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pinkberrytea · 1 day

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Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion.

Memento mori—Remember you must die. Enveloped in memories of her death, the Vampire Ascendant watches his darling consort as she slumbers, lost in dreams of blood and mist. Life is short, and shortly it will end; death comes quickly and respects no one. To death we are hastening, let us refrain from sinning.

An exploration of Astarion's character and his relationship with his Dark Consort following the ascension, from a softer perspective.

Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav (F!Reader)

w/c: 6.2k words . ao3 . spotify playlist . 18+ only . nsfw . dividers

a/n: thank you for reading! this is my first time dabbling in creative writing, and of course my first attempt at smut fiction, but still, I hope it is at least somewhat enjoyable. I would like to dedicate this work to the lovely @locallegume, who was a huge source of inspiration, and also to hismostbelovedspawn over on reddit, for being always so incredibly kind and supportive. I love you guys!

tags: blood drinking; cunnilingus; body worship; light dom/sub; vaginal fingering; mildly dubious consent; creampie; fluff & angst; emotional sex; dry humping; possessive behavior

The beginning of the morning twilight is Astarion’s favorite time of the day, for it feels at once ephemeral and infinite. The wistful silence, broken only by the still timid chirping of the waking birds; the royal blue-colored sky, tinged with specks of the purples and violets of the dawn; the chilly morning breeze, gently rustling the flowers in the garden, pushing the still forming dewdrops off their petals and onto the ground; you, slumbering beside him, pale skin reflecting the dim light of the fading moon, rosy lips slightly parted. Sleeping peacefully like this, you look like a life-sized porcelain doll, he thinks—your unmoving chest betrays your otherwise healthy likeness, as does the unnaturally blanched color of your skin. Your nightgown hangs lazily off your shoulder, exposing one of your breasts, and your undergarments lay discarded on the floor, on the exact same spot where he had tossed them earlier that night. He adores this version of you—so vulnerable, so defenseless, laid open for him, and him only.

Astarion finds it curious, how you seem to completely lose yourself in your dreams, yet he is also greatly perturbed by the notion that there is a part of you that he is still unable to access, to dominate. It feels unnatural, not to be able to control this elusive slice of your essence, but having ever only tranced, it also mystifies him that you’d voluntarily give up your consciousness each night. You were after all ever the trusting fool—from the moment you met, he had lied to you, manipulated you countless times, and each time you fell for it, standing by his side even when the world screamed at you not to. And even now, you give yourself to him, unquestioningly, unconditionally. In all the long years of his existence, there had been none like you, and there never will be again. None as trusting, none as kind, and he both hates and loves you for it. The very notion of you extending your kindness to anyone other than him is infuriating, and makes him want to take it for himself, put it in a glass dome and hide it away in a place where only he can bask in its warmth. He thinks he is owed that, at least; yours was the only hand that ever reached out to him, so he is justified in not wanting to share.

You shift slightly in your sleep, and a lock of your hair that had been trapped underneath one of your arms falls onto your chest. After eyeing it for a moment, Astarion reaches out for the tresses and grasps them between his fingers. Bringing them close to his nose, he takes in your scent, that is now also his. It smells comforting, familiar—it smells like home. The corner of his lips curl into an almost imperceptible smile, and he closes his eyes, letting out a contented sigh. The hushed shroud of the early hours acts as a cloak, under which he is granted a brief respite, a rare chance to let himself be gentle, be kind. Just as you become entirely vulnerable before him in your slumber, he too exposes the soft underbelly of his feelings for you; that chaotic, intoxicating brew, a messy blend of passion, guilt, hurt, longing, and love, endless and unrelenting love.

He brings his elegant fingers close to your face, and ever so gently glides their soft pads across the cold, velvety smooth skin of your cheek. Your long lashes flutter slightly, tickling the sensitive area under your eyes as he lowers the digits to brush the plump of your lips. He admires you for a short moment, taking in your image—his pretty consort, so beautiful, so frail, so foolishly devoted to him. Oh how lucky he is, to have you who would do anything for him by his side; his most precious treasure, the reason why his long dead heart beats inside his chest once more. He grasps your chin, delicately tilting your head upward to face him, and tenderly presses his lips to yours. His other hand moves to your chest, fingers softly caressing the pebbled peak of your exposed breast, his touch so faint that his skin barely comes into contact with yours. As much as Astarion enjoys asserting his dominance over you, making you kneel before him, seeing the dejected yet submissive expression on your pretty face whenever he decides to make a show of his power, it is these moments he values the most. In your intimacy, he may treat you gently, tenderly, and in your state of unconsciousness, by morning his loving touches will be but a hazy memory, securing your place below, but close beside him, from where you shall never leave for as long as he draws breath—which he can now only do thanks to you.

His fingers on your nipple leave it alone for a moment to close around your breast, giving it a soft, gentle squeeze. Moving quietly so as not to wake you, he slides his right leg under yours and presses it against the back of your knee, creating a space between your thighs as he pushes them apart, where he then nests himself, climbing on top of you.

“Astarion…” when you softly whisper his name, his half-smile widens into a grin; how reassuring it is, to know you belong to him even in your dreams. He lowers his head to plant a kiss on the delicate skin of the curve of your neck, and his lips brush against the two small indentations disrupting the otherwise pristine smoothness of your flesh. Instinctively, he brings his hand to the back of your right shoulder, his long fingers blindly searching for the matching set of bite marks. The last of the three pairs adorns your left wrist, for which reason he will ever so often take your hand in his, only to lovingly kiss it and turn it around so he can admire the evidence of his proudest feat—having sired you.

“Oh my love, I’m here. I’ve got you,” Astarion coos, holding your head gently against his bare chest, fingers tangled in your hair as you writhe and squirm in his arms, empty and glassy eyes lost in a hollow stare, seeing nothing but darkness, endless darkness. The expression on your face is at once delirious and vacant—mouth agape and fists clenched, pupils blown wide, eyelashes wet with tears and a thin string of drool coming out from the corner of your lip and trickling down your chin. At least for tonight, you are lost to him, and as he winces at the still foreign sensation of the loud, vigorous throbbing in his head, your own fading heartbeat softens, dying down into nothingness. And right as it is about to fall perpetually silent, he lets his fangs pierce his own tongue, drawing droplets of now living blood; bringing your face close to his, he presses his thumb to your lower lip, and covers your mouth with his.

He loses himself in the memory for a moment, as he so often does. Your peaceful, serene expression stands in stark contrast to the one that had been etched on your face on that fateful night. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet still he remembers the pain, the agony, the relentless fear building up in his stomach as your body contorted and tears glistened in your vacant eyes. Never had Astarion been more afraid of anything than he’d been of losing you, and by his hand no less. Killing you was the sinful culmination of his undying love, and breathing new life into you, a dowry bestowed upon you out of unconditional devotion. You only ever questioned him about what had happened on the evening of your turning once, but it mattered not how many times you asked, for he would never fully disclose the raw truth—how he had cradled you in his arms and whispered sweet nothings in your ears, kissing away your tears; how he had picked you up as you lost consciousness and carried you to your bed, where he would then tuck you in so very tenderly, so very gently, softly patting your hair and holding your hand, sharing his warmth with you as you lost your own; how he would patiently wait by your side, watching as the color slowly drained from your face, his stomach sinking at the thought of you never waking again—only for you to then slowly open your eyes, their hue now a rich crimson, much like his own. No, he would never again allow himself to be so weak, for he was supposed to be your warden, your liege. This pathetic side of him was to be ever hidden from you, only rearing its ugly head during the brief, sleepy moments preceding the crack of dawn.

With his lips still pressed against your skin, Astarion starts peppering kisses down your neck, on the hollows of your collarbone and across your sternum, his hand on your breast fondling it gently, the other still tracing the bite marks on your shoulder. His still clothed hips start lazily, almost imperceptibly rocking back and forth, lightly grinding against your naked thighs; thinking back to the night when he made you his almost inevitably causes blood to rush to his groin, and his body starts unconsciously seeking the sweet relief of the friction between his hardening erection and your supple skin. He moves his hand on your breast to grasp your nipple between his fingers, lightly squeezing it. You involuntarily buck your hips in response, which amuses him greatly as he continues playing with the tender nub. A soft moan escapes your lips, encouraging and emboldening his attentions as they drift away from your clavicle towards your chest. He plants gentle kisses on the plump of your bosom, using his teeth to pull at your nightgown and drag it down, exposing your clothed breast to the chilly morning air. You shiver, and he smiles against your skin, pressing his lips to the valleys of your ribs, the softness of your lower belly, and finally to your bare crotch. With his face so close to your swollen sex, the sweet scent of your essence now intoxicates his senses. He stands back for a moment to admire how it glistens in the faint glow of the moonlight, so deliciously inviting, as your juices start building up and collecting in-between your folds.

Feeling his breath caressing the sensitive skin of your core, you finally start to slowly regain consciousness. Once his arousals were returned to him, Astarion would make a habit of waking up during the night at various times to bury his cock in you, so it takes you but a moment to gather your bearings. Either out of mischievousness or curiosity, you play coy at first, pretending to be asleep still. His soft lips briefly come into contact with your engorged bud, sending shock waves through your body, and you are barely able to keep yourself from letting out a yelp, although you can’t prevent your skin from becoming covered with goosebumps. When his tongue pokes out of his mouth to give it a tentative lick, you know you won’t be able to keep up the charade for much longer. He feels your body tense up, and slightly raises his head to look at you from his position between your legs with half-lidded, lascivious eyes, dilated pupils partially covering the ruby hue of his irises. You’re unsure if he has already caught on to your little ruse, so you try staying as still as possible, which proves difficult with his face so close to your cunt.

After what seems like an eternity he decides to continue, lapping at your clit again and then sliding his tongue downwards, burying it between your folds. He presses it against the outer edge of your entrance, squeezing slick out of you, and as he savors your essence, he can’t help but think that while its sweet tanginess does not compare to the coppery, velvety richness of the crimson in your veins—nothing ever will, for his is the blood that courses through them—it may well be the second best thing he has ever tasted. Gliding his tongue upwards once more, he uses it to gently massage the raw bundle of nerves atop your slit, leaving a trail of saliva mixed with your fluids between it and your twitching cunt, which then dribbles down onto your thighs. Placing a hand on each side of your hips, he pulls you closer to him, and the shift causes his fangs to graze the sensitive skin of your folds, in response to which your eyes water and you clutch the silk sheets under you both. Taking no notice of your desperate reaction, he continues swirling his tongue up and down your wetness, gently suckling on the tender skin, eagerly eating you up as if you were a full-course meal served especially for him, just begging to be ravished.

You feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen, and at this rate it won’t be long before you are brought to the edge. Momentarily forgetting the fact that you are supposed to be pretending to be asleep as you lose yourself in the crescendo of your release, you arch your back, leaning on your elbows to support your weight, and as soon as you do, he mercilessly pulls away from you, leaving your dripping core empty and aching. Eyes closed still, you let out a soft mewl in protest, which you regret as soon it leaves your lips, for once Astarion notices your desperation, you are done for. Still unsure if he has already perceived your awakened state or if he believes your body to be involuntarily reacting to his touch, you dare not produce any further sounds. Having cruelly left your throbbing mound unattended, his tongue now glides its way up your stomach, leaving a glistening wet mess in its wake. Upon reaching your chest, his lips latch onto your left breast, your perked nub fitting perfectly inside his mouth. He sucks on it ever so tenderly, teasing it with a pointed tongue and lightly scraping the squishy surrounding flesh with his fangs. One of his hands leaves its place on your hip and finds its way between your legs, and you let out a sigh of relief when you feel a long, elegant finger ghosting over your clit. The other hand slides further down to the curve of your ass, and his blunt nails dig into your soft skin, giving it a firm squeeze.

The pad of the wandering digit finally presses down onto the engorged flesh of your reddened knot, massaging it leisurely in circular patterns, and another finger suddenly slides between your folds, parting them gently. Unable to contain yourself, you roll your hips into his hand, which you soon learn is a grave mistake as he tightens his grip on your ass, applying such pressure that come morning, bruises are certain to form on the pale skin, which he will then tenderly kiss better while looking apologetically at you from under thick lashes; and you will forgive him, as you always do. Lifting his head up from your now rouged, swollen nipple, he readjusts his position above you, using his body weight to pin you down and hold you in place. He lets go of your ass, firmly grasping at your jaw with his newly freed hand, and even from behind closed eyes you can feel the intensity of his gaze. This does not bode well, and try as you might you cannot ignore the sickening pinch in the pit of your stomach as his eyes scrutinize every inch of your face—has he noticed? Is a punishment in order? Will he deny you your release?

“Open up, darling. Your mouth.” The commanding tone with which Astarion vocalizes the otherwise unassuming words is all it takes to placate your erratic thoughts, and obeying is for you as natural as breathing—or it would be, if you were still alive. Once you do as he says, you feel his thumb pressing on your lower lip, forcing it further down. He slides the digit inside your mouth, gagging you slightly, and your lips instinctively close around it. “Good girl,” he purrs, and encouraged by the tenderness of his praise, you start lightly sucking on it, coating it with saliva. For a short moment, he becomes entranced by the feeling of your wet tongue massaging his skin, and his mind wanders to the thought of your plump lips wrapped tightly around his cock. This prompts him to once again start bucking his hips, rubbing the now obvious bulge underneath his pants against your stomach, but this time his rhythm is much more frantic, more desperate.

Relief washes over you as you feel the fingers still in your slit resume their fondling, the one on your clit now applying greater pressure, handling it much less gently, yet just as skillfully, his knowledge of all the ins and outs of your body having always been something he prided himself on. The other makes its way down from its place between your folds, plunging into you as soon as it reaches your entrance. Your body jerks in response, and your moan is muffled by his thumb in your mouth—when he then plunges another, stretching you open without giving you time to adjust, you involuntarily bite down on the digit gagging you, sinking your fangs into his flesh. He grimaces, and you can tell you have hit an artery, because the flow of the thick, hot blood running down your throat is alarmingly heavy. However, rather than pulling away, he lets you drink, curling his fingers inside you and massaging the tight walls of your cunt with his knuckles. The rich taste of his crimson lingering in your tongue and spreading inside your body, mixing with yours within your veins and making them pulsate with life—pure, raw, vibrating life—works as a powerful aphrodisiac, heightening all your senses, and the feeling of him fucking you with his fingers is all it takes for you to come undone on his hand, muscles spasming and clenching around the digits, coating them in the sweet nectar of your release.

Just as you reach your climax, Astarion’s own teeth sink into the indentations marking the otherwise smooth skin of your neck. You instinctively cock your head to the side to grant him more access, letting him feed on you as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasm, sucking on his thumb still. His blood flows from him to you and then back to him, and the sheer intimacy of it brings you so close together that it’s as if you have merged into one single being. You can no longer tell where you end and he begins, as your minds touch and mesh and then untangle again, in a sensual, chaotic dance, where you both sway to the rhythm of his heartbeat. And while the connection lasts, his emotions rush through you and yours through him, rendering words meaningless as the everlasting adoration, the inebriating, all-consuming love you share, no matter how tainted, is laid bare before you, in all its wickedness and allure.

“Fear not: you are mine.”

You finally open your eyes, letting go of his thumb, and as the fog from the afterglow subsides you notice his fingers remain inside you still, gliding effortlessly up and down your twitching walls, which are now lubricated with slick and come; your skin tingles from the overstimulation, but the sensation is not unwelcome. With the hand you have just freed, he holds your head in place while he continues to feed, and you both stay like this for a while, his fingers buried inside your cunt and his fangs in your neck, where they rightfully belong. His little grunts as he drinks from you and the feeling of his hardened cock pressed flush against your stomach rekindle the ache between your legs, causing the living blood now coursing through your veins to flow to your tender core.

Having drank to his heart’s content, Astarion pulls away from you, making you wince at the sudden emptiness as both his fangs and fingers leave your body. No longer plagued by the perpetual, agonizing hollowness of vampiric hunger, his only reason for feeding on you still is the invigorating thrill of your taste on his tongue and your blood pulsating in his arteries; you were his first, after all, having offered him the greatest gift of them all when you had no good reason to. Killing you on the evening he first revealed his true nature had never been out of the question, and it puzzles him still why you would willingly surrender this sanguine gift to a vampire stalking you in the night—a pitiful creature, hiding in the shadows, with murderous intent and offering you nothing but pain and misery. He is reminded of your foolishness and naïveté every time he sinks his fangs in your soft flesh, and the familiarity of it is oddly comforting to him.

Not bothering to wipe the red smear on his chin, he brings his hand up to your mouth once more, only this time his digits are covered in your juices. A single look into his crimson eyes, clouded with lust, tells you all you need to know, and you eagerly obey the silent order, wrapping your lips around his fingers.

“Ever so obedient, aren’t you, my sweet?” His honeyed words and impish smile send shivers down your spine, and unable to talk as your tongue flicks and swirls, lapping at your own sticky essence, you look up at him through your lashes with coquettish demureness; his pretty little spawn, always so good to him, so docile, so devoted. The very sight of you makes his cock twitch with desire. “It does so amuse me when you play your darling little games. Mostly because you are awful at them. You did know I was aware the entire time, didn’t you?,” although his smile widens, there is a hint of danger in his voice, “That you were awake.”

As his blood within you rushes to your cheeks, spreading to the tips of your ears, Astarion’s expression darkens for a moment, and the lust in his eyes grows wilder, more desperate. There is something endlessly enticing about how bashful and girlish you look when your face is hot and flushed with his crimson, like a child caught stealing from the cookie jar, and it makes him want to devour you whole. He abruptly slides his fingers out of your mouth, and the glistening string of your fluids that forms between your lips and his digits breaks off as he uses that same hand to grab your neck and bring your face close to his. Once you are mere inches apart, he stops for a moment, locking eyes with you, and the proximity between you is such that you can feel his long lashes brushing against your skin and see the flecks in different shades of red swimming in his irises. The stillness in the air makes you acutely aware of the sound of his heartbeat, and it paradoxically both comforts and torments you. Such is the nature of your relationship; yearning and sorrow, worship and regret, lust and greed. The duality of it is not lost to you, but you’re past the point of coming up with justifications, for it is far too late for redemption. You made your choice, he made his, and now his burden is yours to bear. It matters not if outsiders looking in cannot make sense of it, as the bond between you was never meant to be understood by anyone else—however ugly and twisted it may be perceived by those around you, it is undeniably a bond of love, one you are willing to protect even if it costs you everything.

“Until the world falls down.”

When he finally closes the distance between you and crashes his mouth into yours, your mind is wiped clean of any semblance of coherent thought and your senses are filled with nothing but him—his scent, his warmth, his taste. He hungrily parts your lips with his tongue as soon as your skin touches his, your teeth clicking in his desperation, and his grip on your neck tightens. You feel tears well up in your eyes, some spilling through your lashes and rolling down your cheeks, your repressed emotions overflowing as you lose yourself in the fierce intensity of his kiss. You want him, you need him, you hate him; you love him, oh how dearly you love him, more than life itself. He explores the inside of your mouth, wantonly, passionately, only stopping to suck on your bottom lip, nipping it with his fangs and lapping at the droplets of blood blooming from the punctured flesh. Once he pulls away, gasping for air, you are both a disheveled mess, lips swollen and bruised and red. Not yet letting go of you, his fingers wrapped around your throat still, he guides your head back down, laying it on the soft feather pillow, only to then straighten up his torso, hand on your neck holding you in place and darkened eyes looking down upon you. From your position below him, he looks ethereal, almost godly, as the moon casts a pale halo around his frame, shining its light on the naked skin of his upper body.

He holds this position for a while, silently studying your face, and as he does, his intense gaze seems to gradually soften, mellowing out into almost tenderness. You feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin lessen, and then cease completely as he frees you, raising his hand up to cup your cheek. His thumb traces the trail of dried tears, and you lean into his soothing touch, eyes wettening once more. Taking notice of this, he leans back down and brushes his lips against the teardrops threatening to escape from your lashes, drying them before they fall.

“Shh, my darling, hush.” The softness in Astarion’s voice and the gentleness of his caresses as he runs his fingers through your hair are all you ever yearned for, all you ever needed, and yet with every touch your chest tightens and you feel a pang of loneliness and guilt tugging at your unbeating heart, for this is what you want, but not what you deserve. You have failed him, just as he has failed others, and your regrets bind you together for eternity as the thread of your fate entangles with his in a constricting embrace—so is it too greedy, to let yourself be selfish and indulge in his warmth before the sun rises? Is even someone as broken and wicked as you allowed a moment of reprieve, however brief? You know not the answer to these questions, nor do you think you ever will. All you know is that there’s nowhere else you want to be but in his arms, no matter how much it hurts, for you’ll endure the pain as long as you are by his side.

“Kiss me,” you quietly plead, your supplication barely a whisper, prompting him to pull away slightly to look into your eyes. He takes a moment to try and read your expression, his gaze sharp, inquisitive, stripping you off all your defenses and laying you bare before him. A short time passes, and without saying a word, he lowers his head down again, lips brushing against yours, their pillowy softness and the taste of your blood still lingering on his skin shrouding your mind in a white fog. You raise both of your arms and wrap them around his neck, bringing him closer as your mouth matches his movements, the desperation of before now manifesting more tenderly, more lovingly, but just as intensely. One of his hands remains on your cheek as he kisses you, and with the other, he finally unlaces his pants, freeing his neglected erection, which by now is slick from the precome leaking from its engorged head. The color of the sky outside slowly begins to brighten, now a beautiful blend of periwinkle and cyan, and as the twilight peaks and starts to reach its end, Astarion decides he has waited long enough—he will take you here and now, before the merciless, harsh light of the sun engulfs you both.

Feeling his hardness against your thigh, you readily comply, spreading your legs apart. You need this just as much as he does; to be one with him, carnally, for your souls have long merged, and there is no you without him just as there is no him without you. As he lines up with your entrance, his lips leave yours and he presses your foreheads together, staring into your eyes with reassuring tenderness. You feel the tip of his cockhead flush against your dripping sex—the reddened, puffed up skin feels warm, and thinking of how it is swollen from his blood in your veins is all it takes for him to finally snap and give into his desires. He slides inside of you in a single thrust, the wetness from your juices facilitating his entry as he stretches your walls to accommodate his large size. You try to bite back a whimper, your eyes once again tingling and prickling with the promise of tears as one of your hands finds its way to the back of his head and your fingers become entangled in his silvery curls. Not moving immediately, he waits a while, giving you time to adjust. You revel in the familiar feeling of his cock stuffed inside your core, the pain and warmth of it, and you wonder if he too can find comfort nowhere else but in your flesh, as it is only when filled with him that you are able to hold together the broken pieces of your descended mind.

