#i love how different his personality is from the other 'monsters'

[cryptiicism]

labru, the winged lion, and ✨ trauma ✨

picking back up from last week's episode of me being cryptic, lets go!!

so, why do i find labru interesting and why does the winged lion matter?

first, let's go WAY back, back to the beginning when kabru was a kid. growing up he was ostracized because of his eye color, and he specifically notes that he must've been a monster.

jumping forward, who loves monsters? who breathes, eats, and thrives off of the knowledge of monsters because it is his second nature? laios touden, a man who would tell you everything there is to know on monsters because he finds them interesting. he loves them.

that, is why labru works so well, because for kabru to love laios... he has to love himself.

but first, he has to go off the deep end because he's kabru and that's what he does. why though? because growing up and being hated for standing out, only to find someone who loves the very thing you see yourself as. something that you have deemed unlovable is revolting, and like the situation you grew up in you choose fear over any attempt to understand.

but that's why kabru is different, because unlike monsters he has the ability to change his nature. so he does, just... not before the winged lion gets his hands on laios.

however before we delve deeper into the dungeon's clutches , let's look at how labru views themselves.

kabru -> " i'm a monster dressed in a persons clothes. "

laios -> " i'm a person dressed in monster clothes. "

obviously, they are both outsiders, just as their fellow party members are so why does it matter?

think back, just as laios loves monsters there is a man who knows people inside and out literally. that is kabru of utaya, who analyzes people like it's a sport going out of style.

that, is why labru again, works so well because like how kabru views himself as a monster to a degree. laios craves to be shed of his skin because his monster clothes fit all alright, but they itch... it's not quite right, because they were given to him just so people could have a reason to say " look it's a monster!! "

but it's just autism , and leading into that ... laios obviously has depression as shown when he gets grabbed by the spirits , having suicidal ideation because he thinks it'd been better if he had died in falin's place . so for kabru to be so fascinated by people , it's like rubbing ointment on laios' itching skin because he feels seen .

he feels like a person when kabru expresses that he finds laios interesting and engages with him , and it helps ease those out of place feelings when they make each other feel seen .

too bad something else sees laios too , and laios stares back into that void because while his itch is temporarily soothed , it comes back .

that's how trauma works , it can be eased but it's still there . like an insatiable hunger , and that's why laios is the subject of the winged lion's interest . Laios' desire is to be that of monstrous nature , as long as his nest is protected and he is full , all is fine .

The lion says as much, however that's just it turning laios' mental health problems into a reality. the desire to be a monster stims from being a outsider as a kid, and plus they're just cool- but it comes from never having a place in society, and detaching hence why laios doesn't care for anyone besides those he dubs as close.

but after the demon is defeated, that's when we really see kabru and laios grow close, because at that point they both realize. They understand and see each other, " I felt like like something I wasn't and I wanted to be loved. " so..

they love monsters, they love humans, and they finally have a home where they are loved back.

@sicklyworm hope you enjoy !!

#thank you all for your support #this ship means alot to me #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi laios #dunmeshi kabru #dunmeshi spoilers #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi spoilers #labru #winged lion #laios touden #kabru of utaya #no beta we die like delgal

[marredmusings]

umm so i wrote a little fic/blurb idk i don't think it's good but it's something that's been stuck in my head for a while with my own little oc named grace but her name is only mentioned a few times so it could totally be ignored and seen as reader.

anyway this is my first ever fic so please be kind to me and if you have suggestions or other fic ideas i'd love to hear them.

not proof read and lowercase intended.

and if you think it's awful please lie to me i'm fragile 😔

deny

you are a lover girl. a hopeless romantic, someone who dreams of finding "the one" and living happily ever after. kie often says you tend to fall in love a little with everyone you meet. you can't help it though, you have so much love in you, it feels like you'll burst at the seams if you don't share it with others.

you think you're in love with your best friend jj maybank. no one understands you the way the wild blond haired boy does. no one can communicate with you with just a single look the way jj does. no one makes your heart beat out of your chest and your tummy flutter the way his dimpled smile does, eyes crinkling at the corners, a slight sunburn on his nose because lord know that boy doesn't use the sunscreen you bought him.

so yeah you're in love with jj maybank but then yesterday a different boy kissed you. pope heyward, your other best friend, genius extraordinaire whom you thought was maybe in love with kie but no- he kissed you and you felt a tingle in your ever beating heart. heat filled your cheeks and your ears became fuzzy. that was a new feeling when it came to pope. it made you excited to explore because as much as you love jj, you don't think the boy would ever return your undying affection because your friendship meant too much.

----

you stood in the threshold of popes bedroom, gasp stuck in your throat, eyes wide and mouth open at the sight before you. you’re not sure how to process what you’re seeing.

before you on the bed that pope kissed you on not even 24 hours ago, is jj maybank, your closest friend, kissing the heyward boy.

so many emotions flow through you at the sight before you.

shock because not once has jj; or pope for that matter mentioned or even hinted that they liked men- or each other. then again, jj has always liked beautiful people and pope is certainly that.

sadness because you and pope had literally just kissed. maybe you were naive to think a simple kiss meant something more to the boy, but it was pope, you don't think there's a mean bone in his body. then again you’ve always been too much of a romantic, too blinded to really see what’s in front of you. blinded by your want and need to be loved that perhaps you create situations in your mind that you interpret as reality? maybe you need to contact your therapist again. you're sounding even more delusional than before.

lastly, you feel jealousy. the angry green monster rumbling around in your tummy, making its way up your throat. you’re not sure what exactly is making you jealous because the image of the two boys kissing is surely confusing. are you jealous because pope is kissing another person who isn’t you? a part of you is jealous because he’s kissing jj. or maybe it’s that jj is kissing pope or that maybe they’re kissing eachother and they're not kissing you? you're not sure at this point. dear diary jealousy is a disease babes, and you are infected.

you must have made a noise because next thing you know, the two boys are pulling apart, a string of spit still connecting them and for a second your love rattled brain is jealous of it. the spit that is, because deep down you’ve always known that you wanted them both… to be the one to connect them. you feel slightly crazy being jealous of spit.

jjs face goes beat red and then flushes pale, like a ghost. he looks terrified and like he might vomit all over the floor in a second.

