#monster folk x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

creampie-capital · 1 year

Text

║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 3 ━║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Male Monster x Fem! Reader

Word count║23,548

The Devil May Lick Me Masterlist ━━━➤ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞

↳ ║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 1 ━║

↳ ║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 2 ━║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Photo Reference Cred ━━━➤ Found on Pinterest, so I'm unable to cred the artist. If you know who created the image, please let me know.

Do not steal, copy, or repost anywhere. My work is currently on both CREAMPIE_CAPITAL on wattpad and Imtropicalbaby on Quotev. If posted on another account or website, please report and notify me immediately.

Now onto the story :)

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"You're kidding!"

Ambrose grinned while shutting his rust-red eyes and leaning in the booth. "I cannot lie, my love." He hums.

A frown replaced the smile that was once on your lips while you settled down your half-eaten burger. "I know we've been together for some months, but moving in? Isn't that a little too fast?" You murmur carefully, although you can't help but feel warm from his dedication to your relationship.

The police chief shrugged his shoulders like it were not such a significant matter. He merely munched on a few of those deliciously salty and crunchy fries while continuing his handsome smile.

"I suppose it is a little fast, but honestly, I'm f*ckin stressed with you still working all those jobs and staying in that bad part of town." The half-Fae states. "You're still pushing yourself like you've got fines to pay, and the idea of still working to the bone makes me feel like an incompetent boyfriend."

You hum in acknowledgment before reaching over to hold his free hand. He's quick to respond, rubbing his thumb over the burn scar in soft, tender strokes.

"If I move in with you, then I'll feel like I'm mooching off of you. You're already well off, so how will I contribute? And then there's Tyrion, and he's already in the middle of his semester. And-And then there's also my dad-"

"(Y/n)." He cuts you off and squeezes your conjoined hands. Your lips purse curtly while your shoulders sag. "I know it's a lot and a bit fast in our relationship, but I'm only offering it because I care and want to make things as easy as possible for you." The man suddenly grins again and presses one of his fries to your lips. "If it makes you feel any better, I've already mentioned the idea to Tyrion, and he was on board."

You sigh but munch on the delicacy. "Of course he is. What sixteen-year-old would give up the chance to live in a mansion and be catered to by servants?"

Continuing to feed you his fries, the police officer nods his head in agreement before resuming his persuasion. "You don't need to make your decision now, but the offer will always be on the table. If you do, then you'll have the chance to do whatever you like finally. Maybe a hobby or a sport. Baby, it can be anything that you want now that you finally have the time to be selfish."

His offer is very tempting, and it is not something you can just disregard or tell him no. For years now, you have been working day and night to cover all kinds of bills and necessities.

The selfish ideas of ever continuing your education or finding a career you'd enjoy were so very distant that they would have not even existed at all.

But it has been so long that you really do not know what you would like to do. What do you even like? What is there to do if you had all that free time?

And there was also the situation with your father. He's a terrible human being who abused and neglected his ex-wife and children. His jealousy and obsession ate him alive and turned him into a repulsive creature who was left to rot in his room.

But even as awful as he was, the man was still your father. And you know just because you share the same blood doesn't mean you have to care, but you cannot help it.

If you were to kick him out of the house and have him fend for himself, he'd be homeless and jobless on the streets. Always drunk and highly inebriated, he could easily be killed or taken advantage of.

You hated him for how he treated Tyrion, but abandoning him would make you feel just like your estranged mother. And you'd rather be caught dead than be anything like that woman.

"Alright, Ambrose. I'll think about it."

The half-Fae appears to grimace as you speak his name. He raises your conjoined hands to his face, where he allows your fingers to graze over his warm lips. "Can you also think about calling me something other than my name? I'm your boyfriend. After all, be a little more loving."

"Okay, then I call you my moneybag."

Ambrose shrugs his shoulder but sighs with a lopsided smile. "A wins a win."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The fragrance of curry fills the kitchen first before invading every room of your home. A random video plays from your laptop on one of the counters.

It was one of those rare nights you had off from the hostess club, Sin Maria. Usually, you'd retire to your bedroom to get extra sleep, but considering the fact that it has been a while since you've cooked, it would be nice to make something fresh.

Though your cooking usually clears your head, you can't help but continue to think about Ambrose's offer a week ago. You still haven't provided him with a clear answer, and you really don't think you can any time soon.

Your gaze wanders across the kitchen walls to the tiled floors. There were so many memories in this place, many before your mother left that have you standing there missing the nostalgia.

Never had you ever given the thought of leaving this place. It was your childhood home, and as someone that didn't like change, you preferred what was familiar.

You sigh and lower the turner to simmer, and begin washing the dishes. Tyrion and Ambrose should be home soon, and they're probably starving.

The policeman was already so f*cking big, so it was a no-brainer that he ate just as much. And your brother was still a growing boy but towered over you like you were the younger one.

Even if you ate like them, you'd never reach their height or build.

"We're back!"

Tyrion's muffled voice from the foyer brings you back from your thoughts. "Hi, boys. Everything went okay?" You ask while finishing the dishes.

You can hear their heavy footsteps near, and when your partner's warm hands caress your hips and kiss just below your jaw, you practically melt.

Who would have thought there would be a man out there that holds you close and make you forget all your worries?

Definitely not you.

"Thank god(s) you made curry. I wanted something thick and filling." Tyrion murmurs as he removes his jacket and shuffles onto the high chair at the island.

"Lucky sh*t," Ambrose whispers before leaning down to kiss your lips real quick. "I'd love to stay for supper tonight, but I've got a family dinner with my relatives."

You feel slightly dejected and disheartened, but you push it aside. He wasn't your first love, but he still tends to make you feel like a young girl obsessed with her relationship.

"I see. I hope everything goes alright. Just keep me updated, okay?" Although you try to hide it, you know the older man can tell you are upset.

He tends to know your emotions better than you do.

One of his hands rises to caress your face as his rust-red eyes meet yours. He's in his officer uniform with his dark bomber jacket still on. Even his utility belt with his weapon and cuffs was still around his hips.

"I'll make it up by cooking for you next week when I sleep over. It'll be your favorite meal and everything."

You attempt to fight a smile, but you cannot hide it from him. Nodding your head, he places a lingering kiss on your lips before peering over at your brother.

"Take care of your sister, yeah? I'll be over tomorrow morning to pick you up for work." He states. Tyrion nods his head with an exhausted expression but does not fight back like he used to.

He's gotten the hang of his new schedule, and though he likes to complain about being babysat, you know he genuinely enjoys working beside the police chief.

With the larger man leaving, it was just the two of you left in the kitchen.

"How big of a bowl do you want, Tyrion?"

"A big one with a lot of rice."

It's nice and comfortable as the both of you settle in the living room on the couch. You put on a show that you usually watched for dinner and ate in a cozy silence.

When you were nearly done with your meal, your brother began to speak up.

"I'm ready for a new change." He abruptly murmurs with his green eyes still focused on the screen.

You swallow the bite in your mouth and shift your body to face him. "Hmm, what do you mean?"

He doesn't respond at first before laying down his empty bowl on the coffee table. "I mean... It would be a good idea to accept Ambrose's offer. If we move, then I'll have to change schools, but honestly, I don't mind. I'd rather go somewhere else where no one knows me than stay at the academy with people that look at me like I'm just a problem every day."

Tyrion sighs and leans back in his seat. "Everyone knows what happened at Everlong Crest. The kids talk about me behind my back everywhere I go, and since the news reported that we were affiliated with the Rigels, they want to get close to me to be near his money." You can hear the exhaustion in his voice and feel his sincerity. "I hate this place. I hate my used-to-be friends. I really don't want to be here anymore."

You don't know what to say. There has been a lot you've done for the benefit of your brother, and putting him in that overly-expensive academy was one of your ways to give him a better future.

Your eyes descend from his face to your left arm, where the burn scars are visible.

For as long as you can remember, you've done everything on your own.

The thought of asking others for helping or accepting others' generosity would make you sick to your stomach. People could easily take advantage of your need for help and spin it around on you.

Just like your desperation months ago to pay for the fine.

Sometimes, you swear you can still smell the stench of your burning flesh, a horror that still keeps you up at night.

"Tyrion.." You sigh and set your bowl down as well to scoot closer to your sibling. He refuses to look at you, even as you grasp his hand and hold it tight. "Are you sure? We'll be moving to a whole new area. You'll be put in a new private academy in the middle of your school year. And we'll be using Ambrose's generosity. Who knows what-"

"Do you really think Ambrose would manipulate us just because he's helping?" The green-eyed boy questioned as he finally turned to face you. "He's not like everyone else who has hurt us. I trust him."

Your lips are pursed tightly together as you take in his words. Ever since the fire at Everlong Crest, you've become even more closed off from asking for help. That fear of being lied to and betrayed still lingers so heavily in the back of your head.

It was your own flesh and blood that looked you in the eyes and said you should be thankful for her help.

"I...I'm still thinking about it. Quitting all my jobs and moving everything we have into Ambrose's home feels like we're intruding. He already has everything that it's hard to help or offer assistance in anything."

Nodding his head of dark hair, the boy descends slowly until his head rests on your lap, and he covers his face with his arms. It's dark in the living room except for the glowing light of the Tv.

There's a lot to think about...can you really be selfish and leave everything behind to be cared for and pampered by Ambrose Rigel? Will he ever betray you? Will he ever threaten his support to get you to do what he wants?

You love him, that is for sure, and if anything were ever to happen...you don't know how you will ever make it through.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Your stomach rolled and coiled, and sweat beaded down the side of your face as your right leg bounced against the floor in an erratic manner.

In the meeting room, your coworkers sat around, either bored or exhausted, whilst your manager dragged on about the monthly production rating.

His voice was mind-numbing, and the sound was annoying you more than anything. Everything seemed to aggravate you like a pot of hot water about to boil over.

The cathartic taps of rain against the office windows had your fingers twitching and desiring to form into a fist. Beeping and mechanic whirring from the printers and scanners could have blown your damn eardrums apart.

"-/n). (Y/n)...(Y/n)!"

Like being pulled out of the water, your eyes flung to your manager's hazel ones as he frowned beneath his beard.

"I-I'm sorry, what were yous saying?" You ask after clearing your throat and anxiously smoothing out the ends of your pencil skirt.

His small nose scrunched as he sighed. "It's time for your monthly report on our data intake and input." He states while settling in his seat at the head of the table.

"Oh." You swallow thickly and nod your head even though a wave of vertigo is sweeping through your skull. "Y-Yes, of course."

You stood to your feet and stalked over to the live whiteboard. The beating of your heart felt so strong yet so slow in your chest.

The irregular palpations had risen to your ears and overtook every other minuscule racket that boiled your blood.

Was the floor caving in, or was your mind just playing tricks on you? You attempted to grasp the pointer on the desk by the wall, but you missed and grabbed nothing but air.

"What?" You attempted it again, only for your coordination to be completely off and your knees to give out. Your body tumbles into the desk, and though you try to grasp the edge to catch your fall, there is no strength in your limbs to do as such.

The first thing to strike the floor was the right side of your hip before your head collided with the carpeted floor of the meeting room.

You can hear your co-workers speaking and yelling, but you can't understand a single thing. It was like you were underwater, with liquid filling your lungs and pressure building in your head.

Strength in your body dissipates, and the last thing you saw was the blurry figures of the other workers hovering above you.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

It felt like only a second had passed by the time you opened your eyes again. Instead of hearing the slowed palpations of your heart, you hear the rhythmic mechanical beeping of a heart rate monitor beside you.

Your eyes weigh heavy with exhaustion, desiring to remain closed, but the scenery before you were not the office meeting room.

There is a tv hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room that plays some old Spanish telenovela. It's muffled with your monitor being the loudest noisemaker in the place.

Ambrose is on your left, slumped in a chair by your hospital bed. His muscular arms are crossed over his broad chest while his head is dipped down to signify that he is asleep.

On your right is Tyrion, who held onto your hand as he leaned over and slept on your bed. His face is turned the other way, but the grip on your fingers is rather firm.

You attempt to speak, but it seems your throat is nothing but dry sandpaper. Rough, coarse, and painful, you needed anything to drink.

Thankfully there appeared to be a pitcher on a small table by the Chief's side.

"Oh, baby, you're awake."

You're so lethargic that what should have scared you merely felt like another normal moment. You peer over at the older man, who begins to pour you a glass of water and holds it to your lips.

"I'm glad you're awake now. Any longer, and I would have freaked." Ambrose murmurs as you drink so desperately.

You exhale a breath of hair through your nose like a laugh. The last time he freaked had been at the hotel when it was burning down. Everyone got to see what a powerful and talented Fae he was, even more so than a full-blooded one.

Luckily these poor overworked doctors did not have to deal with a worried and pissed-off police Chief.

"What happened? I was just at the office in the middle of a meeting." Your voice cracks and softens due to your unconsciousness, but the man still understands.

He reaches over with one of his large veiny hands to caress your leg, which is covered in a thin blanket, as he meets your eyes. "You passed out at work, and the ambulance had to bring you over to the hospital. They called Tyrion, who was with me, and we both rushed over as soon as we heard."

The right side of your head aches from where you hit it on the ground and prompts you to shift awkwardly. Through the large windows in your personal room, you can see that it was dark out with the moon hidden behind thick clouds.

Rain still pours from the storm across the city, thumping against buildings, and you could practically smell that petrichor scent.