The hand that had been cupping your cheek now rests on your waist as he moves his head to nuzzle the curve of your neck, taking in your scent. Ever so slowly he starts rolling his hips back and forth, planting gentle kisses on the delicate skin where his fangs had been buried just moments ago, now stained with patches of dried blood. You close your eyes, still trying to hold back the tears, hugging him as tightly as you can, or as tightly as he’ll let you. His pace is at first languid, sensual, allowing you to feel the entirety of him as he massages your aching, tender walls, still sensitive and spasming from your orgasm. He grunts in your ear, prompting you to start undulating your own hips, doing your best to match his rhythm. Emboldened by this, he moves his hands down to grab your ass, tilting your pelvis up and pulling you closer to him. Just as desperate to feel him as deeply as physically possible, you wrap your legs around his midriff, allowing him to reach the innermost parts of your throbbing cunt. When the tip of his cock brushes against the spongy skin of your cervix, your gut tightens and you cry out for him, unable to contain yourself.

“Astarion…”

The sound of his name in your lips, so very eager, so very sweet, is all the encouragement he needs, and the once languid movements give way to more vigorous pounding, the lewd sound of smacking flesh echoing in the otherwise quiet room as he snaps his hips and buries himself deeper inside your aching core. Your body rocks in rhythm with his thrusts, the tears in your eyes finally escaping your lashes and running down your face, a chaotic culmination of all the pleasure, all the hurt, all the desire and all the devotion brewing deep inside your heart as your raging feelings come to a boil. No one can understand, no one will understand—and yet, as he fucks you senseless in the early hours, pumping his cock in and out of you with lascivious abandon, none of it matters. You hold him even closer, pressing your squishy breasts flush against the sweaty, glistening skin of his chest. He moans at the sensation, intensifying his pace and using his hands on your ass to tilt your pelvis higher, pushing your folded legs, which are still wrapped around him, as close to your upper body as your flexibility will allow it. You feel the muscles in your thighs stretching and burning, but this only excites you further, and the soft whimpers leaving your lips escalate in frequency and loudness alike.

As he continues pounding into you, Astarion’s kisses on your neck become more passionate, more heated, going from pecks, to licking, to sucking, until eventually he gives in and once again sinks his fangs in the bruised flesh. You mewl faintly and your grip on his hair tightens, in response to which he bites down on you harder, nails raking across the skin of your ass as his thrusts grow fiercer, more violent. The message immediately gets through to you—the cheeky little spawn must know her place—so you obediently let go of his curls, although your digits remain entangled in them still; yet he does not slow down his pace, ramming into you with such force that you are afraid you will have trouble walking once he is finished. Be that as it may, one of his hands leaves its place on your ass to hover above your swollen clit, which twitches desperately as his cock resurfaces and then disappears again inside your cunt. He grasps it between two deft fingers, massaging the engorged bundle of nerves as a reward for your obedience, and that is all it takes for tension to again start building up in your groin.

“You have given me everything.”

His digits on your tender bud; your blood running down his throat; his cock slamming into you, stretching open your tight walls—you are so very close to climaxing again, and yet you don’t want the moment to end; you don’t want morning to come, breaking the spell and robbing your lover from you, as it always so cruelly does. The tragic inevitability of it is however unaffected by the infinitude of your existence, a gift that was also bequeathed to you by him, and enveloped by the ice-cold embrace of the memories of your death, your body comes alive as you are pushed over the edge, your twitching cunt fluttering and contracting around him, creaming and squirting your sweet juices all over his length.

As you slump back and go limp is his arms, Astarion unlatches his mouth from your neck and props up his torso to marvel at your image as you bask in the glory of your release—so maddeningly beautiful, cheeks and plump lips flushed bright pink with what remains of his lifeblood within you; his consort, his spawn, his to use as he pleases, his and nobody else’s. While he continues fucking you through your orgasm, all you can hear are his low moans and grunts and the squelching sounds of your wetness as he ruts into you with ever increasing furor. You can tell he is also close by the way he holds your hips with both of his hands, pushing them against his own with almost vicious ferocity while you remain slumped on the headboard, tits bouncing cutely with every thrust. The daylight seeping through the curtains now brightens up the room, and as you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, you notice how handsome he looks illuminated by the gentle glow of the rising sun, sweat beading his temple and dripping down his chin and nose.

“Gods…” he groans, voice raspy with lust, and with one final push he empties himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his seed, which feels thick and warm flooding your tender walls. Still panting and sucking in sharp breaths, he falls on top of you, not bothering to pull his cock out of your still spasming cunt, chest flush against yours and head burrowed in the crook of your neck. Spillover runs down your thighs and soaks into the wrinkled sheets, but neither of you bother cleaning it up, the resulting stain surely to give the maids good reason to blush later.

You bring a hand up to his silky curls once more, gently running your fingers through them as you feel the calming thumping of his slowing heartbeat vibrating against your cold skin. As the dawn finally breaks over the still sleeping city, signaling the beginning of a new day in your undead life—for better or for worse—you find comfort in the warmth of his flesh and the sound of his ragged breathing as it gradually steadies. All your suffering, all your pain; if even your death is required to bring him to life, then so be it. He will live for the both of you, and you will love him for it. Forever—for good.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

#personal #astarion x tav #bg3 #bg3 fic #ascended astarion #lord astarion #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x female reader

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wandasfifthwife · 2 days

Text

your jealousy is showing (on me)✩‧₊˚

—> hockey player/coach!wanda x afab!reader

tw || SMUT MDNI, top wanda x bottom reader, dom/sub dynamics, established relationship, jealous wanda, exhibition (janitor closet), marking/impact play (hickeys, bruises, thigh spanking), fingering (r receiving), r gets hit on but is oblivious, tyler mention!, reader is said to be wearing a dress, person who hits on r sees the two of them, not proofread!

a/n || in such a slut for this woman. so sorry if my writing is nastier than coconut, idk how I feel about it haha but I hope you enjoy bc this made me hot and bothered tbh

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚2.3k words˚╞══ ✩ wanda m.list

Practice has been going well, better even. There’s been an increase in number since people started to find out that wanda has experience on the ice as a player on a professional team. The stands have become packed, families and friends taking up every corner, a completely contrast from before. You remember the days when you first came with your nephew, sitting and having a seven feet distance from another person. Tyler’s since graduated from wanda’s class, now attending another with a different coach.

It was a sad day for him, hugging your girlfriend tight and exclaiming how he wishes to have her as a coach for every class. She had laughed, resting a hand on his back and reassured him that she’ll attend his other classes. She even went as far as to mention private classes, saying they can spend time together on the ice. A smile had come upon your face as you watched the two interact, thankful your nephew is able to have such a wonderful relation with his coach, your girlfriend.

Since then you’ve been attending his classes with Wanda. You can’t help yourself, curling a hand through her arm to hold her close. You complain that it’s the cold, but you both know it’s a shit excuse. Regardless, she’s never going to turn you down, if anything she’s pulling you tighter and pressing a kiss to your head.

“He’s improved a lot. Lately he’s been practicing outside his house with some friends on the street.”

“That’s probably the only reason why he’s able to skate in a straight row now. Do you think he’ll continue to play?”

“I think so. It’s all he talks about, but of course we can’t say definitive terms. He could fall out of love with it in a year and choose like baseball.”

“If he were to choose another sport it’d be football, not baseball. His favorite part of hockey is running into others, he forgets there’s an actual game going on.”

You stifle a laugh, “he’s trying.”

He proved Wanda’s words to be correct because the next second he’s slamming into one of the team members, pummeling the two into the wall. The coach had come to talk to you after, seeking you where you stood by the concession stand. You had a hand on Wanda’s arm, informing her of where you’ll be.

You were paying for the snack, thanking the person behind the counter. He had stood behind you just out of your line of sight, so just enough that you ran into him when turning around. His shirt smelled of sweat and his cologne, a lot of his cologne, so much so it overwhelmed you.

“Hey, you’re tyler’s mom, right?”

“No, just his aunt.”

“My bad. Sorry that was terribly rude of me, I was going to say you look good for your age.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“Of course,” he flashes a smile, leaning onto one of the tables beside him, “I’ve notice how often you come, it’s great that you’re supporting him like this. Most kid’s don’t have such a supportive aunt.”

“I try. My brother and his wife are busy, so I take over. He’s means well but he’s still a young teen.”

“Yes. He’s nothing new. A lot of teens enjoy the physical aspect to the game, it’s normal for them to be competitive even with each other.”

A few minutes have gone by, enough time for concern to begin swirling through Wanda’s mind. She’s relieved to see you’ve not gone missing and that you’re all in one piece, standing only a few feet from her.

“That’s my coach,” Tyler starts, seeing how Wanda’s attention was directed at the tow of you.

“I know,” she deadpans, turning her attention back on your nephew, “finish untying your shoes.”

“I know,” he mimics, tone lowering to frustrate her further.

You’re walking back over with a grin plastered on your face. Tyler’s already grabbing at the drink you got, pulling it from your hands to open it already.

“Just talked with your new coach, Tyler. It seems you have a track record with finding amazing coaches.”

Already Wanda didn’t like him. She kept quiet about her disdain, knowing how important it was to you that Tyler doesn’t come to contact with a terrible one as you had.

It grew difficult. Each practice he always seemed to find you, drawing out a long conversation with you. Usually it’s fine, as a coach herself she understands the important of keeping up with the families, but this was excessive. The constant parade of compliments directed at you were unnecessary. He wouldn’t really care to talk to Tyler, and as far as she knew, Wanda didn’t exist around him. He’s either dumb, or he’s choosing to be ignorant towards the intimacy between you two.

What brought her to the edge was when he began to touch you, a hand on your shoulder or the back of your waist. It was in moments where it could’ve been excused; done to either move you out of the way or make sure you don’t trip.

You were sweet, engaging in a conversation he had started yet again down at the end of the bleachers. Wanda had her attention set on Tyler skating around before practice, eyes flickering to where the two of you stood every minute.

“I have a conference this weekend and we’re allowed to bring a plus one. Would you be interested in joining me?”

“Oh. I already have someone that I’m going with. So I won’t be going with you, but I will see you there.”

He looks disappointed, eyes shooting to meet Wanda’s, “I’ll see you there then.”

Wanda doesn’t like that man.

You walk up the stairs all sweet-like, sitting beside her and placing a kiss to her cheek, “when’s that coach award event again?”

“Saturday, 7PM.”

You hum, leaning your head on her shoulder, “you better win an award.”

“If not, I have you.”

An elbow shoves into her side, “you’re such a sap.”

“No, I just love you,” she murmurs, pressing her lips against yours, feeling like she’s won when she catches the coach looking. She had hoped the soft public display of affection would be enough of a sign to back off, but it wasn’t.

The weekend came soon enough. Wanda standing by the door with her keys in hand as she waits for you to join her.

“Beautiful,” she says when you step down, opening the door for you.

“I hope you win one award, that would be amazing.”

“It would look great for my public imagine,”she laughs at the look you give her, “you know I don’t care about that, love.”She gives your thigh a squeeze before backing the car out of her apartment complex.

She should’ve known he’d be stuck to you most of the night. Wanda tries to engage in the conversation, but he tunes her out, keeping his attention on you. Ever so sweet you try to include her, smiling back at her but this time it’s not enough to quell how she’s feeling.

“Hey Micheal, can you go grab her another drink?”

“Wanda, I can’t—“

She shuts you up by pinching at your waist, cutting your sentence off. He looks mildly annoyed, “sure.”Once he’s turned around, she’s guiding you out of the room.

“Wanda there’s only like sixteen minutes until the ceremony—“ your mouth goes numb when you realize where she’s walking you towards. There’s a closet at the end of the hall, tiny and small as its only purpose is to hold supplies for the janitors. Tonight it will be used for another matter.

“That’s enough time,” she says lowly, shutting the door behind her, enclosing the two of you in darkness.

She’s lifting you with her hands under your thighs, dropping you down onto the extra school desk stored away in the room. Her body’s leans into you, hands on either side of your body as she kisses you passionately. They turn messy, trailing from the corner of your lips to end up on the bottom side of your neck. You gasp when she bites down, a hand reaching to push at her chest.

“Wan—wait.”

She doesn’t listen, too focused on making your neck show an array of purple marks. You whine, squirming in her hold as she leaves one after the other, stopping only on areas that you’re sensitive to. She’s severely quiet, attentive to every heavy breath and sound coming from you. You’re weak, arms wrapped around her neck, head pressed into the wall behind you. You’ve completely given up control, neck tilted back to give her more room.

“Oh—” you shiver when she moves towards the spot behind your neck. Your reaction gave her another reason to press her lips against it, nipping at the skin there.

Her ministrations leave you wet, your hips grind down onto the desk below you to try to seek relief. Wanda coos, cold fingers sliding under your dress, finding the wetness between your thighs. You cry out when she thrusts two in, pushing through your tight walls. It’s intoxicating, the wet sounds filling the room, turning you on even more.

“Ah! Wands—you—“

She’s shushing you, lips on yours to keep you quiet. Her fingers are splitting you open, angling perfectly towards the spot that makes your back arch. Her thumb catches onto your clit with each thrust, brushing perfectly to make you see white. You weave your fingers into her hair, moaning into her mouth when she bites at your bottom lip.

You’ve completely forgotten about the event, and most importantly, Michael. You’re clenching onto her finger, arousal covering her hand and dripping onto the wood below you. You choke on a moan when she’s guiding you to lift your left foot onto the desk, the position spreading you open to allow her fingers to push deeper. The bottom of your dress slips up, clothing pooling around your waist. You feel your orgasm build, a series of whimpers spilling from you.

“Fucking say my name when you come,” she demands, holding back moan when she hears your strangled whine after she brought her hand down onto your thigh. The way your cunt squeezes around her fingers then makes her weak.

“Like that?”

She’s cocky, hand coming down harder on that same spot.

“ah! wands please—“

Your body jerks after her fifth slap, mouth dropping open in a silent scream. She nuzzles against your head resting on her shoulder. You relaxed into her hole, breathing heavily as you come down from your high.

It was fine until wanda carried you into the bathrooms to clean off and you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, easily spotting the splotches painting your neck.

You leaned over the sink to get a better view, eyes snapping between the marks; the one by your ear, another under the strap of your dress, one more at the base of your neck. You weren’t aware of the severity of her actions in the moment, your mind was too busy trying to deal with the fuzziness spreading throughout your body.

“Was that okay,” she asks from where she stands by the entrance.

“Very,” you mumble, looking back to her with a smile.

“Hey, I want to apologize. I knew something was wrong,” you say, grabbing a paper towel from the machine, “he was a jerk to you. Like just earlier he wasn’t letting you get a word in, but I really just thought he was being nice at first.”

“You’re fine, love.”

You wet the towel, rubbing warm water over the cloth to get it wet, “you say that but I still feel bad.”

She crosses the room to grab at your wrist after seeing what you were doing, “why’re you trying to rub the marks off?”

“Because?”

She raises an eyebrow, “because? What?”

“This is your event, I don’t want you to loose your job over me.”

“I won’t,” she tosses the towel away, “I knew what I was doing when I gave you those.”

“But the staff—“

“There’s enough of them screwing around.”

“Oh.”

She huffs, hooking a finger under the hem of your dress, drawing it up your thigh until the red, swollen marks on your thighs from where she was aiming her hand earlier begin to show. You hate how affected you get by the sight of them, thighs squeezing together.

You were only meant to be gone for ten minutes. That was the original goal, but she began to fold with how you were looking at her. Your eyes were dark, locking onto hers from within the mirror. She had you pinned to the counter in seconds, forcing you to watch how easily you melt under her touch.

Footsteps echoed throughout the hallway, getting closer to where the two of you stood. You had begun to push back, mumbles on how she needs to stop so they don’t get caught, but it’s like she knew. You caught on later, realizing it was Micheal by the sound of his voice calling out to you.

“Wanda, he—“

She’s slapping a hand over your mouth, pulling you back against her chest. You look over your shoulder, finding Micheal freeze after entering into the room. Wanda had you in a position only he could dream of. He was like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing as he processed what he was looking at. The marks on your body, eyes glossy and faraway even as you look in his direction. The muscles in Wanda’s arm flex as she presses her hand tighter against your mouth. You’re absolutely dripping, excitement pooling from the behavior this man was bringing out of her.

“I was worried… but I see you’re.. okay.”

“I see you’ve met my girlfriend, Micheal?”

series m.list ✩ ══╡˚2.3k words˚╞══ ✩ wanida m.list

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foreingersgod · 3 days

Note

Literally my favorite wbb writer on here😭💕💕!! Could you maybe write kate Martin x reader angst?

UGGHHH, i love you all so much, your support means the world to me!! thank you sm :’)

Thick and Thin . KM

pairing: kate martin x reader

synopsis: you and kate go through a rough patch

A/N: NOT PROOF READ

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

to say you were a supportive girlfriend would be an understatement, you went to every game, every event, comforted kate after every loss and celebrated after every win. any athlete would be lucky to have you at their side. and at the beginning of your relationship, kate knew that. she was so grateful that she had you in her life. if you weren’t there on the side lines cheering her on or doting on her whenever she needed it, she wouldn’t be where she’s at now.

but as of recently, she’d become too entangled in the game. sure, an athlete like herself would obviously be committed and stressed when it came to their sport. but kate had always made sure you understood that you were her number one priority, basketball second. she wanted to make sure you knew how much she loved you, showing you the same amount of love and support that you always showed her. and for a while, it was working out fine. you split your girlfriend duties 50/50 and made sure each other were always satisfied and happy in the relationship.

now, though, it felt like kate has just stopped caring. you weren’t sure if it was graduation, or saying goodbye to the team, she wouldn’t talk to you at all. she was cold and more distant than normal. she didn’t help you out around the house, she didn’t bring you home flowers every friday night like she used to, she didn’t kiss you goodnight or pull you into her chest before bed, you felt suddenly neglected. kate was acting like a completely different person and it was really starting to take a toll on you.

you tried to let this phase run its course in hopes that she’d return to her normal self again, but things seemed to only be getting worse. she started coming home later than normal, stopped taking you to banquets and events. hell, she didn’t even care that you waited for her outside the locker room after each game to see her. instead, she would brush past you to talk to her friends and family. it’s like you were invisible.

no matter how much it hurt you, you still wanted to support your girlfriend and kept going to the games and cheering her on, even if she didn’t notice you were there.

but on this particular night, outside the locker room once more, something inside you told you to wait for her and figure out what was going on. you weren’t going to be brushed off any longer.

you felt like you were going to melt, sitting on the bench outside the doors. your heart was racing and your head was spinning hoping that she’d be the next one to walk out. and soon enough, your prayers were answered, kate came waltzing through the doors moments later. duffel bag in hand, hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. surprisingly, she saw you and walked over to see you.

“hey, i’m gonna go over to hannah’s place to hang out with the girls tonight” she looked down at her phone, typing out a text. figures, she couldn’t even look at you “i don’t know when i’ll be home so. ill probably see you in the morning”

you scoffed, now she wasn’t even coming home with you anymore? is the only time she’s going to talk to you is to tell you she’s leaving? your blood must’ve been boiling, your heart sank watching her completely blow you off.

“what’s that all about?” she asked, irritated.

“nothing, nothing” you sighed, beginning to walk away “do whatever you want i don’t fucking care”

she grabbed your wrist, forcing you to stop in your tracks and talk to her “what’s your fucking problem? i can’t go out with my team now? i thought you were supposed to be a supportive girlfriend, huh?”

“really? you’re going to pull that card?” now you were fuming, you were lucky no one was around to witness this “i’ve been nothing but supportive, kate. you know that! i do everything i possibly can to be supportive. and all i ask if that you do the same for me, but you’ve quite literally treated me like shit these past few weeks!”

“that’s such bullshit-”

“no it’s not kate! you’re not even home anymore! you don’t buy me flowers or take me out on dates like you used to! i don’t even remember the last time you kissed me because you’re too fucking busy with all this other shit! and when it’s late and i’m waiting out here for you, time and time again, you blow me off to go out with the team. again. it never ends, kate”

“i don’t know why you’re choosing to bring this up now” she yelled “lets just go home, fuck, i won’t go out tonight if you’re gonna make a scene!”

“you’re unbelievable, kate i hope you know that” you wanted to scream “go home, go with the team, i truly don’t care. but im not gonna keep doing this with you.” you pushed past kate, who was trying to drag you out to the car at this point, making your way to the door and storming down the street alone.

“where the hell are you going, YN” she chased after you “seriously, what the fuck, let’s just go home, i’m sorry!”

you ignored her and kept walking, if she was going to treat you like this, then you weren’t going to put up with her anymore. you’d stay at a friends place or a hotel if it meant you didn’t have to take this neglect anymore.

kate persisted, still chasing you down the side walk, dodging numerous couples and families just trying to enjoy their evening. you tried to pretend she wasn’t there, persistent on getting away from her as far as possible. but before you could turn around the next corner to try and get her off your back, she grabbed your foreman and pulled you back into her like she had done before.

“stop running, you’re acting like a child” she tried to keep her voice level “just come home so we can talk about this, please”

you didn’t even look at her, complying, as you let her lead you to the car and take you home.

when you arrived at your building, you both stood in complete silence as you entered the the apartment. you hung up your coat, took off your shoes, and sat on the couch waiting for her to start talking.

“so talk, kate. since that’s what you wanted to do.”

“YN, come on” she groaned, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch “i don’t get why we need to have this conversation.”

“you don’t get it?” you were astonished, was she that fucking clueless “you don’t see what’s been going on?”

she just looked at you sadly, fingers massaging her temples in frustration.