“grace!” popes panicked voice reaches your ears but they’re still kind of ringing from the shock of seeing your supposedly straight best friends kiss.

in your heartbroken haze you wonder if you're being a bad ally right now. you love the gays you swear! you just never pictured pope and jj as being a part of the gays ™.

you clear your throat, “jb and kie are waiting for us downstairs. we were going out on the boat today, remember?”

you try and say that as gently as possible because jj still looks like he’s going to pass out and pope isn’t much better.

popes hands are shaking as he reaches for you and a part of you wants to pull away but you’re not mean. you’ve never been mean so even if your feelings are hurt you’ll always put your best friends feelings above your own. and it looks like pope needs to touch you. maybe to hold your hand and reassure him you’re really standing there, witnessing something that you probably shouldn’t have.

so many emotions flicker through popes eyes. you can’t really see his blush but you’re sure if you touch his face it would be hotter than the sun.

pope grabs your hands in his shaking ones. you can feel how clammy they are and you hazard a look back to jj who has yet to even move. you’re a little concerned he’s gone into shock.

you let out a soft sigh and smile at the boys, a smile that is mostly genuine.

you squeeze popes hand and make eye contact with the panicked blonde boy on the bed.

“it’s ok jj. i won’t say anything if you don’t want me to.” you speak kindly, as if you’re talking to a scared feral cat.

you only see jj swallow hard. “for what it’s worth, i understand the appeal... wanting to kiss pope and all.” you tease hoping to cut the obvious tension in the room. you feel like you're the one choking now.

jj and pope both let out huffs like they’re afraid to laugh but also relieved you’re not upset.

“you’re not mad?” jj croaks like he still has a frog lodged in his throat. he looks at you with soft wonder, like you’re the best thing in his life. his stare makes your tummy flutter.

“of course not. you guys are my best friends. i only ever want you to be happy!” you reply honestly. jj deserves happiness after the shit life he’s been dealt. he deserves good things and if you have to set aside your feelings in order for him to have good things then by golly you’ll do that.

“grace, about yesterday-“ pope starts off,

“don’t worry buddy, already forgotten.” you cut him off. hopefully saving him the strife of having to apologize to you about the kiss and saving you the embarrassment of him telling you he regrets your kiss. you don't think you could survive hearing that out loud.

you march over to jj still holding popes hand, effectively dragging the boy with you. you throw your arms tightly around jjs neck and after a heartbeat, jj returns your hug. you move your head to look at pope and nod at him, encouraging him to join the hug.

“now c’mon. you know how pissy jb gets when he’s made to wait” you giggle.

you lead the boys out of popes room and home and into the twinkie without giving them an option of saying no.

“finally! i thought y’all died or something. what took so long” john b huffs in exasperation.

“my fault jb!” you quickly chirp so the boys don’t have to panic and think of a lie “pope showed me the new book he got and it’s my favourite and i starting gushing and you know me i can’t shut up and… well i forgot why i went up to get them in the first place” you giggle with a sheepish smile.

“you’re so lucky you’re cute, grace” kie laughs teasingly.

you see pope and jj making eye contact. you have a feeling you might need to play therapist for them soon. pope doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings without beating around the bush and well, jjs favourite thing to do is deny deny deny.

actually, that’s exactly what you’re gonna do too! deny you have feelings for pope. deny you have feelings for jj. deny you ever saw them kiss and deny that them kissing only upset you because you weren’t a part of it. deny that a part of you enjoyed it. deny that your feelings matter in this situation and deny that if given the chance, you’d love to be in between a beautiful jj maybank and pope heyward sandwich.

yep, deny deny deny. this is gonna be a long freaking summer.

#jj maybank #kiara carrera #obx #outer banks #pope heyward #jj maybank x reader #pope x reader x jj #jj maybank x oc #pope heyward x reader #pope heyward x oc #john b routledge #my fic #obx fanfiction #obx fic

[tarot-archives]

Can I get a uhhhhhh laios with a guy/gn reader who has an equally autistic special interest in general biology and ecosystems that would 100% encompass monsters as well? Asking for a friend that just happens to be me (stg idk if I wanna smooch laios or be him tbh lmao)

an: though i haven’t written for an autistic yn, i’ll try to make it realistic. if i’d done something wrong, please tell me. i focused more on general dungeon ecology for y/n.

if marcille is studying about dungeon ecosystems while laios is more interested in monsters you would be the best of both worlds.

there’s just something thrilling about dungeon ecology, how it all interacts, every thing that fall under it and so on and so forth.

you’re a tall-man researcher, using every bit of your time to find out more about dungeons, and not just the ones in melini. it would have been good to join the magic academy, but since you don’t posses any talent for magic, you can’t enter.

it made you sad since they had a dungeon making class.

nevertheless, it won’t stomp your dreams of researching! you’ve read and copied countless of books you can get your hands on. eventually you settled in meleni where a newly discovered dungeon was found.

your room was filled with countless of journals, trinkets from dungeons and volumes of books you read many time before.

and on your first dungeon party, you were very ecstatic. too bad you had to leave because they’d only go to the easier upper floors. you wanted to head to the lowest level after all!

and that’s where you meet up with the touden party!

you will love marcille’s vast dungeon knowledge. she would love to teach you new things. much to chilchuck’s dismay, you have boosted her ego. endless praises for marcille and simply doting around her because she’s filled with knowledge.