"It was probably just the stress. There's been a lot on my mind, and it doesn't help that I haven't been eating as much." You try to joke and smile to lighten the mood, but it appears the usually goofy half-Fae wasn't grinning this time.

You immediately dropped your expression and subconsciously squeezed the hand that your brother was holding.

"You're not wrong; it was partially the stress. But baby..." He swallows thickly. "The doctors said you are pregnant." Your eyes enlarge and pop out of their sockets as your lips fall agape.

Maybe you misheard him; the Tv probably distracted you for a moment.

"You're three months pregnant, and the stress of you constantly working and not caring for yourself had your body overwhelmed." He states, the warmth of his hand nearly burning your skin.

"I-I..." You don't know what to say. It should have been expected, considering how intense and loving Ambrose is...and how everything you do provokes him to give you 'your reward.'

Though, there really had never been a moment you ever thought of being pregnant. Life had not had you in their favor, and it had just been about enduring until the next day.

For the longest time, it's just been you and Tyrion. You were each other's family; nobody else needed to be part of it.

But now there's a baby growing inside of you. It was your child...yours and Ambrose Rigel's. Your very, very small and minuscule family tree just grew exponentially.

Ambrose's hand on the left side of your jaw gained your attention. He smiles as he caresses your skin, and the magic from his fingertips manages to calm your raging mind.

"I know it's so sudden and a lot to take in, but baby, I'm so f*cking happy. I love you so much, and this-" His other hand finds its place atop your stomach, which you hadn't even noticed was slightly pooched. "-I wouldn't want to be having a child with anyone other than you. You're the love of my life and family. No one can ever replace that."

A sting in the inner corner of your eyes began to ache as tears welled over in your eyes. His comforting hands, his genuine words, and that loving look in his eyes had you feeling overwhelmed, but in a good way.

Ever since Ambrose showed up in your life, he's done nothing but help you. He's given you so much good, allowing you to look forward to the joys of partnership.

He was the best male role model your brother needed and the best support system that you weren't even looking for.

"I'm not trying to pressure you, my love. But now I'm even more adamant that you both move in with me. You're working two jobs for no reason." The half-Fae leans closer. "All that stress while not taking care of your body can have you get really sick, baby. I thought I lost you in that fire, and it was like having my whole world destroyed. If anything else happens-If, I really do lose you. I swear I-"

You cease his rambling by covering his lips with your free hand. He's confused at first, but as you grace him with a small smile, he calms and releases his boxed shoulders.

"It's not easy for me to just let you do everything. But I trust you."

Sharing a grin, you both lean into a soft and tender kiss that feels so affectionate.

"Alright, it's time for me to go." Tyrion suddenly speaks as he rises from his slouched position and rubs his eyes.

You don't scowl or grimace. Instead, you reached to scratch his head. "Guess you should start packing, Prince."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You returned home that night, exhausted but filled with so many emotions due to the news. Ambrose decided to sleep over, becoming suddenly even more protective than he already was.

His arms were even more secure as they held you to his chest. The scent of him holds you in a bubble of comfort, and his presence makes you feel like you're the most protected person in the world.

In the morning, he nearly missed work to stay home with you. Worrying over leaving you home alone was tying him down, but with a kick in his butt, you managed to get him and Tyrion out of the house in time.

You were supposed to work at the office as well, but you called in and quit. Usually, you would have given two weeks' notice, but a.) Ambrose probably was already going to have you move before that. and b.) you hated that f*cking place.

The old yokai from the hostess club was more understanding as you told her the news. She had watched over and wanted the best since you joined years ago.

It feels as though she's more satisfied that you found a competent and rich partner than finally getting to quit working, but you know she's happy that you're happy.

Now...the biggest issue was your father. You didn't know what to say or how to break the news to him. Thankfully, Ambrose decided to take it into his own hands. While you were at your jobs to pick up your things one day, you came home to find that your estranged father was nowhere to be seen.

That's when the half-Fae informed you that he had Sorren transferred over to an institution for supposedly 'people like him.'

You didn't want to know more. He's someone you don't want to be involved in your family anymore. He's just another x on the tree.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Oh, wow." You murmur as you lean over through the open truck window. Ambrose lived in the rich neighborhood of the city where the sky was bluer, the air was more breathable, and the houses were several stories bigger.

Your old home was situated on the farthest side of the city, and this drive was at least an hour and a half long. To think your partner had been driving so far to be at your house and to work at the station.

This was going to be the view you'd see every day, the streets you'd now walk through when you needed a breath of fresh air.

Tatiana Belle Lane was where your new home was situated; it's your new address, your new identity.

Where the rich look down at the poor beneath these hills.

You suddenly grow very anxious, shifting in your seat. It was so sudden and hasty, a pregnancy and a new move.

"I can feel your nervousness from here." Ambrose's voice cuts through your fluctuating thoughts as he reaches over to grasp one of your hands. "It's okay to feel like that, my love. I know it's a big change."

His warmth is so reassuring, and the tingling sensation of his magic really grounds you in your place.

It feels like you've been through so much that you're afraid to be happy. Was it all fake? Will this new life be ripped away?

"Right here. Your guy's new home."

You and Tyrion's jaws drop as fancy golden gates part, and the half-fae continues down a long driveway.

All throughout your relationship, you hadn't once stayed over at his house. It was out of your way for work that you hadn't once accepted his offer, well, until now.

The home is modern, but instead of being made of sleek material, it is more like a comforting home of bricks and stone. Made of four floors and what appeared like three different extended garages, wealth seeps into the air and spurs your stomach to roil.

Or was that just your baby doing front flips?

Pulling up by the front, Ambrose shuts off his truck and exits the vehicle. You're slow and tedious as you undo your seatbelt, but the half-Fae is already by your side to help you out of your seat.

"Come on, Tyrion. I'll show you to your room." He beckons your brother over so the three of you can enter together.

His hands were firmly around your body, and you were sure it was to keep you upright from the sight of money everywhere.

Just like the outside, everything inside could easily be discerned as expensive and luxurious—fine walls, chandeliers, maids, and butlers who bowed while going on with their jobs.

"Do you think if I stayed here long enough, I'd become gold?" The young teen murmurs to himself as his green optics shimmer in amazement.

Both you and your partner share a laugh before the Chief walks the two of you on a tour. There were so many rooms, so many hallways and corridors that you were going to have to remember.

Tyrion's bedroom, study, gaming room, and observatory were on the east wing on the third floor, while yours were situated on the west.

Your baby's nursery was already set up close to yours, and the sight nearly brought you to tears. It felt so surreal to see it.

You were really pregnant, growing a baby that is a part of you and Ambrose. The tiny family you were breaking your back to care for had grown like a flower blossoming.

And that flower had become rooted in better nutrients, where it didn't have to fight for sunlight or scavenge for water.

Everything it needed was provided.

Leaving your brother to get situated in his new bedroom, Ambrose settled you on the vast and luxurious mattresses covered in (soft/smooth) sheets and comforters.

He kneels in front of you to hold one of your hands while caressing the small of your back.

"You okay, baby? You look like you're about to pass out." He jests while smiling that handsome grin and cocking his head of sepia brown hair.

You nod your head and focus on his face, viewing his rust-red eyes that glimmer like jewels and pale skin that flushes brightly when he blushes.

"It's just...a lot, you know? This big home, maids and servants...this just isn't me. Everything I owned, I worked for."

The half-Fae nods his head in understanding and holds you close. "I know there's so much going on; a new home, our baby, but this is what you deserve. You deserve to be pampered-" He leans forward to kiss your nose. "-and spoiled." His lips drag down to reach your lips, where he graces you with a deep and intimate kiss.

He's lowered his smoking intake after being informed of your pregnancy, so the taste of tobacco on his tongue is not as potent as usual. It's more of strawberries and mango.

Gingerly you are pushed onto your back as he holds down one of your hands above your head while caressing your pooched tummy over your sweater.

The scent of spices mixed with his masculine fragrance practically makes you drunk in your spot. Your mind melts like ice, and your strength weakens to where it feels as if he were sucking the energy out of you.

His massive hand on your belly migrates to slip in through the hem of your leggings, but before he can go farther, his phone rings from the back pockets of his dark jeans.

Ambrose pulls away with an annoyed huff and snatches the device from the pouch. He glances at the screen and sighs as he gets off you to answer the call.

"Hey, dad." He speaks while wiping his mouth with the back of his costly button-up. "Yeah, (Y/n) and Tyrion are here and are getting settled into their rooms."

You sit up to center your ragged breathing and clench your thighs to alleviate the need for friction. The human father and full-blooded Fae mother live very close to the main building, just off in one of the annexes less than a minute's walk away.

It feels weird to be spoken of by his parents, but it's like they acknowledge your presence and your relationship with their son.

"Mmm, it's already a lot for her right now, so I don't know about that," Ambrose states as he glances over at your figure. You tilt your head curiously, and apparently, you must have looked so cute because the older man blushed like fresh flowers took their place on his cheeks.

He rushes over to kiss your lips in a desperate manner so that you can feel his magic spike and shoot warmth through your veins.

"Mhm." He murmurs while grasping the back of your head and deepening your intimate closeness. The talking on the other end is mumbled and barely coherent, but you can make out your name being mentioned a few times.

Abruptly pulling away, he sighs and glances down to meet your hazy gaze. "Fine, I'll ask." The Chief pulls away his phone to provide a little privacy. "My parents want to come over for dinner to meet you and your brother."

"H-Huh!?" You exclaimed while your eyes nearly bug out. It hasn't even been a day since you've come to your new home, but now his parents want to meet you!?

Yes, you do hold their grandchild in your tummy, but it feels all so sudden.

Easily taking your shocked reaction as an answer, he brought the phone back to his ear and answered with a bit of annoyance. "She's not feeling good, so not tonight. Now goodbye."

"Wait!" You called and grasped one of his firm forearms. Ambrose raises a thick brow out of confusion, and for a moment, you feel rather timid. "I-It's okay. Dinner shouldn't be too bad."

The older man seems worried by your answer. "Baby, are you sure? We can reschedule for another day when you've settled and are more comfortable." He offers.

His words bring you comfort and remind you of the many reasons why you love his man. With you, he's so considerate and caring. Your feelings are a priority to him, and before he does anything, he asks for your opinion first.

"Yes. Better sooner than later, and I'm going to meet them eventually, considering they often stay in the main building."

"Ah, if you weren't already pregnant, I'd be giving you a baby right now." Ambrose gushes, his face flushing as he kisses your lips once more before standing to his feet. "If the dinner doesn't drag on too long, it should be alright. Around six in the main building? We'll have some vegetarian options as well."

They speak not too long before the call ends, and he returns his full attention to you. Your tummy is so warm from his gaze that you don't think that you can get used to it.

"Do you want to shower now or take a nap before getting ready?" He sought while taking a seat next to you on the massive bed.

You meet his gaze, a mischievous gaze glinting in your eyes. "If I shower now, you should join me then."

A smirk grows on his lips, and before you can even react, he sweeps you into his arms like a fresh new bride. A squeal echoes out as you clutch onto the back of his neck in surprise.

"Oh, baby. We've got a little time before dinner, so I think I'll snack on you for a bit."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"(Y/n), if you keep fixing my damn hair like this, it's all going to fall off." Tyrion laments which freezes your movements.

You stand stagnant, realizing your hands have been combing through his hair anxiously as the time nears closer.

"Sorry." You whisper and drop your hands by your side. The first time you meet your boyfriend's parents, it's when you're pregnant, just moved in, and now no longer working.

They probably are going to think you are some freeloader that trapped their son with a baby.

Ambrose's hands settle on your hips and keep you from toppling over. "It's okay, my love. You can go to our room, and I'll send someone to bring over dinner so you can eat in private." He offers while meeting your gaze.

Even through everything, your feelings are what matter. But it probably would look bad if you left right now.

"No, it's alright. I-I think I need to sit down." Your brother and boyfriend help you into a seat at the head of the table as you drink from your water cup.

"Rose. My dear, we are here." The voice of an older woman infiltrates the corridors of the mansion, and you immediately freeze up in your seat.

You can literally feel the authority reeking in her tone. His mother was a cutthroat businesswoman who was the reason why they had the money they did now.

All of these luxuries were because of her, and she could take them away as she deemed fit.

"Mom, dad, glad to see you both in good health," Ambrose announces as he leaves your side to meet his parents at the entrance of the dining hall.

He hugs his father first, who is nearly the spitting image of himself. The same sepia brown hair, only greying at the roots. They share the same prominent jaw shape and physical build. Their both tall, and their presence holds space.

But then your eyes divert to his mother, and your blood runs cold like ice. She, too, was tall, at 6'3 (190 cm), with a slender build. Cold rust red eyes stared into yours, and her golden hair pulled into a thick tight bun at the top of her head hardened her expression.

Wearing a navy blue blouse and a similar colored skirt that reaches the ground, you see the confidence in her stance, not to mention the eye-catching and massive wings that looked so ethereal and sprouted from her upper back.

"(Y/n)'s not feeling well, so I apologize if she doesn't stand. Come meet her." He ushered them both closer to your figure in the seat, and you swear you're shrinking under their gaze.

"Mom, dad, this is my partner and the woman with your grandchild. This is (Y/n) and her younger brother Tyrion. (Y/n), Tyrion, this is my father, Oberon, and my mother, Ursula."

What you had not expected was for the father to smack the back of Ambrose's head and tug on his ear. "You little sh*t! Your partner looks like she could pass out right now, and you're forcing her to attend dinner with all of us?" He reprimands him harshly.

