady Y/N Voclain, enchanted as well… Lady Carrington told me you were French, Madame, that is what I was asking."

Madame Delacroix just smiled. "Oui, indeed. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"My dearest Lady Y/N of Burgundy, always so modest… She is the daughter of the late Duke of Burgundy," Lady Carrington informed, and you nodded uncomfortably. You did not want people to know about your title during your stay in London, but perhaps it was inevitable. "Her dresses must reflect her greatness."

You approached the table where many colorful fabrics were displayed. "I will have one red that matches the rubies my Grandfather sent from their mines in the Americas, as well as some in different shades of green for the emeralds. Oh, for the ball I will have a white one with gold here and there… I would adore embroidered flowers but not too many, crystals, sequins, your finest silks," you explained everything you wanted in your dresses. "I trust you entirely, Madame. I want them unique, no one else will have the same dress, not even a similar one. I am willing to pay the price. Eight dresses for now, and the urgency is the dress for the ball. Do not disappoint me."

"Bien sûr," she replied with a nod. You raised your eyebrow at the odd pronunciation, but ignored her. "The length of your hair will be a challenge, Lady Y/N."

"Yes. Why did you cut it, dear?"

"Uh… I-" The bell saved you as its sound announced the arrival of a woman and her three daughters, calling for Madame Delacroix.

"I will be right back." she promised, and left you and Lady Carrington alone.

"Lord Carrington agreed to take you to the Academy tomorrow."

You smiled widely, making her curve her lips. "Oh, that is wonderful news, Lady Carrington! I am beyond grateful!"

"He wants your portrait painted, Lady Y/N, so it seems that you will spend many hours there."

"I am eager to!" you exclaimed.

She gave you a look you couldn't quite decipher, but if there was something you recognized in it, it was a threat. "Careful with the artists, Lady Y/N… We would not want you involved with any of them."

"Oh," You frowned. "I- I will not-"

"I know, dear… A lady like you has nothing to do with men like them, you deserve a man of title, with a surname that speaks for himself."

"Can't there be both?" you wondered out loud and she chuckled dryly.

"Those men spend their nights in clubs and brothels, and will certainly not stop doing so after marrying. Poor Lady Goldwyn, married to an artist who had a bastard child before having hers… Never at home, I got lucky with Hugh, but God forbid you stumble upon a similar fate."

You gave her an amused glance. "I know I can make a suitable pick."

"He must be rich, dear, how else will you afford living the life you always have had?" she commented. "A true gentleman, one that respects you and loves you dearly. If he has brothers or sisters it will be ideal, that way you will know he is a man of his family… Oh, Her Majesty, the Queen has a nephew, a prince, she brought to London last season, maybe he is still an eligible bachelor."

"A prince?" you questioned, surprised.

"The Prince of Prussia, my dear. I suppose that is a man worthy of a duke's daughter."

A laugh left your lips. "Do you truly believe that he would be interested in courting me, Lady Carrington?"

"Oh, he most certainly would!"

"Seeing is believing, then." You chuckled.

While you and Lady Carrington were talking, Madame Delacroix's clients struck up a conversation.

"I have never seen that lady before, who is her?" Lady Featherington questioned, seconded by her two daughters.

"Lady Y/N of Burgundy, daughter of the Duke of Burgundy," she replied. "She is French, a relative of the Carringtons."

"Oh, you two should befriend her! The Carrington ball is next week and we have not received our invitation yet."

"You are right, Mama," Prudence agreed. "I will go now."

Both sisters approached you and Lady Carrington, gaining a look full of disdain from the latter.

They introduced themselves, and their mother soon joined.

"We would be delighted to have you this afternoon for tea, Lady Y/N."

"I am afraid there is no empty spot in my schedule for now, but I will make sure to let you know once I am available." you replied after noticing Lady Carrington's discomfort.

"Well then." Lady Featherington nodded, and so did you. Then, she looked at Lady Carrington with a slight smile and disappeared.

"That woman is insufferable!" your godmother yelled.

Then you couldn't contain your laughter.

"Lady Carrington!"

"Oh, Lady Danbury!"

You both stood up as she entered the room, and you greeted her with a smile.

"This is Lady Y/N of Burgundy, she is my guest and Lord Carrington's," Lady Carrington introduced you. "She will stay until she finds a husband!"

You widened your eyes at her explicit purpose. "I- I am not- well, I am, but-"

She laughed. "Oh, dear. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. This woman has not stopped talking about receiving you."

"Enchanted to meet you, Lady Danbury," you finally said, chuckling slightly.

While it is true that you must marry and that your requirements are vast, on this particular visit to London, you are not looking to find a husband. You, however, were planning on doing a thing you clearly should not. An alibi was needed, and that way you could kill two birds with one stone.

"Take a seat, let's wait for the other guests," she commanded and you and Lady Carrington complied. Not many seconds later, three women joined you. "Well, this is Lady Mary and her daughters, Miss Kate Sharma and Miss Edwina Sharma… These are Lady Carrington, as you know, and her guest Lady Y/N of Burgundy."

You smiled. "Enchanted to meet you all."

"Us as well." Miss Kate Sharma answered for her mother and sister.

They took a seat, and soon another woman arrived.

"Lady Bridgerton!" Lady Danbury welcomed her.

"Lady Bridgerton?" You stood up at her mention and excitement painted your features.

Lady Bridgerton raised her eyebrow in confusion. "Yes…?"