“kate i know that things are difficult right now. i can’t even imagine what you’re feeling when you have to deal with all these things with basketball and try and handle everything else outside of that too. but you’ve changed, babe, and it feels like you’ve just stopped caring about me all together”

“you know that’s not true,” she said. “i love you so much, you know that”

“but do i, kate?” you shook your head “im sitting outside of that locker room, telling you all these things you’ve been doing that have seriously hurt my feelings…and you’re just not listening!”

“ok i’ll admit i’ve been distant! and im sorry for that, i really am, but i didn’t realize it was that big of a deal!” she defended “things have been so hectic and im struggling to keep everything together and-and then there’s stuff going on with my family and caitlin’s always asking me to-”

she began to ramble, telling you every possible thing that had been on her mind recently. you had no idea it was this bad.

“kate…” you leaned over, rubbing her shoulder to try and soothe her “i had no idea all of that was going on? why didn’t you just talk to me about it? you can always trust me with these things”

she leaned forward, letting her head fall into her hands, trying to keep her composure “because you’re always so good to me and i didn’t want to dump all of this on you and make you deal with it. i just don’t want my problems to become yours”

“and that’s very thoughtful, but i’m here to help. and even if i wasn’t…that doesn’t give you the right to just cut me off as a girlfriend completely, it’s so unlike you…and for you to get so upset with me when i just wanted to spend time with you after the game tonight? you’d never do that”

“i know, you’re right, i just..” she looked over to you, eyes bloodshot from holding in tears “i guess i thought that if i secluded myself and kept you out of it that it might be easier to deal with…but i was so fucking wrong. and i shouldn’t have pretended like this was normal, it’s not. i’m so sorry that i’ve been abandoning you and not even realizing”

“i’m…im not gonna sit here and say it’s ok, cause it’s not. but i know that this isn’t you. i know that you can fix yourself and trust me to help you sort out whatever’s bothering you. but i really need you to try. i miss the old you, i miss the good morning kisses and making me dinner and our movie nights, you know?”

she smiled, reminiscing “i miss it too, im gonna be better, i promise.”

“i know, and i love you ok?”

“i love you too, thank you for putting up with all my shit, i don’t deserve you”

you pulled her into you, reveling in her embrace for the first time in weeks, you could already feel things falling back into place.

it was going to take a long time for you to get back into your old dynamic with kate, but you understood that she was under a lot of pressure and she understood that you had struggles and needs just the same. so you promised to tackle it all, sticking together through thick and thin.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

A/N: i’m very bad at writing angst so i apologize! if you guys request something and my outcome for it isn’t what you had wanted, feel free to message me and ill re write it for you, i want you guys to be completely satisfied with your requests!

on that same note, i’ve still got a few requests i’m finishing up and then i’ll open that back up again, thanks for understanding <3

have a lovely day!! :)

#kate martin x reader #kate martin #wcbb #wcbb x reader #iowa wbb #request

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liyahin4k · 21 hours

Text

Friday night’s

(𝐁𝐖𝐖𝐖)

(𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐞 𝐱 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐡)

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲-Paige gets drunk and gets a little touchy and they next morning it all over the internet

Music was blasting for the speakers as you and the rest of the team took shots while ice went on live.

You were talking to kk when Paige came from behind you and wrapped her arms around your neck and began kissing your cheek and neck kk smirks at you two before leaving to give you two your privacy.

I lOvve you she mumbled into your cheek leaving soft kiss you held onto her arms smiling softly as you two rocked side to side.

You let go and turned around to look at her when you did you saw how low her eyes were making you giggle you having fun you asked she nodded giving you a lazy smile before you could say anything else you were pulled away by nika her wanting to take bathroom pictures.

You and nika walked out the bathroom laughing but stopped when you saw Paige singing or if you would say screaming the lyrics to drunk in love with her cup in her hand kk and ice trying to shut her up.

Looks like you got some work to do nika laughed walking away oh god you mumbled pushing past the crowd of people to get to Paige.

Hey you softly smiled grabbing the arm she had her cup in and taking it kk and ice sighed in relief glad you were there to help I got it you whispered to them letting them know that they could leave once they did Paige stopped singing and looked at you smiling so hard you thought her face was gonna get stuck like that.

Hiii she giggled cupping your face as you tried to talk to the bartender you moved her hands so you could and ordered a water for her.

Do you know how much I l-love you she mumbled as you sat her down and received the water you ordered no tell me you told her trying to distract her as you slowly made her drink the water holding her head so she wouldn’t choke.

Sooo much she mumbled pulling you closer by your waist and taking small sips of the water.

You were to busy with Paige to realize some of the fans in the club were talking pictures and recording that’s one thing about dating Paige the fans wouldn’t go away some of them love and support you’re relationship and of course there’s some that don’t.

You two stayed like that for about fifteen minutes her in your arms as you took care of her you pulled away when you saw her eyes starting to close.

You stood up grabbing all of your things but with the help off kk you got Paige into your car and home walking in your two apartment you placed your things down then sat Paige down on the couch so you could say your goodbyes to kk before get Paige to bed.

Paige woke up with a headache she slowly got up to get her self together before going to the kitchen to find you making breakfast what happened last night she mumbled sitting at the table you turned around and handed her her plate you got a little drunk that what happened you told her sitting next to her.

How drunk she asked her eyes widened you pulled out your phone and went on instagram then showed her the picture that were took of you two and of her when she was singing.

She looked at them In shock then she saw the pictures of you and her when you were talking care of her her eye softened when she read the caption.

She looks away to looked at you you took care of me she smiled of course who else you smiled giving her a quick kiss before going back to the stove to finish cooking.

#paige bueckers #kk arnold #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #azzi fudd #lesbians #nika muhl #ice

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i-hate-accidents · 3 days

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i hate accidents: the ball

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary: the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections: I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n: bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings: classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, nondescript mention of gagging (not related to self-image) in [III.iii], sexually charged 18+ interactions in middle to end of [III.iv]—minors dni, please stop at the end of the paragraph that begins "you repeat his words with sped up mockery"; you may resume at "you jut out your hip"

word count: 15.7k (of 38.8k)

story context: everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons. this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season.

additional notes: this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2! she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits. they have not yet watched queen charlotte. the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note: this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years. :) it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens. additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years. the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @stvrdustalexx @bedobeeeee @crazymar15 @kahhorri @mayalopes @benedictbridgertonss @athensflower @02wrldz @queerlavalier @merlslrem @pillsbury-doughgirl @lamourdure3ans and all who have read either/both sections one and two—thank you. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“you look like a princess, y/n!” hyacinth squeals in delight.

“i regret not being of age yet to attend balls,” gregory sighs. “i would have been honored to ask you for your first dance.”

you beam at the youngest bridgertons with all the fondness in your heart. judith, an elderly maid of number five, had attempted to dispel hyacinth and gregory from the room as your hair was done, but you had asked her to please allow them to stay. the two kept you at ease throughout the foreign process, and their sweet sincerity kept you grounded amidst the anxiety that still floods your veins.

“you are both too kind. and fear not; tomorrow morning we will have a ball all of our own,” you lean in for a whisper, them following suit to listen. “and perhaps we will need the talents, and bravery, of a young sorceress and a young knight to save the guests from the intrusion of an unruly wyvern.”

“you promise?!” hyacinth and gregory yell at the same time. you hold out your pinky finger, just as you used to do with your siblings, and the two young ones wrap their pinkies around yours.

“i promise.”

“you are all done, miss y/l/n,” says alice, placing the last pin into your hair. she steps back and curtsies. her formality towards you renders you uneasy; she treats you as above her but you are of the same world. you school your facial features from showing your unease; you do not want to upset her or have her wrongly think that she has done something wrong.

“no need to call me ‘miss.’ i am simply y/n!” you grin at alice. “a friend.”

she smiles, albeit a bit sheepishly.

“of course, y/n. are you ready to see yourself?”

you shudder in a breath. you had asked not to be prepared in front of a mirror. to have seen your transformation so readily reflected at you at every point of this process—

you exhale frantically. the maids and genevieve had graciously accommodated your wishes, both going so far as rearranging this room and her fitting room to avoid any lines of your sight with a potential reflection; you were, and are, utterly grateful.

but i am unable to delay the inevitable any longer.

standing up and squaring your shoulders, you give alice a feeble nod. she bows her head in response, a small, encouraging smile on her lips, and leads you to the mirror as hyacinth and gregory turn in their seats to watch you cross the room.

it is just a dress. it is just a tiara, and just some jewelry, and just some gloves, and just some shoes, and just a bit of makeup. it is just you. it is still you. be the courageous person you are, y/n.

or—

just before you see even a miniscule bit of your reflection in that accursed mirror, you shut your eyes tight.

—be a coward.

you continue step by agonizing step, approximating where the mirror is, and shudder in another breath.

perhaps i am being too dramatic. perhaps i can faint and feign illness. perhaps i shall run away by way of the nearest window. perhaps i—

“the mirror is to your left, y/n; whenever you are ready,” coaxes alice.

you exhale once more.

or perhaps, i should open my eyes.

and so you do.

oh.

“oh,” you say aloud.

the person you see in the gilded full-length mirror is, somehow, a complete stranger and entirely you.

the one time you’ve worn makeup before was for your elder sister’s wedding: a bit of your mother’s rouge on your cheeks and lips to have some color to your otherwise dull face. now, your cheekbones glow with a blush much more complimentary to your complexion than a mere red as your lips shine with a gossamer of a similar shade. entirely new to you are the glimmering minerals on your eyelids that magically bring attention to your eyes and make them shine like starlight.

your eyebrows have been plucked (much to your initial pain but your current appreciation), maintaining their shape and fullness but now without strays.

soft tendrils of curls frame your face, and your hair—normally worn down when not working—has been pulled back into a loose coiffure and styled with sprigs and small blooms, the crown of your head graced with a silver tiara.

“this,” violet smiled fondly when she first set the tiara on top of your head, “is the tiara i wore to my first ball after my presentation. i had insisted on keeping it, thinking i could pass it on to my daughter when her first ball had come. but daphne was resolute on having her own tiara, and eloise was resolute on not wearing any,” violet laughed, her eyes shining when they connected with yours, “i see now, though, perhaps it was always meant to be yours.”

“violet, i— i cannot wear this. it is too— it’s too—”

sumptuous? opulent? regal?

no.

well, yes, the tiara is all those things. but those were not what had concerned you then. it’s too—

“beautiful,” you admitted quietly.

something as beautiful as that surely does not belong on the head of someone like you.

“well,” violet smiled, “then you are merely proving my point, my dear. it perfectly suits you.”

you hold out your hands, flare out your fingers, and stretch out your arms, examining the dark forest green of your long satin gloves, mesmerized that a muted color with such depth and richness could be achieved through dyes.

moving your hand, you touch one of the small rosewhite pearls adorning your earlobes and, with your other hand, touch the inky oblong pearl that shimmers violet, indigo, and green as it hangs from the thin, black velvet choker around your neck.

“my dear,” mama appeared in your doorway one evening as you wrote at your table, “do you require jewelry for your occasion?”

“oh. i suppose i do? i hadn’t given it much thought.” jewelry had been the last thing on your mind of things that terrified you of the impending ball.

“well, if you have not been offered anything by the bridgerton family yet, i thought— i thought perhaps you might like these.”

she approached you, a small wooden box in her hand, and placed it on your table. taking the box into your hands, you looked at it and then up at mama. she smiled at you but something of her countenance seemed strained. nervous. you offered her a smile in an attempt to assuage whatever concerns preoccupied her mind and, turning back to the box, unclasped it open.

“these are the earrings and necklace i wore when i married your papa. they were gifts from your grandmama that were gifts from her mama. i had tried giving them to your sister when she was to be married, but she thought… they are plain, nothing like what those fashionable people wear, i am certain; but if you have nothing else, i—”

you shot up from your seat, throwing your arms around your mama, feeling how she reeled from the ferocity of your sudden embrace, as you clutched onto the box of her wedding jewelry.

“they are beautiful, mama,” you said quietly but emphatically as the vehemence of your emotions tried to trap your words in your throat. “they are the most beautiful things i have ever seen, and i am so— i am so honored to be bestowed with the blessing of wearing them, and of wearing them proudly. thank you.”

you heard how mama sniffed her nose, and how she tried to hide it, as she gently rubbed your back, as she always had in your moments of vulnerability.

“i love you, my child.”

“i love you, mama.”

you then touch your exposed shoulders. the neckline of your dress, nowhere near your neck, follows the curved peaks of your breasts to meet and form a small v-shape in the crevice of your bosom.

“where is the chemise?” was the first thing you had said when you first tried on the gown at the modiste.

genevieve grinned.

“there is none.”

your jaw dropped.

“then what of a stay? what sort of stay would be worn with this?”

turning slightly, and noting your rather bare upper arms in the process, you angle your exposed back towards the mirror. another v-shape, its furthest point down a third of your bare spine.

“my dear, both you and i know that you already know the answer to your inquiry.”

“oh, my good g—”

never, in your life, has the expanse of your upper body been so naked and on display than in this ball gown.

“i do not mean to doubt your artistry, genevieve; truly!, the dress is magnificent, but—” you turned to kathani, who had exclaimed and clapped with immense delight upon seeing you in the gown, “is this—— permissible?”

the viscountess had arched an eyebrow at you then.

“y/n y/l/n, concerned with the rules of society? and of high society, at that?”

“no— no!” you yelled all too loudly as genevieve chortled and placed pins for final alterations into the dress. “i just, i just do not want to embarrass you and your family, is all.”

you had not meant for your voice to come out so quiet and small. the older women’s faces softened immediately.

“you could never embarrass us, y/n,” kathani stated with such tenderness. then she smiled. “you look beautiful.”

the off-white base layer of the dress feels luxurious against your skin, the fabric hugging your upper body, puffing out at the sleeves, and, from the underbust, flowing and falling into a cone silhouette for the skirt—but what truly awes you is the artistry of the outermost layer. a cream translucent silk, the piña seda (you recall genevieve proudly naming it as) of the outermost layer glistens while you sway and turn your body, light shifting and transforming the ever beauty of the dress, the swish of the skirt moving like how waves are described in the passages of your books and in the reminiscing of your parents’ memories. lined at the underbust begins the intricate thicket of embroidered foliage, painstakingly threaded with innumerable shades of greens and blues, a shimmering teal threaded throughout to gleam in tandem with the sheen of the fabric. the embroidery of foliage then grows and thickens as it cascades down the middle of the dress and comes to an encircling end a few inches above and around the floor-length hem. in the negative space of the piña seda are spread out, small ivory embroideries of floral motifs.

it is a dress deserving of someone most beloved in titania’s garden court.

“indeed,” genevieve affirmed, a smile on her lips akin to kathani’s. “those in attendance will not be prepared. you will look the most beautiful of all.”

and perhaps…

perhaps you should be unnerved by how different your dress will be from the others’ of the ton. perhaps you should be unnerved by how easily you will stand out from the crowds. perhaps you should be unnerved by the attention, the whispers, the stares you will inevitably receive with your dress, with your appearance, with your presence, with your very existence. but, instead—

“i do look like a princess,” you say finally. quietly.

you do look beautiful.

like you could belong amidst the ton.

like you could belong with the bridgertons.

like you could belong with him.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“are you anxious, y/n?”

you turn to gregory at your side and see the swell of worry in his eyes.

“what gives you that impression?”

“you are shaking terribly,” hyacinth comments from your other side, replacing her usual pluck and wit with a worry akin to her brother’s.

the two had volunteered to escort you from the dressing room that you had been prepared in to the grand staircase of number five. with their arms hooked around yours, gregory on your left and hyacinth on your right, the youngest bridgertons have been walking you down the corridor. your heart aches with anguish: you know you have failed when the children are the ones to care for the adult.

“i am sorry to have concerned you both. yes, i— i am anxious.”

“it is reasonable to be anxious. but there are a great many cakes at these balls, or so i’ve heard, so you can eat one, and then another, to help ease your nerves!”

“how is that of any help, gregory.”

“it is plenty of help!”

“to eat and eat when she is already uneasy? the last time you were uneasy, you nearly—”

“do not recount that in front of y/n!”

“why not!”

“it is not— it is not proper!” gregory’s voice jumps in pitch, causing a swift blush to form on the apples of his cheeks. hyacinth snorts.

“why does your voice do that?”

“i do not know! kate said it is natural for bo— for young men to experience such a thing!”

“aren’t young men meant to be tall?”

“i am an inch taller than you now!”

“you are not!”

“i am too!”

you laugh. the youngest bridgertons halt their dispute and look at you.

“i must say, your usual squabbling is keeping me much at ease,” and you offer a sympathetic smile to gregory. “i am sorry that it seems to be at your expense, however.”

his eyes shine.

“you need not worry about me! i am glad to see you smile.”

“i as well,” hyacinth adds. you turn to her and see how her eyes shine too.

“i am most grateful to you both for being at my side on such a night.”

“we are most grateful for you, y/n.”

“that is something, and probably the singular thing, hyacinth and i can agree upon.”

you plant soft kisses on the tops of their heads, just as mama and papa and your elder sister had done when you were their ages. gregory and hyacinth nestle their heads into your upper arms and only part from you when the three of you reach the top of the first set of steps.

“are you ready?”

though you wish to say ‘no,’ you brace yourself with a deep inhale and nod.

your heart quickens with each step as time around you slows. your mouth has gone dry, and your body feels entirely numb, sensation only returning to you when you feel hyacinth and gregory unhook their arms from yours. turning your head, you see them stepping backwards, away from you, leaving you at the center of the landing to the rest of the grand staircase. you face forward once more, and ahead, below, you see the gentlemen and ladies of bridgerton house, waiting for you, looking at you.

you swallow.

for the very first time, in your dress, by yourself, you take a step forward.

breathe, y/n. shoulders back; tilt your chin up, but not too much; just as kathani had taught you. and just, breathe.

but it is hard to breathe with all eyes on you. with—

i must control myself. i must not seek him out. i must not seek out his face. i must not seek out those o—

you step on the hem of your dress and feel yourself start to fall forward. thankfully, god, for whatever reason, has blessed you with enough dexterity in this very moment, and you manage to catch yourself from tumbling down the steps as you hear gasps from above and below you. you mumble an apology (you don’t know why; it is not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear) and offer everyone a smile. upon seeing their relaxed shoulders and reassured expressions, you continue to descend the staircase.

stupid benedict. distracting me in remembering how to walk, and how to breathe, and how to—

oh.

i am doing it again.

shit.

goddamnit, stupid benedict!

somehow, you reach the landing of number five’s entrance hall without any additional accidents and, approaching the bridgertons, immediately look to the viscountess. as if knowing you seek her approval, kathani nods her head; a beam illuminates her countenance. you feel yourself ease, your shoulders relaxing (that you promptly square again; you are, after all, pretending to be a lady for the night), your heart racing less, if only minutely, and manage a smile. you feel someone take hold of your gloved hand and, turning to face the source, see violet gazing at you.

“beautiful.”

it is all she says, but with such tenderness in her voice, it makes your heart swell.

“the importance of appearance,” rasps eloise, causing you to turn to her, “and the lengths gone to achieve so-called perfection of such, especially for those of feminine disposition, is an entirely antiquated, offensive concept that must be eradicated from our, and all, societies—— but you do, look, beautiful, y/n.”

you grin.

“we’ll eradicate it together; and with help along the way, i am certain.”

when she responds in kind, you turn to the gentlemen, and, to your mortification, colin and anthony bow at you. the high society etiquette directed towards you from your friends overwhelms you with an embarrassment that you cannot even begin to fathom; they haven’t performed such formalities towards you since your first meeting all those months ago. but, in spite of your horror, the sincerity of their intentions, as well as their countenances, touches you deeply.

“madame delacroix and the maids have outdone themselves,” remarks anthony. “as mother and eloise have said, you look beautiful, y/n.”

“indeed,” colin beams. when he turns to benedict, however, his smile transforms into an expression befitting of a fairytale creature; one with mischievous intentions. “what say you, brother?”

you follow his line of sight and connect with ocean eyes. the flood of self-consciousness and the tempo of your heartbeats magnify hundredfold under his gaze, the butterflies within you fluttering the most violently they ever have, and you feel as though your entire body has been set ablaze.

anthony, with what looks like a smirk, nudges his brother with his elbow. as if suddenly aware of where he is, benedict hastily bows at you and, returning his ocean eyes to yours, says,

“you look— well.”

you hear eloise snort. turning your head towards her, you see she has completely sucked in her lips. to her left, kathani smiles massively. to kathani’s left, violet remains ever poised but with wide, sparkling eyes. you still feel self-conscious but are infinitely amused by whatever is happening to the bridgertons and, with a playful smile on your lips, return your gaze to benedict.

“thank you, mr. bridgerton. i had felt uneasy with an unnerved stomach earlier, but i am glad to know that my health appears to be in proper order.”

and you deeply curtsy at him.

from above you hear the sweet giggles of the youngest bridgertons. ahead, in your periphery, you see how anthony closes his eyes as he sucks in air through his nostrils and how colin, with an unabashed laugh, clasps his hand onto benedict’s shoulder.

“well!” anthony booms, attempting to control his smile on what ought to be an authoritative expression. “i believe we have a ball to commence. shall you lead the way, viscountess?”

and with an expression both equal in authority and warmth, kathani declares,

“i shall.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you had grown ease of mind knowing that you would not be asked to dance. not only were you a stranger to everyone in the ton aside from the bridgertons and penelope, you were also not handsome like the debutantes flitting about the room, swishing prettily in their gowns, strategically but delicately fluttering their eyes at a gentleman with which they wished to dance. with anonymity and a plain face, you enjoyed the haven of people observing, snickering at the artifice and smiling at the sincerity. kathani chatting with her guests. anthony standing by her side. penelope dancing with colin. eloise hiding behind a plant. violet beaming at her family. (you tried to convince yourself that you had not noticed the absence of a particular person.) your nerves have finally begun to calm, finding content in your station at the margins of the dance floor.

when colin bridgerton approaches you, hand outstretched in your direction, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“miss y/l/n, may you do me the honor?”

“i’m sorry, what?”

he laughs.

“will you dance with me?”

you gape at him.

“you’re mad.”

“my mind is perfectly intact.”

“this is unwise.”

“this is the best decision i have made this night.”