“ah, long lifespans are so great. i’d spend all my life dedicating to dungeon ecology if i could” -y/n after every lecture apparently.

then monster facts with laios will be endless. he lent you his dungeon food guide and you surprisingly have a copy too! you took notes from the things he had written in the margin. much to chilchuck’s demise (again) both you and laios keep on talking and he can’t sleep :((

“eating monsters? can’t say i have thought about it, but do you ever think about their nutritional values? the high level of mana concentration must vary from non-dungeon born same species! This needed to be compared and studied!” -y/n when laios introduced his monster eating thoughts.

toshiro will have another person to ask about his life in the east. but he likes how you keep more time to yourself writing in the journals. he finds your drawing to be artistic. after seeing your difficulties with papers, toshiro will teach you about yotsume toji—a book binding process from his country. he’s happy to see you using it after he taught you.

though you won’t talk with namari much, you admire he strength as a dwarf. she keeps her past to herself, which you at least respect. but you’d talk about the different weapons used and other things she did as a blacksmith. her knowledge on materials is very handy. you write about the different dungeon materials on your journal along with the best weapons against monsters.

chilchuck, our lock expert, and the most unknown member of your party… you admire his knowledge on traps and have written about his experiences with various dungeon traps and ways of disarming them.

falin, she joins you as you ask questions to marcille or laios. she listens to you talk about your dungeon experiences and she tells you about her’s. you let her read the journals you made along the way.

On the day falin was eaten by the dragon, your journal wasn’t transported with you. So now, you join laios to rescue his sister and to save you journals!!

Request? Open!

#laios touden x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #laios x reader #torta talks

[pagannatural]

2.12 Night Shifter

-Although Dean is impersonating an FBI officer when the jewelry counter girl asks him what it’s like, his answer is a truthful description of his life: “it’s dangerous, and the secrets we gotta keep…but mostly it’s lonely.” This wouldn’t be anything wincest except that he looks guiltily over at Sam twice while getting her number. The theme of loneliness between them and the brothers’ yearning for closeness from each other has come up several times this season, most obviously from Sam needing Dean to open up to him. But Dean is feeling it too. Sam was hanging off of him drunk last episode and Dean walked away from him so it makes sense that he’s trying to get someone else in his bed, and clearly thinking about Sam while he does it.

-Sam lies to Ronald. In the past he’s been the one who wants to tell civs the truth, while Dean lies. Dean’s instincts appear to be right here, and Sam’s sour impression with Ronald becomes an obstacle moving forward in this episode. It serves to highlight that Sam is still just not as experienced at this. They’re both really good with people and have high interpersonal intelligence, just in different ways.

-Dean feels “naked” without weapons. He’s been living in fear since he was four so that makes sense but it’s so bleak.

-Dean takes control of the situation with Ronald and Sam looks scared for him, then miserable when he’s locked in the vault and separated from Dean.

One of the bank employees asks “who is that man?” and Sam says “he’s my brother” as if that answers her question even a little bit. She wistfully says he’s brave and Sam looks even more miserable. He’s so sick of women fawning over his brother.

-a second scene of this woman fawning over Dean at Sam! I could watch this all day. Sam becomes increasingly perturbed with each passing moment. Listening to someone wax on about the person you’re secretly and wretchedly in love with but can’t have is terrible but especially when it’s someone who doesn’t even know them. He looks like he’s holding back on an emotion. Sam could just be irritated by the way Dean is overshadowing him, but I would expect him to respond by rolling his eyes or looking irritated rather than conflicted and sad.

Sam looks up to Dean. He doesn’t admit it until later on in the series, but Dean is his hero. His hero and guardian and brother and the only one who can kill him.

-Sam bumps his shoulder against Dean’s on his way out of the bank vault. He didn’t need to do that, there was space. People like to accidentally touch their crushes. And right in front of the fawning woman, like a cat rubbing its cheeks against its human’s legs to mark him.

-Sam points out that Dean is wanted by the police and is visibly upset. I love that Sam is the one panicking about this. Dean is too but he’s trying to be brave and save face for Sam.

-oh this is where they walk up to each other like they’re going to kiss. They’re making eye contact as they get really close and Sam kind of half circles Dean, looking into his eyes. It has the same vibes as the scene from Silver Linings Playbook where the love interest is teaching the main character a dance and instructs him on how to walk to her like he’s in love with her. You can see Dean moving his lips telling Sam he knows who the shifter is, but no sound, making this moment feel even more private

-the way Hendrickson says “there’s a monster in the bank” and then it cuts to Sam gives me chills

-Hendrickson mentioning that Sam is “the bonnie to your Clyde” makes Dean smirk. Sam is his wife. “That part’s true”. They could’ve said the butch cassidy to your Sundance or something but they went with a romantic couple and had Dean smile like aw yeah, that’s us, like he’s still so happy to have his baby back with him on the road.

-“they’re dangerous, smart, and expertly trained” god they really ARE. This show really earns their reputation.

-Dean is mid-action bringing a knife down on what he thinks is the shifter when Sam says in a near-whisper “Dean waitwaitwait”and Dean pauses to look over his shoulder. He’ll do anything Sam says. Sam’s gentle protest is more important than killing the shifter.

-Sam fights the swat team duo and wins. They escape and drive away knowing that they’re fucked and being hunted by the FBI. Their ascension from petty criminals to most wanted outlaws is so good because they are dangerous and fucked up and doomed and yet they’re together. I also love that Sam solved Dean’s problem by getting the uniforms and gear off of the two SWAT guys. He’s protective of Dean.

#samdean #wincest #supernatural #spn 2x12 #supernatural meta #sam and dean

[hinata-boke]

Drawing a randomly generated Haikyuu character (almost) every day until I give up  

47. Kiryu Wakatsu

#kiryuu wakatsu #kiryu wakatsu #my art #haikyuu!! #haikyuu fanart #haikyuu #1hqaday #AAACEEE!! #i like this dude!! #i love how different his personality is from the other 'monsters' #these might slow down eeeverrr so slightly starting tomorrow #like being every other day more often #my break has ended ;_;

[phoenixcatch7]

If there's one thing I like more than time travel it's crossover reincarnation, so.

Botk link reincarnated as Damian Wayne.

An incredible weapon master of all types, but especially prodigious with a sword - he was beating knights at the age of 4 and with his memories as intact as they get for him I can see that goalpost moving even further (probably with traps and tricks, a 3yo doesn't exactly have great bodily control).

He's an excellent survivalist, agile, strong, durable, cunning and creative. He can move like a feather in the breeze, strike from behind with ease. His first kill, an animal, did not stir him as it did the other children. With his poise, grace, skills, obedience, he ought to be ra'as' finest assassin in the making, a jewel in the crown of the league.