"Oh, my bad!" you excused yourself before a happy grin. "Of course you don't remember me, the last time you saw me I was nine years old! Y/N, daughter of the Duke Sébastien of Burgundy."

"Oh, Heavens, look at yourself!" she exclaimed when she realized. "Dear, you have become a wondrous young lady!"

"Do you know each other?" Lady Danbury asked.

"Her late father, the Duke, was great friends with my husband," she replied with a tender smile. "I met her when she was a baby and saw her last about eleven years ago."

You laughed. "Oh, it has been so long, Lady Bridgerton! How are your children?"

"They are all great, Daphne married the Duke of Hastings just last season."

"How thrilling! Congratulations, Lady Bridgerton."

"Thank you, my dear."

"So you know the Bridgertons?" Lady Carrington questioned.

"Only Lady Bridgerton," You smiled. "I have not met her children yet, will you be attending the Carrington Ball next week?"

"Of course we will, especially knowing you will be there."

"I cannot wait, Lady Bridgerton."

"You are always invited to our home, dear. That invitation is still current."

"Many years ago, Lord Bridgerton said to me that I was invited to their home whenever I pleased, but I have yet to make honor of the offering." you explained to the rest of the ladies.

Lady Carrington smiled before interrupting. "So, Lady Y/N traveled from France to be here."

"Was it a long way?" Edwina wondered.

You nodded, taking the cup of tea that was offered. "Yes, it took almost three days to arrive here in London."

"And why did you decide to come?" Lady Danbury asked.

"To find a husband, of course." Lady Carrington announced, and you accidentally spilled your tea all over your dress.

"Dear!"

"Mon Dieu !, I- my apologies, it's-"

Miss Sharma and Miss Edwina were trying hard not to burst out laughing, but it was almost impossible when they noticed Lady Carrington giving you a handful of napkins and scolding you for being so clumsy. Then, as the other women in the room chuckled, they did too and so did you.

When everything was in order, you looked at everyone. "I apologize."

"Do not," Lady Danbury stopped you. "Are you not looking for a husband, then?"

"Uh, yes," you lied, an embarrassed look in your eyes.

"Miss Edwina came from India to find a husband here, dear, do not be ashamed!" Lady Carrington noted. "I was telling her about the Queen's nephew that came the previous season."

"He was a charming young man." Lady Bridgerton mentioned.

"And there are still one or three Bridgertons available to wed." Lady Danbury added, making Lady Bridgerton laugh slightly and the three Sharmas look at each other uncomfortably.

"There is also the new Lord Featherington, he has mines in the Americas, just like your Mama's family."

You nodded. "I shall ask Grandfather about the Featherington mines in my next letter, then… You would not believe the amount of men in Europe swindling the rich, saying they have the most prosperous mines in the Americas while that is the furthest thing from the truth," you mentioned. "My cousin, Lord Voclain, almost made a tremendous investment until I took a look at the jewelry the man gifted him for me. Glass painted green, as if he could cheat my eye."

"And Lord Featherington is engaged to his cousin Prudence." Lady Bridgerton reminded.

Cousins?, dear God.

"Well, he was courting Miss Cowper when that happened, so forgive me for being skeptical."

"It is disgusting nevertheless." you said.

"It is."

"I will be ready to list the eligible bachelors in London at the upcoming ball just for you, Lady Y/N."

You chuckled. "I am not in a hurry to wed, Lady Danbury. I wish to fall in love instead of marrying as if it is my duty."

"Is it not your duty to marry?"

"Technically, it is, yes," you replied to Miss Edwina as her older sister gave her a look. "But my father raised me to know my worth and not marry a man I do not love… He married my mother against his family's wishes, all because they loved each other dearly. That is what he wanted for me."

"He was an amazing man." Lady Bridgerton smiled.

"He was indeed." you agreed, an afflicted grin replacing your smile.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction

199 notes · View notes

coltermorning · 5 months

Text

Of Love and Loss Ch. 9 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: A pack of wolves descend on the camp when you and Arthur are least prepared for it.

Author’s Notes: Chapter nine of this one.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, minor character death, loss of parents, blood and injury, grief/mourning, survivor guilt, strangers to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence

AO3 Link

Of Love and Loss

Nine: Warm Embrace

Word count: 4341

You awoke to the sound of a man’s voice. A yell. Then a horse’s screaming terror. Before you could pick up on anything else, you were on your feet.

You made to grab your rifle, but instead, a sidearm lay at your feet. Arthur’s revolver. You would wring that man’s neck. As soon as you had the thought, you heard a noise that sent cold fear sliding down your spine and made you lurch for the gun anyway—a snarl. That was no man-made sound.

You burst out of the tent and nearly fell backward in retreat. There were six wolves closing in on Arthur and the horses, the two mounts squealing and trying desperately to pull loose. Arthur stood firm with nothing but a knife. Nothing but a goddamn knife, because the fool had given you his gun. You couldn’t do a thing beyond stand there, absolutely stunned. He was going to die.

“Stay back!” Arthur yelled at them, but it was useless. The animals knew they had the advantage and crept forward still. Before you could think to shoot, the one closest to the horses bound forward, causing your horse to swing around and kick out. Another wolf joined the first, jumping high enough to sink teeth and claws into the animal’s rump. You had to fight the urge to cover your ears from the resulting sound that came out of that horse. Pure agony.