"N-No!" You catch their attention as you rise from your seat while holding onto the table to keep yourself up. "He desired for me to rest, but I said I wanted to be here for dinner to meet you both."

Oberon releases his son to hold his hands together and turns to face his wife. "Look at her; she's being so cute!" He gushes though the wife's stern expression remains the same as she stares at you.

"Well, we shouldn't let the mom-to-be starve any longer," Urusula states while taking a seat at the other end of the table. "Let's commence with the dinner."

You sink into your seat as Tyrion gives you a sympathetic look. "Just say the word; I'll start a distraction so you can leave." He whispers.

This was a serious moment, but you couldn't help but crack a smile and push him away to his seat. "Alright, I'll let you know."

Once everyone settled down and took a seat at the table, servants came in with delicacies and cuisines only those fancy restaurants would serve for hundreds of dollars. Ambrose, Oberon, and Ursula do not seem phased at all at the sight, but you and Tyrion share a side-eye expression.

No one speaks at first, everyone just eating to their heart's content with the adults drinking wine. God(s), you could go for a glass yourself if you weren't pregnant.

You glance down at your stomach beneath your turtleneck and breathe in deeply. Every once in a while, you need to remind yourself of this fact.

As much as you love this little thing in your tummy, it's hard to accept the reality that your body isn't just yours anymore. There's a baby completely dependent on you for safety, nutrients, and nurture.

"Is the food to your liking?"

Your vision shifts over to the golden-haired Fae, who swirls the wine in her glass. Her pomegranate-hued wings flicker behind her, and speckles of light fall from the tips.

"Oh, yes. I'm just not used to such cuisines; I usually cook at home."

"You cook?" She rephrases and crosses one leg over the other. "I should have you over the annex for a session then. Do you prefer Asian or European cuisines?"

"I don't have a preference." You respond and smile to appear as harmless as possible.

The older woman hums while nodding her head. "I see. I should have a nutritiousness doctor visit. It's obvious you don't eat well or often. Your body isn't your own anymore, and you should really remember that fact."

It feels like you are being reprimanded at the table, but you know she is right. Ambrose and Tyrion look over at you to see your expression, but you merely nod your head and resuming your eating.

"You are right, and I will. I thank you for your consideration and will follow through with the nutritiousness."

The golden-haired Fae nodded, too, as if she were pleased with your response. There's a small smile just barely noticeable on her face that she conceals behind a wine glass.

"You should rest more and lay off your feet. And also hold off on the intimacy until later on your pregnancy."

Your face burns at her words, and your boyfriend blushes in bright ruddiness. Tyrion scrunched his nose in disgust and turned to face you. "It's time to take my leave." He whispers.

"Mom." Ambrose nearly hisses, and she faces him like she is wrongfully being accused of a crime.

"What. You're the exact copy of your father, personality and all." She states while crossing her arms beneath her bust.

It was a moment where you couldn't help but laugh at the embarrassed expression of the half-Fae and his father. They both were making the exact sheepish gaze with their head dipped down, eyes closed, and twitching smiles.

You don't know what it was, but you found enjoyment in the scene. It's obvious he was relatively close with his parents, and they shared a connection of deep love.

But that was soon interrupted by the salivating in your mouth, the pressure in your throat, and a sharp stab to your stomach.

"Baby?" The Chief questions with all attention landing on your figure, but you are unable to respond as you bolt from your seat.

You're lucky a half bathroom was near, but the harsh burning of retching was less than desirable. Everything you just ate had left your stomach to desecrate the once clean basin.

Ambrose was quick to be by your side, grasping your hair to keep it away while rubbing soothing circles on your back.

Tears well in your eyes with the acid burning the back of your throat.

"My love, if I could take away all your pain, I'd do it in a heartbeat." Your boyfriend sounds so pained, like your distress was shared with him as well.

There's a knock at the door, followed by his mother speaking. "(Y/n), you should take a rest now. I'll be back to bring over some tea and some snacks I ate when I was pregnant." The older woman informs.

You want to thank her, but your focus has returned to the intense dry heaving.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Heh, you don't look very nervous."

Tyrion peered over at the older man beside him in the truck before leaning against his hand against the door. "It's whatever. All schools are the same." He murmured.

Ambrose laughed to himself while driving with one hand. He subconsciously reached for his pack of cigarettes, but after a moment, he realized what he was doing and shoved it into the side compartment of his vehicle.

"I went to this one back in my day, my brother and me."

Your brother's clover green eyes flickered to view the strong side profile of the Chief. "You don't talk about your brother often."

"Well, he's dead for one." Ambrose utters before reaching over to pat the top of the teen's head. "It's been years, but it's why I can understand your pain. It is traumatizing, something you just can't easily forget."

'Sh*t, why did I say ask that!?' Your sibling reprimands himself as he hides his mouth in the palm of his hand.

In the distance, they could see the massive private academy nearing. His old school was expensive and costly, but it barely compared to what he was seeing in front of him.

The air from his open window reminded him of the chief, infused with magic that was so warm it could be numbing.

"Hey, there's been something I've been wondering for a while." The green-eyed teen begins so he can gain the older man's attention. "I've always wondered why you work as a police chief and not take over your mom's position."

Ambrose licks his bottom lip before leaning back in his seat. "Mm, there's quite a few reasons, I guess. Originally the heir position was supposed to go to my older brother, Preston. After what happened, It was 'transferred' to me. But it didn't feel like it ever belonged to me, so I found something else that I enjoyed. Plus, I think it helps my mom to work still and busy herself so she doesn't think about it."

Tyrion hummed. "Do you think you'll ever quit as chief to take over?"

"I don't know." The sepia-haired man laughed and glanced over at your brother. "Maybe one day it'll be you who takes over."

Your brother feels his face heat up and snap away to hide his expression. "W-What about your own kid?" He questions.

"You are my kid." Tyrion had to swallow down a sob. "But they'll have a choice to be whatever they want when they grow up.

It's quiet in the vehicle, with not a single male speaking. Just quiet ambiance and the rumble of the vehicle.

Only after a bit does the half-Fae interrupt the silence. "There aren't many humans in the academy, but you have our family's pin, so wear it with pride."

Tyrion stomach rolls and flips. It wasn't 'My family'; it was 'Our Family.' It's still difficult to accept that it was no longer just you and him against the world. But the presence of Ambrose was like a father, and it felt too good to be real.

Sometimes, he fears that one day he's going to open his eyes and that all of this is just his imagination. He'll be right back at the old house, staring at his bedroom door and worrying if his father will ever step through.

"Everyone here comes from prominent families or clans. You'll meet other Fae's, Elves, and dragon descendants. They each wear a brooch to signify their 'power household'-" The sepia-haired adult rolled his eyes at the words but continued on. "-and you know its, the typical stuff where one feels more entitled than the other because their family has a deeper history or their ancestors won wars."

They pull up to the front, where other students are bustling around. Some wear wings like Ambrose's mother; others have pointed or angled ears, and a few even sport horns.

"But don't feel discouraged, and don't feel like you have to bow your head. The Rigel clan is a powerful and prominent family, and we hold our heads high."

It's a foreign concept to Tyrion. He's always felt like a lesser being to his old schoolmates, who looked down on him for being impoverished.

They took advantage of his desperate situation and manipulated his fitful heart to fill it with false recognition.

But things are different now.

Your brother and partner step out of the vehicle to enter the private academy. Ambrose hadn't been in the police uniform, instead dressed in a fine dark suit with a black button-up. He looked expensive and like a man that belonged to the Rigel family.

On the other hand, Tyrion wore the uniform for his sophomore grade. Dark slacks, a black button-up with a cyan-green vest.

The Rigel family brooch was a pair of gold wings encrusted with diamonds and a pearl-shaped blue diamond dangling from the middle of the wings.

Easily anyone could tell that this one simple brooch could buy the country. Never before did your brother think he'd be wearing something so precious and pricey.

"Come, let's go meet your headmaster." Ambrose articulated in a comforting tone as he placed his hand at the top of your bother's back in between his shoulder blades.

The students were eyeing them up as they passed, ceasing whatever they were doing to stand and watch.

He felt those judging eyes before who looked at him like he were filth. But now they seemed like the gaze of a predator, eyeing up the new bait.

"Mr. Rigel! I can't believe how much you've grown!" An older Fae with grey hair in a high ponytail and straight bangs exited an office to stalk over to the two. Her lilac eyes seemed to reminisce at the sight of the older man while holding her hands on her hips. "All big and tall, you look just like your mother!"

Tyrion snorted, which earned a small glare from Ambrose. "It's good to see you as well, Ms. Nimue. It appears like you haven't aged at all since my day."

The headmaster waves her hand like she is embarrassed before training her angled eyes on the teen. "This must be Tyrion. Hello, how are you, my boy?" She sought.

He feels nervous now. "Oh, I'm good, Ma'am."

Nodding her head, the older woman reaches down by a desk to grab a packet and hand it over. "For reasons, you'll find out later, your last name in the academy will be Rigel." She shared a wink with Ambrose and began down the wide corridors. "You appear to be farther ahead in your academies, so you should have no trouble settling in. Your home room is here; math, English, and creative writing will be over here in the Green Wings. The other courses are down by the Blue Wings."

The headmaster continues her tour, with Tyrion and Ambrose following behind. It is a huge academy, even larger than his old one. He's sure to struggle and get lost multiple times.

Other students continued their staring, but it wasn't a bother anymore. Not only was he wearing the Rigel family brooch, but he was also aided by Ambrose Rigel himself; no one would even think about messing with him.

Finally, the tour was done as they returned to the homeroom. "I trust you'll be good." Ambrose muses as he messes with the teen's styled hair. "I won't be able to pick you up after school since your sister and I will be at the hospital for natal care, so my dad will be here instead."

The headmaster holds her face like she is in disbelief. "I still cannot believe you finally have a child. I thought the bloodline would end with you." She gushes.

Your brother sighs, feeling exhausted already. "Alright. I'll see you later."

"Be safe, and remember what I told you. Oh, and try not to cause trouble."

"No promises."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Going from the kid everyone used to make fun of that came from that side of town to now the new guy everyone wanted to get to know...was a nuisance.

It was easy to tell that the other students were trying to suck up to him because he was a 'Rigel.' Apparently, good luck would come to those associated with the family, or so the legend goes.

Kids his own age wanted to carry his books or offer their snacks. They presented their notes and homework, anything to get on his good side.

He was getting sick of this.

In his last period, it was a study hall in the massive library that finally got him a chance to take a break. For the first time, he was alone and could finally think for himself.

The teacher kept it quiet and serene, and he was thankful for it. His phone suddenly buzzed, and he peered down at the screen to see that it was a text from you.

◤

Lord & Saivor🙏

Hey, I'm about to head to the doctors with Ambrose.

How's your new school going? No one is teasing you or causing you problems, right?

◢

He found himself laughing at the message. Shouldn't you be asking if he were the one causing trouble or getting into fights?

◤

1 (XXX) XXX - YYYY

It's going okay. I'm being treated like a prince.

◢

"Oo~! What a bad boy you are."

Tyrion's green gaze flung up to meet molten golden ones. A girl wearing the school uniform to his grade but completely styled in an almost alternative way descended into the seat in front of him.

Her hair was white like untouched snow and pulled into pigtails that reached the floor. Clips and bows decorated it and were similar colors to her eccentric makeup and eyeliner.

What caught his eye the most were the two charcoal-grey baby horns protruding from the top of her head.

"What do you want?" Tyrion snapped as he concealed his phone in the pocket of his slacks. The girl shrugged her shoulders and leaned back in her seat.

There was a pin on the white button-up of a golden dragon. The eyes were a yellow diamond, and the claws were made of ruby in a manner like they were dripping blood.

"Just checking out the fresh meat." She states while raising her left hand to examine her painted nails. They were long and almond-shaped, painted golden with glitter. "I'm Zafira. Zafira Drakkoth Ormr."

Your brother scrunched his nose and raised a brow. "Kay, now that you're done. I'm leaving." He stated while rising to his feet.

"Wait!" Zafira called only to get hushed by one of the librarians. She sneered before training her attention back on the teen boy. "How rude. You don't just walk away from someone trying to talk to you."

The green-eyed boy snorted and reached for his bag. "I'm not interested in getting to know you or anybody else. If you want to get involved with the Rigel's, you'll have to figure out another way-"

His speech was interrupted as the dragon descendant shanked him in the waist with her hand. Tyrion toppled over, holding his side as he lay dazed on the marbled flooring.

Zafira squatted down, his face in line with her cyan-green skirt that just barely covered her modesty. "You little sh*t. You may be a Rigel, but I'm an Ormr. It's obvious you don't know my history, but I'm from a family just as old and ancient as yours."

"Ormr! Go to the Headmasters." Orders the librarian, who flung to her feet from her desk.

The white-haired hair girl scoffed, and with a raise of her finger, Tyrion's body flew back into his seat. She stands in her chunky boots and meets the other teen's eyes. "See you later, Rigel. And next time, try being a little nicer."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

A few months have passed since the two of you moved into Ambrose's home. It was hard to adjust, hard to accept this easy, pampered life was really yours.

But the baby growing steadily in your belly really grounded you to reality. You were going to be a mother, and even though you didn't have a good one, there was no way in hell that you would ever create a traumatic childhood for your youngin.

It was an early morning on a Tuesday; you hadn't slept at all the night before, so you decided to go for a walk. Ambrose didn't want to leave you alone, so he sluggishly followed you.