“i shall surely step on your toes.”

“i have worn my sturdiest shoes for the occasion.”

the corners of your mouth tug down into a moue at the third bridgerton’s stubborn charm. his grin merely widens as your eyes narrow to slits at him. penelope approaches from behind the beguiling imp and smiles warmly at you.

“it will be fun,” she encourages. “i promise.”

penelope! no!

“et tu, brute?” you bemoan.

she shrugs.

“what is a ball without dancing?” penelope offers. sweet innocence colors her voice, but the delighted glint in her eyes reveals her true duplicitous nature. she knew exactly how to play the game of this conversation, no doubt a devious plot concocted between her and her beau.

you sigh.

“fine,” you huff, slapping your hand into colin’s palm. “i would be honored, mr. bridgerton.”

the diabolical duo laughs at the sarcasm that drips from your words as colin leads you to the lineup on the dance floor.

–

“how is the dance treating you, miss y/l/n?”

“i hate you.”

colin guffaws. (you see in your periphery how heads shift towards him and how eyes narrow at you. the partner you had just left looks at you with particular scrutiny.)

“if your hatred towards me is the cost of you enjoying the ball, then it is a burden i shall carry, and happily so.”

“has anyone ever told you how infuriating you bridgertons are?”

“no, but we very well know that we are,” he grins, “and we take immense pride in it.”

you groan, throwing your head back. (you hear murmurs around you. not ladylike.)

“are you truly not having fun?” the gentleness in his voice makes you look back at him. his expression is soft. sad. guilty. “we can leave the lineup, if that is what you would like.”

you consider his words and his offer.

“i am having fun,” you reply truthfully. his eyes light up at that and your heart warms at the sight. “it is just— being in a circumstance so wholly unfamiliar— it’s overwhelming, is all, i think. but…” you feel a smile form on your lips, “knowing that you all—as infuriating as you bridgertons are—are here with me, by my side, wanting me to enjoy myself, wanting me to be happy, it makes all the overwhelming feeling worthwhile. i am happy. you all make me happy.”

colin doesn’t say anything. he just stares at you as the two of you dance still. you are about to inquire—

“i am grateful to call you my friend, y/n. becoming your friend has been one of the greatest blessings to have been bestowed upon me and my family.”

you suck in a breath.

as is becoming yours has been one of mine.

but another thought also lives in your mind. so, on the exhale of your breath, you smirk.

“only second to falling in love with penelope, yes?”

he laughs, an uncharacteristic shy smile forming on his lips as he looks at his feet and then back at you, eyes shining incandescently.

“i hope you do not take offense to being second.”

“being second to penelope is truly, sincerely, still a victory in of itself. you are very blessed, indeed, to be her premier.”

you did not think colin’s eyes could shine brighter than they had mere moments prior, but you suppose— no, you are certain that this is the effect that the love of penelope featherington has on the third eldest bridgerton: the light in colin’s eyes is absolute radiance.

“‘very blessed’ is to put it very lightly.”

with unabashed grins, you and colin continue to dance. you have to walk most of the steps, often keeping good on your promise and stepping on his toes, but your partner is deterred neither by your incompetence nor by his injuries. the two of you laugh (drawing leers from the other guests, you notice but brush off) and end your dance with exaggerated flourishes of a curtsy and a bow to one another.

“you underestimate your dancing skills, miss y/l/n,” colin remarks with a beam.

“see if you feel the same after tending to your bruises, mr. bridgerton,” you beam back.

“colin bridgerton!”

you both whip your gazes to the call of colin’s name and see a man fastly, eagerly approaching.

“hastings!”

hastings? why does that sound familiar?

colin and the absurdly handsome man embrace, smiles broad and sincere.

“i was uncertain you would be joining us on this occasion.”

“we would have seen to arriving early, as we had intended, but augie is proving to be quite unpredictable with his tantrums as of late.”

“he must take after his uncles,” colin smirks with odd pride. that makes the other man chuckle.

“unfortunately, it seems to be so.”

he then shifts his gaze onto you. his expression is curious and— sweet? kindly. you feel yourself become rather self-conscious as you notice, in your periphery, colin assuming a posture of gentlemanliness.

“my apologies for my dreadful manners. simon, this is miss y/n y/l/n. y/n, this is simon basset.”

simon bows most graciously at you.

“good evening, miss y/l/n. it is a true pleasure to finally meet you. i am simon basset, daphne’s husband.”

daphne?

as in daphne bridgerton?

you recall the day you and benedict toured the art gallery: a portrait, a fairly recent one, it seemed, of a beautiful young woman and a beautiful young man—the duchess and the duke of hastings, the plaque read.

your jaw drops.

“you are the duke!” you remember the etiquette kathani taught you. “your grace!” and you sloppily curtsy.

simon laughs.

“that is hardly necessary. please, if you feel comfortable in doing so, call me simon.”

“yes— of course!, your— simon,” you compose yourself. “and you may call me y/n; i would prefer it, actually.”

simon grins.

“then, y/n, may i have the honor of having your next dance?”

your jaw drops again, your composure completely falling away. you look at simon, who is utterly amused by your reaction, and then to colin, who is utterly delighted by the turn of events, and back to simon.

“that is a mistake.”

that earns guffaws from both of the men. (you feel stares falling upon them and, once again, scowls falling upon you.)

“i am more than willing to make that discovery for myself, if you will allow it.”

you throw back your head (ignoring the additional glares shot your way) and, with a sigh, whip it back to look at simon with a fatigued, but earnest, smile.

“i shall allow it.”

colin bows his head at you, his grin having never left his countenance since the end of your dance together, and steps to the side as you place your hand into simon’s outstretched one and are led to the next lineup by the duke.

–

“has the duchess accompanied you to the ball this evening?”

“while it is poor courtesy to speak on behalf of my wife when she can speak for herself, i can say, with confidence, that she would much rather you call her daphne.”

“kathani had taught me your society’s etiquette in preparation for the ball, in the event it would be necessary,” you roll your eyes. “while i find it all utterly ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary for me in particular, i want to honor the knowledge that my teacher has bestowed upon me as a way to honor her.”

simon grins.

“you are a dedicated student. indeed, she is in attendance. the last i had seen her, she was tending to benedict.”

your heart sinks.

oh no.

“tending to benedict? is he unwell? did something happen? is he all right?”

you hear how your voice rises in pitch and grows louder and more frantic with each word. (you try not to care for the stares that you feel on you. they are not of importance right now——or ever.)

is that why i have not seen him all night? because he is in poor condition? shall i leave the ball? shall i see where he is being tended to? shall i—

“y/n?”

oh. yes. you were having a conversation with simon.

“sorry, what did you say?”

“i had said that i did not mean to worry you,” simon says sincerely, but there is something in his smile. not suspicious, neither mocking nor teasing. it is as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotion. “i simply mean that she is speaking with him and— encouraging him, is all.”

you feel the entirety of your body, mind, heart, and soul ease; but now, you are perplexed.

“encouraging him? whatever for?”

“i had not stayed with them long enough to hear the details of their conversation; i had sought you out rather immediately.”

“me!”

the dance had timed perfectly that upon receiving such information, you are forced to turn to another partner (who is unnerved to have you as a temporary companion). when you reunite with simon, his chuckling has mostly subsided.

“indeed. the viscount had encouraged me to ask you for a dance. the viscountess then stated that you required the practice.”

“i—— am utterly lacking in words in how to respond to that.”

“if it is of any comfort to you, it was something i had already intended on doing.”

“that is, rather strange?”

he grins.

“i can see how that is so from your perspective, yes. but from mine,” and it surprises you how suddenly simon’s countenance softens, “i had to find out for myself how wonderful this y/n y/l/n is to have so easily won the affections of all the bridgertons at number five. daff and i, as well as francesca, were becoming quite jealous that we did not have the good fortune to spend time with you as the rest of the family has had.”

“the family has… spoken of me?”

“in these past months of knowing you, you have become their most beloved topic of conversation. hyacinth and gregory idolize how resplendent of a storyteller you are. eloise adores being challenged by your intellect. colin aspires to your ferocity of quick wit. kate cherishes every discussion you share together. anthony reveres your unwavering resolve. violet becomes overcome with delight at every recounting of a memory in which you are involved. and benedict…”

you swallow.

“yes?”

you hear how feeble and quiet your voice has become.

“never stops speaking of you; so much so that it would be impossible to abridge what he loves in you.”

you shut your eyes closed at the words “he loves” and attempt to control the tears that threaten to flow at the word “you.”

the love he has for you is not the love you have for him.

“i— i did not know that they held me in such high regard,” you whisper.

you flutter your eyes open, grateful that no tears have fallen, and are greeted by the gentlest of smiles from simon. it assuages your soul.

“the highest of regards. they care very deeply for you.”

“and i care very deeply for them,” you declare softly. you then feel yourself break out into a smile. “i cannot say the same for you, yet, but i can see it forthcoming.”

simon throws his head back with a loud laugh, your smile transforming into a large grin (as you ignore the scowls that fall upon you). simon whips his head back to you, and he too wears a large grin.

“i am honored that you see the potential within me.”

with a final spin, you and simon release the other’s hand, ending the dance in a curtsy and a bow, both of your grins non-faltering.

“thank you for bestowing me the honor of dancing with you.”

you snort. (you hear scoffs and other suppressed noises of disapproval.)

“i fail to see how much of an honor it is to have someone incessantly knock into you, but if such is your feeling,” you curtsy with much theatricality and, upon your rise, let out a sigh of relief. “now, i shall retire to the margins once more.”

simon, once again, looks as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotions, but in it you detect— delight? you narrow your eyes.

“what?”

“you are not meant for the margins, y/n; please forgive me,” and with that, simon bows, his smile still non-faltering, and turns to leave you in the middle of the dance floor.

you are about to call out his name, curious and agitated by his vagueness—

“y/n?”

you turn around to the familiar voice and are greeted by a smiling anthony.

“oh no. are you going to ask me for the honor of having my next dance?”

the viscount looks as if he is about to howl with laughter and attempts to mask it, poorly, with his absurdly elated smile.

“is the idea of dancing with me truly so appalling?”

“the idea of dancing more is what i find so appalling.”

“i shan’t force you to do anything you do not want to do.”

“but how will your pride take it?”

this time anthony fully howls (earning looks of confusion at the host and their looks, predictably, turning to glares when they trace the impropriety back to you).

“i am always working on humbling myself,” he says, his expression softening. “i assure you that i, as well as my pride, can manage your rejection if it means that you are happy. you need not worry about my well-being.”

these damned bridgertons, and their damned charm, and their damned sincerity.

despite your internal accusations, you smile. you offer your hand (hearing a gasp or a few around you), and beaming, anthony takes it.

–

“you look like a princess, y/n!”

the saccharine words of hyacinth echo in your mind. with the transmutative magics of your fairy godmothers in mama, violet, kathani, genevieve, judith, alice, and the maids of bridgerton house, the impossible was made possible: you look like a princess. but it is not until this very moment, after descending a regal staircase, after entering this enchanting ball, after dancing with two dashing gentlemen and now a third, that you feel like a princess. you recall how you and your siblings played imagination; how you often asked to be the princess; how you did it so often that mama sewed you a dress from scraps of fabric and papa crafted you a crown out of discarded branches and your elder sister announced you as princess y/n whenever you played and your younger sibling waltzed with you around the first floor of your home. it makes you elated with childlike wonder how fortunate you are to be here and how lovely it is to be here, how strange and wonderful it is that imagination has become real life; as if it is all a wish for which you did not know you had wished, a wish that you did not know you had wanted to come true until it came true.

but—

“is there something on your mind, y/n?” you hear anthony ask, sometime after returning to him as your partner. “you seem pensive.”

“ah, yes. despite my gripes with you, and your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—”

“i gave you an option not to do so!”

“i am not finished speaking!”

he huffs out air through his nostrils, waiting with what seems to be a morsel of patience for you to continue.

“despite my gripes with you, your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—” anthony gives you a tired look that of an older sibling; you grin, “i am enjoying myself. i just wish, i just wish my family could be here with me, to enjoy it too.”

anthony’s expression softens immediately, and it makes your heart tighten. you know with what gravity, duty, and love he looks after the entirety of his family; you have witnessed it at every given second since becoming his friend. if someone were to be with you as you navigate this pain, you are glad that it is anthony.

“we shall invite them to the next ball we host,” he declares. your jaw drops. “it was a lack of foresight on my part for not doing so for this occasion, and i shan’t make that error again.”

you try to do rough estimations of what costs that would entail for the bridgertons— dresses and coats and shoes and four to six sets of two abstained days of work at least.

“anthony, i cannot possibly ask you to—”

“you did not ask,” he grins. “i offered. and i do so wholeheartedly. it shall not be a trouble for us, just strategic planning as kathani and i work the books. and before you protest—” you frown, both disappointed and flattered that anthony could sense your retaliation, “it is something i—as well as the rest of the family, i am certain—wish to do. if you won’t consider it for yourself and your family, then perhaps consider it as a gift to us selfish bridgertons.”

that makes you laugh loudly as you feel tears form in your eyes (whispers of you be damned). expression turning gentle once more, anthony continues,

“it would be an honor to finally meet your family. if they are even an inkling like you, then they must be truly wonderful, indeed.”

with a small sniffle of your nose and all the gratitude in your heart, you smile.

“they are. they are truly wonderful. i love them so much.”

anthony smiles in return with a nod of his head.

“then it is settled.”

“you are a good brother, anthony.”

you have wondered often if that is something anthony knows. while the bridgertons’ love for one another is apparent in all that they do and say and breathe, you haven’t heard them say very complimentary things to one another, particularly to the eldest. it is typical of families to tease and to jest, you know that intimately, but you also know how important, then, it is to tell your family what you truly think of them, how you truly feel of them. they ought to know just how much they are loved.

though his overall demeanor is composed and dignified, the softness in anthony’s eyes reveals his true emotion.

“and you are a good sibling, y/n.”

< their dance eventually comes to an end. someone approaches them. >

“good evening, brother,” benedict turns his ocean eyes to you. “good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.”

you vaguely hear something in your periphery. you turn to it and see a brilliant grin lighting up the viscount’s countenance.

“huh?”

“i had said that the viscountess is calling me over to her. i must pardon myself.”

“oh. yes. farewell, anthony.”

his grin broadens, dimples forming in his cheeks, and he bows. you see how, as he brings himself upright, his eyes shift towards his brother, the delight in his grin never leaving but something in his eyes… softening? before you can fully process it, he has turned and now walks towards kathani.

you turn back to benedict.

“i—— good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict. though, we have already greeted each other this night, just moments ago.”

“ah, yes— that—— that would be correct. and— is… correct.”

he is anxious. your heart aches at the sight, and you want to reach out and touch him, comfort him, ease whatever his concerns are—but you refrain.

benedict clears his throat.

“are you— are you enjoying yourself?”

while heavy by benedict’s current state, your heart cannot help but glow brighter at his question.

“yes, tremendously so. the dancing has been plenty fun, despite how horrendous i am at it.”

that makes benedict laugh, and relief floods your body, mind, soul, and heart. it is good to hear him laugh. to see him smile.

“i do not think you are as horrendous as you think you are. your form has been quite good.”

you cock your head, feeling the scrunch of your eyebrows and the smirk on your lips.

“you have been observing me?”

his jaw drops, his body stiffening again. suddenly shy, he looks at his shoes and, with a cough, looks back up at you, and you attempt to hold in your gasp.

how.

how is that, after all this time, he makes these butterflies within me flutter still.

“i— i do not have a clever diversion for that. yes; yes, i have. i suppose i have been building the— the courage within myself.”

“‘the courage’? the courage for what?”

he swallows.

“to ask you to dance with me.”

oh.

“oh.”

he looks… he looks scared. exposed. vulnerable.

you feel them within yourself, too.

he offers his hand.

“may i dance with you, y/n?”

you place your hand in his.

“yes. yes, you may, benedict.”

i am terrified of nothing else and would love nothing more than to dance with you.

benedict leads you to the floor, his ocean eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his.

the quartet starts up, and you detect how it is music for a waltz. of all the dances you were taught, even you can admit that you were best at learning the waltz.

…

you curtsy as he bows. benedict places his hand on your waist, and you try not to elicit your gasp from feeling his touch.

< their dance commences. they are silent. a lot of staring and shit.

< notably, y/n is not cognizant of the ton’s perception of her while she dances with benedict as she had been with her previous partners. it seems her sole focus in this moment is dancing with benedict, being with benedict. her heart, mind, body, and soul is with him.

< y/n’s mind goes Rampant when benedict places his hand on her exposed shoulder. >

do not close your eyes, you reprimand yourself. if you close your eyes, you will indulge. you will indulge in this sensation. in this touch. in his touch. in benedict’s bare hand on the expanse of your exposed skin. in imagination. in fantasies. in thoughts. in other thoughts on other parts of your body that you so, so very much want him to—

“i had not spoken properly.”

you try not to shudder a gasp upon hearing his voice.

“pardon?” you say, a bit breathless. the dance calling for it, benedict twirls you, and you are now face to face again.

“earlier; when i had commented on your appearance, i had said you looked well.”

you snort, recalling the peculiar word choice, and that earns a smile from benedict.

“what i had meant to say is—“ he swallows, “you look beautiful, y/n.”

“i think,” you respond perhaps too swiftly, “that is testimony to genevieve’s skill and not to my appearance.”

“i think genevieve only enhances what is already there.”

you want to change, you don’t want to change— you do want to change the topic. you cannot handle whatever— whatever benedict is insinuating. the indecipherable, intense, attentive gaze of his ocean eyes on you. it is so much; it is too much.

“she spoke of you.”

shit. why did i say that?

his face immediately falls, ocean eyes transforming with it.

shit.

“genevieve spoke of me? with you? why?”

“kathani had accompanied me to the modiste, and i had shared with genevieve how i became acquainted with penelope and the bridgertons,” you half-truth. “talking about the family, and then you, was a natural consequence.”

“what did she say? about me?”

you try not to wince at the urgency in his voice.

“she shared how you and she had— an intimate and passionate acquaintance,” you divulge, using the words your friend had to describe the artists’ relationship. perhaps you imagine the sensation, but you feel benedict wince as you dance. “and that it was brief and no more.”

“she said that? ‘brief and no more’?”

“indeed.”

he sighs. you detect relief in the exhale, but perhaps you had, once again, imagined it. you always had an active imagination; trying to bend what you perceive to what you wish was real.

“i see,” is all benedict says.

“do you care for her?” you inquire. it is truly masochistic, what you are doing. but you cannot help yourself. it is something you often do when benedict is near. when you and he are so close.

there is a small silence.

“i did. at least, i think i did,” he shares. “i was hurt when our— acquaintance came to an end, but i was not heartbroken. i had known nothing of heartbreak, not until—”

and he suddenly stops speaking, sucking in his lips.

“until?”

“nothing. nevermind. forget i had said anything,” he says all too quickly. you laugh, and he scrunches his face in adorable disapproval at you.

“well, that only makes me the more curious, benedict! the mystery of it, and your very clear blush, indicate it must have been quite the event.”

“i am not blushing!”

“you cannot lie about something i can literally see.”

“you are infuriating.”

“and what do you think you are?”

benedict just pouts at you, though you see the twinkle in his ocean eyes. you want the twinkle to be of affection, but you will settle for amusement. for friendship. you take pride in how you can elicit this reaction out of him. you take joy in how he can elicit this reaction out of you. you love him, and you are grateful that is something you can say and know and feel. even if he does not love you as you love him.

“the first time i felt heartbreak,” he begins, finally giving in. you perk up in anticipation. “was when— was when you had walked out of the house after i had crumpled the paper to the floor.”

you nearly stop in your tracks, halting your waltz with benedict entirely, until you find a way to recover and continue the steps with him. he is looking intently at you, waiting for your response. you inhale a breath and on the exhale say,

“oh.”

it is a pathetic response, but it is the only one you can muster at this moment. breath has entirely left your lungs, your heart palpitates at a maddening rate, the lightning of benedict’s touch and proximity magnifying at every passing second.

“i had hurt you, this person whom i—” he swallows, “whom i care for, deeply and completely. i was, and am, ashamed of my deed and the arrogant thoughts and beliefs that led me to do it.”

“i have long forgiven you for that, benedict.”

“it is something of which i am not deserving.”

“you cannot tell me what to think or do,” you challenge, arching an eyebrow at him to add levity to the conversation. benedict smiles, despite himself, and it makes your body flood with relief and joy.

“i would never dare.”

“as you shouldn’t,” you grin, then inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils. “you need not flagellate yourself for what you did. that accomplishes nothing, and guilt is entirely useless in the structures that be,” you say resolutely. more softly, you continue. “my forgiveness is something i gave you willingly because it is what i truly wanted. because i knew, and know, how you wish to do better. i see that in everything you do; in your art, in your character. it is something i admire in you.”

benedict simply stares at you, his ocean eyes impossible to decipher again. his gaze is overwhelming, but you refuse to break it.

“i was about to say how undeserving i am of your compassion,” he says, “but then swiftly realized you would have just admonished me.”

you laugh.

“you were correct in thinking so, yes.”

he looks at you still, his expression still impossible to decipher, but there is something soft about it.

“thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies within you flutter once more.

“and if you ever wish to discard your paper again,” you diverge from your feelings, “simply hand it to me. i am always in need of more.”

he laughs fully, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight, and you feel the flutterings violently rage within. perhaps diversion was not the wisest choice (or perhaps it was, if it meant that you were the one to make benedict laugh like that).

“i have gotten quite good at maximizing the amount of negative space on a sheet, but nothing would delight me more than to support your writing.”

“i am most grateful for your patronage, mr. bridgerton.”

benedict makes something of a gagging noise, and you snort loudly.

“you are making it strange with the master-servant relation, y/n.”

“ah, so you are learning,” you comment with a sagacious nod of approval. it is now benedict’s turn to snort.

“what can i say?” he grins. “i have the greatest of teachers.”

“they have done quite well; please give them my regards.”

“i shall.”

and with the music coming to an end, you turn to face one another, wide and wild smiles on your faces. you curtsy as benedict bows.

“may i fetch you a drink?” he inquires after you are both upright again.