“Throw me the gun!” You met Arthur’s eye, and the second it took for him to spot you cost him whatever had been holding the other wolves at bay. The nearest leapt, and Arthur went down. You couldn’t pull the gun up fast enough, like the seriousness of the shot was slowing you. You sent up a prayer that you wouldn’t hit Arthur and shot into the mass of fur and teeth that stood atop him, all while he stabbed at its throat, trying his best not to have his own torn out.

You missed them both.

Another wolf joined the first, going for Arthur’s leg, but he kicked out hard enough that it whined in pain and retreated a step. The last two wolves joined in on the horses who were putting up much more of a fight, but you couldn’t care about that, couldn’t take in the terrible noise of violence and death that resulted. Not when there were two on top of the man who was your only chance at survival.

“Shoot them!” he yelled, the sound muffled from under the massive animal.

You brought the hammer down and shot again, aiming as best you could. You missed the closer wolf but hit the other this time, right on the shoulder. It yelped and turned, biting at the pain under its skin. Arthur thrust his knife up and gutted the wolf atop him in nearly the same moment, and you knew without having to know he had killed it. He was throwing the wolf off of him and yelling in less than a heartbeat. “Give me the goddamn gun!”

You did as he said, tossing it to him as he rose, retreating father against the tent at your back. You had to cover your ears, couldn’t look at what the other wolves were doing to the horses. Not with those horrible sounds coming from them.

Arthur immediately turned and shot the wolf you had in the head, then shot the one he had stabbed for good measure before reloading quick as lightning. He rounded on the other four. Alone.

You stepped backward into the tent. Cowardly. Covering your ears, closing your eyes, knowing he would get himself killed. He would die, and the horses would suffer, and you would get eaten alive. What was worse? Would you rather have died before, falling into nothingness? When the first shots began ringing out, you had your answer: absolutely. Because then you wouldn’t have to bear the pain of losing not two people that meant the most to you, but three.

More shots rang out until you were sure it was six, the revolver not having capacity for more. Then there was nothing but silence, and you started sobbing, knowing what came next. They would find you in here. They would maul you like they had him. Maybe they wouldn’t if you surrendered to them. Did animals recognize submission? Mercy?

The tent flaps rustled and you braced yourself for death until you felt arms folding around you, warm and gentle. Your sobbing turned to broken heaving as you took in the only scent you ever wanted to smell again.

“Shh, it’s okay. They’re gone. I got ‘em.”

You could do nothing but cry into his chest. You should have lost him. Should have died.

You moved your hands until they were grabbing at his coat, pulling him closer, needing to feel the life beating through him.

“I got you,” he said softly. “I ain��t gonna let anything happen to you.”

You pressed your forehead against his chest, his warmth the only tether you had to sanity.

“We’ll be all right,” he said, rubbing a hand up and down your arm to get warmth back in you. Or maybe life back in you. “My horse got away. We’ll be okay.”

That broke through your shock like a slap. You pushed back and looked at him. “And mine?”

He hesitated then shook his head. Dead then. The horse that had carried you miles and miles. The stubborn thing that you hadn’t given much thought to, all because you were too worried about what you had already lost. Just like Arthur. You couldn’t take that. You pushed Arthur back and got up.

“I wouldn’t go out there,” he warned. “Ain’t too pretty.”

You disregarded him and wiped your tears on your coat sleeve so you could see, stepping outside. They continued to well up anyway, your vision blurred and stinging as you took in two dead wolves. Then you turned and saw a sight so grizzly as to make you nearly lose what little you had in your stomach.

Four dead wolves, one dead horse. If it could be called that. It wasn’t so much something that had just been living as it was pure carnage. You were suddenly glad for your blurred vision. Seeing it clearly would have broken you.

You looked away and stepped back, needing a moment. Arthur was just behind you, and you felt the urge to cry into his chest like a child again but fought it off.

“Can you…” You sniffled, letting out a strangled breath. “Can you cut his tail? Bring me his hair?” God knew you couldn’t do it.

“Sure,” Arthur said. He didn’t hesitate, walking over like the scene before him was something he saw every day. Maybe it was.

If he thought the request odd, he didn’t say anything. It was something your parents had taught you. The good horses had their tails cut, their hair saved and braided and used so there was always a piece of them left behind. You felt guilt swallow you over not doing the same for your own two horses back at that cliff, but you had other things to grieve then. This horse had likely saved your life. You had escaped death a second time. And all you could do for it was trudge back into the tent and cry until you didn’t have any tears left.

Goddamn wolves. Arthur was finally starting to see the woman who had existed before the death of her parents. But that woman was gone again. Holed up in a tent for the better part of an entire day. Apart from bringing you that horsehair, he didn’t have the heart to go in and talk to you. He didn’t know what to say. And, lest he forget, it had been his fault you hadn’t had your rifle and he hadn’t had his revolver. You could have taken those animals on together no problem if you had.

Arthur spent the early hours of the morning finding his horse and cleaning up. He dragged the wolves off and skinned the ones worth skinning, taking meat from one. He looked over the damage done to his bedroll and knew there was no fixing the thing—the wolf had shredded it in an attempt to shred him. He tossed that away too. The dead horse was too heavy for him to move. He didn’t have any way to tie it to his own mount for her to drag it away either—it was torn into too many pieces. It would leave the place looking worse than it had been. So he left it, deciding when and if you ever reappeared, he would lead you straight south out of camp so the few trees could block your view of the damage.