Except he never speaks a word. Half his targets escape unscathed. He skates by true punishment on the merit of his skills and achievements in other missions. Testing has shown it is not a physical deformity that prevents his speech, but not even talia has been able to coaxe a word from him past his second birthday.

It is a defect ra'as is growing more and more frustrated by, as each attempt to fix these two final flaws ends in resounding failure. Less extreme solutions are running dry.

Talia fears those solutions. Her child does too, she knows. For them, there is a possible solution, more extreme than anything ra'as would tolerate.

She sends him out of the league. To his father.

To Gotham.

#'gee phoenix that sure sounds like that dp x dc you're normally rattling on about' yeah lol I steal tropes and sell them on the black market #Anyway this has been slowly rotisserie-ing in my head for a while I just like shaking canon like a magic 8 ball #I'd love to explore how link would react to Gotham and how he might see getting suddenly dumped in a found family as the youngest #And how that contrasts with both his expectations in the league and his role as the saviour last hope of a whole country #Because that kid cannot have a modern interpretation of killing. Like monsters? Kill with prejudice loot the corpses. #The yiga might have a little more hindsight understanding and he never killed them anyway but zero hesitation blowing them up #And ganon is so far removed from the concept of 'killing is bad' because a) human??? Monster??? B) literally the problem #C) he's been killing people so it'd even out d) everyone wants him dead So Bad e) been killed already like a dozen times what's one more #I get the feeling he'd assign the same role to the joker like 'widely considered the source of all evil. 'died' several times and came back #personal source of absolute misery for several heroes. Killed many' = slay the monster. Straightforward. #Like yes link always chooses kindness and has a strong morality and Opinion on killing people it's just a lot would be solved #By hitting the joker until he stopped making life miserable for everyone and if that means permanently well that's kind of link's job. #And like with Jason the bats understand that a lot better than they pretend to. But that is a 10yo who should not be thinking like that. #I think it'd be interesting to see how that'd change their reactions to 'Damian'. Like he holds a very similar opinion to og and Jason he #Just goes about it completely differently. #And I'd love to explore the differences between two fictional worlds and how they can go from pretty much the most black/white morality #To probably one of the greyest areas while still holding near identical themes and methods of dealing with that. #Found family compassion as a weapon against evil and copious amounts of weapons and cool gear lol #Also link should keep the arm he's earned it. Reincarnating with all his memories knocked a few other things loose I'd imagine #Mostly because all the loz games I've played have absolutely altered the way I view any link and also I love referencing them. #Damian with telekinesis and infinite glue would be great. A tiny 10yo sword master choosing instead to drop a dumpster on you #In between hurt comfort link beginning to bond with his family and begin to speak and learn sign language from cass #There's also the sound of explosives and a small figure clinging to a flying door as it crosses the Gotham night skies #Speaking of cass I bet her and link would be great friends in this au. #batman #batfam #bruce wayne #loz au #Loz #loz totk

[guideaus]

tbh im not entirely opposed to wolfwood dying, but i personally really wanna squiggle in him doing smth w vash to like help him mentally/emotionally (?) bc i think a lot of vash's actions are him kind of just having a duty to deal with knives..? and it doesn't feel like vash ever truly forgives himself, just has to neutrally move on bc rem has at least instilled in him the value of the future, but i think he applies it the most to others, still not himself, and even w him choosing livio over legato, theres not enough focus on that either to me. idk if its weird to want ww for that role, but meryl and milly are nowhere near him, livio is too new imo, so i'm like... let them help each other in a deeper way 🥺 they pass their qualities between each other a ton, but i think canonically w nick dying while acting as vash would have, thats definitely a final action lol

#personal #but idk if its silly to imagine him dying but a bit later fhsdfhjsdds #die later beloved fictional character #idk trigun ends the exact same way it started #and like. yeah everyone didnt die but also its no different from the beginning but his bro is dead and his new bff #i think itd be nice if vash had more than just duty ig. ofc he loves others but still never gets close enough to anyone #while ww did his rescue thing and opened up but then went to die RIGHT after fjsdfjdsk #im not opposed to it but i feel like there couldve been some other stuff going on before..? #but also the greedy baby in denial part of me wants some mp100 shit where just like. ww isnt viewed as a monster AND can still live lol #but i think nightow definitely wants him dead. i think in a anime hero kind of way #i just kind of dont like how it feels he only has to live for that? idk... hmmm #the manga tho does use livio as legato's bait tho so hmmm

[rascheln]

The Monster Falls Apart & The Monster Exposed: forehead kisses and touches

#the monster falls apart #the monster exposed #ogeretsu tanaka #hadakeru kaibutsu #revisted this series because it's both hot AND heartbreaking AND fulfilling (and idc for her more recent series sdfhfnf) #anyways I really love kan-chan. I love the way his story is told from multiple POVs and how his character changed over time #I love how his story with Yumi is not just a black and white 'this person is evil this person is a helpless victim' story because it's more #complicated than that. it's about the cycle of abuse and about trauma and about how both of them were not right for each other. #sometimes loving someone isn't enough and you can't magically make them go back to the person they used to. #like I think Yumi stayed out of guilt and a false sense of pride even when he was for all intents and purposes emotionally cheating #and I think the biggest act of love Kan-chan was still capable of at that time was letting Yumi go and breaking up with him. #And then there's Shuuna. ah man. I like that he's sooo out of his depth lol #he's soo in love and he has no idea how to tackle the whole mess that an older Kan-chan is but like #the love they have for each other and the way they DO manage to get through to each other? yea. #you can really feel the difference in maturity at times and that's also a really well done characterization!! #I liked the one author's comment where it's said about him that he went through love on easy mode until he met Kan-chan haha #also the flashbacks... that's a lotta baggage. like I don't blame Yumi for not knowing and it makes sense Kan-chan won't forgive himself #but still. he was never just some evil guy who did that shit out of pure malice when he was experiencing so much abuse and pressure. #(which doesn't make his actions any more okay but it makes his character more complicated and tragic.) #oh and one final thing I love about this series and the connected stories: the thing about life is that it goes on and the people who leave #our lives still continue living in this world. and you may choose or just happen to never meet again. #and no matter who hurt who the memories of each other will remain. the bad. but also the good. #and hopefully you get to continue on making new- making good memories.