Draped in robes with your initials, the both of you traversed through the gardens on the land. Your boyfriend held a mug of coffee to his lips as he yawned for the umpteenth time that morning.

Straying from caffeine, you drank from a cup of hot chocolate that contrasted against the cool early breeze.

The sun was rising, just about peeking through the horizon.

"Should we return back soon and get ready for your appointment today?" Ambrose questioned as he sat on one of the benches. His eyes barely could stay open, with his wide shoulders sagging from exhaustion.

It's still funny to see that this almost perfect man is not a morning person.

"Just five more minutes." You mumble quietly, just appreciating the scenery and fresh air.

"Okay." He yawns, wrapping one of his arms around your hip and resting his head against your bulging belly.

You've been thinking about what to do with all this free time. You wanted to work, but with your pregnancy, the Chief was highly against it.

And surprisingly, even his mother was as well. Ursula would have your head if she found you working or pushing yourself.

Initially, you thought she was going to hate you, but it seems just's more of the type to give tough love. It might have been due to losing her oldest that she closed herself off from being too emotional.

"Madam...Madam, you have a phone call." Your gaze turns to the side where a maid is approaching with a vase in her hand of fresh flowers.

You raised a brow before lightly patting the half-Fae's face to wake him up. "Who could that be so early?" Your words are to no one else but yourself.

The three of you travel back into the mansion and into the tea room, where one of the home phones was at.

Ambrose collapses on one of the long couches as he shields his eyes with one of his arms. You settle on a loveseat while bringing the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Is this (Y/n)?" It was the voice of a young boy in early adolescence, for sure.

With your brows furrowed and lips pursed, you respond cautiously. "Yes, who is this?"

"I-It's Tyr." You're surprised by this response: Tyr, your younger brother from the other marriage of your mother, is calling you.

"What's wrong? Why are you calling me?" It is not your intent to sound harsh, but that side of the family is a side you don't want to be involved in.

With what happened at Everlong Crest, you're practically even more resentful.

There's screaming in the background, followed by hysterical crying. "U-Um, can you take us away? Just for a little bit. Mom is...she's not well." He whispers through the other end.

You peer over Ambrose, whose already sitting up, now appearing fully awake. "Angus, inform my parents that'll we'll be out and ask them to give Tyrion a lift." He orders one of the butlers standing about, who quickly scurries off to follow through.

"Tyr, It's a six-hour drive to your house. Who-"

"Please." The ten-year-old whispers, which were followed by a sound of glass shattering

They're just kids, and you're the adult in this situation. It's not right to still hold this grudge against them when they are the innocent party.

By the sound of it, your mother is having a full mental breakdown. She's screaming and shouting, throwing things, and breaking glass.

"Alright, can you get your brothers into a room that locks from the inside? A room that your mother can't get into."

Tyr stutters but answers with a weak 'yes.'

"Hold off for as long as you can. We're coming."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"Hey, big shot!"

Tyrion sighed but hadn't turned around to face the Ormr descendant who called behind him. He merely continued his way through the busy corridor.

He could hear Zafira cussing him out and cracked a smile before letting it disappear once the girl caught up to him.

"You're so mean~!" She whined now that she strutted alongside him. Her arms were covered in that pretty pink jacket crossed below her chest as her heeled boots clicked against the floor. "How do you even have friends?"

"Ormr, I already told you that I don't care about that stuff," Tyrion murmured in a dreary tone. There was some time before their next lesson started, so your brother wanted to find a quiet place to nap.

But with his classmate following, he wasn't even going to get a wink.

"Emo~." She teased while sticking her pierced tongue out.

The green-eyed boy sighs at her remark but doesn't say anymore as the two venture out into the garden.

Its clear and bright, thick fluffy clouds formed shapes, and a crisp breeze felt so good in his lungs.

"What's going on, big shot? You've been more quiet than usual." Zafira comments as she skips around to stand in front of your brother.

The dragon descendant was short, even with her chunky boots. He's 6'2 (189cm), but it feels like he towers over the girl.

Her pointy teeth stuck out from her top lip, and for some reason, it looked really cute.

His face suddenly burned like flames were pressed against them, and he snapped his gaze away. "Nothing. It doesn't involve you."

Huffing, the girl smashed her fist into his shoulder before turning away to show him her back. "Hmph! You're going to be a loner if you keep acting like that!" She warned, but your brother didn't take it seriously.

He simply found a bench beneath a shaded tree and lay across it, using his school bag as a pillow under his head.

Even so, Zafira followed him and collapsed on the seat as well, right next to his pack. She was tapping away on her phone that had dangly little chibi dragons and hearts stringed from the bottom of the pink case.

"Somethings bothering you, Rigel, I can tell. I've known you for a couple of months now, and you're usually a lot more talkative. Even if it's only to argue with me."

Tyrion sighs and parts his eyes to come into the view of the dragon descendant. Even though her molten golden eyes are on her cellular device, he can feel the warmth that comes from it.

"Do you have siblings?"

Zafira scoffs and shakes her head. "You f*ckin bet. I've got three older sisters and two younger brothers. You're an only child, right? Well, for now, at least. I've heard your mom's pregnant with Ambrose Rigel's child."

Your brother grimaces before glancing toward the blue sky. "She's actually my sister but technically adopted me. But, yeah...(Y/n)'s not due for another couple of months-"

"I see what's going on."

He sits up swiftly at the white-haired girl's word and rotates to face her.

She smiles while turning off her phone, her little fangs on display as her eyes shine in the light. "You're jealous of an unborn child! How cute~!"

Tyrion could feel his face burn at her statement and swiftly grabbed her cheeks, tugging on them so crocodile tears welled in her eyes. "What are you talking about!? You have too much of a vivid imagination!"

Zafira snatches his face, and the two begin pulling each other's cheeks, but the tugging, unfortunately, leads to the two tumbling off the small bench.

Her back strikes the grassy floor first, with Tyrion just barely catching himself above her. His hands are pressed into the ground beside her head while his knees are on either side of her hips.

Their faces on near each other, and her hands are pressed firmly against his chest. For a moment, their both stunned and unable to move; even their breathing seems to stutter.

To his surprise, Zafira's hands suddenly begin to squeeze around his pectorals. "For a human, these are quite developed..."

Your brother's face burns so hot he nearly passes out and flings himself off of her. "You pervert! This is why you have no friends yourself! Manhandling everyone!"

The dragon descendant pointed a finger at him and shouted back. "It's not my fault your big a** boobs fell in my hands! Maybe you're the pervert!" She bellowed.

In the garden that was scarce of any other students, the two began to bicker back and forth until the bell rang, and they went their separate ways...

...With their faces burning and hearts beating.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Later that day, Oberon picked Tyrion up from the private academy, and the two shared a conversation until they returned home.

Ambrose's truck was parked right in the front, which had the teen raise a brow. If he were home, then why didn't the Chief pick him up?

Entering the mansion, Tyrion made his way towards the living room, where he heard laughing and the sound of your voice.

Curious, he stepped closer with his hands in his pocket and parted his lips to speak, but they fell agape at the sight.

To his surprise and horror, the three Qadir siblings sat on the couch while drinking hot chocolate from small mugs.

"What!?" He can barely get his voice out as he meets the boys' scarlet red eyes before meeting your gaze. "Why are they here!?"

"Tyrion, calm down." You scold while standing to your feet. "Their mom is having a breakdown, and it's not safe for them to be around her. They'll be here just for a bit until she gets better."

Your brother sneers at you while pointing a finger at your left side. "I don't give a f*ck! You almost f*cking died because of them! Because of him! You wanna test it again by having them here!" He bellows, his body filling with so much fury that his ears are popping.

You frown, eyes drooping and lips scowling. It's easy to understand your brother's hate, the fury hidden in his heart. All that envy sticks to his throat like glue.

To have your own mother not love you at all and have another family, she cherished must be eating him alive.

"Tyrion." Ambrose calls as he nears your brother, but the teen steps back like the Chief's hands were poisoned.

"Don't touch me!" He sneers while backing up. "I should have known better. I'm always going to be nothing but a burden you'll try to get rid of. To think you'd replace me with them pisses me off!"

"Tyrion, wait!" You attempt to follow after him, but you feel so heavy with your bulging belly and nearly lose your footing on the kitten-heel shoes you are wearing.

The half-Fae sighs before strolling closer to you. "It's okay, baby. We knew this would happen, and it's a lot for him to take in. He probably feels overwhelmed."

You can only nod your head and slump in your seat again. The Qadir siblings are observing you, their eyes following your every movement.

They are just kids, but kids are incredibly observant. It's not difficult for them to understand that their Older half-brother Tyrion doesn't like them; in fact, it's just easier to say he despises them.

Tyr, Mikhail, and Raoul had the good life with a loving mother and a doting father. But now, the powerful old vampire is in prison, and the mom is mentally ill; their perfect world is crashing down.

Now they're in a foreign home, with an older half-sister they know nothing about and a half-brother who hates them.

This could lead to a lot of developmental issues and have them struggle to grow attachments or connections. Tyrion already struggles with abandonment issues and other problems.

It might not be too late for them.

"Are you guys tired? Hungry?" You ask softly, finding that there is no strength to speak any louder.

The half-vampire brothers glance at each other for a second before nodding their heads. "We haven't eaten in a few days," Tyr replies, and your heart nearly splinters apart.

"I'm sorry. I'll make something really quick; wait a little while." You tell them before meeting the eyes of your partner. "Can you watch them for a moment?"

He nods his head of sepia-brown hair and struts closer to kneel in front of the boys. "How about we take a walk around the stables? Would you three like to see the horses?" He questions in a tender tone.

They're hesitant at first, but they cautiously stand from the couch to follow after your partner.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

"You're acting like a little b*tch," Zafira states on the other end of the headset.

Tyrion scoffs and swiftly kills her character in the game before returning to what he was originally doing. "Mind your own business." He snaps.

The dragon descendant scoffs as her player respawns on the map. In his game room, it was only him with his friend from school in a video call on one of the other monitors.

She can be seen biting into a lollipop before flicking the stick into a trash bin. Her room that he can observe is exactly what he thought it would be.

Pink and girly. White walls with posters of her favorite artist and hello kitty decorations. Her pillowcases and comforters are hot pink with hearts and stuffies.

Even on a Saturday when they had a day off from school, the girl is dressed in a white tennis skirt with dark stockings that have hearts cut into them and an oversized pink sweater full of baby chick prints.

For once, her hair isn't in those iconic pigtails, but she has it up in a messy bun, so it was easier for her to wear her cat ear headset.

"It is my business, Rigel. You're my friend."

Tyrion's shoulders sag at her words, and he slouches in his gaming chair. "It's family stuff. You wouldn't want me getting involved with you and your siblings."

She giggles and continues gathering materials in the world. "Please, my sisters are just like me, and you can barely handle one Ormr, let alone five."

Your brother shudders; merely thinking about it makes the tips of his fingers tingle in dread.

"Every time you're upset, you get even moodier. And when you're upset about your sister, your extra snappy."

"Zafira!"

"Exactly!"

He respires heavily and returns to the game.

"It's been a few weeks now since you yelled at your sister. Why don't you talk to her now."

"Why should I?" He snaps. "I didn't do anything wrong. I'm right!"

"Are all men this dense?" Zafira asks herself before pausing her game. She reaches for an energy drink while giving her attention to the camera. "(Y/n) is an adult, so she's obviously more mature than us. But they're just kids and had their whole world turned upside down. No father, and a psychotic mother, now they have to live in a home they know they don't belong in. You need to pipe down the jealousy because your sister is giving other things her love and affection."

Tyrion throws his hands up. "Why am I being reprimanded!?"

"Because you're acting like a selfish, petty little boy-

A knock at the door interrupted her words before they were opened. Ambrose's giant figure peered in from the small space as he glanced at your brother.

"Hi, Mr. Rigel." Zafira greets him as she waves on the monitor.

The Chief smiles as he waves back. "Hello, little Ormr. Are you two busy right now?"

The dragon descendant shakes her head while scooting closer to her computer. "No, we were just done playing. I'll message you later, Tyrion."

Nodding his head, the schoolmate ends the call leaving the two males alone in the game room. Ambrose's shut the door behind him before grasping one of the other gaming chairs and heaving his giant figure into it.

It's awkwardly silent, with tension filling the air.

"Look..." Ambrose begins, and the two meet each other's gaze. "I'm actually not supposed to be here, Y/n wanted me to give you space, but this is enough. I'm very lenient and sympathetic with you, but I'm not going to let you continue to act this way-"

"Why, or you'll kick me out because this is your house?" Tyrion snaps, but the Chief has no negative reaction to it.

He merely clasps his fingers together and folds his bottom lip inward. "Never. This is your home, and it's not something I'll ever threaten you with. But that doesn't leave you exempt from punishment either."

Your brother scoffs. "You're not my father or even my guardian."

"Your right; I'm not. But I do care about you, Tyrion. I understand that you've been upset with us for a while, and it just got worse after the Qadir brothers began to stay here." Ambrose respires a deep breath and leans in his seat. "We've already talked about this, but (Y/n) is never going to abandon you. Both she and I are not going to forget about you just because there is a baby on the way. Nor because we're fostering the Qadir brothers until their mother gets better."

The green-eyed teen doesn't respond, instead looking everywhere else but the man in front of him.

Clasping one of his massive veiny hands on Tyrion's shoulder, he wanted the boy to look at him, but they both knew that if he looked up, tears would fall from his lids.