He was now plagued with the thought that he had narrowly escaped death and that he had gotten too reckless in leading you. He knew how to survive on his own no problem, but you were distracting him. He had gone to sleep unarmed for christ sake. It was time for him to quit fooling around and do his job.

When Arthur ran out of things to do beyond keep watch, he checked himself over for wounds. His adrenaline wore off a long time ago, and he ached all over from the fight with that monster. He could be hurt anywhere and wouldn’t really know it. He was covered in blood from what he had managed with his knife, so he shed his coat first, seeing what damage it took. There was a gash in one of the arms, the fur along the inside showing. He looked to his arm and saw the resulting scratch cutting through his shirt, but it was shallow. Not warranting stitches. He looked and looked but didn’t find anything else. He was nearly untouched—a goddamn miracle.

He walked to his horse and gave her a few loving pats, glad she had gotten away. She was the best mount he’d had in a long time. He gave her a carrot and checked her over too. She must have gotten away before he had finished his own fight with the wolves. She was unharmed. He would never forget the sight of those four wolves eating the other horse alive though. On its back, on its legs, under its belly. Ruthless animals.

Arthur retrieved a cloth to clean his wound and coat with, pouring water over it. He shed the right half of his shirt from his arm, and the moment the damp cloth touched his skin, he winced. It was so cold he couldn’t feel the pain of the cut, just the frigidness of it. He could sense it now, how low the temperature was dropping. He just hoped the rain that would inevitably turn to snow would hold off.

He finished cleaning the shallow wound then redressed, deciding to stitch up the coat and his shirt later. It was too cold to be without them. He wiped the blood off his face best he could, doing the same to the front of his coat. Cleaning away all the evidence. The blood would just make him hard for you to look at. Well, harder. He weren’t exactly a pleasant sight to begin with.

Satisfied that things were as good as they would get, he went back over to your horse and took everything of value off it. The saddle was scratched to hell, and you wouldn’t be needing it anyway. Boadicea could carry you both. So he left that, digging through the saddle bags. There wasn’t much of anything beyond a few supplies and treats. You must have had that journal of your father’s on you. He did take your rifle out of its scabbard, knowing you could use his, but he was guilty enough over taking it. The least he could do was give you this one back.

He carried the rifle over to the pile of wood that had once been a fire and sat. There was nothing else to do. He could build another fire but didn’t want to leave you long enough to get more wood. All that was left was to wait. The two of you did need to get going soon. All that blood would draw unwanted attention from the local population. He just hoped there weren’t anymore wolves about. He would give you as long as he could, then he would pack up the tent, and the pair of you would move on. Putting all this behind you.

When the snow began again, Arthur cursed it. The weather had been delaying your travel every chance it got. He knew this wasn’t a good time of year to be going so far, but he had still hoped for better than this. The only positive that came of it was your attention, as you soon peeked out of the tent into the dim-lit evening to confirm it was snowing. And from his vantage, he saw that you had braided a piece of horsehair into your own, almost hidden under the shadow of your hat brim. Having your hat on meant you hadn’t been sleeping. Arthur felt the same guilt rise up within him. It was time.

“We better get going if you want to move camp.”

You just looked at him with that troubled expression, like your thoughts weren’t with him. Back to who you’d been before, unspeaking.

He stood, your gun and metaphorical hat in hand. “Listen I’m…sorry about the gun. I didn’t think-” That was it. He didn’t think. Why else did you keep guns at your sides at night other than to ward off trouble? And trouble had come, as deadly as it could have been. There were no more words for it, nothing that could fix what he’d done.

“Arthur?”

He looked at you, surprised to hear you speak. Surprised you had stepped out of the tent and weren’t building up that insurmountable wall within you he was all too familiar with.

“You ever do that again and I’ll shoot you. That’s a promise.”

He couldn’t help the smile that lifted the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t smile at me,” you quipped. “You aren’t forgiven.”

His smile only grew. He just knew you would retreat into that shell of yourself you’d been before. Not this. It made him giddy enough to put his foot in his mouth. “You will forgive me eventually though, right?”

“No shot,” you said, going back into the tent without taking your gun. That panicked him. This was a fine line you were walking between the person he had come to know and the one who was so overcome by grief. Exactly how angry were you?

“Wait, I…I mean it,” he said, making you stop at least. “I’m real sorry. That all this happened. That it’s my fault it did.”

You shook your head. “I don’t care about the wolves. They would have come anyway. But we could have taken them on easy if you hadn’t taken my gun. If anything, you owe my horse an apology.”

That cut him. The poor animal had fought a painful death and lost, suffered, because of him. He was just glad one of the two had gotten away, or the pair of you would have been soon to follow.

Arthur nodded, looking to the horsehair in your hair. He could never really make up for this, but he could at least keep his big mouth shut and keep from making it worse.

You went back inside the tent without a word. Arthur let you be and was surprised to see you come back out with bedroll in hand before starting on the tent. He wordlessly joined you in taking it down. It was the least he could do after all the drama that had begun with you hammering the stakes in.

After the two of you finished, he loaded up Boadicea and let you on her first. Then he mounted and went straight south as he had promised himself he would, avoiding any further thought of what you were leaving behind.

You and Arthur traveled through the snow for a long time. It wasn’t falling heavily enough to slow you down, so you rode right through it.

You missed your horse. Your backside ached, your back protesting all the same at the lack of a saddle. If you ever came across a town, you would get another one. You didn’t care if you had to steal it and the horse underneath it too.