[arolesbianism]

Yet another beautiful day to have the Maxwel tag blocked (can't see half of the posts in the Wendy tags)

#rat rambles #starve posting #maxwell posters have lost any semblance of tolerance from me ages ago Ive yet to meet a maxwell fan who's just like a normal person #and to clarify I actually do like maxwel as I am the number one just some asshole whos in too deep enjoyer #but dear god are ppl just absolutely incapable of being normal abt this man and everyone around him #and even beyond that ppl just do not get this man like please he is indeed interesting but not because of some 'retconed redemption' #like pls we can live in a world where he is not an irridemable monster and is in fact just some guy while also still being a flawed person #like the fact that he is so deeply flawed in ways that he never actually properly adressed and challenged is the interesting thing to me #like look at me. he went through horrible shit he didnt deserve. that didnt inherently make him a better or worse person #it just made him a more miserable person #and he didnt escape because of some change of heart or character development #and afterwards he teamed up with wilson because of necessity #I do think on some level he genuinely cares abt the other survivors and he does have genuine regret for how things turned out #but again those things dont inherently mean he moved past the flaws that got him here it just means he has the ability to recognize that #shit sucks and that he wish none of it happened #its why encore is one of my favorite animations from a character perspective because it shows some juicy charlie and maxwell stuff #mainly it shows both that charlie has not forgiven his ass and is manipulating him and that maxwell is still susceptible to it #which isnt a sigh of them rolling back development it's just a sign that maxwell is easy to manipulate with the right cards #which adds up considering his past and his present very well in my opinion #this is a man whos historically always ran away from his problems and is always on the hunt for a sense of control #and charlie tapped into both that and his ever present guilt #its in fact very unsurprising and not out of place for him to fall for that sort of manipulation #and it also makes for a great set up for the inevitable betrayal from charlie as maxwell is hit by the harsh reality of his situation #and that whole situation would lead to some yummy tasty parallels when charlie inevitably gets betrayed herself (I hope) #the ways charlie and maxwel are so similar yet so different facinates me deeply I love how much charlie doesnt realize shes kinda fucked #I want her to be betrayed so hard and left in the dust with no ground to stand on I want the rug pulled out from under her feet #her composition comes from her confidence in the necessity of her actions and the moral superiority she feels over maxwell #so having her sense of superiority be revoked would make for a super fascinating dynamic as she tries to justify the situation in her head #I wanna see her siral and then maybe change her pronouns idk

[sttoru]

.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. it’s late at night and you try to cuddle with sukuna. keyword; try.

wc. 1.2k

tags. true form!sukuna x female reader. fluff, angst (+comfort). heian era. size difference (readers referred to as small). sukuna’s a bit mean, but he also has a soft spot for you. miscommunication ? it gets solved. reader gets called ‘woman, doll’.

“what are you trying to do?” sukuna sighs. you’re up to something again, he figures. his red eyes follow your body as it crawls up to him on the bed.

you’re both tired after a long day of fulfilling some duties here and there around the estate. all you need is a big beefy man wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm and safe.

the perfect man for that is sukuna. those four arms of his wrapped around your small body feel like heaven.

“it’s called cuddling,” you retort. the sarcastic tone you used triggers a deep sigh from the sorcerer. sukuna holds back the urge to say something sarcastic as well.

he doesn’t utter a single word once you snuggle up to his chest. you’ve taught him how to cuddle during the first time you asked him to hold you. sukuna was awkward with showing any type of affection back then.

. . he still very much is.

“hug, please,” you remind him. the cold-hearted man scoffs, though listens to your polite request. all four of his arms imprison you against his chest, your small body nearly disappearing behind his limbs.

that’s what you like most about those cuddles you share together; how you fit so perfectly in his strong arms. it’s much more comforting than you thought it would be.

a pair of hands rests on your waist, the other pair on your hips. sukuna glances down at you and immediately notices that smile on your lips. even after all this time, he still cannot fathom why you’re so carefree around a monster like him.

and that inability to understand you and your love for him is accompanied by an urge to push you away.

“you got your hug, now get up,” sukuna interrupts the silence. his voice is cold and devoid of emotion—he uses that voice when he talks to other people. not with you, “i have better things to attend to.”

thus, it hurts. when he talks to you like that. like you’re not the person he secretly cherishes most. though, you remind yourself of sukuna’s own words. the ones you heard him say a while ago.

‘love is meaningless’, he said. you remember. and yet you kept hoping that he’d change his mind about that statement. you hoped and eventually saw exactly that: your presence and your affectionate gestures mellowed his heart of steel.

but all that effort seems to go down the drain every time sukuna pushes you away.

you know it’s because he’s unfamiliar with the feelings of love. he may not say it nor show it, but you know that sukuna’s afraid of hurting you. so, he creates a gap between you two every now and then.

you know and yet you’re patient.

“oh, ‘kay,” you nod in understanding. you pull away from his embrace and get up from the bed. your bottom lip trembles.

sukuna is not gullible. he’s anything but oblivious. especially if it’s about how you feel and act. he notices every single change in your mood; whether you mask it or not.

you walk to the sliding doors—ready to open them and step out into the hallway. your eyes are a bit watery, but you quickly blink the tears away and take a deep breath in. you reach for the door.

“come back here, woman.”

sukuna’s booming voice makes you stop. you glance at his form over your shoulder. he’s leaning against the headboard of the bed, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed.

is he. . . upset?

“why? you said you had better things to attend to.” you answer with a shrug. you try your best to not make it seem like his earlier words had effected you. you turn your head towards the word with a huff, “go on, then.”

sukuna narrows his eyes. he sucks at communicating what he actually desires—what he actually wants. right now that want is for you to stay. even though that completely contradicts his previous words.

the sorcerer doesn’t know what to do. when you’re with him, he pushes you away out of guilt. when you’re away, he wants you back with him.

love is complicated.