"I noticed for a while you started to become quieter when all everyone started talking about was the baby. When I couldn't pick you up due to the natal care checkup, you'd be extra snappy when I'd see you later. And when (Y/n) didn't want to play games with you because she was too tired, I could see the resentment and disappointment in your eyes. Just because me and (Y/n) are now having our own child doesn't mean that you don't matter or your needs are being put onto the side."

Ambrose sighs before leaning down to attempt to meet his eyes. "You're like a brother and a son to me. I think about you and your future all the time, and I think about things that we can do, just you and me. You've gone so long alone that I try to be as involved with you as I can so you can remember that you're not just by yourself or going to be abandoned."

Inhaling a shaky breath, Tyrion snaps his gaze up as tears befall his warm cheeks. "How am I supposed to believe you when you bring those f*ckin' kids in? For f*cks sake, even one of them has practically my name!"

The Chief frowns and attempts to wipe the tears away, but they only continue to pour. "I know, Tyrion, I know. It's a lot for a kid to take in when you finally thought things were going to get better. You were handed a rough start in life with what you dealt with. And then having all these other people suddenly show up and take your spot as our main attention, it feels like you're going to be replaced." Your brother's head falls forward to rest against the older man's chest. Almost immediately, the teen was surrounded by your partner's arms and hugged firmly.

His magic tingles through his nerves and warms his stomach. The headache that was once forming had dissipated with that familiar sandalwood scent grounding him to reality.

Ambrose Rigel feels like a miracle that not only showed up in your life but Tyrion's as well.

"That's never ever going to happen. None of us are ever going to abandon you like your mother or beat you like your father. The Qadir brothers may come from the life your mother left you for, but they are not your enemies. They are not the ones who hurt you or the ones who made it all happen. Just kids, Tyrion. Their only worries are what they're going to eat next and how long they can push their bedtime."

Your brother huffs and squeezes his hands together. "I hate how you always know the right things to say. I can't even be mad at you for it, either." He manages to release a weak laugh that has the man patting his back tenderly.

Finally calming down, the green-eyed teen pulls away to wipe his face and run a hand through his hair. "I'm tired of you always making me cry." He rues.

Ambrose snickers before standing to his feet. "You're just a big crybaby when you're with me. You might as well clean up and get ready for dinner. (Y/n) and my mom is cooking something together."

Before leaning, the Chief turns back to your brother while snapping his finger. "Oh, and you should also bring over that Ormr descendant soon. It'd be nice to meet a girl able to put up with your attitude-"

"You're done! Get out!"

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Your eyes are drooping, and your head feels heavy.

The words in the book you are reading are dancing across each other, and you find yourself repeatedly reading the same sentences over and over again.

Wood splinters and cracks in the fireplace only a few feet from where you sit in a sofa chair, your feet resting on a footstool.

Subconsciously you're stroking your bulging stomach through your shirt, caressing the mound where your child sleeps peacefully under your protection.

The sudden sensation of a blanket being set on your body awakens you slightly. Your shoulders fly upwards, and your eyes fling to your left, where Tyr appears to be covering your body in the comforter.

"You'll get sick, and your baby can get hurt if you don't cover up." The ten-year-old states before holding his pale hands behind his back once he is done.

Your smile is lethargic due to your drowsiness, but you still sit up slightly. "Thank you. But it's rather late, and a tutor will be coming tomorrow morning. You should be sleeping."

It wasn't certain when the Qadir brothers would be returning home, but it would be unfair to let their academics fall behind. To put them in an academy when they could be taken out at any moment would do more harm than good.

Highering a tutor would be the best option to keep them up to date until their mother's health gets better and she can handle caring for her sons...so she doesn't ruin any more of her children's lives.

Tyr purses his lip, twiddling his thumbs together while spinning slightly. "I just...I couldn't sleep." He murmurs faintly.

"Okay." You hum before standing to your feet. Your joints hurt from carrying the weight of a baby, but you ignore it as you cover your body with the blanket like a cape. "Let's get a drink."

The both of you held each other's hand as you traveled from the tea room over to the kitchen. It's dark, but the boy swiftly flicks on the light so you don't stumble into anything.

"Do you want warm milk or hot chocolate?" You ask while opening the fridge.

"Hot chocolate is fine."

You boil milk until it's at a perfectly heated temperature and pour it into mugs of chocolate powder. (You're a wh*re if you make hot chocolate with water! Milk gives it a taste! Using water makes it bland, bland! You are exempt from this if you're lactose intolerant.)

Handing him one of the mugs with a small spoon in it, the both of you mix the powder until it's just right and sip from it.

"Do you think mom will ever get better?"

Your eyes flicker down to see the half-vampire staring into his warm mug. His slightly long hair was more curly than usual at the back of his head.

"Your mother is going through some hard times right now." You articulate softly while tightening the blanket around you. In no way do you want to make excuses for that woman, but you'd be horrible yourself to speak badly of her in front of her son. They don't know how she abandoned her oldest son and attempted to sell off her only daughter. It's not fair for you to ruin their childhood just because yours were awful. "People don't get better in an instant; it takes work and sometimes medication to get better."

Tyr's lips are in a straight-lipped expression, with his tiny fingers twitching against the cup. Even though he was tall for his age, he was still just a kid and in a vulnerable state.

"I don't want to go back. I like it here, with you, with Rose."

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at his words. "Tyr, what are you talking about? This isn't your home-"

"Mom and dad are obsessed with each other. They only ever paid attention to each other and rarely took care of us. My nanny was more of a mother than her." The boy's words come as a surprise.

You thought they had a perfect life, with a mother who actually wanted to be around her sons and a wealthy, well-off father who finally had his heirs.

But to think that f*ckin woman was being so selfish and raising three boys like they were a bother suddenly had your blood boil.

Maybe it was because your hormones were uncontrollable or because you've had to deal with Thyra for so long, but you felt like hitting something.

"You are nice to me, and I don't feel like a burden here. I don't want to go back there...please don't send me back." He sounds like he's going to cry, his voice wavering and his throat tightening.

What do you do?

For the longest time, you've considered them not even of the same blood, even if it's half. You've assumed the brothers had the life you wished Tyrion could have had.

But maybe you, too, were pushing an unreliable narrative on siblings that you didn't even know.

This is all just a big a** mess.

"Okay, Tyr." He glanced over as you spoke, and you reached down to hold one of his hands. "I'll talk with Ambrose, and we'll see what we can do."

Gradually he nodded his head before clasping your fingers with his smaller ones firmly. The both of you venture over the main elevator and ride until you are on the third floor.

You can hear Tyrion in his game room with muffled talking echoing out. Apparently, Ambrose says there's a girl...friend in his life.

When he's not super mad at you like he is now, you'll tease him about it later.

Entering their bedroom, Mikhail and Raoul are already asleep in their beds. The second oldest is practically upside down with his feet at the headrest and his head nearly hanging off.

Unlike the middle child, Raoul practically slept like a log. Straight and almost unnatural, but the loud snoring from his open mouth showcased that he was sleeping well.

Tyrion used to sleep like the both of them when he was younger; he had tossed, turned, and snored so vociferous you had to wear earplugs.

It was hell when he wanted to sleep in the same bed as you after a nightmare, but there are times you miss holding the small boy close to you.

Climbing onto the mattress, you helped tuck in the oldest while sitting at the edge. You can feel his scarlet eyes on the visible skin of your left side.

The scars are healed, but they've left a white waxy texture that catches anyone's attention when they see them.

Still, to this day, you do not regret saving him from the collapsing columns. As an older sister, it was both your duty and role to help if you could.

It didn't matter if you hated them; they were innocent in the animosity between adults.

"It doesn't hurt." You murmur quietly, not to wake the others resting. "I'm all healed up."

Tyr flickers his eyes to meet yours and sinks slightly so the blanket covers his lips. "I'm sorry."

You sigh and begin to run a hand through his soft hair. "It's okay, Tyr. None of this was or is your fault. You're just a kid. It's the responsibility of the adults to worry about these things." Softly pinching his nose, you grace him with a small smile and lean down so your lips can kiss his warm forehead. "All you have to do is grow up big and strong."

"Big like Rose? So I can protect you next time?" He asked, and it was the cutest thing you'd seen all day. Those big red eyes gleaming in hope and admiration were breaking the cuteness meter.

Pressing your forehead against his, your smile grows, and your fingers caress his chubby cheeks. "Yes, Tyr. Now have a good night's rest, and I'll be here in the morning to wake you up."

The ten-year-old nodded and closed his eyes, calming his heart to fall under sleep's hold.

After putting him to bed, you snuck out as quietly as you could and made your way to Ambrose's office. His reading glasses were on with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down to show bits of his pectorals.

His rust-red eyes flickered up to glance at who entered before swiftly setting down his files. "Baby, what's wrong?"

You don't exactly know what to say or how to feel, so you make your way over to him and lay in his lap. He's quick to surround you in his thick arms and hold your body against his chest.

It's dark in here besides the lamp on his desk, and it highlights the much police paperwork he's been taking home to do so he could spend more time here at the mansion.

"Tyr just told me that he doesn't want to go back home to his mom. They apparently don't get a lot of attention from their parents, and their nanny is the one who took care of the brothers." You say after taking in a deep breath.

The Chief appears to think for a second before he responds. "I see-"

"You know what makes me furious?" You suddenly begin, which prompts the man to raise a brow. "Even though we are human, anyone from my mother's bloodline is born immune to charms and curses. So that means it's not like Quillion has my mother enchanted. She's voluntarily obsessed with him to the point where her other sons were just an afterthought."

For some reason, you can feel the inner corners of your eyes sting and tears well up. "Even when she left to be with that man, and she had everything, she still couldn't raise her own children."

Ambrose doesn't say anything, merely holding you close, so his magic touch gives you comfort.

You want to cry for yourself, for Tyrion, and even the Qadir brothers.

"Some people are just not meant to be parents, my love. They hurt everyone else for their own happiness and don't care about anyone else but themselves." The half-Fae comments while migrating one of his hands to rub at your belly.

The child within your tummy awakens from their slumber and kicks at their father's touch.

"So what do you want to do? We could adopt the Qadir brothers, but Tyrion's going to have a fit." You laugh at his words and sniffle softly. "We could just keep them here and send them back when the mother gets better like we originally planned?"

It feels too cruel to send them back to a place where they will never be the first priority.

"I'll think about it later. Can we go to bed now?" You don't need to tell him twice as he carries your body bridal style and strolls back to your shared bedroom.

He surrounds you with his delightful smell and holds you close like you would disappear at any moment.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Tyrion descends on a chair in front of Zafira at the library. The girl glances up from her pink laptop covered in stickers before grinning at the sight.

"To think you'd come to sit by me first~! Have you finally warmed up to me~!" She cooed, which spurred your brother to scrunch his nose.

He takes out his homework while settling his own computer on the desk. "All the other tables are full-"

"Sure." She murmurs while returning her attention to the essay on her screen.

The two sit in silence for a while, productively completing their work so they don't have to do it at home.

After forty minutes or so, the green-eyed teen flickered his gaze to the girl in front of him. Her lashes look longer than usual, darker too, and grazing over her faux blushed cheeks.

"Am I ugly?" Zafira abruptly questions; however, she makes no move to look up.

"Extremely so." He replies without any hesitation before leaning back in his seat. "Are you busy after school?"

She giggles and grasps her screen to tilt it down. "Are you finally asking to hang out? The ice prince is actually melting!"

Your brother sighs and raises his long arm to flick her forehead. She immediately recoils back and holds the area, tears welling in her eyes with her bracelets jingling from her movements.

"My da-" He stops himself quickly and clears his throat. "My guardians want to meet you. Apparently, they're shocked I have a friend."

After the pain goes away quickly, the dragon descendant hums like she is contemplating, but Tyrion already knows what her answer is going to be.

"Sure! I can't wait to meet Ambrose Rigel and-" Her eyes suddenly widen, and her lips fall agape.

Your brother raises a brow and parts his lips to speak, but he is interrupted by his classmate. "Oh, my god. I'm going to meet your sister."

Surprisingly, Tyrion began to laugh at her reaction and held a hand to his stomach. "What, are you scared? You're more scared of my sister than the...Ambrose Rigel? (Y/n)'s not even that-" Your brother fell silent before he could finish his sentence. His mind flickered through his many memories, which spurred him to slouch in his seat. "Actually...you should be scared."

"That's not funny!" Zafira snaps and throws a pencil at his head. "You're supposed to comfort me, not make my anxiety worse!"

"Sshhh!" The librarian hushes the girl as usual, which prompts her to huff and cross her arms beneath her chest.

Tyrion glances at the clock before packing his things away into his bag. "It's going to be fine. My sister is heavily pregnant and doesn't get as mad because of her blood pressure, and she likes cute things, so you're going to be okay."

The molten gold-eyed teen frowned at his words before raising her brow at the end. "You think I'm cute~?" She gushes.

"I think you're annoying now. Come on; the bell is about to ring." He snaps back while standing to his feet.

Giddly, his friend swiftly packs her things while whispering to herself: 'He thinks I'm cute.'

Heading to the front of the academy, they see that Ambrose is there with his truck to pick them up. The Rigel and Ormr family have known each other for years, so Zafira was not too uncomfortable with the half-Fae.

They regularly conversed about the small things, and the Chief asked about how her mom and dad were doing. He shared funny moments with her parents from when he went to the academy with them, and the ride continued comfortably.