At least one good thing had come of the tragedy those wolves had brought—Arthur was subdued. Whether from narrowly escaping with his life or regretting costing your mount his, you couldn’t tell. It was a harsh thought, but seeing him so reflective showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed, and you were glad it did. It certainly existed for you, and you didn’t want to be the only one grieving again. You didn’t want to feel like a child. The way you had broken down in front of him when you thought the wolves were coming for you was embarrassing enough, and you decided then you wouldn’t let that part of you resurface. You had come this far. You were healing. You weren’t letting those wolves take that away from you.

When it got dark enough and you ached enough for two, you broke the silence the snow brought. “Do you know if there’s a town anywhere near?”

You felt Arthur shrug against your hands on his sides, his coat rising and falling beneath your gloved fingers. “Can’t be sure. Usually there’s something this far down the trail. May not be a town, but something.”

That much was true. You could still see a trail to follow, so that was a good sign. The snow hadn’t covered it completely yet.

“Why?”

“Wonder if I can find another horse. Maybe a warm bed to sleep in for a few nights.”

“And here I thought you was a woman of the land,” he jeered.

You swatted him across the arm. He chuckled. “If there is one, we won’t find it tonight. I’d be able to see it from here.”

True again. The land was growing so flat that any settlement lit by lantern light would be bright as a beacon in the darkness.

“Let’s stop then,” you said, tired in more ways than one.

Arthur obliged you, and you were soon rebuilding the tent, tending a fire, eating a bite. Routine.

Arthur shed his coat and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a jagged line across his upper arm, no doubt from the claws of that wolf that had tackled him. You’d forgotten completely to ask if he had been injured.

“Where’d it get you?”

“Just here,” he said, tending to it.

Jealousy flared within you. You had a scar a mile long down your side from a fall. A fall, and Arthur had a full grown wolf try to eat him, and he only left with a scratch?

“How’s yours by the way?” he asked without looking up.

You had kept your side wrapped for about a week after the stitches came out, then had made sure it was clean but done little else. It was healing over now, all that was left a bit of tenderness and a scar that you would never rid yourself of, no matter how badly you spited the memory.

“Fine,” you answered flatly. Arthur’s eyes flicked to you then.

“I have you to thank, you know.”

Of course he did. But you weren’t going to rub it in.

“You hadn’t shot that other wolf and my leg would be dog meat.”

“Yeah, well. I wasn’t exactly aiming for that one but…”

“It don’t matter,” he said, rolling his sleeve back down, satisfied with the cut. He stood and donned his coat. “We’re alive, that’s all that matters. And I wouldn’t be without you.”

“You keep saying that,” you muttered, resentful.

“I mean it.”

“No, not that. You keep saying it doesn’t matter that I can’t shoot that gun. Well it does. It did. That was as close to dying as it gets, Arthur.”

He shook his head. “I’ll make sure your rifle’s close from now on, and you won’t ever have to shoot mine again. Don’t worry about it.”

That response was so typical of him you wanted to strangle him. He was so lax about life, so unconcerned. There was a such thing as learning from your mistakes, and it made you mad that he didn’t have to. Because he needed to.

“Forget it,” you spat, crossing your arms.

He smiled, and it only made you madder.

“I’m starting to think you like picking fights with me.”

“I don’t. You’re just easy to stay mad at.”

“Awe, you could never be mad at me, nameless.”

You flashed him a dark look. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. What would you prefer I call you?”

You turned away, seeing red. Because he was right. He didn’t have a name to call you. But like hell would you surrender it now.

“It would have been helpful back there,” he said, stepping closer to the fire and crouching, holding his hands out to warm them. “Knowing what name to yell to wake you up so we didn’t both get eaten.”

That was something you didn’t want to dwell on. “We didn’t get eaten last I checked.”

His smile turned crooked it went so wide. So damn satisfied you wanted to wipe it off his face. “Exactly.”

Your eyes narrowed at him. Had he made his point? That you were alive and nothing else mattered? Yes. Were you about to admit it? Absolutely not.

You got up and stormed to the tent in much the same manner as you had the night prior, only rather than teasing you this time, he had made a fool out of you. So you didn’t regret it a second when you shut him out for the second night in a row, even if he was without a bedroll. The snow would be cushion enough.

When you’d finally shaken your anger enough to drift off, Arthur came bursting into the tent. It scared you at first, the memory of those wolves still fresh.

“What is it?” you rasped, shooting straight up.

“It’s freezing,” he said, his arms wrapped around himself as he tried to rub the cold away, his coat damp with snow.

You groaned in annoyance and laid back down. “I didn’t invite you in here.”

“Too bad,” he said as he knelt down anyway. “It’s my tent.”

“Well keep the cold on your side,” you argued, turning your back to him.

You felt something press against the exposed skin of your neck, so frigid you rounded on him. He had taken his glove off, purposely pressed an ice cold hand against you. “Excuse me!” you yelled, incredulous. Then he was laughing like a kid as he settled beside you anyway.

“Little cold ain’t gonna hurt you. Now move over or share.” Meaning your bedroll. The gall of this man.

“Absolutely not.”

He had a laugh on his lips as he said, “Don’t make me fight you, woman. We already seen I’ll win.”

Then his arms were snaking around you, pulling you into him so tight you could feel a heat sting your cheeks that had nothing to do with the temperature. Your heart started racing. You knew he would have been able to feel it had he not been shivering himself. But he was, his frame shaking against you. It thawed your annoyance some, though it didn’t stop you being struck with disbelief at him doing this.