“is alcohol served at these occasions?”

benedict laughs.

“champagne it is.”

he gives you one more bow, lingering a moment more with one more smile, before taking off to retrieve your drink.

you try to bite back your smile, but it’s entirely useless. you twirl in your spot, feeling the swish of your dress in the spin, for you cannot help yourself. you cannot help how much joy radiates off of you in this moment, how giddy you are. it feels like a fairytale. you look in the direction benedict took off and feel your smile widen.

it is dangerous what you are doing— indulging in this. but you do not care.

this is undoubtedly the most wondrous night of your life.

“so you’re the pauper that the bridgertons have invited to their ball.”

you freeze.

“how else would you have been asked to dance by the host—the viscount and a bridgerton, nonetheless; his two brothers; and the elusive duke of hastings? it is an endearing sight, really.”

her posse snickers.

“the bridgertons have always been so kind and thoughtful in that way, extending their hands to the less fortunate. why they chose you, however, remains a mystery. if it were a pretty face that appealed to them, i perhaps could have understood, but you are simple at best.”

“you are cressida cowper,” you state.

penelope and eloise had warned you about a cruel creature amongst the ton, and the young woman before you matches all of the criteria they had described: icy platinum hair, draconian eyes, and a haughty disposition that ought to be reserved for the royals.

cressida daintily gasps and smiles at you with what seems to be all the mockery she can muster.

“i see that my reputation precedes me! though, only those of my standing can refer to me as such. cannot have my name tainted by the mouths of the lowly.”

you feel the gazes of other guests on you. you hear muffled sneers.

this is entertainment for them.

you should say something, stand up for yourself— against cressida, against her posse, against the ton— but you don’t. you can’t. your mouth has gone dry, your mind has gone silent, your body has gone numb. you have never, ever felt more powerless.

“your dress— did the bridgertons pay for it? of course they did. pity, though, for their wealth to go to waste on such an offensive thing. allow me to assist you—”

and she pours her drink onto you.

you try not to gasp at the chill of the liquid making contact with your skin. looking down, you see a reddish purple stain seep into the cream fabric of your ball gown as it continues to travel downwards.

you hear cressida giggle. you look up.

“better,” she simpers. “beautiful at last.”

her posse sneers with delight. the guests who had tried to suppress their laughs do nothing to hide their mirth now.

this is entertainment for them. my humiliation— it is entertainment for them.

you step into cressida’s space, eliciting a stunned gasp from her as the others follow suit, and shove your face as closely to hers as possible.

“if we were not in your domain, i would rip out your delicate hair and strike my hand across your pretty little face. but i am a lady—not in blood nor in title, but in character. and with your words and your deeds, you have shown just how utterly undeserving you are of such a title with your complete void of morals, compassion, and integrity. i do not care what you think of me, cressida, or what drinks you pour on me because i can rest easy in my sleep and waking hours knowing with perfect certainty that i am nothing like you. i bid you good night.”

and maintaining the ferocity of your glare on her horrified eyes, you muster up the most mocking, deep curtsy you can, turn, hitch up your skirt, and run away. you cannot care for the booming silence from that creature and her posse, for the murmurs and glowers of the ton thrown your way. you cannot take time to process what words a flutters-inducing voice snarls at cressida.

no.

you must simply run away, quickly and efficiently, because you refuse to give into these monsters’ satisfaction of seeing your tears.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

the cool air of the night whips your face as you run as far and as deep as you can into the gardens. you curse your damned shoes, for they are slippery and nothing like your sturdy boots, and they make you realize even further how much you have fucked up in allowing yourself to get this far. in allowing yourself to go to the ball, in allowing yourself to dance, in allowing yourself to fall in—

feeling your shoe catch on something, you fall forward and throw your hands out in front of you, your gloved palms digging into the bark of a tree trunk as you attempt to steady yourself. you attempt to control the staggered rhythm of your breath, the sobs that choke out of your throat, the palpitations that threaten to collapse your heart.

why did i allow myself to get this far?

“y/n—”

you snap your gaze over to the call of your name as your stomach knots, somehow, even now, with flutterings upon hearing his voice.

“benedict, no— just— no,” you manage to croak out, stepping away from where he approaches. you hold up your hand, as if it is a magical force that will push him away. it does not. “just go, please, just go.”

“i refuse to leave you, y/n, you are hurt—”

you cackle, sniffling the snot that tries to escape your nostrils. you push your remaining hand off the tree and turn towards him.

“hurt? what gave you that impression? is it the tears? they are just water, benedict, they will dry.”

“this is not the time to jest!”

“then what do you want of me!”

“to allow me to help you!”

“why! why do you care! why do you care for some, some low status person like me!”

“that is not how i see you!”

“THAT IS WHAT I AM.”

he freezes. you feel yourself clenching your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms through the satin of the gloves that were bought for you.

“you are the son of a viscountess, a brother to a viscount. i wonder every day if my family will have enough food to eat at our one meal. we—” you gesture between the two of you, “—are not of the same world. and maybe, maybe it should have stayed that way. to, to have stayed in our own worlds. we should have stayed in our own worlds!”

“and is that what you want?” he shoots back.

“what?” you snark.

“is that what you want? for us to stay in our own worlds?”

you fall silent, words suddenly failing you, breath suddenly leaving you. he huffs out a breath and continues.

“if that is what you want, i shall stay away from you. i shall never bother you. i shall never hurt you as i have. we shall—” benedict swallows, “we shall forget each other. if that is what you want, y/n, i shall give it to you.”

you do not respond to him. you stare into him as he stares into you.

“is that what you want?”

you shake your head as you feel fresh tears rush to your eyes.

“then what do you want?” he softly asks.

you flutter your eyes closed and breathe in. on your exhale, you open your eyes to the tear-blurry sight of benedict still looking at you with such tenderness in his ocean eyes.

“i want you,” you whisper.

you barely have time to process anything else when benedict surges forward and wraps his arms around you in a crushing embrace. tears fall even harder than before as you cry into his chest and wrap your arms around him.

benedict pulls back from the embrace to look at you, to cup your cheek, to wipe away the tears that fall so quickly from your eyes.

“i want you, y/n. i want to be yours. i want to be in your world, i want our worlds to be one. i want to go wherever you go. i want to make you laugh and to make you smile every day and every night; i want to do everything with you. i want to be with you, to share this life with you. from the moment i met you, from the moment you intended to shake my hand, i have wanted nothing more than to share all the time i have on this earth with you. i do not care for balls, i do not care for the ton, i care— i care for you, y/n. these are not the circumstances in which i wanted to confess this, with you crying and us yelling at one another, but i must be true with you. i—”

“benedict?”

“yes?”

“may i kiss you?”

benedict’s jaw drops and you laugh at his shock, sniffling your nose as you beam at him. he quickly recovers, breaking out into the smile that has always made you flutter with butterflies, the smile that you always secretly hoped, dreamed, wished was reserved for you. and you begin to think that, after all this time, perhaps it is.

“good god, please, yes—”

he barely completes his ‘yes’ when you jump forward to crash your lips into his. benedict practically trips backwards with the force of your eager leap, the two of you laughing into your kiss at the messiness of it all, as he holds you both steady.

this is your first kiss. you are so glad that it is benedict.

and somewhere within you blooms the hope that he is your last first kiss.

you have no idea what you’re doing, or what you should be doing, but you are far too much enjoying having benedict’s lips on yours, your hands on his cheeks, his hands on your waist, and your bodies pressing more and more into each other to give the slightest care. and the smile you feel against yours makes you think that benedict doesn’t mind—at all.

you pull apart to breathe, but your lips do not move far from one another.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

“and i am sorry.”

“for loving me?”

you feel benedict jump back as he holds you, his face absolutely crestfallen, panic flooding his eyes, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when you giggle and peck his parted lips with yours.

“i’m teasing you, my love.”

benedict’s eyes soften but quickly glint with mischief. you’re curious about the expression when you feel him tickling the sides of your waist.

“okay, okay!” you gasp with laughter as he tickles on. “i— i yield, i yield!”

benedict grins victoriously, his tickles fading into him softly rubbing circles on your waist.

“i am sorry for saying that is not how i see you, when you spoke of your social standing. i had not meant it that way, but i understand now how it was understood, and i should not have said it as i did. i know that i have lived a life of unfathomable ease with the wealth and circumstances into which i was born. the privileges i hold are not things i had reflected on, really, until— until i met you.”

you soften at his earnestness, by the way he humbles himself before you. but you cannot help the giddy mischief that bubbles from within.

“did you only reflect on your privileges as to win a femme’s favor?”

benedict’s jaw drops again, but you see how his ocean eyes shine with like-minded playfulness.

“do you truly think so lowly of me?”

you grin.

“perhaps.”

you feel benedict teasingly threaten his hands into tickling position onto your waist, and laughing, you shoo them away. he grins and softens his gaze once more.

“what i wanted to say to you earlier is— i wish you did not speak of yourself so harshly. as if you are unworthy of care from me because of your status. i care for you, i love you, y/n, as you are. as you were, as you will be. with all your circumstances, all your experiences, all your deeds, all your words, all your thoughts, all your feelings. for your heart, for your mind, for your soul. i love you because you are you, and i wish for you to see that, for you to see you as i see you. as so many of us see you.”

“i— i do not know what to say.”

“you do not have to say anything; just to, if i may ask of you, seed my words into your heart and mind and soul and know them to be true, wholly and completely,” a playful smile forms on his lips. “though, i must say, i am rather pleased with myself for rendering a writer with ferocious conviction speechless.”

you roll your eyes, but your voice is soft.

“you have had that effect on me for quite some time, benedict.”

benedict swallows and gently rubs circles onto your waist again.

“i love you, benedict.”

“i love you, too.”

< y/n and benedict, hand-in-hand, start to walk towards the house; they are taking their time. >

“are you certain you want to return the ball?” benedict inquires. “we can stay here in the gardens and wait until the last of the guests have gone.”

you hum.

“i would like to dance.”

“ah, was there a gentleman or a lady who caught your eye, miss y/l/n?”

“oh, loads. i hope it won’t make you terribly jealous, mr. bridgerton.”

“it will, but i shall simply stare at them maliciously if their hands are to roam.”

“yes, my form is reserved for your hands and your hands alone.”

you exchange grins.

“indeed.”

benedict nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, and you laugh. he lifts his head and plants a soft kiss on your temple.

“are you certain? i do not mean to doubt you or your wishes to dance. we can dance out here, under the bright light of the moon. i want you to feel content and safe.”

“i do feel content and safe. with you. with the family. within myself. i shan’t let the ton or cressida ruin my first ball. though, the idea of dancing in the moonlight is quite enticing. perhaps another night?”

“you have my word,” and bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses your knuckles. a serene silence falls between you two until benedict makes some sort of a noise in his throat, as if to clear his voice.

“i, uh, must say,” benedict begins, “your confrontation with cressida was, uh, quite— alluring.”

you stop, letting go of his hand, and stare at him.

“alluring?”

a delicious blush colors your love’s face.

“indeed.”

a newfound bravery blooms in you.

you step into his space, not breaking eye contact with his blown out pupils, the ocean of his eyes mere outlines. you sneak your lips towards his ear and hear a soft whimper emit from his lips.

“is that something of interest to you, mr. bridgerton?” you murmur, your bottom lip barely grazing his earlobe. you feel him shiver and inhale. “when you see someone be put in their place?”

he exhales frantically.

“it is something of interest to me when— when you do it,” he admits, as if out of breath. you smile, pressing your bottom lip softly into his earlobe. he does nothing to hold back his moan as you do everything in your power to hold in yours.

“that is good to know,” and quickly rip away from him.

in your step back, you take in benedict’s state—flustered, expectant, ruttish—and wink at him. you turn and walk away at your leisure, putting on a performance of superiority as you hide your own arousal.

it is only a few moments later that you hear benedict follow you.

“you,” he says, voice still fraught with desire but full with love, “will be the death of me.”

you look back at him and grin.

“and what would you like me to put on your epitaph?”

“benedict bridgerton, he who, in life and in death, loves the best soul to have ever existed.”

you cannot help your giddy self and close the distance between the two of you once more, grabbing his face and pressing your smile into his. benedict happily obliges as he places his hands at the low of your waist and pulls you closer into him.

< they get into it!

< y/n takes off her gloves so that she can touch benedict; she is about to throw them on the ground. >

“wait—”

and he takes your gloves.

“hm?”

“your gloves. they were costly to make,” benedict states as he stuffs them into the inside pockets of his jacket. “i don’t want to be flippant in letting them be discarded to the ground.”

you gape at him.

“you concern yourself with the cost of my gloves?”

“why, yes, of course, it is something i—”

you clutch onto the lapels of benedict’s jacket and push him backward into a nearby hedge, his mouth now agape and his pupils dark with a desire you very much want to satisfy.

“i find your consideration quite alluring.”

in the midst of his apparent arousal, benedict giggles, and that makes you grin.

“what is it?”

“a hedge, y/n? of all things to anchor me against?”

you roll your eyes.

“it was this, benedict, or the bark of a tree.”

“ah, so i should be grateful then.”

you repeat his words with sped up mockery, making him laugh and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the adorable way that is so very distinctly benedict, and you capture your love’s lips again to shut him up, smiling and laughing into the kiss.

…

“what do you want?”

“you. whatever you want, benedict, i want it. please.”

“are you certain?” he breathes into your ear.

“god, yes, benedict, please, yes.”

“then—”

benedict positions his head downward, burying his face into the crevice of your bosom, and before you can even begin to tease him for his absurdity, you feel the wetness of his tongue flat against the curvature of your right breast. your gasp of surprise quickly transforms into an ungodly guttural wail, feeling yourself dig your fingernails into benedict’s back, arching into him to steady yourself, as he painstakingly drags the flat of his tongue from your right breast against the expanse of your exposed chest to the length of your right shoulder. dazed and euphoric, you feel how benedict sneaks towards your ear, hovers it, panting ragged breaths,

“i’ve wanted to do that since you descended the stairs in that dress. and—”

taking your left hand, benedict pushes your middle finger and forefinger fully into his mouth. he methodically works his tongue against them as he guides your hand to pull and push in him, his blown out pupils never once leaving your intoxicated stare. you feel the desperate urge to throw your head back at the incandescent eroticism that throbs from your fingertips to the rest of your body, but may god smite you if you willingly tear your eyes away from the divine sight of benedict’s almost oceanless eyes gaping into you as his gorgeous mouth sucks on your fingers. just before you feel as though you are to fully blank out and ascend into the heavens, benedict rips your hand out of his mouth, the action creating an obscenely delicious ‘pop’ sound, and, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulls you back into him, your face finding respite just below his shoulder.

“i’ve wanted to do that since first drawing your hand.”

you laugh-cry into his jacket.

“shit, benedict.”

your love laughs and nudges his head into yours and rests it there as he softly rubs circles on your back with his thumb.

“please—” good god, breathe, “please remind me to ask you more frequently what you want.”

“did you enjoy it?”

“no, benedict, i quite plainly hated it.”

“i’d be glad to accept your critiques.”

“i know you would,” you smile into his jacket and, lifting your head, are greeted by your favorite sight: benedict, with his soft smile and his gentle ocean eyes.

“i have never felt like that before,” you admit in a whisper.

“nor have i,” he whispers back. that shocks you, and you must have made your reaction visible because benedict emits a laugh through his nose, soft smile and gentle ocean eyes unfaltering.

“but you have been with others before; you’ve had similar experiences, yes?”

you had assumed that your exhilaration must have been, apart from it being benedict, rooted in your lack of experience in such things.

benedict brushes a loose strand of your hair away from your eyes and tucks it behind your ear, his hand moving down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing it.

“yes, but those were different.”

you cock your head in response. he smiles, as if it is apparent.

“because they are not you.”

the sweetness of benedict’s ocean eyes are quickly replaced with shock then delight and then you don’t know what because he closes them as you crash your lips into his. whatever you had just felt before, you want it again. you want benedict. all of him. and you want all of him to feel what you just had.

you lick his teeth, and granting your wish, benedict opens his mouth more, groaning, bringing his hands to the curvatures of your ass, pushing your bodies even closer together though no space left exists between the two of you. you move your hand to the back of his head and, gripping a tuft of his hair, pull it roughly just as you capture his tongue with your mouth and suck hard. the sounds that benedict produce in reaction are entirely inhuman, but you vaguely deduce he is trying to say your name, and you’ve never attended a concert but, my god, nothing will ever sound as harmonious as the symphony that is your name gutturally trapped in benedict’s throat.

continuing with the work you’ve done to undo benedict thus far, you take your other hand and start to rake it against his body, starting at the base of his throat, taking time and leisure to explore, lowering and pressing into his chest, wondering wildly what beauty exists behind his damned shirt, lowering and feeling the firmness of his stomach and trying not to completely undo yourself with the sinful, transcendent thoughts of putting your tongue there, lowering and lowering and touching something curious and unfamiliar and hard and—

when he pushes you off of him.

“benedict, i— i am so sorry,” you panic, “please, what did i—”

“no, no,” he swallows, “you did— you have nothing to apologize for, my love, you were— uh— you were doing quite——” he clears his throat, “you were doing quite well; very well, actually…”

you continue to frown, still concerned.

“then why are you so tottery?”

“because— because if we were to continue, i do not think— i know i would not last for— um, for very much longer.”

you jut out your hip, putting the knuckles of your fist on it, and furrow your eyebrows at him.

“benedict bridgerton, i still do not understand what you are trying to convey. speak plainly.”

“we should stop.”

your jaw drops, as does your hand from your hip.

“why?” you practically whine. you should be embarrassed by your desperation, but to be entirely frank, you couldn't care less. benedict huffs out a laugh, still breathless, and, stepping towards you, lays a tender kiss on your forehead.

“as much as i would love for us to continue, i think being in the family gardens with a ball being held a few meters away is hardly an ideal location for the more— involved aspects of such activities. the aspects i’d like to explain to you,” he takes another step into your space, lowering his voice to an unfamiliar but enrapturing gravel, “the aspects i’d like to show you.”

you swallow your whimper.

“i—— i would very much like that,” you manage. and then you grin, “though, exploring such aspects in the family gardens sounds like it would be quite the adventure. a calculated risk, if you will.”

the alluring tone of benedict’s voice is completely replaced with a giggle, and your grin broadens as you press even closer into him and nudge your nose against his. benedict rests his forehead against yours and flutters his eyes closed.

“what did i do to have you love me back?”

you flutter your eyes closed.

“you were you. you are you.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< ahead, y/n sees kathani. she makes the connection that kathani must have accompanied benedict as a chaperone so that y/n wouldn’t be “disgraced” by having a man by himself chase after her.

< as the two approach the viscountess, kathani recognizes how disheveled y/n and benedict look and promptly fixes them to look more presentable. she takes some hedge leaves out of benedict’s hair. >

“i see that you are well, y/n?” inquires kathani.

“never better, actually.”

she laughs, a smile falling on her lips.

“i am sincerely glad to hear that.”

< they walk closer to bridgerton house. >

“you are fortunate that it was not anthony who volunteered to chaperone. he would have not reacted well to his loved one being dishonored, as he would say, particularly on family grounds.”

“oh dear,” you say, nervous and suddenly self-conscious. you do not want to be the target of the eldest bridgerton’s wrath. “what have i done to dishonor—“

kathani laughs.

“i wasn’t referring to you, chellam. i was referring to him,” and she juts her chin out at benedict.

“me!”

“anthony will be furious when he finds out that you have been— private,” she says, gesturing to his newly tidied appearance, “with y/n in the gardens. not very gentlemanly of you.”

“he won’t find out!” benedict pauses. “he won’t find out— right, kate?”

kathani just makes a face of feigned deep thought and you chortle.

“kate!”

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict.”

“but what if it’s for love?” he implores. he says it facetiously, but you feel with what conviction he exudes his true feeling.

kathani’s expression softens as she looks between you and benedict. you offer a small nod and a smile, confirming her thoughts. she beams at you but then narrows her eyes at benedict. there is no heat to her gaze; she is, however, having the most sublime time making her brother-in-law squirm.

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict,” kathani repeats. benedict groans, throwing his head back like a disgruntled child, and you belly laugh at him.

“i hope you are ready for gregory to be your second,” she continues.

you almost double over as benedict snaps his head forward to look at his sister-in-law.

“gregory!”

“indeed. it is a shame as well— anthony’s accustomed second being the one he has to duel,” she sighs dramatically. “oh well. colin will make a fine replacement.”

“this family is ridiculous,” you declare, grinning like mad. “gregory seems a tad young, though. what about eloise? i am sure she would be a more than suitable second for benedict.”

“oh, i have no doubt,” grins back kathani, “but i would not dare involve a woman in the idiocy of men and their ludicrous concepts of honor.”

you and kathani laugh loudly, delighted by how much you are enjoying yourselves, untroubled by benedict’s moping.

“it has been wonderful being in love with you, benedict,” you state simply. “it’s a pity that it has to come to an end so soon."

kathani snorts. benedict stops in his tracks and gapes at you.

“you think i would lose the duel!”

“anthony is more stubborn; he would let it fuel his will to live.”

“i think you underestimate how much i love you and how that fuels my will to live.”

you smile. in your periphery, kathani smiles. despite his current displeasure with you, your love smiles.

“i suppose i do.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< upon returning to the ball, y/n, benedict, and kathani see how anthony and violet are ensuring that the cowpers are leaving. before the family leaves, y/n approaches cressida. >

“i do hope to see you at another one of these events. if you find a way, of course, not to have yourself kicked out.”

and you curtsy. you turn to your love, his mouth in a wide smile and ocean eyes sparkling, and offer him a wink. you hear the quartet start up.

“i believe it is time for another round of dancing. care to be my partner?”

“i would love nothing more.”

< they dance. it is sweet, silly, romantic, and delightful. both y/n and benedict touch each other beyond what is considered proper, like hands laying too low on the waist or eliminating the space between their bodies, but they truly do not care. their unabashed joy is abundantly evident to everyone in the ballroom, but they are only focused on one another. they are in their own world. they giggle, they grin; it is the happiness they both deserve.

< they dance the next set.