It wasn't until their home came into view that both Tyrion and Zafira found themselves growing anxious. Your brother has not been giving you as much attitude since his talking with your partner, but he's still been keeping his distance until he felt like he could get the right words out.

And you've never liked any of his friends from his school, albeit some were bad influences and other's just stuck up.

"If I pass out, will you pick me up and carry me?" The girl beside him suddenly questioned.

"I'll drag you if it comes to it."

"Still a win."

The three exit his vehicle and enter the mansion. Some of the servants greet them as they pass, and it appears like his friend is used to that as well.

"Angus, do you know where (Y/n) is?" Ambrose questions one of the butlers.

The elderly man nods his head and points down the north corridor. "I believe Madam is out in the garden with the Qadir brothers."

Tyrion rolls his eyes at the mention of his younger half-brother, but Zafira shanks him in the waist with her hand to stop him.

He glares at her with narrowed eyes and has yet to drop the stank face as they all traverse to the side door.

Outside, the sun is high, with thick fluffy clouds creating shapes. The breeze is cool and perfect, too, shaking the leaves on trees and blowing flowers into the air.

Under the pavilion by one of the koi ponds, your figure is there, sitting at the table. You're attired in a bodycon dress to your knees that show your baby bump with a kimono over your arms.

Tyr is right beside you and being fed snacks from a treat tray as Mikhail and Raoul play a game of tag around the garden.

"We're back." Ambrose comments as he leans down to kiss your lips and settle in one of the chairs beside you.

You smile at him before dropping it when your attention falls on the white-haired girl's figure. Zafira freezes for a moment, appearing unsure if she should bow or curtsy, or kneel.

It's not like you were royalty, but damn, did the teen girl feel intimidated.

"I-I'm Zafira Drakkoth Ormr. One of Tyrion's friends from the academy." She finally manages to greet you.

Your expression is unreadable and doesn't help the intimidated as you appear to eye her up. If the dragon descendant knew she was going to meet her friend's older sister, she would have dressed a little more normally!

Her hair was up in its usual high pigtails with all her clips and bows and hair decorations. Her makeup was flashy and bright with her big eyelashes. Not to mention she was wearing her pink jacket and legwarmers over her turquoise blue boots.

Usually, she doesn't feel so insecure about her appearance, but she wants to make a good impression.

"She..." The girl could feel her throat tightening upon your response. "She's so cute!" You smiled brightly while holding one of your hands to your face. "I always wanted a sister, but all my life, I've been surrounded by men."

Both Zafira and Tyrion released a breath they didn't know they were holding in.

Ambrose grins at your words and reaches over to feed you one of the treats. "Should we visit the doctor soon to find out the gender?" He sought.

"I kind of want to be surprised, but I hope it's a girl!"

You and the Chief begin to go back and forth in a real lovey-dovey manner that has Tyrion pretend to retch. "We're going to go to my game room now."

"Okay." You wave them off and give Zafira a discreet wink. "I'll call you both down for dinner when it's ready."

The two teens swiftly leave and make their way through the corridors. "That went really well." He abruptly mutters.

"How, we barely talked." The golden-eyed girl questions.

"You don't know my sister well enough. For some reason, she's always been able to tell which one of my friends was a good person without even hearing them speak."

Setting down their bags, they hop onto the plush couch while Tyrion turns on his console. They begin to play multiple games together, conversing here and there when needed.

They're both quite good players, so every game was evenly matched. A few hours passed by relatively quickly until they decided to cool it on the competitions and switched to open world game they could play together.

It's rather chill and quiet besides the ambiance of the music. By this point, Zafira had chucked off her shoes and rested her legs on Tyrions lap.

"Hey, I've got a question." Your brother abruptly asks, which gains his friend's attention.

She raises a brow but nods her head.

"Why did you suddenly get close to me? It's not like you needed to benefit from getting close to the Rigels or gain advantages from being associated with me." He doesn't look at her even though he feels her eyes burning holes on his face. "You've stuck by my side even though I'm mean and don't usually reach out to you first."

Zafira pursed her lips firmly together and gazed back at the large Tv screen in front of them. "Some people need a friend-"

"Don't lie to me." Tyrion pauses his game and shifts to face the girl beside him. "By now, I can tell when you're not telling the truth. You squint your eyes and tap your foot."

She hadn't even realized what she was doing and swiftly ceased her actions. It's apparent the girl is starting to become nervous.

The dragon descendant pauses her game as well and sets her controller on the coffee table. "Um, well..." She laughs awkwardly while rubbing at the back of her neck. "It's because you smelled good."

Your brother is taken aback, blinking at first before slightly grinning. "Well, it is an expensive cologne Ambrose gave-"

"It's not like that," Zafira interjects and shifts so her body is now in line with his. "I may be a descendant, but that still means I'm a dragon. My hearing is better, and my sense of smell is intense."

"O...Okay?" Tyrion's dumba** is not getting it.

It provokes her to sigh and hold a hand to her heart. "Tyrion, when my kind meets someone who smells so good it's irresistible, it means they're a potential mate."

Slowly, your brother begins to take in her words. His brain is whirring like a machine, and his breathing is slowing.

"I wanted to get to know you after I smelled your scent, but now I don't just want to be your friend. I want to be with you. It's okay if you don't feel the same. You're not the only potential mate out there, and it's up to me to choose who I want, even if they don't have that scent."

Tyrion didn't appear to have any reaction, and it scarred the white-haired girl. She swallowed thickly, and the fear of having ruined her relationship with the green-eyed teen was making her stomach roll.

"Look, we can just forget-" Her speech came to a halt when your brother rushed forward. One of his hands found its place on her throat and squeezed as he neared his face to hers.

"You have other potential mates!? You're going to leave me for them!?" His voice is hostile, and his fury is evident.

Zafira stares up at him with wide eyes before smiling as tears well in her golden eyes. "Oh, you f*ckin' jealous dog. I don't want anyone else." She raises her hands to caress his face. "I want you."

Your sibling appears shaken for a moment before gingerly releasing her throat and holding his weight up by the side of her head. He presses his forehead to her sternum with what appears to be warm tears wetting her top.

"I'm sorry." He barely manages to whisper. "I shouldn't have done that...but when you said there were others you could choose from, I got so angry. I already lost my sister; I can't lose you too."

The dragon descendant hums and runs her long nails through his thick hair. "You're such a baby, Ty." She mumbles while continuing to comfort him. "You're not going to lose me, and you haven't lost your sister. For one, you haven't apologized to her for flipping out, and two, I've practically fallen in love with you, so I'm not leaving anytime soon."

She suddenly giggles, which spurs Tyrion to raise his head so he can face her. His teary-eyed expression was so beautiful that Zafira had to calm her heart down from exploding.

"What? Are you making fun of me?" He's not as snappy as he usually is.

She shakes her head leisurely before speaking. "No, but did you know that dragon's mate for life? So if we complete it, then you'll really never be able to get rid of me. Plus, you will start to get some of my attributes!"

To her surprise but delight, Tyrion's head dipped down to capture her plump lips in his. For their first kiss, it tasted of soda and sugar.

One of his hands dips into the arch of her back to push their body closer, with his other holding her jaw firmly. She responded just as eagerly, one hand buried in the back of his hair to deepen the kiss with her other pressing her nails into his back.

Their faces are burning heat, and their minds are swirling in pleasing hormones.

A knock at the door echoed in before the hinges squeaked as it opened. "Tyrion-Oh my!"

The teens snap their eyes open while turning to face the entrance. Both you and Ambrose stood in the doorway, shielding grins behind your hands. "Ou, um, dinners ready, but you guys can come down when you're both hungry."

The Chief giggled. "For food, that is." He mumbles, which provokes you to elbow him in the rib.

Before you closed the door, you winked at Zafira, who returned a wink.

Now alone again in the room, Tyrion removed himself from atop the dragon descendant to hide his face and rub at the back of his neck. "Well, that was embarrassing. She's never going to let me live that down." He mumbled under his breath.

Zafira giggled as she sat up leisurely. "I think they already had an idea." She states, standing to her feet to go up behind him and hug his back. "So...I guess you're my boyfriend now~!"

He can feel her grin against his skin and smiles to himself as he bites into his bottom lips. "I guess I am."

Her hands caressed his fit abdomen above his shirt as she sighed pleasantly. "You know, you're really attractive when you're jealous."

"Do you wanna break up?"

"I'm sorry~! :p"

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

It's around midday on a Saturday. Both Tyrion and Ambrose had off work at the station, so they decided to stay home for the day. Everyone in the family was slacking off in the manor, relaxing.

The Chief had a long night before, so he was sleeping in just like your brother, who stayed up all night gaming. Ursula came over from the annex to bring you to the new garden she constructed and just began to plant.

Tyr, Mikhail, and Raoul remained in the study room in the morning to catch up on their work. It's now their main mission to do everything they can to make you and your partner satisfied with them.

So on this Saturday, it was just an undisturbed day.

...

Tyrion's phone began to ring, awakening him from the deep slumber he finally fell into just as the birds outside began to tweet.

He barely even parts his lids as he answers the call. "...Hello?"

"Wakey wakey, lazy a**. How long are you gonna sleep in?!" It was his girlfriend on the other line, with what appeared like yelling in the background. Sounds just like her other siblings were as active as her at the moment.

Groaning, the teen turns over onto his stomach as he continues to obscure his eyes from the sunlight peeking in through the open windows. "As long as I want." His reply is clear and concise, which prompts the dragon descendant to release a hefty sigh.

"You're so annoying!" She snaps before respiring heavily. "Sorry, I'm just mad because I wanted to invite you over, but since you slept all day, everyone else is awake- Wait a sec!" Zafira must have covered her phone with something considering the noise in the background became more muddled. "Hey. Hey! Shut the f*ck up before I come over there and knock ya' a** out!"

Her interaction with her siblings spurred a teeny smile to form on the teen's lip.

"Sorry 'bout that. My brothers have way too much energy."

"It's okay. I'm sorry we couldn't hang out today, so how about tomorrow? I'll be over early, and we can go out."

Tyrion can practically see the beaming smile on her face. He knows that whenever he offers to do something or comes up with a plan, she really appreciates it.

"Okay! You should get up, though, and do something so you can sleep early tonight." She reminds him, and by this point, your brother has leisurely sat up while rubbing his eyes.

He's sluggish with his movements as he heads over to his private bathroom and turns on the light. "Alright. I'll text you after." He murmurs, staring into his reflection, where his hair is disarrayed and eyes crusty.

The call ends, and he spends the rest of his time brushing his teeth, showering, and changing into a new set of clothes before departing towards the main set of stairs.

All the servants were either performing their jobs or resting as well. It really was just a slothful day.

Making his way into the large kitchen, he hadn't expected to view the side profile of the oldest Qadir brother. Since he's come here, his bangs have grown along with the bottom of his hair.

It's curled more to appear as somewhat of a styled mullet. Tyr seems to be cutting something on a small board, filling the room with a sweet aroma.

Heaving heavy breaths inwards, Tyrion ignored the boy as he made his way to the fridge. Behind him, he can hear the sound of the knife slicing across the cutting board with every contact.

"You should apologize to (Y/n)."

Your brother knits his brows together while his grip on the handle tightens at the sound of the boy's voice. He's starting to get irritated, so he ignores him to continue scavenging for something to eat.

There doesn't appear to be any more speaking, but the sound of him cutting has ceased.

It feels like his skin is burning alive at the sensation of half- vampire's eyes on him. "You should apologize," Tyr repeats, which earns him a scoff from the older boy.

"And you should learn your place. You don't belong here." It came out in one breath, something he's been holding back for a while now.

He cannot help the fury in his heart at the mere thought of the Qadir brothers. His own envy clouds his mind, along with his disdain for the fact that you risked your life to save him.

You were his sister; you shouldn't have even done something so selfless for somebody who shouldn't have mattered to you.

"Oh, I know my place." Those words spurred Tyrion to whip around, his eyes narrowed, and lips pulled into a sneer.

Though, that expression fell when the sight of Tyr right in front of him nearly gave him a fright. His blood-red eyes, which were already round, appeared wider as if he were staring right into the teen's soul.

It was no help at all, considering his expression was oddly impassive, but his gaze held the hostility he felt. No help at all when the knife he had used to slice the fruit was being held tightly in his left hand, down by his side but pointed upwards...

...As if he were going stab Tyrion.

"I know my place very well, right by (Y/n)'s side."

Your brother swallowed thickly. This little sh*t... Whenever the oldest Qadir brother was in your or Ambrose's presence, he acted meek and innocent, like he couldn't even hurt a fly. But right now...this wasn't the look of a little boy but a psychopath ready to lose it.

"All you do is make (Y/n) sad...I'm tired of it." Tyr states as his voice drops and fangs press into his bottom lip. "So apologize before I make you."

Why did Tyrion freeze the way he did? Ha ha, he's six years older than this kid. He's the big one, yet...why did he feel small and incomparable beneath this kid's gaze?

Abruptly, the half-vampire raised the knife upwards by his chest and pressed his pointer finger at the very tip of the blade. "You know, I'm very envious of you, Tyrion. You get to be (Y/n)'s full-blooded brother and the one she has always sacrificed a lot for. Every choice she makes has your well-being and feelings put into consideration...You know...I'd kill for that."

Tyr spun the blade so the light caught the sharp end. His eyes were down at the knife at first before rising to meet Tyrion's. "I'll be nice for now, but if you continue to take big sister for granted...sleep with one eye open." He murmurs.