“Just so we’re clear,” you said, needing to make it known lest he realize you weren’t fighting him. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“Like you wasn’t in here freezing your ass off too.”

You had been. You couldn’t deny it was much warmer lying against him. And worse, it was…oddly comforting. Kind of nice. But still your heart pounded, not knowing much, but knowing this was intimate somehow. The last time you had laid against someone this close, it had been your own mother. You didn’t want to think about how differently you seemed to react to it this time. To why. Instead, you let yourself be for a moment, ignoring what you should do, ignoring what was expected of a man and a woman who hardly knew each other. You allowed yourself the simple privilege of touch, something you had never had before. Even if it didn’t mean a thing to Arthur or to you.

After too little thought and lots of silence, you realized he was relaxed, his shivering long gone. You should push him away. Should take his steady breathing in your ear to mean he’d fallen asleep like this. But for some reason, you thought he was just as awake as you were. And that made your heart race even worse. Was he doing the same thing you were, holding you just because he could? Surely he knew better. You could claim ignorance, but he couldn’t. Not after how he had talked just last night.

Afraid he would feel your nervousness through your coat, you whispered to him.

“Arthur.”

He didn’t stir. Asleep then. You were overthinking it. And, like a true moron, you didn’t want to wake him. You realized with no small amount of embarrassment that you wanted to sleep like this too. You were just curious about it all, you told yourself. Nothing more. So you let him be and closed your eyes, melting into his warmth. It took a long time for your thoughts to stop lingering where they shouldn’t, and when they finally did, they didn’t improve much. You were left wondering why you had ever wanted to stay on the opposite side of the tent from this man.

_________

Chapter ten is here.

tag list: @tommys0not0beloved @ultraporcelainpig @photo1030 @spiritcatcherxo @calcarius445

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #high honor arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 #fanfic #writing

68 notes · View notes

bluheaven-adw · 1 year

Text

WATCH THE WHOLE THING! Trust me 😏

It's here!!!!!!! I hope this was worth the wait :)

Images and information on a DTIYS below the jump!

This first bit of this might be familiar as it's been posted before. New stuff added at end!

Dark Excalibur Au

Everything happens exactly the same up to then very end of Wizards. The only difference being Jim is able to pull Excalibur then, on his own, making him Nimue's champion. Nimue grants him his crown and restores the trollhunter amulet to him. (Sorry Douxie and Krel, you'll get your time to shine later).. this is when Excalibur's aesthetic changes.

While Jim is 100% human now, he's not without after effects from being a troll. Not much physically (a bit stronger and faster), but personality wise... he's a bit more feral, confident, not really any trace of his former anxieties (except when it comes to Claire). He's not without fear (we don't need gritshaka Jim here...) but has mastery over it. Sometimes he can get a bit more... chaotic and temperamental... than before, but despite that, he's still Jim to his core. Despite all that he's been through, he's still ultimately kind, pure of heart, always tries to do the right thing, fiercely protective of those he loves.... as Blinky put it, a man of honor, courage and valor.

He's stopped fighting his destiny and stepped into it fully instead.

To quote Sakon...

Jim's problem has always been that he cares too much, and the anger inside him burns against the injustice of the world. It's Jim against the world, and the world /will move.

He still has way to much in the self sacrificial department…... but usually remembers that he has a team... literally the roundtable... a wizard, a sorceress... and a literal goddess….. backing him up.

START OF NEW:

You'll notice the blade is whole, not just repaired. Nimue, who for obvious reasons, is not a fan of merlin or arthur... originally only repaired Excalibur's blade instead of healing it. The fractures remained as a check on its power.. kind of like a short circuit. Jim gets no such hobbling. He's entrusted with Excalibur's full power. And if Sakon will allow me to borrow again, his check is in the gem in his crown, but it's only temporary as he learns to control Excalibur's power, and his newfound station and abilities... just a bit of a reminder, but one he rarely, if ever, needs.

There is no incantation on the amulet. It's not needed anymore. All Jim needs to do is think it, and it's there. Excalibur is not tied to the amulet like Daylight was. He can use it without the armor, or dematerialize it if wanted. The armor has two forms, much like Daylight and Eclipse, the 2nd is only a thought away. Normally a steely blue grey, it can shift to black, and if Jim really leans into the power of Excalibur then the whole thing, from crown to blade, turns pitch and lights up. There's so much magic running through him from the sword that his eyes glow with it.

Someone on IG asked if the Dark/Feral bits denoted corruption or Jim gone rogue. The Dark just denotes the color change for Excalibur. No corruption! It's just rockin the black instead of gold. As for feral.... in the sense that he's a tad more aggressive, more willing to finish the fight so to speak. He's got a little wildness, a little otherworldly magic, to him (not in the sense that he's a wizard, just that he's got the magic of Excalibur and being goddess touched).

Now, for the DTIYS!

Rules are

Draw it in your style!

Please no tracing, I want to see what you come up with

Use #DarkExcaliburDTIYS when you post!

Tag me and I will share

Please out a copy of my original art in your post

This will run until June 1

I will pick my top 3 across all platforms

There will be prizes, I just have no clue what lol.