< after her and benedict’s third dance together, y/n makes eye contact with violet, who is at the margins of the dancefloor, eyes wide with joy. >

“as much as i love dancing with you, my love,” you beam, “i think i am in need of a new partner.”

< y/n approaches violet and with a bow asks her for the honor of being her next dance. though delighted, violet remarks how she is too old, and y/n says that the youngsters can learn a thing or two from her wisdom and skill. >

“we would need permission from the host,” offers violet.

“from anthony! you birthed him! you granted him permission to exist!”

that makes violet laugh.

< violet agrees, and they walk hand in hand to the dance floor. in this dance, y/n and violet are partnered, benedict partnered with penelope, kathani partnered with anthony. >

…

“you’ve told each other."

“has anyone remarked how keenly insightful you are, violet bridgerton?"

“no,” the dowager replies with twinkling eyes, “but it is something of which i am well aware, and take great pride in. i am happy for you both.”

“i am so glad to have your approval.”

“oh tosh! as if a mother’s approval or disapproval can get in the way of real, true love.”

“perhaps so, but it is affirming to have the blessing from someone you so dearly love in a matter such as this.”

“you make it easy to love you, my dear.”

< the dance calls for a switch in partners. y/n becomes partnered with penelope, and violet becomes partnered with benedict. >

“thank you, pen.”

“whatever for?”

“for bumping into me at the markets.”

penelope laughs.

“accidents are quite good, are they not?”

“i despise them, actually,” you declare with a grin.

< penelope reveals that benedict shared with her why he was not seen for the first three dances of the night. >

your jaw drops, and penelope merely titters in response.

“is that why i didn’t see him! because he was lurking in the crowds to prevent men from approaching me?”

“it has been my discovery that the bridgerton brothers do not handle their jealousies well.”

“do you think gregory shall be the same?”

“oh, i am entirely certain. he shall likely be the worst of all.”

the two of you snort as you are sent back to your partners, penelope with benedict and you with violet.

“and what has you and penelope in such giggles?”

“making barbs at your sons.”

violet laughs.

“they make it awfully easy to do so, do they not?”

< the dance comes to an end. violet plants a soft kiss on y/n’s head.

< turning, y/n connects eyes with benedict who wears an incandescently happy expression. >

how could you not see it before? how in love he is with you.

< tired but elated, y/n takes a break from dancing. she reunites with the rest of the bridgertons at the ball. y/n finally meets daphne, who remarks that she has heard so much about y/n. eloise shares how the family wished to check in on y/n when she had returned to the ball to see that she was well; in a rare smile rather than a smirk, eloise shares that, upon seeing her dance and dance again with benedict, that she looked quite well indeed. at some point in the conversation with the bridgertons, y/n inquires when she can meet francesca.

< time passes, and joy is had amongst the bridgertons, penelope, simon, and y/n. y/n cannot believe her happiness.

< the last dance is called. benedict approaches y/n. >

“may i have the honor of being your final dance of the night?"

“you aren’t tired of me yet?”

“i shall never tire of you, y/n.”

upon taking your hand, benedict twirls you once then twice as he leads you towards the dance floor. giggling and grinning, you decide to do the same to him, causing him to giggle and grin right along with you.

< they dance a fourth time. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the guests have made their leave from the bridgerton ball. colin, eloise, and violet have gone to their respective bedchambers.

< anthony, benedict, kathani, and y/n walk up the steps of the grand staircase. anthony has his hand clamped on benedict’s forearm and pulls him up the steps with particular determination and quiet fury. >

“i know where i sleep, brother! i have slept there since we were children!”

“i am well aware of that, benedict, and i am also well aware of how you— roam when enticed.”

benedict looks at anthony, to you (you just shrug as you look on at the exchange with excitement), and back to anthony.

“do you people really think so little of me!”

“i do not think little of you, brother, i just know you.”

benedict’s shock deepens incredulously, though you see the smile underscoring it all.

“i am a man of honor! i am a gentleman!”

“yes, as am i, as is colin, as was father; all bridgerton men are, and all bridgerton men are idiots around the persons for whom they have affections. now, go into your bedchamber,” anthony finishes as he shoves his younger brother into the room.

“you are a nightmare!” you hear your love shout from within.

“and you are to stay here for the remainder of the night!” he shouts back, leaning forward to grab the knob to benedict’s bedchamber and pulling the door shut with a loud thud. he turns to kathani, composure returning to his senses.

“my dearest, may you call samuel and lawrence, please? i shall have samuel stationed here and lawrence stationed outside benedict’s window. they will be paid double their wage for these extemporary responsibilities.”

you laugh with your whole stomach and feel tears sting your eyes. you have no concern in hiding your howls until you remember hyacinth and gregory are asleep and promptly clamp your hand over your mouth. your hand succeeds in muffling your laughter, but marginally.

kathani rolls her eyes at her husband and deeply sighs.

“i shall,” she replies, smiling at her love’s antics.

pleased with her answer, anthony right about turns at benedict’s door, places his hands behind his back, and stands up tall, taking his temporary duty as guard with the utmost gravity. something then eases in his posture, and he turns to you.

“i hope you have enjoyed your night, y/n.”

your heart swells.

“it was wondrous, anthony. thank you.”

he beams, brilliant delight in his eyes.

“i wish you good rest.”

and with a bow of his head, anthony turns away from you and assumes his station once more, gravity and perfect posture and all.

the viscountess turns to you, her smile having softened, and says, “let me escort you back to your bedchamber. i shall help you prepare for bed.”

–

“despite his many flaws,” kathani says with all amusement and fondness in her voice as she removes the pins from your hair, “anthony is, indeed, a man of honor and honesty.”

“i never had my doubts, but—” you snort, “that has certainly proved it.”

“it is because he thinks so highly of you,” she shares, looking at you in the mirror. you turn around in your seat and connect with her eyes, eyes that are filled with so much warmth. “he cares deeply for you, y/n. anthony is only that overbearing and overly protective when it comes to his family, and he sees you as our family. we all do.”

you suck in air through your nostrils, feeling the swell of your heart. how did you get so fortunate as to be so loved by this family?

though, you detect something in kathani. her words are sincere, of that you are not doubtful, but they do not seem complete. it is as if she wants to say more, if the blossoming twinkle in her eyes is indicative of anything. but kathani does not elaborate.

instead, she picks up the brush on the vanity and gently brushes your hair. it reminds you of when your elder sister used to brush your hair before bedtime. you close your eyes, humming.

“i see you all as my family, too.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the next morning, late morning. the dining room. >

“you are infernal,” benedict deadpans to anthony, staring at his brother and taking his seat next to you.

“you are incorrigible; i was correct,” anthony responds, his eyes not leaving his paper.

“correct about what, brother?” hyacinth asks.

despite their current rivalry, benedict and anthony both freeze. kate speaks on their behalf.

“your eldest had deemed it necessary to have lawrence stationed outside below benedict’s bedchamber window in the early morn and was proved correct in doing so; your second eldest had attempted to escape by way of that route.”

“stationed outside his window? why would that be necessary?” gregory inquires. he turns to benedict. “and why were you trying to leave through your window?”

in his periphery, benedict sees you whipping your head. you seem to have suddenly found some interest in the painting on the wall faced away from the current scene. he notices how you hide your smile behind your fist and how you attempt to suppress the convulsions of your laughter. kate, on the other hand, unapologetically laughs.

“i am certain you will learn in due time, gregory. it is something of a tradition, it seems.”

“will i get to participate in this tradition?” hyacinth enthuses.

“NO!” benedict and anthony shout in tandem. they look at each other, and the elder gives a ‘see!’ face to the younger. benedict just rolls his eyes.

his eyes eventually land back on you: you have now totally hidden your face in your hands with elbows perched on the table for support, any attempts at hiding your laughter now entirely gone. your entire body vibrates as you somehow squeak and guffaw into the palms of your hands.

“ugh, why do adults always speak in such vague statements!” hyacinth grumbles as she slumps in her chair and crosses her arms. she then suddenly shoots back up and looks at you. “y/n, you only speak in riddles when we play! may we play now?”

“yes! may we play now?” gregory pipes up.

“please!” the two youngest plead in tandem. benedict looks to you, and wiping away your hands to reveal your face red from laughter, you say,

“i would be— i would be delighted to do so,” you take sharp breaths in between attempts at controlling your laughter. “perhaps—” you full on snort, and it makes benedict break out into a grin, “—perhaps, after the young sorceress and— and the young knight slay the wyvern, they— they will save the— the—” you laugh hard again, “the princess, captive and forlorn in her tower.”

gregory and hyacinth shout their joy and take off from the table.

“you haven’t been excu!— oh, nevermind,” anthony grumbles in an uncanny, childlike resemblance to his youngest sibling.

benedict watches as you use your forefingers to swipe at the corners of your e/c eyes, fits of laughter still bubbling out of your mouth.

i love her, and she loves me, he thinks in awe. it has been on repeat in his mind since you confessed to one another in the gardens just the night prior. she is mine, and i am hers.

“your lordship,” you giggle still as you look at anthony, and benedict snickers, “may i be excused to play make-believe with your youngest siblings?”

anthony rolls his eyes with much theatricality, but his smile at you is sincere.

“you are not my sibling,” he states, but benedict catches how his elder brother quickly glances at him with eyes that say ‘yet,’ “you need not my permission, but yes, you may.”

you bow your head in dramatic gratitude, causing kate to titter and anthony to look to the ceiling, and you lift yourself up from your seat.

before you follow after his siblings, benedict reaches out and gently takes your hand. you look at him, and he feels how his stomach flutters when his blue eyes makes contact with your e/c. just as it did the first time, just as it did every time after.

benedict feels you softly rub three circles on his hand. he softly rubs four circles on yours.

“good day, princess,” you say with a wink at your love, slowly slipping your hand away from his and then turning to walk out of the dining room. benedict stares at you as you leave.

i love her, and she loves me. she is mine, and i am hers.

“when do you intend on proposing, brother?” anthony smirks as he puts his teacup to his lips.

benedict smiles, looking off at where your laughter is heard.

“later this afternoon.”

anthony chokes on his tea, and kate, patting her coughing husband’s back, arches an eyebrow at her brother-in-law, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“without a ring?”

benedict turns to look at the couple and grins.

“who said i don’t have a ring?”

“you are joking,” anthony says matter-of-factly. “we all are excited at the prospects of y/n officially joining this family, but you just confessed your love for one another not even twelve hours ago. we are still breaking fast! there were guards at your door and your window! how could you have already procured a ring?”

benedict smiles, digging into his pocket.

“i do not jest, brother.”

and, with pride, he holds up a thin band made of twisted paper.

“now, if you will excuse me,” benedict announces, lifting himself out of his seat, giving a kiss to the top of kate’s head, and ruffling anthony’s hair. “i must be going.”

“and where are you off?” anthony demands as he straightens out his hair.

“do you think i am going to propose to y/n without asking her family’s permission first? would not be very gentlemanly of me if i did.”

“how do you know where she lives!”

“that is what you were asking penelope last night,” kate answers. anthony looks at his wife, incredulous and in awe. benedict grins.

“exactly so, sister. i’ve always known you held all the intelligence between you two. i would have seen to it sooner, but—”

an image of e/c eyes and ink-stained hands flashes in his mind, the flutterings in his stomach intensifying. butterflies— that is what he will paint next, he decides.

after he finishes his portrait of you.

“—i was held captive in my tower.”

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forevermore05 · 2 days

Text

Zuko and his protectiveness over Katara backfired on the show

I think we're all quite aware of the fact that Zuko is canonically very protective over Katara

Exhibit A

When he saves Katara from falling rubble in the Western air temple.

Exhibit B

When he protects Katara from flames in that same episode when she is about to blood bend that fire nation soldier.

Exhibit C

The famous Agni Kai where he take lightning for Katara

Now why are these so significant? I think these are big gestures are to show Zuko's efforts to make amends after what he did to Katara. It could be argued these are very extreme ways of making it up to her because these came at the cost of his life. But this also goes to show his character development, as he is willing to protect Katara from danger. For me, one of the reasons why I ship them is because of his protectiveness. It's refreshing to see a character that has always been there to help and to be a support system to others be protected by someone else. I think it can be very fulfilling as a viewer. This effort that was made to write their relationship was so genuine, and it felt so heartfelt as the viewer, that it just made their dynamic one of the strongest in the show. Whether that be romantically or just platonically, their dynamic is probably one of the best in my opinion.

Now, with all that his protectiveness towards Katara immediately evaporate after the last Agni Kai which was pretty shocking, as they didn't get time to be able to talk about what happened. I feel like it removes a piece of genuineness from the show that the characters care for each other. And of course I know a reason why this could have happened is because, well, Kataang and Maiko exist. I think what made their dynamics so strong is because of their protectiveness for one another. Especially, Zuko's protectiveness over Katara. When it was removed in the comics, it felt like a bond had been destroyed because a big part of their dynamic was protecting each other and being there for each other, and having that level of communication. They were protecting each other through their communication and through their support for one another.

How I feel like it backfired on the show is that it created a bit of an emptiness in both of the characters. Especially when they interacted, it felt more distant in the comics, and it felt as if they were strangers. Zuko's writing, which leads to him being protective over her, is so poignant in their relationship that once it is removed it creates a hole in a way it makes his character feel more hollow in his relationship with Katara. It feels like an effort to create a divide and an erasure of their past and how significant his taking lightning for her was. A show that is built of meaningful character relationships took a piece of its own heart out and of its own show and stabbed it in front of all of us when it came to the erasure of Zutara. So they could push the canon ships. They were willing to remove that important element of character relationships for 2 poorly written couples.

I think it creates a level of ingenuity in this show. That is not shocking as many of Katara's other love interests met the same fate of ingenuity, whether that be Jet or Haru. Where she's never able to show her feelings about these people. Which I find quite strange seeing how the show aims to create depth and talk about feelings that actually provoke feelings in you. They don't actually go in-depth with what the leading lady's thoughts are about other people. For all the sake of keeping the focus on Kataang it costs the good writing for Katara to be able to feel complex emotions about the other male interests in her life. And it leads to a rough ending for a strong dynamic like Zuko and Katara that shows their desperation for Kataang at the cost of good writing especially for Katara.

#avatar the last airbender #zutara #zuko x katara #katara #zuko #zuko deserved better #katara defense squad #anti kataang #anti aang #anti maiko #anti mai #anti bryke #bryke critical

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russellsppttemplates · 3 days

Note

Could you do a Lance blurb in which Lance and the reader take the girls to race week where the grid and the rest of the Aston Martin team meet for the first time the newest member of the Stroll Family, as well as some drivers like Fernando and Ocon giving a gift to Genevieve at the to the point where the reader is gets very emotional to know that her youngest daughter has not been in the world for long and is very loved by everyone like Margot and Addalynn are.

Silverstone seemed to be a good race for Genevieve to make her first paddock appearance. It was close to home, so travelling wouldn't be an issue and it wouldn't mess up your routine, the whole family would be there and you felt at ease to do it.

As you stepped inside the hospitality, Fernando was the first person you encountered, his eyes lighting up when he saw you, "Y/N! I haven't seen you in so long", he said before he looked at the way your hands supported the bundled baby that was sleeping on your chest, "can I see her?", he mused.

"Yes, of course - little one, this is uncle Fernando", you cooed, lowering the fabric around her back so her face wasn't as nestled to you.

"Look at you, little princess, don't you have the cutest face, you're so beautiful - and I have a present for you, I've been saving it in my driver's room until you payed us a visit - one second", he excused himself.

Fernando came back with a small bag, "this is from me and Melissa - we found it in a shop over the winter break and we thought it would be perfect for this time of the year", he smiled as you took the piece of clothing out. It was a cute overall in a light mauve colour, "it's very soft and the lady in the shop handmakes them and babies really love them!", he offered.

"Thank you, Fernando, this is so nice", you said before hugging his side.

"I have to go to the meeting, but I'm very happy I was the first one to catch a glimpse of the littlest Stroll babygirl", he smiled.

News travelled fast as everyone seemed to come and say hello to you and the baby, always respectful and mindful of it all.

When Esteban spotted you, you, Lance and the girls were sitting in one of the tables outside, kissing Margot's and Addalynn's heads before he turned to you, "I left a little present inside - your mother took it with her", he spoke to Lance before he looked at the little girl sitting on your lap, "I caught you wide awake, didn't I? Hello, Viv, I'm Esteban and I'm very happy to meet you. How has your day been?", he asked.

"How has your day been? That's not a question you ask a baby, Esteban", you heard Mick say as he approached, "hey gorgeous girl", he waved as Genevieve let out an excited squeal as she stretched her hands to grab on his hair, "see? Barely a minute and I'm her favourite", he smirked before highfiving the older girls.

Back in the hotel room, the girls were already asleep so you could get ready for bed, getting distracted in brushing the tangles out of your hair until Lance called your name, "is everything alright, love?", he quesioned.

"I was just thinking about how loved the girls are, all three of them", you smiled as tears brimmed your eyes, "they're so lucky to have so many people who care about them, and I'm not talking about just gifts, everyone had a kind word to say and I think we have a year's worth of babysitting if just half of the offers I got were actually meaningful", you giggled.

"She is, all of the girls are", Lance agreed, kissing your temple, "although I must say, I'm not sure how much I'd trust a baby alone with Esteban", he joked.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#lance stroll blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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wosoluver · 7 hours

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Four times she didn't notice and the one time she did.

Andrea x reader

"Hey are you coming to the game today?" she had called you up in the morning, excited as she always was on gamedays.

"Yes. Is that why you woke me up? You know I always come to home games."

"Yeah, but I just wanted to make sure. Good morning! See you later!"

"Good mornin..." - You barely had time to finish the sentence before she hung up.

Maybe others would find this rude. But you didn't mind at all. You knew she was just hyper, but most of all you knew she was anxious, and that she had called to ease up her anxiety before she needed to get ready for the day ahead, and hung up just as quick because she knew you loved sleeping in whenever you could.

And that's exactly what you did, not even a minute later you were sound asleep once again.

You took a ride with Cris to the game. You always stayed on the seats reserved for family and friends, so they knew where to look for you guys.

The game had taken a turn and was more competitive than they had expected. They had to fight hard 'til the end.

But she hand to admit, seeing you on the stands wearing her jersey, cheering on definitely helped her stay greedy until the last minute.

"Andrea?" you knocking on the bathroom door. You had taken her home after a tough game, that she had gotten injured. Unfortunately Wifi wasn't home. So you would have to sort this one out by yourself. Although you never considered yourself good at giving others support.

"Andrea! I can hear you crying, you've been in there for too long. Let me in, please." with every word you said, your voice became softer.

She only unlocked the door and went back in the shower. You opened the door as soon as you heard the lock turn.

"Hey," you sat next to her, but outside the shower. "I don't really know what to say or do, but I'll stay here until you tell me to leave."

And you two stayed there for another 20 minutes, before she got up to turn the shower off. And when she turned to get out, you held her towel ready.

"Thank you." - Thats the only thing she said for the next hour or so. But that was enough for you. You knew your friend and you knew how hard it was for her to accept being vulnerable.

Sitting on the couch, you were soothing her, rubbing her back as she calmed down.

"You'll be back before you know it. I promise."

You had gotten home from a celebration and it was almost four in the morning. You were fight to stay awake, opposite to her of course.

You had made her carry you to bed, you were hugged on her like a bear. She had slowly put you down. And she could tell you were not going anywhere else. So like you had done many times for her, she helped you.

She started by putting you a comfortable T-shirts you could sleep in. Next she walked into your bathroom to get your make up remover. And she gently patted the cotton pads all over your face, making sure nothing stayed behind. That had taken her sometime, especially as she took her time to take in your facial features. The freckles on your cheeks, the beauty mark on your temple, your rosy lips and tinted skin from the alcohol you had consumed.

Then she tried her best to put your hair up and out off your face. And before getting herself ready to sleep, she went to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and some pain killers, placing on your bed table, making sure to get you covered for the hungover in the morning.

When you were all back at Lola and Cris' apartment watching the Spanish national team, and she couldn't take her eyes off of you.

It started out as a classic game watching afternoon. You had ordered lunch, and the prepared the snacks you had stopped to get before driving there.

Everyone wearing their respective jerseys. And by that it meant, Cris was wearing one of Lola's old national team kit.

Lola was wearing a Putellas' number 11.

Wifi wore her own national kit, Marta was wearing a Misa jersey to no one's surprise. Andrea was wearing Ornella's number 7 she had wore on the final game of the U20 world cup they had won together.

And you were wearing her blue away kit. One of many she had in her closet, and one of many you had stolen. You thought you were being sly, but in truth she only pretended not to notice.

They would always look better on you anyway.

She'd observe you closely but it was once the game started she had completely taken a front seat to watch your reactions.

"Hijo de la puta madre! That's for a yellow card, she can't go at her like that!"

It was funny because they clearly knew the rules and the protested just like you, but the way you passionately argued with the TV screen, always made everything 10x better.

"Thats a penalty no?" - waiting for the referee's decision. "YES, YES, YES." you said jumping up.

And as Mario scored you screamed in celebration with the girls. - "VAMOOOS!"

On the last ball before the end of the game Alexia managed to score with a assist by Patri. - "LA REINA, BABY" you yelled as you all cheered their win.

She could watch you watching a game, forever.

When you went on a date with a girl you really liked, and couldn't shut up about it for the rest of the day.

"She's just so interesting, also she plays for the Uni's volleyball team." - Your were telling Lola as she was driving. You in the backseat and Andrea in the passenger."

"Does she study physio too?" - She said, interested in your sudden crush. She had known you for a while and she had never heard you talk about someone like that.

"Yep, although she's graduating this year. She's a rojiblanca by the way."

"Don't you have anything else to talk about?" - Andrea questioned rudely but you decided to take it in a light note.

"Seems like someone woke up in the wrong side of the bed." - giving it a light laugh at the end.

"No seriously, have you wondered that maybe she's just trying to get free tickets?" - But that one hurt. And you just stayed quiet.

Lola had just pulled up to your apartment complex too, so you just decided to walk away, clearly upset.

"Thanks Lo, talk to you later." and they watched as you walked in.

"Andrea!"

"What?"

"Don't treat her like that! She's one of your best friends! That was so uncalled for!"