“you. . .” sukuna grunts in frustration. all those feelings for you inside of his heart are playing with his rational thoughts. he doesn’t like seeing you upset. he wants the usual you back, “tsk. fine then.”

silence, followed by the creaking of the bed frame. seems like sukuna’s getting up to do whatever ‘business’ he needed to attend. at least, that’s what you thought.

you slide the door open and set a foot outside of the chambers. before the other could follow, you’re suddenly lifted up in the air by a strong pair of hands. your vision turns upside down as your body is effortlessly hoisted onto a shoulder.

“woah!” you gasp and feel the blood go to your head. your eyes are fixed on the back of your lover. you kick your legs in protest, but only get a smack to your ass in response. you whine at that, “put me down!”

“watch it, doll,” sukuna hisses at your fierce demand, a warning to fix your tone. he puts you back down on the soft mattress. he’s surprisingly gentle when he settles you in place—not throwing you on the bed or anything similar, “should’ve listened when i told you the first time.”

your eyes meet sukuna’s and you notice how much they’ve softened. that alone makes the lump in your throat disappear. your love for him isn’t one sided—you’ve always kept that in the back of your mind—yet your thoughts made you overlook the little things he does for you.

his actions speak louder than his words. that’s the kind of man he is.

sukuna’s trying to open up more, though that process is slow. you’re fine with that.

especially when there’s that faint pout on his lips as he stares at you. his eyebrows are still furrowed, his crimson eyes sharp yet warm.

“oh, you want me back in bed this bad?” you tease once you get the opportunity. the man in front of you clicks his tongue and grabs your cheeks with one hand, turning your head up to face him.

sukuna’s eyes are focused on yours. the eye contact is intimidating, but you’re hypnotised. you physically can’t look away. he leans in and bites your lip with his sharp canines, “shut up.”

that raspy whisper alone confirms your assumption. you giggle at his attempt of refuting your point. you’re used to all those intimidating words and actions he pulls to get you to stop your teasing.

those empty threats—it’s becoming rather cute with how hard he tries to deny everything. he fails nearly every time, however.

“come,” sukuna lays back against the pillows after placing a quick and sloppy kiss against your lips. he pulls your body against his and presses your head against his chest, right where his heart is beating, “continue with your.. ‘cuddling’ thing.”

he put your ear right above his heart, because he remembers listening to his heartbeat calms you down. you told him that a while back. sukuna doesn’t understand why you like it, but his fingers massage your scalp either way.

that’s also something that brings you comfort.

you’re surprised by how much he knows about you, but appreciate it anyway. he remembers both the big and small things about you. ‘that’s how he probably shows his love,’ you conclude silently.

#sttoru writes. #jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk fluff #sukuna x you #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna x y/n #sukuna fluff

[vadlings]

Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi

Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.

Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.

The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):

The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.

In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)

Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.

I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.

The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.

The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)

Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.

Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.

To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.

#dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #laios touden #shuro #toshiro nakamoto #the winged lion #autistic #autism #clay writes #i GUESS #this was so spur of the moment. im so busy right now i dont have time to be analysing laios touden #i wuont angry autistic rep..

[shisurus]

this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.

as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.

and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.

but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.

so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.

but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.

so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.

#im listening to fmab sad soundtrack while writing this im gonna die actually #dungeon meshi #laios touden #falin touden

[lordsovorn]

Strange how people keep saying that "Shuro hates in Laios the same traits he supposedly loves in Falin", which is...

Seriously, look at him and his dialogue - does he hate Laios for being a monster freak? For being nerdy and weird and loving nature? For eating bugs? No, that's not it.

Shuro hates* Laios for being so profoundly socially inept (from his perspective).

The key difference between Touden siblings isn't that Falin is a pretty girl - the key difference is that Falin is caring and accommodating to other people, and Laios is awkward and unobservant, seemingly egotistic at the surface level.

(others have already written wonderful essays on why and how they grew up like that)

It has to be noted that Shuro is a sheltered noble from a land where proper etiquette is paramount - he is used to people being incredibly subtle AND incredibly observant around him. He comes from a high-context culture where everyone assumes things based on lots of social cues and shared understanding of context. That's not even a matter of being neurotypical, that's his culture (in addition to his personality and brain chemistry)

He is also rather introverted as person and doesn't have many friends. Even his attachments and emotions in childhood are expressed subtly, in a restrained and proper way. He is polite and refined, perfectly fitting into his house's expectations - even if that means repressing his childhood interests and little weird joys.

In that particular way, the opposite of Laios.

Shuro hates* Laios for being the opposite of the image HE was grown into. This strange man is so utterly insensitive and so open about it - he has no sense of shame (like Shuro), no tact and ability to shut up (like Shuro), no restraint (like Shuro). Look at him talking non-stop about things he wants to talk about and having fun (unlike Shuro) while completely overestepping Shuro's obvious boundaries!

The boundaries, I must say, that not only never before needed to be spelled out, but in Shuro's upbringing and culture would be as ridiculous to spell out as "I want to pee, so I'll go to the bathroom and remove my pants and sit on the toilet and release the sphincter holding my pee in my pee bladder"

Falin is not only awesome in his eyes for being weird and in touch with nature, but for being very delicate, observant and caring AT THE SAME TIME. She is a gem in Shuro's eyes, a miracle of his dreams.

In Falin, he not only sees a nerd-freak - he sees a hope for an introverted, polite, restrained person like himself to reconnect with that love for nature and nerdiness and freakiness.

Laios isn't like that. Laios is unobservant for subtle cues - and so a lot more loud, persistent, enthusiastic and unwittingly annoying. Yes, Falin has all that inside her too - but she restrains herself in order not to be a burden. And so does Shuro, in order to fit expectations. There's similarity between them in that regard, between two introverted and restrained weirdos. And a hope for a kindred, more open soul, from the more restrained Shuro's perspective.

* - I don't think Shuro's feelings to Laios are properly described as hate. Yeah, in his darkest moment he says that, but honestly it felt more like an accumulated stress from a continuous cultural and personal misunderstanding, rather than a profound personal hate.

...

What was the post about?.. Oh, yeah, Shuro loving Falin and disliking Laios. That's not him being too horny to think, that's him loving in Falin the defining difference between the two - they aren't gender-swapped clones, after all. Give my boy some respect and nuance.

#dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #shuro dungeon meshi #shuro #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #falin touden #falin dungeon meshi #taking up the mantle of Shuro-stan #if no one is writing this in particular about him I will

[misstycloud]

Imagine yandere vampire hunter finding out he married one of the creatures he vowed to destroy. The very monster he dedicated his entire life to kill.

“…no..i-it can’t be..” his voice was barely a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear as if he was right next to you.

You stood still in the darkness, your face was a mask of indifference. If you hadn’t been blinking he would have mistook you for a statue. It appeared you’d been careless and let yourself be seen- by him no less. You could still feel the warmth of the blood dripping down you chin; a curtain of red fell down the front of your dress and stained it.

“Please tell me this isn’t real..” your husband let his eyes wander to the soon-lifeless body laying not far away. Small puffs of air was seen coming for the person, indicating they were not yet dead. The disgusting sound of gurgling in one’s own blood sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes met yours, searching for any sort of confirmation that everything was indeed a figment of his imagination.

“It is, I’m afraid.” You said.

He let out a devestatd choke, muttering ‘no’ over and over while shaking his head, clearly in denial.

You reminded yourself not to show any emotion and stepped forward. “I will not lie to you and therefor I will utter the clear truth in front of you. I am a vampire.”

“No, no you’re not.” He refused to believe it. If it had been his friend; he would prioritise duty before friendship. If it was his brother; he would do the same. Even if it was his own parents; he would die before letting insensible things such as emotions to come in the way of doing what is right. But this was different. It was you. It can’t be you. It could never be you.

But it was. Clearly. The evidence- the body- was right in front of him; unblinking and unmoving.

“You cannot look away from what is in front of you-“

“Stop saying that!” He suddenly shouted, surprising you with the sudden change in tone. “You can’t be one of….them.” He expressed in great repulsion.

Despite knowing how evil your kind is, you still though of yourself as quite good- well, as good as you can be when you’re a blood sucking, murderous creature of the night. So your husbands disdain awoke some sort of defensiveness in you.

“Well I am. And I have been for a while now.”

He seemed to think for a moment. Then he asked, “how long? How long have you been a…a vampire?” He furrowed his brow at the end, not believing he’d connect ‘you’ and the word ‘vampire’ in his life.

“36 years. Not as long as some others, but it should still count as something.”

“Oh god..”

It meant that you were one since the start- no before- your marriage. Was he truly that blind? Had love taken such hold of him that he could no longer do his job properly?

How many vampires had he killed during you union? All that while simultaneously being wed to one himself. While loving one, caring for one and even making passionate love to one. It was like some fucked-up punishment tailor-made for him.

He knew what he had to do.

The first tear fell down his cheek, betraying his stern expression and showcasing his endless sorrow. “You are evil,” he raised his crossbow, “and now you have to be judged for your crimes.” How ironic of him to talk about committing crimes of slaughter as if he wasn’t doing exactly the same. He wasn’t stupid; not all immortals were pure darkness, it wasn’t that simple. They do what they have to in order to survive. Only some killed more than they had to. Still, it didn’t change the fact that they all need to be destroyed.

Your eyes widened when he pointed the weapon straight at you. You expected this. Of course he would kill you. However, a part of you could not stop from hoping he wouldn’t think of you as a monster. That perhaps you’d finally find somewhere you can call home and be accepted for what you are. It was a naive dream. Weren’t you his wife before you were a monster? Apparently not, because an arrow shot at you at incredible speed. It hit you in the arm and you cried out in pain.

While you had physical advantages, it doesn’t mean you are immune to pain.

Ripping it out, you studied the black liquid staining it. Your husband swore and immediately prepared to launch another. You felt your fangs grow in length and you hissed at him. Throwing yourself at him the two of you rolled around on the floor, each trying to restrain the other. You managed to get ahold of his crossbow and threw it away form his reach.

Your husband quickly dug into his pockets to grab a dagger, and tried to stab you. Luckily you stopped him in time, fighting him with your vampiric strength. You had to give it to him, he was surprisingly strong for a human. Despite you having supernatural gifts, he was definitely a match and you had a hard time holding you down. If it was any other situation you would have been impressed and rather seduced by his sheer strength, unfortunately this was not a good situation for you.

You leaned down, planning to bite him, but his fast reflexes let him use his free arm to keep you at a distance. He was now on the floor with you straddling him and trying with all your might to end his life.

Your husband knocked your heads together which was the distraction he needed to kick you off of him. You clenched you forehead in pain and backed away. But there was no more time to dwell on that pain, because it was minor compared to what you felt next. Agony was in your side, accompanied by the dagger you had previously defended yourself against.

Your lover was close. Enough for you to feel his breath, and enough for you to see tears running down his regretful face.

“Why was it you?”

Whether he referred to you being a vampire or you being the one he married, you did not know. It hardly mattered anyway.

In a way, you did love your husband. It was probably not in the normal spousal way but it was there. Maybe if you weren’t a blood-sucker you two would have been truly happy together. Too bad fate had other plans. Even though it was true that you were probably evil, you wanted to live. And despite the one threatening your existence was none other than the man who’d show a you devotion and love you though t you’d never find again, this was not where you wanted it to end.

With a shriek, you used all your power to push him as hard as you could. He flew backwards into the wall. You supposed he’d fainted from the force since he wasn’t making any move to get up. You clutched your side and groaned. You had to get out of there; somewhere safe.

You stumbled to the window and put your foot on the ledge. The dagger he’d stabbed you with must be silver, otherwise it wouldn’t have made as much damage. The wound in your side burned and sizzled with pain. You had no idea if your body would be able to fully heal you in time for when you need blood again- or even at all.

“Ugh….”

You heard a cough from behind you. It was your dearest. He must be sturdier than he looks to have woken up so quickly. He had rolled over to lay on his stomach and had his arms pathetically stretched in your direction.

“D-don’t go.”

You scoffed at his audacity. “What, so you can finally finish me off?”

He whimpered, “ N-no, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have done that- why did I do that?” The last part appeared to be a criticism on himself. Nevertheless he continued, “please, I won’t do it again. I was wrong, you’re not evil I know that, I don’t know why I said that. I’m so sorry, please..”