I will link a folder filled with references for you to use! From the armor, to color keys (whenever tumblr lets me paste the stupid link 😡

Have fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#jim lake jr #tales of arcadia #dark excalibur #dark excalibur au #darkexcaliburDTIYS #trollhunters #toa #toa fanart #wizards toa #toa wizards #wizards tales of arcadia #rott #toa rise of the titans #rise of the titans #trollhunters fanart #james lake junior #james lake jr

257 notes · View notes

thisfanisgonesorry · 9 months

Note

hi if you're still taking requests, I can't get the idea of arthur somehow being in the epilogue, alive and thriving, working on the ranch with john and his family and just being happy

IM IN LOVE WITH YOU!! omg thanks for the req <3 i hope u enjoy it cutiepie, sorry it took me a lil bit

ending cowrote by @megbimbo loml

tags: yall are in the epilogue, making this an xreader since im basically useless if i dont but its light so dw, canon deviation obviously, high honor arthur. very angsty because my little gremlin brain could not just make him healthy but HE IS HAPPY!! MY BOY IS A HAPPY CAMPER!!; i usually write 1st person but i got possessed so heres a 2nd person fic (never doing this again, sorry if its shit), genderneutral but implied fem reader. milking the cows was the most pleasurable part of the epilogue after the absolute shitshow i had to endure that was chapter 6. arthur milks the cows for that exact reason. some medical terms i know that probably werent viable to use back in the day but idc. some cowboy stuff i learnt as a wee lass when i had a horsey. so many tags ill shut up now. (i got sad at the end of the fic because i realised you cant kiss him. that made me sad.) also water pump distance ref because its.. not as close as i thought it was.

♡

You and Abigail tended the house while Arthur and John were outside, doing god knows what, their manly chores. Jack and Uncle had a day trip to Blackwater, running errands and such, getting groceries, the works. Jack needed to get out of the house and Uncle needed to get out of doing work.

“I’ve got this.” Abigail spoke, taking the plate from your hands. A brisk nod and you wandered off outside to check on the boys, mostly worried for Arthurs wellbeing, as you tended to be. As the years dragged on, the remaining gang had been accustomed to not treat Arthur like he was fragile, which often than not, resulted in him being injured or overworked in some capacity or another.

You knew well enough that John would take care of Arthur and not work him to exhaustion, especially in this blazing heat, but nursing him back to health after things went south all that time ago wasn’t an easy job, and when they were building the house, he had a pretty bad flare up.

There was a slight sound of wheezing coming from the distance, your ears perked slightly, rushing down the main steps and looking around. You could vaguely see them over by the water pump in the distance.

Arthur was sitting on the ground, John hovering over him, rubbing his back slowly as Arthur coughed and spluttered. You rushed over to them, evidently worried.

“What happened?”

John looked over to you, softly speaking. “He pushed himself too hard.”

“Yeah.” He spluttered. “I’ll be fine.”

You kneeled beside Arthur, rubbing his back as John pulled away to fill the bucket with water to continue their water run, also so Arthur could take a handful and drink some, hopefully hydrating his throat enough to stop him from tearing his oesophagus.

Water Runs; They were dreaded, the water buckets would get heavy, and in heat like this, you’d need to do the runs multiple times a day to keep the animals hydrated. It got worse if the water troughs were under direct sunlight, the amount depended on the day, the weather and the animals, but the horses needed the extra water this summer, as did the sheep and the cows. All around, it was an awful chore.

Arthur, being the horse lover he is, would be quite adamant in keeping the horses up during the heat, making sure they’re okay. Though, because of the humid air, it was causing his illness to worsen. He slurped up a handful of water, and his coughing let up slightly.

“You need to rest.” You spoke firmly, as John picked up the bucket and walked it over to the remaining troughs, walking over into the sheep pen so he could keep a keen eye on Arthur momentarily.

“I know, I know.” He groaned. “John and I have a lot of things to do.”

“This is John’s ranch, not yours. Sit down for a bit.”

“But the horses—”

“But nothing. You can care for them later this evening.”

Your voice hung in the air sternly and he pouted like a child, he needed to sit down and rest, to be removed from the hot and muggy air. Once the blazing sun begins to set and the air begins to cool, he would be allowed to go back to his duties.

John waddled back over with the bucket, filling it up but lingering before he delivered it to the other animals. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I can do this on my own.”

“I want to help.” He spoke sternly, trying to stand up but weakly clutching his chest as he required the aid of you and John to get to his feet.

“How many other chores have you got today?”

John took the conversation away from Arthur, now more than just on board with the concept of letting him sit down and rest for a while. “Just the water, feeding, and milking the cows.”

“I can milk the cows.” Arthur objected.

You sighed, looking over at him, knowing he would rather keel over than be useless. He was a helper; for as long as he’s been known by any of the people on this ranch, he’s always been willing to help people. His need to work died down drastically since he’d been adopted to live on the ranch, but that didn’t mean the lack of drive didn’t eat away at him.

John raised his hands in a defeated shrug. “Let him milk the cows.”

“Fine, but I’m keeping a close eye on him.”

“That’s probably for the best.” John shrugged, with his shoulders this time, grunting as he picked up the bucket, continuing the water run.

Arthur had a horrendous side eye on him, though he restrained the urge to say something snarky, “I can do this on my own.” He spoke instead, as he began to stride his way to the barn.

“I know.” You responded, following behind him.

He seemed upset at the sudden switch of attitude, even after all this time, he wasn’t used to people treating him like he was sick. For the most part, people didn’t, but, for equal parts, he didn’t often tell people that he was sick, instead playing to be super cautious whenever around anyone new.

He took a seat on the stool beside the cow and you stood behind him, leaning against the pillar.