Lola knew and so did she. As a matter of fact, everyone close to you two knew. It was obvious. But it seemed like Andrea had just realized, in the worst way possible.

She felt so stupid, it took her an argument over her jealousy, to realize what she had been feeling for some time.

If you have any requests for her, please send them in! 🙏🩷

#woso x reader #andrea medina #andrea medina x reader #atletico madrid femenino

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temp-propaganda · 2 days

Text

Lewis Smith should have everything he ever wants. he took the trauma of losing his parents as a kid, and his childhood special interest, and coalesced them in his personality to become a man who only wants to help.

he saved Isami from getting waterboarded. he tried to hide Lulu from the military because he knew they'd try to do the same to her, and he never contested that she was his responsibility after that. of course he would... she's a child in need.

he specifically doesn't want to get left behind while "the hero" goes off on their own and dies where he can't help them. so he fights Isami, to prove that he's strong enough to support him. he tells Isami that people will care if he dies, and he can't just shut everyone out, and try to shoulder this alone. and of course he'd say that... he recognizes the symptoms of stoic, self sacrificial heroism.

he never felt bitter about Isami being chosen as Bravern's pilot. I know a lot of us read his dwelling on Bravern rejecting him as forlorn pining or something, but it's more like... he knows there's a global crisis going on, and Isami was a mess after Lewis got him out of that horrible waterboarding session, and Lewis would really like to have the tools to do something. specifically, Bravern is exactly the type of hero that he used to derive such comfort from. of course he'd want to provide something like that to anyone who's sad or scared.

but very importantly: Lewis never felt bitter because he never saw Isami as undeserving. Lewis never had thoughts about how Isami couldn't do it as well as he could do it himself. Lewis instead views himself as the guy who needs to keep up. if he can't, then something might go wrong when he can't be there. Isami might find himself in danger, and alone. of course he'd never let something like that happen.

when Kunuth chooses to fixate on Lewis, it's because he has undisclosed feelings. feelings that could actually be selfish, if he let them. he wants to be special to Isami, but this whole time he's been trying to earn it. and now he's become "the hero" in the one way he never ever wanted to be. he's become the kind of hero that leaves his loved ones behind and never returns. of course he'd never accept it.

becoming Bravern allows Lewis to shine in ways he always wanted to, but never thought he could. his theme song, his attack names, his logo, his upgrades... the way he presents himself as someone you can always come and talk to... he even tries to give his enemies a chance to talk, and hears them out, because he's that type of saturday morning cartoon hero. he wants to help. he wants to comfort people, and tell them that everything will be okay. he's Bravern. of course he'd do this.

and he finally gets to tell Isami that he loves him... but only after Isami chooses him back. he tells Superbia to live, because of course he'd do that. that's everything he's ever wanted to tell anyone he cares for at all. and when he seems like he's going to die for real, it takes the kind of hero that he's always believed Isami could be, to bring him back for real. Isami chose to want him, love him, and save him. and having the power to do that is the absolute best, isn't it? Lewis always thought so. and he's always ended up casting Isami in the role that he would've wanted, and then tried his very best to support that. it's no surprise that this worked.

#bang brave bang bravern #yuuki bakuhatsu bang bravern #lewis smith #isami ao #bravern

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peasantexchangeprogram · 2 days

Note

helloo since we're on the topic: top historical fiction (or adjacent) ? can be any time period I just really love your taste in shows/games/etc and am always on the lookout for history inspired media !

thank you!!! im rly glad im like. inspiring other ppl to engage w things im insane abt hudofajsdfdassfsad. anyways. i will probably expand that list bc i literally forgot every single thing i ever read. also i havent watched that many movies so far

ancient times: i havent really watched a lot of movies/series set in ancient times so far :(

rome HBO (2005-2007) (tv series) - OF COURSE. i personally think its one of the best series ever made. they combine political, miliatry history with the lives of every day people in an incredible way. they never let you once engage with the series through modern lenses. according to my teacher (a historian, archeologist & self described 'romaphile') its incredibly historically accurate, mostly the clothing, set designs, characterization, military practices, etc. except for the things they straight up made up, of course.

i really enjoyed gladiator (2000), i think its a masterpiece.

prince of egypt (1998) i guess?

all the asterix movies of course, all the animated ones and most of the live actions. but i wouldnt really call it historical fiction

ok i havent actually finished watching it for now but sebastiane (1976) - an erotic, x rated, gay interpretation of the martyrdom of st sebastian. its in latin also.

wait i cant believe i forgor about assassin's creed odyssey - so far the only one ive played. its so fun and incredibly immersive visually. especially pour moi who cries into the pillow about how ill never experience the ancient world. also you can b a faggot which is always fun. i have things to say about their portrayal of same-sex sexuality and slavery in classical greece but i get why they did that considering its supposed to like. appeal to a lot of people, and a more "historically accurate" portrayal (for example of pederasty or how common slavery was etc.) would b v difficult for a lot of their target audience. alas.

medieval and early modern era:

the name of the rose (1986) - my medieval history teacher literally showed us bits of this movie to teach us about monasteries and monks fhdosiasdjasd.

the borgias (2011-2013) - incredibly messy, lots of political intrigue, and so so fun to watch. about the history of the borgia family. filled to the brim with drama.

the three musketeers (1993) - my favorite adaptation, also coincidentally the one i grew up on. casting tim curry as richelieu was genius. he slays so hard.

i also like bbc's the musketeers (2014-2016) - a neat little series. very fun and entertaining to watch.

outlaw king (2018) - like i dont think most ppl heard of this movie. its about robert the bruce's fight to reclaim the throne of scotland. starring chris pine

vikings (2013-2020) - its fun. i havent watched the entire series tho. dont expect anything resembling historical accuracy

the northman (2022) - you will see something resembling historical accuracy

mihai viteazul (michael the brave) (1971) - a fun movie. very much romanian propaganda tho.

1670 (2023-) - such a fun series!!! incredible cast, shows respect to the actual history and the lives of historical people. really cute and funny.

caravaggio (1986) - a biopic about caravaggio.

wait i also forgor about pentiment - an intriguing, immersive, and incredibly beautiful video game! it has a lot of 'the name of the rose' vibes, with it being a medieval murder mystery taking place in a monastery. its incredibly touching and made me cry, and in the last few years i very rarely cry. also im 99% sure its an indie game? go support the creators!

vaguely-medieval/early modern fantasy:

mirror mirror (2012) - a retelling of snow white. a very fun movie imo, with incredible costume design. julia roberts plays the evil queen and she SLAYS. armie hammer is unfortunately in that movie.

stardust (2007) - one of my fave movies growing up. more modern-inspired but still.

the green knight (2021) - controversial i know but i actually loved this movie! i liked it both as a standalone movie but moreso as a 21st century adaptation to sir gawain and the green knight.

galavant (2015-2016) - !!!!!!! one of the most series ever! they manage to tackle such difficult concepts and conversations with a hilarious wit. so fun to watch. i listen to a lot of the songs still, and rewatch every once in a while.

disenchantment (2018-2023) - very fun to watch, especially the first season.

i also really liked the novel uprooted by naomi novik. its a polish-inspired fantasy.

modern era:

killers of the flower moon (2023) - of course. a masterpiece

aferim! (2015) - a romanian movie set in 19th century wallachia, about two officers, a father and son, who were sent by a nobleman to retrieve an escaped enslaved romani man. a lot of the people in the comments were calling the movie humorous and funny, maybe im missing smth (as im watching with subtitles n dont understand the original language) but it was a very difficult watch for me??

the handmaiden (2016) - need i say more

black sails (2014-2017) - a prequel to the famous novel 'treasure island'. not an easy series to watch. incredibly good.

the favourite (2018) - need i say more pt 2

the rabbi's cat (le chat du rabbin) (2011) - animated movie set in early 20th century algeria. a rabbi's cat learns to talk overnight.

the nice guys (2016) - a fun murder mystery set in the 1970s

o brother, where art thou (2000) - a retelling of the odyssey set in the southern us in the 1930s

victor/victoria (1982) - set in early 20th century paris. julie andrews pretends to be a man and takes on a job as a drag queen. extremely fun, extremely gay movie.

lady chatterley's lover (2022) - very much porn for moms but it was a nice watch imo

amulet (2020) - set in like. idk. sometime in the 20th century. this is a horror movie, deals a lot with misogyny, sa, and so on. i really like it, personally. a lot of people, mostly weird men, dont tho.

the great (2020-2023) - i have mixed feelings about this show. on the one hand, its really fun to watch. on the other hand, its basically ofmd for girls who have public mental breakdowns whenever someone claims corsets were oppressive. and theyre so weird about russians, jesus christ.

disses:

domina (2021-) - i just couldnt get into it, esp since i tried right after finishing rome hbo. it was kind of silly, and not in a good way. takes itself wayyyy to seriously.

i didnt like spartacus (2010-2013) - the dialogue was almost grotesque and the editing, especially the transitions, straight up killed me

damsel (2024) - holy fuck what a trainwreck of a movie. absolute waste of angela basset and robin wright. the only good thing were the costumes.

lancelot du lac (1974) - i just didnt like it at all. couldnt get into it. i guess it was way too french and artsy fartsy for me. a movie that was trying to say both too little and too much at the same time.

i didnt rly like bram stoker's dracula (1992) - i mean. it was a fine movie. it was definitely not the godfather. the movie itself was meh. the visuals tho? absolutely stunning

#asks #anon #mine*#slavery ment #sa ment

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support-ponies · 2 days

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MOD PAGE (mobile friendly)

🐶🐕MOD KIBA!!! ☕🍩

Heyo!!! I am KIBA! You might know me more as Typhwosion! I am she/her but I don’t really care what pronouns ppl use for me. I made this blog to try and make peoples days a bit easier with cute and happy ponies~ I love doggies and coffee and plushies! My favorite ponies are Applejack and Maud and Trixie and I love RariJack💖 I hope I can make your life a bit brighter with my silly drawings~ My husband is Mod Dynamo! Here’s my carrd to all my other socials and here’s all the art i’ve made on this blog. ૮⍝• ᴥ •⍝ა 💖💛💙

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🐱🐈MOD DYNAMO!!!🧡🍊

I’m Dynamo and I’m here to support the sweetest girl in the world with some Arty McArt™ and stuff. I like cats, video games, and cheese (not necessarily in that order.) My favorite pony is also Maud. If you like my art, get ready to not see much of it here if ya dare. (And here is all the art he’s made on this blog) ฅ^•ﻌ•^ฅ

And here are all the collab art we’ve done together, Dynamo usually does the sketches for these and I ink and color them.

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MOD MORI

Howdy everypony! I’m one of the new mods, you can call me Mori!

I use He/Him and I’m transmasc + bisexual andddd my favorite ponies of the mane 6 are Fluttershy and Pinkie, though my heart truly lies with Luna. You know how it goes. My sona is named Astral Beryl and I’m hoping to become a geologist and/or voice actor, but for now I draw ponies because… Well I really love to! I hope they can help brighten your day!

Also as a note my art style is going to be… Wildly inconsistent and I apologize beforehand if certain pieces aren’t as nice as others. Such is the way of art and wanting to try new things like drawing more consistently.

o/ Stay hydrated party ponies! Hope to see you around!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD PIXEL

Hello everypony! I’m Pixel, also known as @fruitypieq :3

I use he/they/lun/luna and my ponysona, Night Peak, uses she/he/they. My favorite ponies are Princess Celestia and Princess Cadance, and of course Sunset Shimmer too!

I am not sure what else to put here but I’m very excited to be here, its nice to meet all of you! I’m excited to start drawing your requests and I hope I can help make your day even a little better!

If you enjoy my art you can find more of it on my main blog, or on my art blog, @fruitypieq-art! Have a wonderful day everypony!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD WILLOW

Hiya! I’m Mod Willow! I use any pronouns and so does my ponysona, Cece! I’m intersex, intergender, transmascfem and lesbian. I am currently trying to get into school to become a therapist but art is one of my biggest passions! I love helping and inspiring people so I hope my art can do that for you all <3

I love all the ponies but my very favorite is Princess Luna, and my favorite out of the Mane Six is probably Fluttershy. I’ve been in the fandom for about 12 years and I’m very happy to be contributing to it in any way I can!

Have a lovely day and stay mindful!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD APPLEJACK

Hi everypony, I’m mod applejack! I’m a 22 year old mlp superfan who has a special passion for G1 although all gens have a place in my heart. I love to cook, read, and draw for others. My other special interest besides mlp is beekeeping; I’m actually a certified beekeeper myself! I’m so happy to become a part of this amazing blog and support those who need it<3

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

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MOD FAELING

Hi all! I’m a new mod here! I go by Fae or Faeling, and my pronouns are she/her. I’m a 30 years young autistic artist who has a love for helping bring positivity to others! ✨

I currently haven’t made my ponysona so it’s still in delvelopment but when it’s done I’ll be sure to edit and add it in this post!

My favourite generation is Gen4 and my favourite MLP is Fluttershy! I love how gentle she is and her love for animals, it matches my personality so well!💕

I am happy to be here, I have a love for drawing positive art, as I do the same on my own social media’s art accounts but not just MLP characters, all sorts of different cartoon and anime characters with positive quotes!

I’ve always wanted to help others in some way and doing things like this has always made my heart feel like I’m doing something good in the world, you all deserve encouraging and positive words to get through your days! 💕

If you end up liking my art, you can always find me at @faelingmagic on tumblr or all my other socials at http://linktr.ee/faelingmagic

I look forward to drawing for you all!

ART TAG / MAIN BLOG

#mod page #look at all the cute ponysonas

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ferosmorningstar · 2 days

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defending Lilith? the bad mother and the seems to be villain of the next season? sucks to be you

Not gonna make any drawing on this. cause is pointless and it didn't deserve the time and effort.

*takes a deep breath*

WE DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT LILITH YET. And who the FUCKING hell told you she's just the only one who we have to blame? I really love Lucifer but know he also fucked things up in his marriage. and I was in his particular situation ages ago so I can get it. That makes me think that he have the same amount of guilt as Lilith because that's how relationships works sometimes, not everything would be perfect forever and Im sure as hell you never had to deal with something like this before.. But hey, it takes two to tango. And Lucifer seems to be troubled and depressed for his previous decisions. So this is my thoughts about the situation:

I think Lilith got angry and disappointed of Lucifer for the same reason he said to Charlie ''There's no point in trying to save sinners''. I think Lilith get so discouraged because the person she love didn't grant her the trust and support to help her people and the breaking point was when he maybe said something to Charlie that in the pilot made her said ''maybe dad was right'', and of course that he agree to let the exterminations happen. That's why she didn't let Charlie get close to Lucifer, to not let him discourage her in any way cause Lilith seems to raise Charlie at her image. I want to believe Lilith is not a bad person but she's very fierce in defending what she wants and believes. And of course I don't believe she's a bad mom at all since she seems to enjoy raising, love and caring for her child as in all the pictures they have and how Charlie speaks so highly of her makes you see that Lilith didn't abandon her as a child or anything like that, Lilith left knowing she raise a very brave young princess to follow her dreams . So that's why Lucifer now sees that it is not pointless to care about his daughter dreams even if he doesn't believe in it at first. Trying to reconnect with her because at the end both are big dreamers but he didn't get to know her too much until now. Also believe it was a bad move of Lilith to not let Charlie know her father better but if you think of it, she's trying to make her not rely in anyone but her own courage and conviction to be independent as her mother is. I would love to see the regal queen of hell is also a goofy dreamer who would do anything in her power to make her daughter dreams come true.

Even if the Lucilith ship makes me so happy I will accept if they won't get together again. Cause sometimes being apart for the sake of the other person it's also love. I really hope they get together .. but still I won't blame any of them if that never happens. And also hope they won't make her the villain just for the sake of drama

so stfu hater and have a nice day.

(sorry for my bad english, is not my first language)

#hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucilith #lilith morningstar #hazbin hotel

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writingcold · 2 days

Text

Hello! Welcome to Chapter 7.2 and the Epilogue of CD&FE.

Pairing: Jake X Female Reader

Summary: This is an AU that starts with the release of GVF’s first EP, Black Smoke Rising, and follows along life paths over the course of twenty plus years.

Content warnings: A return to smut. They are reunited and it’s like fireworks. So, please be aware - mentions of alcohol, adult emotions and relationships, sex, oral, fingering, p in v, maybe some spanking, hair pulling maybe, anal play, language, strong language, you get the picture. Oliver Fucking Reed also makes a 30 second appearance.

Word Count: approx. 6.3K

It’s here! The end. These two - @edgingthedarkness and @takenbythemadness have been so supportive through this whole bit. Thank you one last time, ladies. Love you. And THE scene is finally here. We were cackling over pet names during sex until it just fucking worked and we all just did a collective “holy shit”.

CD&FE, Part 7.3: Jake POV

I almost missed the final bow. Josh belted out for me to stop as I was pretty much racing towards the stairs. I knew I was rushing, but fuck that. I had a flight in ninety minutes. Randal promised he would have a car with my bag and my acoustic waiting and at the ready. Somehow, he was able to get me on an earlier flight. My whole mind was set on getting to Y/n. The daily texts were not enough. I needed her. Now. I needed to know that we were going to finally try.

The others were doing their post-show bickering and critique while I handed off my guitar and walked as fast as my rubbery legs could carry me towards the dressing rooms. I could hear them calling for me, but I didn’t bother. I was stripped out of my jacket and was kicking out of my boots by the time I shoved my way into my dressing room. I had laid out clothes ahead of time. I sped through cleaning up. God that was a hot show. I was a complete mess of nerves and stink as I washed. All I could think of was how I was going to have to really sprint to get to the gate and make the flight. It was worth it. I would be at her door well before breakfast. That was the goal.

Towel wrapped around me and trying like hell to squeeze the water from my hair, I was startled by a knock on the door. I grumbled out a ‘do not disturb’, but I knew the moment the door opened, it was my mom.

“Mom - what -”

“Sorry honey,” she started as I grabbed my clothes and moved back into the shower stall to dress. “I know you’re rushing but I have a huge favor to ask of you.”

“Come on, Mom,” I grumbled, yanking my pants on. “I was able to get an earlier flight. I’m leaving.”

“I think this one is important,” she said as I smashed my elbow into the wall in my effort to pull my shirt across my wet head. “I met her during the set. She’s a huge fan. Such a sweet girl.”

I glared at her as I walked back out to try to put myself together. “Mom, we’ve talked about this. We can’t do these meet and greets just because someone approaches you. The managers…”

“I know, I know. But this one is different.”

“You say that all the time,” I quipped as I started dragging a brush through my hair. “But seriously I have… 84 minutes until I’m in the air. You know-”

“But this one-”

“Mom!”

A look crossed her face that I had not seen since I was maybe sixteen. Well, twenties, but really? She opened the door and leaned out. I knew she called for my dad. Damn it. Sure as shit, two seconds later there he was - with his stern ‘How could you do this?’ look plastered all over his face.

“Jake.” One word. One syllable. And I found myself back to being their child.

“I’m forty two years old. When does this shit end?” I griped as I threw my stage clothes on hangers to be washed.

“Never,” my mother replied with a raised eyebrow.

I relented if it meant they would get out of my dressing room. I threw the rest of my personals into the waiting backpack and looked around for anything that I may have missed. In the history of me trying to get shit done so I can leave, this moment was probably the fastest I’ve ever moved. There was still a chance that I could dodge the fan thing. Mom did, after all, forget to tell me where to go. Or had I just not heard. Didn’t matter. Out the door and I immediately turned towards the loading bay.

“Jacob! Over here!”

Fuck. I had been caught. When I turned towards them, I may have been scowling. Mom did that thing with the fingers drawing the corners of her mouth into a smile and everything. Was it too much to ask to get on a damn plane and get to this woman that I… Loved. I loved her. Every thread of my being loved her. Craved her. Desired her. But not just the sex. It was like we were two pieces of the same map that needed no stitching to be together. I drew out my phone and held up two fingers, mouthing to her as I passed by - two minutes.

Everyone was in the banquet style family room. Odd. Josh was still bouncing around in his jumpsuit like he was plugged directly into an amp. There was family all over the place, but it felt off. I couldn’t identify the sensation beyond it being like a dream. Everyone was glancing and looking at me but not really acknowledging me. The frustration of time slipping away ate at my edges and started to piss me off. I didn’t have the time for this shit and trying to track down a ‘fan’ was not my priority. We were nearly through to the back side of the room when I threw in the towel.

“Mom! I don’t have the time for this shit!” I blurted out, turning around as she began to argue.

I was expecting her to really lay into me, but her words were nonexistent. My gaze first fell on my dad as he was in front of the door, an overly cocky look on his features. Just before him was Y/n, a shy smile and soft rock from side to side betrayed her unsureness of the moment. My jaw dropped open and my guts spilled to the floor. It was like the first time to Disney World, the first time playing Madison Square Garden, and seeing her for the first time ever all rolled into one. The breath in my chest turned to fire as I felt my mom’s hand land on my back.

“So totally your girl, Jacob,” she whispered.

I struggled through an exhale in a frail attempt to not break down. “How do you know?”

“Because Dad still looks at me the way you look at her, forty five years later,” she said with a gentle push at my shoulder. “Stop trying to be cool. We all know it’s about to get mushy in here.”

At her warm laughter, I found myself untethered from the ground and moving towards her. All I could see was her and the glint in her eye that was my beacon. I blinked and she was in my arms. I blinked again and her lips were on mine. I didn’t bother to listen to the whoops and hollers that were happening around us. Fuck that. The moment was all us. I felt like I was being stretched and pulled and smashed and pummeled all at the same time. The sound of her filled me like nothing else. All I wanted to do was drag her back to the hotel…

“Oh, shit,” I whispered. “I don’t have a room.”

My hands came down on her hips as she started to step away. I didn’t need her to move - at all. It was like she instantly was the air that I needed to breathe. The grin on her lips as she took me in made my heart quiver.

“I gave up my room. I’m supposed to be on a damn plane in-”

She laughed as she cupped my cheek. “I have a room.”

I leaned into her touch. Life went on around us. I was locked into her and unable to get past it. I watched as she slipped her hand into mine and pulled it close to her chest.

“Should we get out of here?” she asked, a faint blush grew across her cheeks as she looked around at my family as if becoming aware of so many eyes on us.