Before the eldest could retort or even breathe, footsteps echoed from the hallway, and the half-vampire nearly teleported back to his position behind the island. His knife returned to the cutting board as he turned his head to the entrance and smiled innocently.

"Big sister! I cut some fruit for you and your baby!" He calls with his voice in a light and joyful tone with a vibrant grin on his small face.

What a complete turnaround! That two-timing little sh-

"Tyr, how thoughtful!" You call as you and Ursula step into the kitchen.

Flyaways stuck to your foreheads with sweat from being under the sun for so long. The both of you were outfitted casually, in light dresses and sunhats.

Ambrose's mother seemed pleased with the boy's words, holding a thin finger to her chin while nodding her head. "Yes, what a competent little boy. Rose nor Preston ever did such a thing when they were his age." She comments.

Tyrion couldn't help but narrow his eyes.

Your gaze abruptly darted to his green ones, which prompted you to tilt your head to the side. "What are you doing up? I thought you'd be asleep longer." You tease, and he nearly heats up from being put on the spot.

It doesn't help that Tyr is staring at him, smiling all cocky and sh*t.

"W-Well, Zafira called me, and we made plans to hang out tomorrow, so I needed to be able to get up early tomorrow." He got it all out in one breath; he felt lightheaded

The blonde-haired Fae hums as she struts over to the cabinet to pull out a bowl. "Ah, yes. The Ormr descendant. I'm somewhat familiar with her mother, a relatively good girl that had such a green thumb."

You laugh lightly while transferring the knife Tyr was cutting with over to the sink, where you begin washing it. "Should we invite the Ormr family for dinner then? I met their daughter, and she seems fairly like a good girl. She's cute too!" You gush before returning to the young boy's side.

Both Ursula and you continue a conversation, with Tyr holding your free hand.

At that moment, it felt like Tyrion had realized something. When had this distance started? The three of you stand right in front of him, yet he feels like he's miles away, only able to watch from a distance.

It must be mental of him to wish for those times again where it were just the two of you...before the Qadir brothers, before the baby, before Ambrose.

Really, the green-eyed boy had taken you for granted. No, he has been taking you for granted.

"I don't feel good." It mumbles from his lips before his brain can even register what he said.

You peer up, assessing his figure before slowly nodding your head. "Okay, why don't you lay down, and I'll bring you some soup later." You offer.

Ursula and Tyr look over at your face. "You shouldn't push yourself." The Fae states with the half-vampire nodding his head.

It brought a smile to your face as you waved them off while waddling over to your brother. You grasp his shoulders as you meet his eyes. "It's just soup. Now come on, go lay down."

He stands stagnant for a moment before hesitantly nodding his head. Though, before he leaves, he finds he meets the boy's gaze one last time, who doesn't say a word or make a single expression.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

The ceiling of his bedroom appeared so muddled as he cracked his eyes open. He had not a memory of when he fell asleep, but now sunlight no longer pours in through his open curtains but the dim light of the moon.

A crick has formed in his neck from sleeping in one position for so long, and he's sweltering beneath the thick comforter placed above him.

Gingerly he rises into a sitting position to lean against the headboard. His body hurts, and he feels sore all over.

There's a pounding in his head and burning dryness in his eyes; he doesn't even want to grab his phone and look at the screen.

So he sits in silence and looks about his room. On his nightstand, there's an empty bowl with a pitcher of ice water and a cup on a tray. He doesn't even remember eating; he didn't even remember falling asleep!

His throat is so dry. He wants to drink something, but his arms feel as though he forced them passed their limits.

F*ck, he feels like shit.

His eyes water, yet they do nothing to aid the dryness. The teen could only sit there, staring at this huge bedroom where he felt so small.

So minuscule...and so distant.

Cursing under his breath, your brother pushes himself off the bed. Cracks rumble from his back, and his knees almost give out from carrying his full body weight.

Despite the aches, he pushes forward while grasping his blanket to wear like a cape. A migraine is ravaging his head as he attempts to walk down the hall.

Where is he even going? He doesn't know.

But even though his head hurts and his own body is just pleading for him to give up, he pushes forward. He needs to find you; he needs to see you.

He misses his big sister.

A bout of coughs ripped through his chest, and he almost keened over if he weren't leaning against the wall.

Sudden footsteps echo out as they approach. It prompts the teen to gingerly raise his head, blinking rapidly from the movement.

Dread infiltrated his stomach with his already raspy throat tightening.

Tyr Qadir was traversing through the corridor, strolling towards him with his hands clasped behind his back. It seems the ends of his hair were braided and tied in colorful bands that should have been embarrassing, but all it did was build envy in Tyrion's chest.

"Where do you think you're going?" The half-vampire questions once he stalls his movement in front of the older brother.

He attempts to speak, yet the only thing he can squeak out is a wheeze.

Humming, the boy cocked his head to the side. "Are you really going to see big sister when you're like this? You want to bring your sickness to her when she's pregnant?" He clicks his tongue while crossing his arms over his dark sweater. "Can you be even more selfish?"

Tyrion can barely swallow, his bottom lip slightly trembling and his eyes glossing over. The inner corners stung, and he had to do everything to bite down and hold back a sob.

He feels so pathetic.

"I just...want to apologize..." His voice is hoarse and raspy, with the vowels wavering and a wheeze at the end.

Tyr scoffs. "I don't like how you treat (Y/n)." He abruptly clutches onto Tyrion's wrist and rests it on his shoulder. "But big sister cares a lot about you."

Effectively, the small boy is holding up almost all of the green-eyed teen's weight. It's easy to forget that even though the Qadir brother is half human, they come from a strong and ancient vampire bloodline.

It's silent between the two of them as they continue down the hallway. Not one speaks or even acknowledges the other until they arrive at the nursery.

You're only a month away from your due date now and soon will welcome your own child...your own baby.

Inside, you are sitting on a rocking chair as you rub your bulging stomach. Ambrose is slightly by your side, kneeling as he holds a large veiny hand on your knee. You're laughing at something the half-Fae is saying while he raises a small stuffed wolf.

It's no longer just you and him against the world. Your small family has grown exponentially, with Ambrose, the Qadir brothers, and soon this newborn.

He's terrible for wanting it just to be the two of you again. But for his entire life, you were the one who sacrificed everything and more for him.

You deserve to be at peace, finally.

Tyrion hiccuped, gaining both your and Ambrose's attention. Tears are cascading down from his blurry eyes, yet he makes no move to wipe them.

"I'm sorry." He can barely wheeze it out. His vision is fuzzy, and his entire chest is burning alive. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" The teen breaks down into hysterical sobs as he falls to his knees. "I love you so much! Please don't leave me! Please don't abandon me!"

"Tyrion..." You utter his name as if you were in pain. "Tyrion, sweetie, it's okay." Ambrose helps you to your feet as the both of you near him. "I'll never ever leave you. Not ever or again."

Your brother can barely breathe. He's hyperventilating as his face heats up and his throat tightens. "I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry! I-I've been so t-terrible!" His entire face is glossy and wet, shining illustriously in the light. "I can't l-lose you! You're my everything!"

The teen feels so overwhelmed that he could throw up. His crying ripples through his already weak body, snatching away all his strength and air.

You coo softly, kneeling right in front of him, and attempt to touch him, but Tyr places a hand in front of him to block the contact. "He is sick, big sister." The boy states.

Ambrose touches the middle of your shoulder blades, with the scent of his magic suddenly spiking in the air. "It's okay. You can touch him now."

There is no time wasted as you reach forward to comfort the teenager. He's slumped against your chest as you wrap your arms around his head and shoulders, running your nails through his shaggy hair.

"I love you, Tyrion. You're my brother, and you'll always be one of the most important people in my life." His crying finally begins to cease and become hiccups and whimpers. "No one is replacing you or going to abandon you. You're family, my family. So what if it became bigger?" You rub his face clean of tears. "You'll always be my baby brother that I gotta beat some sense into every once in a while."

Gingerly, you raise his head so he can meet your gaze. He can see you smiling, looking at him with so much love and adoration that he cannot help but feel so terrible for all the stress he has caused you.

After a moment, the Chief grasps one of your brother's arms and heaves him to his feet. "Now that it's all resolved, you need to go to bed. Actually, the both of you."

Tyr displays a sheepish grin as he rubs the back of his neck. "I'll take you back, Tyr." You offer while reaching a hand out for him. He nods his head, though before the two of you depart, you pat your sibling's face lightly. "Goodnight, little brother. Get some rest, or you won't be able to see your cute little girlfriend tomorrow~."

He doesn't have the energy to argue back, so he nods his head in silence.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

You sigh in contentment as you swallow down the soothing tea Ambrose's mother left you the day before. Your due date is creeping closer and closer, and so your anxiety is on the rise.

It's nice to have someone who understands your position and knows what you're about to go through. No way would you have ever thought there would be so many people who care about you.

You are glad the things that happened before did because then you would never be in this position with a loving family.

The warm sun beaming in through the windows feels good on your skin, on your face. It makes you almost want to take a nap.

Yeah, a nap sounds really nice right now.

Reclining on the soft sofa, you relax your head on the armrest and gently caress your round tummy. Soon that little baby inside can be physically held in your arms.

A part of you and a part of Ambrose; it feels so sentimental even just thinking about it. There really was a man out there who loved you with all his heart despite your flaws and wanted to give you the world.

You don't know what you did to be blessed with him, but you are so very thankful for it happening.

"Madam. Your phone was ringing from the kitchen."

You open your eyes to view one of the maids approaching and struggle to sit up with your bulging belly. "There's always something when I try to nap."

The staff member laughs lightly as she passes your phone before bowing and departing from the tea room. You don't even look at the caller's I.D. as you answered; your mistake.

"(Y/n), it's your father." You nearly throw up at the sound of his voice. "I need you. I need your help..."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Bonus:

When The Teaser Get's A Taste Of Their Own Medicine

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Zafira giggles between the kiss as she wraps her arms around the back of Tyrion's neck.

"Don't laugh. I'm pissed off." He snarls while he pushes her harder against one of the columns in the corridor at the academy.

She hums in delight and raises one of her legs to wrap around his hips. "I can't decide whether you're cute or hot when you're jealous."

Your brother huffs, biting her lip until he breaks the skin before pulling away. She's grinning so devilishly, gazing at him with desperate eyes as she licks away the blood with her long, pierced tongue.

"You're going to be the death of me, Zafira." He declares before wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeves. "You already know I'm insecure about losing you."

The dragon descendant merely shrugs her shoulders. "I'm just talking to our classmates; it's you freaking out about it."

He snatches her cheeks and squashes her lips together as he leans down to be in front of her face. "You're not dumb, princess." Her knees could give out at the sound of his voice calling her those little nicknames. "You know when guys are eyeing you up, practically undressing you in their mind."

Zafira whines and grasp his wrist to pull his hands off her face. "You know what will make you feel better, Ty."

Tyrion immediately shakes his head. "No, Zafira. We can't do that."

"You meanie~!" She whines and stomps her feet like a child throwing a tantrum, but it has no effect on your brother.

He merely glimpses down the empty corridors before glancing at his golden watch. "Call me whatever you want, but we are not doing it. It's a permanent thing-"

"It's my decision." She snaps and crosses her arms beneath her chest. "I already chose you; I already declared you as my mate, so why not just make it official!"

Your brother stares at her as if she said the dumbest thing possible. "Are we not official now!? Does everything we've been doing not matter unless we complete the bond!?"

Zafira's eyes are glazing over with tears. "We are, but that's not what I'm getting at. I want to do it with you even if it means that one day you will leave me. If that happens, it's my fault, but right now, it's just us. Why is this coming from the guy with abandonment issues!?"

Tyrion shakes his head like to signify that he is done with the conversation. He backs away and begins treating down the hallway.

"Wait, don't just walk away from me!" Her voice bellows through the empty corridor, but your brother waves her goodbye. "Tyrion, ugh!"

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Zafira's nails dance across her desk as she stares (more like glares) at the back of Tyrion's head. He's a few seats in front of hers and a row over.

His expression is barely visible, and his eyes are focused on the professors at the front. Notes are opened on his table, and his hand twiddles a black pen between his thin nimble fingers.

She can't focus on the lesson at all.

The teacher's voice is mumbled like he's speaking underwater, and the beating of her ragged heart is the dominant nose in her ears.

It's been half a day since they argued, and they haven't really spoken to each other. He's not even avoiding her, but he's undoubtedly become quieter.

Finally, the instructor ceased his rambling, and the fifteen-minute free time began. The dragon descendant wanted to get up and make her way to her boyfriend; however, she froze at the sight of another classmate nearing him.

It was an elven girl from one of the Alreda households. Her chest-length silver hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and pointed ears were decorated in jewelry; one of her piercings dangled her family's pin of a silver staff with blue diamonds decorating the stem.

Peering down at Tyrion's notes, her sapphire eyes danced across the papers before training her attention to the Rigel teen's face.

"Hi, I'm sorry, but I haven't been paying attention. Did you get all the notes from section eight?" She asks, and her voice sounds so f*cking high that it's sickening.

Zafira's grip on her desk tightened, and cracks formed.

Your brother glances at his notebooks before nodding his head and opening one of them. "Yeah, here. It's a bit of a mix with section nine, but it's easy to discern which ones which." He utters in that dreary tone he usually uses with people he didn't give a f*ck about.

Hearing this, the white-haired girl nodded her head as if she were proud of him.

The elf smiled to show her perfectly shaped white teeth and took the notes, her thin fingers grazing against his, which provoked your brothers' girlfriend to suck in a breath.