“I’m fine.” He reassured as he slowly milked the cow, the metal panging sound of the bucket being hit with liquid filled the barns silence.

“I know.” You repeated quietly, not really paying attention to the words leaving your mouth. “Jus’ making sure you’re okay, we’re bein’ careful, ‘s all.”

“I don’t need it.”

“I know you want to act like you’re okay, but you’re not. You’ve had a few close calls. We’re just trying to keep you...” You trailed off, not wanting to say the blunt words that weighed heavy. We’re trying to keep you alive.

He stayed silent as John slowly opened the barn doors, entering almost silently and taking the milk pail as it filled to the top.

“I’ll deal with this.” He said briefly, leaving us quietly to continue our discussion.

Arthur stayed painfully silent as your words lingered heavily in the air, John was quick to disappear into his jobs, and Arthur stayed on the stool, petting the cow softly.

“I get it.” He spoke after a long pause of silence. “I’m sorry, I just...” He rotated his hands in a motion to gesture the continuation of his sentence, not really wanting to finish it himself.

“Just come inside for a bit.”

He sighed in defeat, standing up from the cow and patting her softly as he removed himself from her side. He really suited this life, and it’s a darn shame that he can’t do too much with it.

He walked inside slowly, dragging his feet.

“Don’t get sulky.”

Uncle and Jack returned from Blackwater, pulling up in the wagon. Abigail had left the house to greet them and assist them while John did god-knows-what, something or other to do with the milk.

Jack and Uncle were having a conversation, or maybe an argument, about something in Blackwater, and they were asking Abigail her opinion as they unpacked the back of the wagon.

Arthur didn’t necessarily expect anyone to understand the struggles he had to deal with, he was dealt a poor hand, and partially, it was his fault. His days were numbered, and despite the unconditional love and support that everyone offered him, it only did so much into elongating that timer. It was a silent rule that we all knew it’d happen, and once it did, we’d most likely all point fingers on who’s to blame.

“Arthur.” Jack called out, grabbing his attention from his dreary thoughts and tossing him a fresh notebook. It lifted his spirits almost immediately. “I noticed your old one was getting full.” He responded plainly.

“Thanks, kid.” He smiled, still very clearly unwell and needing to rest but his mood had been lifted slightly. He walked through the front door quickly, wanting to get through before they’d be rushing things to and from inside the house.

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cold glass bottle of water, looking over at you begrudgingly as he sat down on the dining room table and flipped through the soft new pages of the notebook.

“Any idea what you’ll do with it yet?”

He shook his head plainly. “No, I might draw some of the horses. Been a while since I drew Boadicea, or Rachel.” He shrugged. “Could draw Neil if he’d stand still.”

“That’s good.”

“Might go up to Owanjila at some point.”

“You could make a day of it.”

“Yeah, I could.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Can you stop doing that?” You cursed at him, agitated by how he was acting. “Don’t get upset at me over this.”

“I was fine.” He gritted his teeth.

“You were on the ground struggling to breathe.” You bit back, emphasising every word. He didn’t respond, just glancing away from you. He knew you were right, but didn’t want to admit it since it was inherently showing more weakness. “You...” You trailed off briefly.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, interjecting the conversation. “Jus’.. Don’t wanna be useless.”

“You’re not useless, you’re sick.”

“I know but—”

“Don’t you even try to compare yourself to Uncle.” Arthur stayed silent as you hit the nail on the head. “You did enough work today. Relax. Draw, journal, something. You have a few hours until the sun sets.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

“What?” He was beginning to come across as overly defensive, though softened into a defeated sigh as you tried to compromise.

“Abigail gets angry at me, she don’t like how I do the dishes or clean clothes.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll pro’lly try to help with the yard work. You can do more with less hassle.”

“I guess.” He shrugged.

“Weather forecasts think that it might rain sometime this week, means less work here, we can go to Owanjila.” He wasn’t too keen on it being babysat but he accepted it nonetheless.

“That’d be kinda nice...” He trailed off.

“We can do some fishin’ so they don’t think we’re bein lazy.” It was clear who the ‘they’ was in that sentence, which made him laugh in a silent exhale. “You can draw some of the scenery, set up a mini camp and just.. Have a day off. Hows that?”

“But—”

“Stop. You need to stop.”

“I’m bored!” He said, clearly agitated and exhausted. “I need something to do, ‘nd everyone jus’ wants me to rest but I gotta do somethin’ or I feel like shit.”

“I just suggested something.” I said sternly.

He looks around the dining area, chewing the inside of his cheek as he considers the idea. He sucked on his teeth slightly.

“Tch... Fine.” He admitted, like a defeated child.

There’s a long moment of silence, and you reach across the table to hold his hand. He continues to avoid eye contact, and his hand doesn’t hold yours back.

Arthur’s voice is barely above a mumble; so sulky for a man so strong, or so he claims to be. Your eyes flickered between his gaze and him, waiting for him to speak. Arthur, desperate to look literally anywhere else, found himself staring at John’s taxidermied squirrel. If you didn’t know any better, one would probably assume he’s admiring the finest piece of art the 1900s has to offer. He seems to linger on the concept for a while, which worries you. You can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that mind of his.

The silence blares in your ears for a bit too long. Clearing his throat, Arthur looked you in the eyes.

“We’ll see how things go.”

#asks #arthur morgan #fluff #angst #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr #arthur morgan rdr2 #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst

116 notes · View notes