A frown adorned your face. “It’s okay. I’m not evil, but I know I’m far from good- I’m not that delusional.” Then you turned back to the view of the outside world.

“Wait, no-“

“I have to go. I really mean it when I say this, ‘thank you for all these years together, they have been the happiest days I am now able to remember’.

“My love, don’t-“

You ignored his pleas as you jumped from the window. You landed in the dirt outside. You looked back at the house which you’d just escaped from and as you prepared to run off to another town and build up a new life (until you’d eventually have to run again) you listened to the scream of the man who’d been your husband for six years.

What was he screaming? What else if not your name.

-

#oc #male yandere #obsessed #yandere oc #possesive #misstycloud oc #yandere husband #vampire hunter husband #vampire reader #wife reader #vampire wife reader #yandere x reader #toxic #yandere husband x wife reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere imagine #fantasy #yandere human x vampire reader

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

I: To Know You….

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

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

—

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II: …Is To Love You

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

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

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

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” Violet frowns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, no…”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

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

The piano stops abruptly.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” 

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

III: … And I Do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

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

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“What on earth…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would she have?”  

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

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

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

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

Even he can read between those lines. 

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

—

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

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

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

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

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

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

A resounding yes.

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

And yet.

And yet.

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

—

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are stunned. Speechless. 

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

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

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

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

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

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

“I love you.” 

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

—

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

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[xanasaurusrex]

clarisse being touchy clarisse la rue x reader (no godly parent specified) a/n: this randomly came to me while rewatching the second episode and i decided to write it. it's 11:30pm at the time of starting this, so idk how coherent this is gonna be, but it's gonna be cute, so strap in and enjoy the ride! taglist: @asvterias @lvrue @thewritingbarbie @kroumi @ravisinghs-wife

you were used to seeing a touchy clarisse. the two often found ways to be alone, to be just the two of you alone together. this was when clarisse got out all of her touchiness on you. whenever the two of you were in your little world, she never let go of you.

but the past few days had been busy. there had been lots of different types of incidents, and the two of you hadn't been able to get together just the two of you.

so when some of the other camp counsellors announced that they were holding a counselor-only bonfire, the two of you jumped at the opportunity.

at the beginning of the bonfire, clarisse was just holding your hand. you would occasionally lean your head on her shoulder, and she would lay her cheek on the top of your head. a few times, she pressed a kiss to your hair as well.

nobody really blinked at that, since those were things that the two of you already did. it was a bit of a shock at first, clarisse acting anything but hostile towards another person, but at this point, after the two of you dating for over a year, everyone was used to it.

as the night wore on, however, clarisse's restraint dissolved. she wanted so desperately to hold you, to grab onto you and never let you go.

she started following you around wherever you were, refusing to let go of your hands. when you told her that you needed your hands to get s'more stuff, she decided to just curl her arm around your waist, and refuse to let that go.

after a while, you wandered off while she was talking to someone from her cabin. she realized two seconds too late that you had extricated her hand from your waist, and she whirled around, freaking out.

she caught sight of you just a few seconds later, sitting in a camping chair roasting a marshmallow. her eyebrows knitted together as she walked up behind you.

she gently laid her hands on your shoulders, startling you slightly. you turned your head sharply, but smiled when you caught sight of her. "hi!" you said cheerily.

clarisse's mouth turned down into a sad frown as she gave you her puppy dog eyes.

"what?" you asked, turning around further in the chair to be more head on with her.

clarisse blew out a sad breath, and made eye contact with you as she asked, "why did you leave me?"

"oh my gods," you let out a laugh as you sagged against the camping chair. "you're so dramatic," you said.

clarisse scoffed. "i looked away for one second! one second, and you were gone! i thought a monster got you," she huffed.

"no you didn't!" you started cackling as you took hold of her hand that was rested on the top of the camping chair. you gave it a gentle kiss and looked up at clarisse through your lashes, giving her your own puppy dog eyes, the ones that were famous for getting clarisse to do literally anything you want. she wavers, but does her best to remain composed. "do you wanna come sit with me?"

and that was it.

clarisse immediately walked around the camping chair, and grabbed your hands to pull you up. she sat down in the chair, and then pulled you to sit in her lap.

this was something that clarisse loved, something the two of you did quite a lot. there was just something about having you, the most important person in her life, on her lap. she was able to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you closer to her. she was also able to lay her head on your shoulder, and she really loved that.

as soon as you were sat securely on her lap, she pulled the two of you closer, and laid her head on your shoulder, closing her eyes with a small smile on her face. she laid her hand in the crook of your elbow, gently stroking your arm as you roasted your marshmallow.

it was times like this that you and clarisse absolutely shocked everyone else at camp.

clarisse was a daughter of ares, and she really fit the bill. she was known for being ruthless in combat, absolutely terrifying with her magic spear. she hunted fearlessly in her neck of the woods during capture the flag, and it was so renowned that everybody avoided those woods as best they could during the games.

suffice to say, clarisse was known for being scary.

but she was different when she was with you. it was like you flicked a switch somewhere inside of her, made her different. you softened her edges, made her less scratchy. well, with you at least. she was still just as scratchy with everyone else, so to speak.

right at this very moment, luke, chris, and a few other counselors were looking at the two of you in complete awe and confusion.

"it's so weird to see her like that still," chris says, looking at the two in confusion.

luke nodded in agreement. "i agree," he watched as clarisse nuzzled against your neck, and sent you a beaming smile as you looked down at her with one of your own. she pecked your lips softly, and luke turned back to the group he was with. "it's crazy to see the switch. literally five minutes ago she was like, scolding me for taking too many chips,"

one of the other counselors laughed. "the other day, i accidentally put a sword back in the wrong spot, and she yelled at me for a solid five minutes. right as i was about to burst into tears, y/n walked in, and clarisse immediately melted,"

"she's so whipped," luke laughed, and the others laughed along with him.

clarisse knew she was whipped, she was very much so aware of that. but she was also, very much so okay with that.

she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse larue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue drabble #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x yn #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue fluff #percy jackson #dior goodjohn #❛ xanasaurusrex ༉‧₊˚ #heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #hoo