“Yeah. Feeling a little weird with everyone around,” I sighed with a backwards look at Mom.

Dad was at her side, both grinning like idiots at us. I felt like we were at a wedding - that part where everyone suddenly is ready for the couple to race away to get laid, or whatever.

“Where the fuck is Randall?” I suddenly asked, formulating a plan from the ashes of my previous one.

I located the assistant and was able to get the car to take us to the hotel. He was also gracious enough to change the plane ticket for me - adding one for her for the next evening. Perfect. It was perfect. I could barely keep my hands from her as we fumbled our way up to her room on the third floor, oddly enough just down the way from my previous suite. Nice.

I fell against her as the post show exhaustion caught up with me. We slowly made love, accepting it was all I was up to as every ounce of my frame started to ache. I fell asleep with my cheek on her chest and her hands in my hair. When I woke up alone, I panicked until I heard her moving around at the bathroom vanity. An idea came to my brain as I slid out from under the tangled up sheets. I was half hard by the time I saw her in the reflection of the huge mirror. I caught her hips as she started to turn my direction.

“Think you can keep your leg hiked up on that counter, mouse?” I asked, as I gently pulled her right thigh up to rest her foot on the edge of the long, low slung vanity.

I wasn’t really paying attention to her answer, just her wide spread pussy that had already started to weep just for me. I trailed my fingers across the miles of skin of her leg going right to her center. My eyes traced up to hers in the mirror as I passed a barely there touch to her clit. The way her eyes widened for a moment made me grin. I watched my fingers go to work against her folds and nub. It didn’t take long before she was dripping against my skin and down her thigh. Her head flopped back, and I made sure my shoulder was there for support. I kissed along her neck just like I knew it would make her fall apart all the faster. I hummed as I found the pulse point and she buried her teeth in her lip with a dull whine.

“Spray for me, mouse,” I whispered against her cheek. “Give it to me.”

Her hands wrapped back across my hips for support. She looked amazing with me wrapped around her, lips hung open and the sound... Goddamn her sounds were making my cock ache something fierce. I shifted, pressing into the small of her back as I tugged her open all the more. I slid two fingers into her and was rewarded with a raspy moan that filled every inch of my skin with heat. My palm filled with her as she hosed down her leg. Her frame shook hard with her pleasure that I pumped her through hard.

“Put your hands on the counter,” I whispered as I kissed down her spine.

I placed a sloppy kiss on the swell of her ass before sinking my teeth in.

“Motherfucker,” she gasped as I pressed my fingers into her firmly as I tugged my bite to ensure I marked her.

I lapped at her soaked thigh until I reached her core. Fuck I missed her taste. I sucked every inch that I could, savoring all of her.

“Jake,” she groaned, pushing her ass back a bit as if moving me to where she needed.

“Like that?” I asked before I ground the tip of my nose against her core and nibbled at her clit.

“Jake,” she said, this time her voice was off, like in pain.

I pulled back, trying to catch a glimpse of her in the mirror.

“Fucking cramp!” she belted out, her leg coming down off the vanity suddenly and nearly falling back into me. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, fucking hell, ooooooowwwww.”

I rubbed at her hip and thigh with a grimace. I apologized profusely as she started to laugh. Her cheeks were completely blushed out as I helped her to walk back towards the bed.

“Sorry, sorry!” she said, hiding her face. “Oh my god, I can’t believe that just fucking happened!”

I laughed as I got her to sit down. “Are you okay?”

She grimaced something fierce as I pressed my fingers into her thigh where she had been trying to grab and kneed. I slowly knelt before her, helping her through the steel tightening in her leg. I bent and planted a kiss on her knee as she blew out a few deep breaths.

“Better?” I ask quietly as I look up into her embarrassed face.

“Yeah,” she groaned, still trying to hide her eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

I smiled at her. She’s gorgeous even when she is so totally flustered. I took her hands into mine and leaned back on my heels. She peeked to find that I was totally soft. She whispered out a curse as her embarrassment washed across her once more.

“Just means you gotta work for it,” I sassed with a raised eyebrow.

I hummed at the sight of her tongue at the corner of her lips. She whispered for me to stand up and I was quick to follow her order. She dragged her hands down my flanks and the fronts of my hips. She lapped at her lips in a very obvious manner as she hooked my soft length with her thumb.

“Hmmm,” she said, her voice full of depth. “I kind of like ‘em soft for this.”

She rolled her eyes up to meet mine as she dropped her mouth totally open and fed all of me into her mouth. Her tongue tickled my balls before she sucked one in, followed by the other. The sight blew my mind as she vibrated with a giggle. She dragged her teeth across the ball sack as she slowly let them go with a little bite at the end.

“Fuck,” I breathed, practically hunched over her and her dark magic.

“That didn’t take long,” she teased before taking my hardening shaft between her lips with a hard pull.

She pulled me all the way back in and rolled my sack between her fingers. She bobbed her head a few times before meeting my gaze once more. She let me go and wiped a line of drool from the corner of her soaked mouth. It was absolutely obscene the way she sucked at my thigh and pumped my cock.

“How you gonna fuck me, Jake?” she hummed before swallowing me down again. “You gonna treat me like an angel? Be all gentle and sweet like you did last night?”

My jaw slacked as she spread my cheeks and passed her fingers across my entrance and twisted her tongue over the tip of my dick. She was better than porn. She was better than any other woman. She was mine.

“Or are you gonna make it hard and rough. Treat me like a sinner,” she cooed, working my rim with delicious pressure. “You gonna fuck me hard into this matress? Break me. Ride me. Fucking mark me?”

She spat on her finger and pressed beyond the rim to swirl and make me moan like her own whore. She yanked my cock up to press against my belly while she loved on and bit on my balls and the inside of my thighs. I nearly shot my load all over her face right there. She seemed to pick up on it and backed off with a sultry lick from base to tip. She rained gentle kisses to my belly as she put herself into my hands.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up to her feet with a searing kiss. She was everything in that moment. Every moment. All time. Everything. I turned her and pushed her down onto her belly. I wrapped her hair around my fist as I straddled her thighs. She lifted her hips just enough to expose her core to me to slip into.

“You don’t want me to be gentle?” I asked as I bottomed out nice and slow.

I exposed her throat with a languid tug on her hair to pull her face away from the mattress. The way her back strained was sexy. She was powerful as I stayed buried in her depths. I saw the red mark already forming beneath my shifting palm on her hip. I slapped her ass cheek with a wicked speed that made her gasp.

“Please, more,” she squeaked.

I couldn’t help the smirk that pierced my lips. We explored during our times together. We were by no means shy about sharing ideas or desires. But damn if this was a boundary that we had not tested before. I was hooked. I slapped her other cheek before pounding myself into her at a fast pace, but shallow, teasing depth. She growled and tried to look back at me, but I tightened my hold on her hair, keeping her right where she was.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” she threatened.

It sent shivers all the way through my system. I ate it up like fucking candy and needed more. Immediately. I pulled myself from her and parted her legs so I could nestle down between and thrust hard into her before I laid down on top of her. I held onto her wrists as I pummeled in and out and ground down against her ass.

“Better, baby?” I asked with my teeth on her ear.

“More,” she moaned.

“More, what?” I tested, just to see what she would say.

Another low, deep moan erupted from her chest as I pushed through her tight folds and felt her constrict all the way down my length. “BITCH,” she growled. “You’re my fucking Bitch!!”

I lapped and sucked on her ear with a taunting laugh. “I’ve been your bitch for two damn decades,” I sighed. “Try again, baby.”

Silence. But I didn’t let up. I sucked a mark hard into her throat as I dragged myself nearly completely out and slammed back into her. The sound of our skin slapping against each other was profane. I felt her spray as I set into another punishing round.

“Schnookums!” she bleated out with a hard laugh.

“What the fuck is that?”

I couldn’t help but pause for a second to regroup. I laughed into her shoulder and she actually snorted. So sexy. I threaded an arm across her chest and rolled us over so that she was on top with me still buried deep within. She sat up and rolled her hips a few times before turning to face me. God, I loved her form. The deep cut of her hips, the bounce of her breasts.

“You going to try again?” I asked, shoving my hips up to force another hard connection.

She practically flailed over as I ground up into her. I watched as she recovered and leaned over me so we were nose to nose. She made like she was going to kiss my mouth but instead, hovered just above.

“Captain.”

I gasped. Everything blurred as the singular word set my body on fire and my mind to racing. I grabbed hold of her hips and rolled us once more so that I could properly fuck into her without mercy. My gaze locked onto her face as I pounded my hips into hers. She yanked up her legs to give me full access. I felt myself turning into a feral being as I ground and slapped my body into her.

Her eyes twinkled as she pushed herself up to kiss me hard and pull me down into her. She repeated ‘captain’ over and over, coaxing whimpers from me that filled the air around her like she commanded my every movement. It was like that poem, but better - it was her own. She was panting and chirping and her eyes were glazing over like she was about to… oh goddamn. I swear her pussy clamped down on me as a cry ripped from her mouth. Everything on her body froze solid. Her whole body buckled and bowed and shivered with her orgasm. I couldn’t help but to be dazzled as I shot my load with a sound that poured from my mouth that I had never made before. My heart was racing in my chest and my breath was blowing against her hair as we tried to hold onto each other. She cooed and caressed me. I pressed ghostly kisses across her collarbones as if I could drink those last remnants of the love we just shared to stay drunk on her.

Stillness. I listened to her breathe as we dozed pressed against each other. I trailed my fingers back and forth across her shoulder as I tried to gather my thoughts, my words. There was too much to say to her at this point. My throat vibrated with the prettiest of sentiments. But they remained mute as I just took in the weight of the seconds as they ticked by.

Her phone chirped an alarm that demanded her attention. My skin screamed out for her quick return, only to be left disappointed.

“If we’re going to make that flight, we gotta move,” she whispered, suddenly keeping her distance.

I frowned. I knew she was right. I knew I had just blown my opportunity to quell the bubble of question that was roasting in my chest. Somehow, just feeling her presence had been more important. We found ourselves through showers, dressed and taking the elevator down to the lobby before either one of us spoke again. It was like all we needed to say was in the linger touches we shared; the long held gazes that accompanied a knowing smile. Randall had a car waiting for us and we were on our way to the airport in no time at all. I held her hand against my thigh, but it didn’t seem like enough contact.

We sat in the gate waiting. It was then I noticed that in our quietness, there was a resolve. I watched as she talked to Pat on her phone, but all the while, she was touching me - my arm, my knee, holding onto my hand. She was in the same space as me. Just to know that she was real - that this moment was really happening. The flight was not remarkable. She dozed on my shoulder the entire way. I breathed in the trust that she gave over to me.

Her new home was the embodiment of her. It was not unlike the house she had all those years before, but this one felt like her whole life was woven into every fabric, embedded into the paint and bones of the structure. There was nothing hidden - everything of her was on display. I carried our bags into her bedroom and she cornered me as I was about to walk back out to her kitchen. Her lips parted as she leaned close.

“I love you,” I whispered as our lips hovered over each other. “I’ve loved you forever.”

She planted a soft kiss but then leaned back with her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “I claim you my safe harbor, Jake.”

There it was. The bubble of questions in my chest calmed. I knew it wasn’t going to be absolutely perfect, but it would be ours. We would navigate this - the long stretches of being alone and the times where we could be together. She had made changes, just the same as I had made changes. The built in breaks for family would tie in perfectly when she would have to be in the office. The tour dates where we were on the road, she would be able to follow much more freely, working from whatever faraway hotel we found ourselves tucked in. It was a balance. It had been a hard fight for balance, but we did it. We made it work. And we flourished because of it.

Epilogue, Her POV

My heart was racing, matching the paces of my steps as I dashed through the terminal of Detroit airport. I had been waylaid by Spring storms and a client that needed a bit of extra hand holding to see the vision of their event. I stopped just long enough to pee and to get a text out to Ronnie to meet me at the door. There was no way in hell I was going to miss the big party.

I pushed my way out the double slider doors and instantly heard the rumble of the ‘Cuda. Leave it to my escorts to do this running in style. The air owned a brittle warmth, like Spring wanted to arrive, but had at least one good snowstorm left in her to give. I pulled my light jacket closer to my frame as I made it to the curb. Kelly was quick to step out of the shiny cherry red, deep rumbling 1970 Barracuda. He pulled me in for a quick hug before making way for me to slide into the backseat like it was a get-away car. He tossed my bag into the trunk and off we went with Ronnie behind the wheel.

“How you doin, Papa?” I cooed as I got myself situated.

Kelly grinned that infamous Kiszka grin over his shoulder. His dark sunglasses did little to hide the joy in the man’s face. “I’m doing amazing, sweets,” he answered, before he started on the usual round of polite questions to catch up.

It was already after four in the afternoon. Ronnie had assured me that they could make it home in under 90 minutes. Once out on the interstate, she flew that beast of a car much to her father’s delight. We were serenaded by Kelly’s lovely baritone gravel and Ronnie’s smooth interjections of trills. The intimidation factor of such blatant and latent talent that coursed through the family was still strong, even eight years down the road. The best I could do is hum, sorta on key, but they loved me anyway.

The years with Jake had not been easy, but I could not imagine life any differently. Sure, we had a lot of bumps and bruises as we tried to figure out our balance - together. Did we regret the resistance that spanned for so long - at times. Honestly, I don’t think we had the maturity to survive what we are able to now. I am able to travel with him many times throughout the year. He comes home to me during tour breaks. When possible, we divide time between St. Paul and Nashville, and of course Frankenmuth is still home for his folks and Ronnie.

“Drop me off at the hall. The boys are expecting me,” Kelly said as we crossed the town line.

It was going to be a huge covert mission sneaking me in under the Kiszka radar. Ronnie got us into her driveway and we ran inside, dodging kids and toys and all manner of obstacles. The show was only a few hours away - One Night Only - A Night of Celebration with Greta Van Fleet was a sold out affair at Fischer Hall. Josh broached the idea of having an all acoustic set, no openers, just a totally stripped down show with their hometown to celebrate the twins’ fiftieth birthdays. All funds raised from the tickets were going straight to the music boosters and the Autofest to give back to the town that had so nurtured them while they grew up. It would be just like it had been way back with them setting up, but there were a few volunteers from their formal road tech crew that made themselves available for the festivities.

We had just enough time to snuggle down with the nieces and nephews and have a small supper before getting ready and heading in for the party. Ronnie and her husband, Ethan, expertly corralled their four kids into the side entrance, taking their residence in the roped off area marked family only. I made sure to stay hidden as Jake was still texting me to see if I was on the way to at least catch the family events for the next few days. I just kept assuring him that I would be in by breakfast.

“WHAT!” Sam’s sass filled my ears before I felt his hands on my back.

“Oh hell,” I muttered as he turned me around and enveloped me in his embrace.

“I thought Jake said you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow,” he babbled, rocking me side to side.

I tried to shush him, but was buried in his chest.

“Oh my gawd, wait until he knows-”

“Sam! No!” I barked out, trying to keep my voice down but loud enough to be heard. “It’s a surprise.”

The glint that overtook his eyes was endearing. I could count on him to be quick to figure out the puzzle before him, regardless of his own mindset. He nodded and seemed to step back, as if blocking the doorway.

“Are you staying here?” he asked, waving at hand around the side stage area. When I nodded, he frowned. “That won’t do. He’d totally see you with the family…”

My heart froze when I heard Josh and Jake coming towards the main staging area. My eyes must’ve been as big as saucers that Sam somehow mirrored. He pushed me into the curtains and proceeded to the stage with his brothers. Danny passed by with a perked eyebrow but instantly was in on the scheme when I held up a finger to my lips, no words necessary. There were times that I so appreciated that man. The hall was packed and loud as they settled down onto stools and chairs.

“A Very Happy Birthday To US!” Josh shouted out, beaming out across the audience with a million watts of sunshine.

I chanced a glimpse out, seeing Jake under the stage lights. His full silver hair shone around him as he slowly ran his fingers across the frets. His handsome face was full of concentration as he prepared during Josh’s rambling speech about nice to be home amongst faces of so many friends and family. He talked about their first show in the hall and their last appearance before things took on a much bigger avenue. I watched as the corner of Jake’s mouth tugged a bit as if his memories swirled right along with his twin. Sam and Danny were on either side of them, so as to keep the twins together on their day.

“There you are,” Karen whisper-shouted from behind me.

I grimaced as I turned, hoping not to draw attention as they started to play the opening song. “Hey, Mom,” I greeted softly as she pulled me in for a hug.

“Cake’s here - they’re prepping it up now,” she said, eyes on her boys.

It was not hard to see the pride in her eyes. Even after all the years, she still loved to see her boys play - didn’t matter if it was to something small like the hall, or huge stadiums. Her boys. Her treasures. We watched, hand in hand, for a stretch. My spirit calmed as I watched my man play his guitar and wear a smile that made me swoon. I could hardly believe that I had had eight years with him. There were times that were still rough, but we were happy. I was happy. Jake made every moment count. I loved the man and was rewarded with the good and bad that made him Jake.

Karen tugged at my hand as they were nearing the final few songs. The plan was that I would help her and Kelly push the cart that held the cake out on the stage to surprise Jake. I cast one glance back towards him as she led me away. He radiated absolute joy. It brought tears to my eyes to see him so filled with happiness. Kelly wrapped his arm around my shoulders as if he just knew that I was struggling. He held me close without a word as if knowing that just some quiet was what I needed to get back on my feet.

“You ready, honey?” Karen asked without actually committing her words to anyone - she just put her hands on the rolling cart and took off towards the stage.

I looked up at her husband and he just shrugged with a smile as if it was answer enough. I walked with him, his hand wrapped tight to mine. They were lingering across a song from the latest album by the time we stepped to the edge of the stage. Karen, in all her boldness, walked right out there, egging the crowd on for cheers that seemed to wash over the stage with cries of ‘Happy Birthday!’ Jake turned and his gaze froze on me. For a moment, I struggled for breath as his eyes grew glossy and the corner of his mouth pulled tight with emotion.

Kelly and Karen were busy lighting candles while Josh, Danny and Sam were bent over causing all sorts of theatrics to distract from how Jake set his guitar to the side and slowly stood up from his stool. I stumbled forward, totally missing how there were cords everywhere and nearly slammed myself into the back of Kelly. Yeah. That would’ve been amazing. Much to my relief, Jake had his hand out for me to take. He pulled me into him and kissed me hard as his fingers drifted across my cheek.

“Happy birthday,” I whispered as the crowd started to sing the happy birthday song.

He pressed his lips to mine once more, his fingers soft against my face. “God, you’re beautiful,” he said softly, his eyes were slow to open as he leaned into me.

The catcalls and wolf whistles commenced as he kissed me again and his parents finished lighting the massive amount of candles. The hall hushed as it seemed the twins became overwhelmed with emotions. Josh held out his hand for Jake to take before they bent over to blow out the inferno before them. Kelly wrapped his arm around Karen as they seemed to fall together in their golden pride for their boys. The hall erupted in cheers as they laughed over their struggle to get every candle out. Of course they yukked it up with clutching each other chests in a mock gasp of breath.

Jake reached for me once more. His eyes sparkled as he brought me close. His gaze made me feel like everyone else evaporated. He cupped my cheek and kissed me sweetly. God, I loved this man.

I am unsure if I was caught up in the moment, or if it was the right time, but I leaned into him as he folded me into a tight hug. The others were already getting back to their stools and Karen and Kelly were pushing the cart away. I took in a deep breath and whispered a word I never thought I would say willingly.

“Husband.” The word clawed its way from my mouth, but it was honest in the moment. My eyes met his and my chest swelled with emotions as he seemed to realize what was happening. “I’d like to call you husband, Jake.”

He paused. He literally paused all of his movements and just stood there holding me. I just about started to panic, wondering instantly if I had overstepped. He kissed the spot just below my ear. I caught sight of those warm, dark eyes as he pulled away from me. They twinkled with a love that was mine alone. Every cell inside my body was jolting with the energy he fed me. He made sure that I made it over the cabling before getting back to his job. Karen looped her arm with mine as she just beamed radiance towards her family.

“Jake! I know she’s a looker but did you forget we have this thing we gotta do?” Josh was joking as he was settling back onto his stool with his guitar.

There were more than a few laughs and I caught how he swayed a bit, shifting into… “pRicK, you don’t talk about my girl that waaaay,” he drawled, his smile was a mile wide.

“Oliver, you said you wouldn’t do this again,” Josh pretended. “Remember the last time you tried to pull this - it ended in fire and thankfully no one died, but still.”

“Yeah well, Jake’s never gotten proposed to, so this is how he answers ‘yes’,” Jake joked, looking back at me.

Karen screeched, echoing the crowd. My everything became flooded with joy as the brothers congratulated him and threw me air kisses. Our lives had been one meandering string of run-ins that were always filled with passion and a question of love. These past years only solidified our need for the other. Soulmates? Perhaps. There’s a power in finding the one who truly understands you inside and out. As he held me on that stage, I knew one thing - this was no longer the fleeting embrace that it once had been. It was truly a daily celebration of our life together. And it was a beautiful, beautiful thing to be beholden to.

The End.

I hope you enjoyed CD&FE as much as I enjoyed writing it. The original story was actually a version of Best Laid Plans that got scrapped and forgotten until it waved like a maniac at me one day and this was formed. It really was my first reader insert that was multi-chapter, so that was interesting! Trying it again with my next story The Dead. I’m a long way from being done with it, but just know I’m working on something. See y’all soon.

@lvnterninthenight @doodle417 @luverleaver @jakesgrapejuice @fictional-duchess @milkgemini @positivegvfthings @songbirds-sweet @gretavanbitches @gardensgatedaisy @babyhoneygvfarchive @myownparadise96 @josh-iamyour-mama @starcatcherc @loveisonaroll @jakesstarlight @reesetrippingthelight @builtby-gvf @ignite-my-fire @wetkleenex-gvf @gold-mines-melting @starsasone @mysticalstarcatcher @montenegroisr @takenbythemadness @way-to-go-lad @cal-a-bungaa @thewritingbeforesunrise @leftjudgeempathsuitcase @brokenbells11 @imborrowedshesblue @vanfleeter

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