"Thank you very much. You're honestly a lifesaver. If I keep failing this class, my sister will have my head-"

It was obvious that this sentence caught the green-eyed teens' attention. His shoulders perked up, and he leaned forward. "Your sister?"

Zafira raised a brow.

Giggling, the elf nodded while holding the notebook close to her chest. "Yeup. My parents passed in one of the stupid wars between the other elves when I was a baby, so it's been my older sister raising me."

'Oh, no, no.' This girl was using her sob story of being raised by her older sister to get Tyrion interested in her because he could understand and sympathize.

"You know, if you're struggling with this subject, I could help you. I know what it's like to have an older sister breathing down your back."

By this point, her blood was boiling. Was he doing this on purpose!? Tyrion's not nice to people, so why is he suddenly offering his help to some sl*tty elf girl?!

Tyrion wasn't even this nice to her until months into their 'friendship.' If she knew this was how she could have gotten his attention, she would have made up a sob story about an older sibling months ago!

That f*cking sl*tty elf! She knew what she was doing!

By this point, the bell rang, and students flooded out without another thought. She raised her hand to wipe her nose, but a piece of her desk was stuck in her hand from ripping it off.

"Hey."

She flung her gaze up to see Tyrion in front of her as he held onto the strap of his bag. His expression is the usual impassive and emotionless face he always has, but there's slight inquisitiveness in his clover green eyes.

"I'll be in the library tutoring someone. Just send me a text before school ends, and I'll pick you up." He mumbles, and before Zafira can even respond, Tyrion is already walking away to where that elven girl is waiting for him.

She beamed brightly as he neared and began talking once they exited the room.

The golden-eyed descendant felt sick to her stomach. If it weren't against the academy rules, she'd bolt right out of her seat and kick her a**.

For a minute, she had a moment of clarity. Is this how sickly jealous Tyrion gets when other's get too close to her?

Swallowing thickly, Zafira found herself marching to the library like a woman on a mission. Making sure to stay out of her boyfriend's line of sight, the teen hid behind some of the thick bookshelves and spied on her partner.

Notes and textbooks were open on the desk, and Tyrion appeared to be speaking about something seriously.

His shaggy dark hair framed his head shape so nicely, and his green eyes contrasted pleasantly against his (s/c) face.

She found herself growing warm at the sight. Ever since she first laid eyes on him, she began to simp for him like it were no one's business.

His cold attitude, his disinterest in other people, his fit body, and his tall height. She could go on if her thoughts weren't interrupted by an overly forced laugh from the Elven student.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about how you remind me of my sister." Aerin mused as she leaned her head in the palm of her hand.

Zafira's fingers grasped onto the wooden bookshelves and squeezed to the point where the wood splintered.

"I see. We're getting off-topic here." Your brother stated as he reached over to grab another textbook.

The elf laughed awkwardly before clearing her throat.

It felt like a win to the dragon descendant, but it didn't last long, with the silver-haired teen scooting closer to Tyrion. "I don't have my glasses with me. Can you bring it closer?" She asked while folding a strand of hair behind her head.

He nods, either way too oblivious or playing along, and scoots closer to her. The teen didn't know that his girlfriend wasn't here, so he's obviously not putting on a show.

'IS HE JUST THIS DENSE!?'

Aerin's dark uniform had a few buttons undone at the top to showcase her massive cleavage that not only had Zafira hating in envy but also wishing hers was that big.

Did Tyrion like big breasts? Well, she liked his.

As she continued to watch this scene, her heart was getting closer and closer to exploding. But when the elf's hand touched his bicep and slid down to his elbow, Zafira saw red.

Bolting forward, the Ormr descendant snatched Tyrion's face and connected her lips with his. He was frozen for a moment, his eyes wide, but as the girl pushed her tongue down his throat, he succumbed to her wants.

Golden eyes met sapphire, and the clear fury on Aerin's face was the best thing Zafira had seen all day.

Pulling away, she kept her hands on your brother's face while displaying a sickly sweet smile to the other classmate. "Sorry, elfy, but my boyfriend and I got somewhere to be."

The silver-haired teen attempted to speak and stuttered over her words, but the descendant was already pulling the human away.

"Zafira-"

She tightened her grip on his wrist that she had grasped before flinging him into one of the benches in the garden.

"Are you dense or stupid or both!" She snarled, her fangs glinting in the sunlight and her fist shaking.

Tyrion raised a thick brow while tilting his head. "Princess, what are you talkin' about?" He asked, clearly sounding like he had no understanding.

Tugging on her white pigtails, she stomped her feet like throwing a tantrum. "What!? You can't notice when girls are flirting with you!? Or can you not get it through your thick skull that it's not right for a girl to touch someone else's man!"

Once again, his brain was whirring, and his body froze as he thought to himself before suddenly smirking. It was a sh*t-eating grin that provoked his girlfriend to blush brightly on her tan cheeks.

"Oh, I get it now. Is my princess jealous?" He teased and reached to touch her face, but she slapped it away.

"I'm not jealous! I'm possessive because you are mine!" She stepped closer to snatch his collar and yank him down to her height. "My boyfriend! My partner! My mate!"

That grin had yet to fall from your brother's lips as he reached for their hips and pulled her body closer to his. "You know, you're kind of hot when you're jealous."

She screamed and stomped her feet. "You motherf*cker! I'm going to hurt you! This-You did all that on purpose, didn't you!"

Tyrion scrunched his nose and scowled. "Come on, I'm better than that, and you know it. I don't want anyone else other than you." He stated in a calmer voice than his counterpart.

Zafira pursed her lips with her molten golden eyes glossing over. Her feelings are so strong and overwhelming, and as much as she can blame it on the mate bond, it's truly just her own insecurities.

In her eyes, in her heart, the teen in front of her was her literal soul partner. His attention was everything, and his touch drove her wild. Never before had she felt so alive when he kissed her or so important when he referred to her as his girlfriend when introducing her to other people.

Because of his abandonment issues, he fears losing her. But the descendant was not perfect either and felt like she would never be good enough for him.

"I'm scared that you'll find someone better than me." She whispers, finally cooling her boiling blood. "Everyone wants to be friends with you, to get to know you. I fear that you'll meet someone that gives you exactly what you want."

Swallowing thickly, your sibling pulled his girlfriend to one of the benches and sat down to settle her on his lap. He holds her close by her small waist while grasping her chin so she faces him. "Princess, that's never going to happen. I opened up to you. I told you my life story that I find so embarrassing. I introduced you to my guardians because their opinions are so important to me. I don't do that with just anyone, and I most definitely do not care about others' feelings like I do with you."

Clover green met molten gold as the teen girl reached to hold his prominent jaw. "I know. I know that I'm different, but it's hard for my kind. We love our mates so hard, and you walking around without my scent makes it so hard even to breathe." She expressed.

Tyrion's expression looks as though he's fighting back and forth with himself. His thoughts are conflicted, and he can't manage to get the words off the tips of his tongue.

"Princess, I can't do that. I can't hurt you like that if anything ever happens and we have to separate. You'll be bounded to me for life. And If I die, you can die as well-"

"Please." Zafira pleads and wraps her arms around his neck. "I'm willing to take that chance. You're the only one I'm ever going to want."

"Zafira, no. We are still just sixteen, and this is a rash decision-" The dragon descendant ceased his speech by connecting their lips together and pushing her chest against his so their hearts could practically connect.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

Tyrion stared up at Zafira's ceiling, her LED lights pulsing between a multitude of colors. He laid bare beneath her pretty pink comforter as his girlfriend snuggled up against his side.

A grin was plastered on her lips that had yet to fall while humming to herself. In her hyper-feminine bedroom, your brother finally came to a realization hours later.

"Did you just manipulate me to get what you wanted?" He abruptly questioned the descendant.

She peered up leisurely, her grin widening and white hair pooling around her smaller figure. "Yes. Yes, I did. Now give me a kiss, mate."

The green-eyed teen laughed to himself before grasping the back of his partner's head and yanking her closer to him. "I get now why Ambrose practically kisses the ground my sister walks on."

"Oh, are you going to do the same to me~?" She mused, only to be silenced by a hand grasping her cheeks.

The human bit his bottom lip and tightened his hold. "You f*cking wish."

"But my prince, I always get what I want."

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

At this point, it just became a Tyrion and Zafira love story, but I support it.

Essentially, I just ended up writing a book. Every single one-shot on here could be its own book.

I did kind of leave off with Y/n on a cliffhanger for a pt.4, and I might get to it one day, but I'm trying to update my other books and work on other monsters.

Tell me if you guys liked it even though it was all over the place, lol.

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

↳ ║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 1 ━║

↳ ║The Half-Fae Police man║║━ Pt. 2 ━║

꧁𓊈𒆜 ━━━━━━━━━ 𒆜𓊉꧂

𝐌𝐚𝐦𝐚 signing out

88 notes · View notes

drsugarsweet · 3 months

Text

You Won't See Me

Fae!Rubber Soul x Reader

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Synopsis: Life seems to be perfect once you've moved to the cottage of your dreams; the peace and quiet is lovely, the sounds of birdsong greet you every morning, and the Old Woods prove to be bountiful with wild foods. There's just one problem. You haven't gone unnoticed.

TW: Fae typical mind games, mild derealization Note: reader is GN, no pronouns aside from 'you' are used.

Masterlist ☆。*。☆。

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

AN: Me, taking the chance to wax poetic about my favorite background character? More likely than you think. It was hard to decide on who specifically fit the Fair Folk since a lot of characters work, but c'mon, pretty boy that messes with people? I couldn't resist.

The taste of wild honeysuckle is strong on your tongue as you stride purposefully along the forest path.

The day is glorious. Sunlight warms your skin and peers through gaps in the leaves in a beautiful mosaic of emeralds and jades, whispering pines and ancient oaks. The Old Forest is not where you belong, but it feels like your home. The cottage that lies on the edge of the treeline is your destination nonetheless. Leaves swirl about the dirt trail you’ve treaded many times before and the forest feels alive with birdsong and insect calls.

Heavy upon your arm is a wicker basket loaded with foraged goods. It’s a pastime you’ve taken up ever since you moved to the abandoned cottage. It took some time and many, many books to grow more comfortable with the edible bounty of the forest, but it's been beyond worth it for the sheer variety you can find. The elderberries and chamomile will be used for tea, while the dandelions can make a fine jam. The lamb’s ear, sorrel and garlic tied into bundles will be a perfect addition to your meals for the evening amidst eggs from your chickens and whatever else you can throw in. Finally, nestled in the middle of the basket is your greatest prize: a crop of wild strawberries, rubies of red in their crowns of leaves, the likes of which you’ve not seen in months. Your mouth waters at the thought of the pie they’ll make and your step quickens along the mossy trail.

It’s easy to get lost in your thoughts of delicious meals. It’s easy to almost miss the way the path splits into two branches, one that you’ve traveled many a time and one that wasn’t here when you entered the forest in the morning. What you don’t miss is the ring of mushrooms conspicuously hidden amongst the leaves and weeds dead set in the middle of the path you need to take.

Oh, no way you’re falling for that. You know enough about the beings of this forest to know their tricks. The amount of research you did on the area before moving out here has offered plenty of knowledge, and you know that this ring is a sure sign of the Fair Folk. No way you’re falling for it. There’s one problem however; the ring is large enough to occupy the whole path, and the newer one is all that is left. You trust it as much as a fly trusts a spider, but it seems marginally safer. You take a deep breath and move towards the path less traveled.

At first glance, it isn’t too unusual. The leaves shelter more of the ground and the dappling of the light grows dimmer, but it isn’t dark enough that you would miss any more obvious rings. From this distance you can see that the path seemingly merges back into your original route. It should be fine as long as you’re careful, right? The moss grows thicker along the path and dainty ferns brush your ankles from the sides, the birdsong growing more chaotic the further you go. It sets every inch of you on edge but you do your best to hide any expression of nervousness for fear of prying eyes catching on.

Speaking of prying eyes… You’re being watched.

It isn’t the normal sensation of all-encompassing eyes that come from being in the lively forest. The feeling on the back of your neck is heavy and sharp. The eyes are hungry , and yet you’ve never encountered a wolf or mountain lion or any other predator of the sort out here. There’s a fear settling into your gut that you know exactly what is watching you.

Your suspicions of being followed are proven correct, not by the snap of a twig or the thud of footsteps on earth, but by a laugh. The sound is ethereal - no man laughs with such a musical voice, flowing over and around you like the heady breeze of a summer evening. You’re aware of the presence getting ever closer to your side when you catch a glimpse of someone, some thing from the corner of your eye. Whatever it is, it’s humanoid. It’s larger than you too. If you’re right in suspecting that it’s one of the Fair Folk, then you know better than to look directly. You focus instead on your steps, one foot in front of the other as you hope the end of the path comes soon.

The presence doesn’t give you much of a chance to ignore it. As the being moves to walk next to you, matching each step with ease, you realize you’ve been holding your breath. The scent of sap and exotic fruits and sickly sweet decay teases your senses.

“Now, what’s a sweet thing like you doing out here alone? These woods are dangerous, y'know.” The being is the first to speak. There’s a smugness to the tone that makes you think of a sleazy salesman, smooth and oily and dangerous . The image would almost make you laugh if you weren’t petrified deep down. Still, it would be rude to ignore a member of the fae, and you really want to leave these woods untouched.

“I’m aware of the dangers, I was simply gathering food for my meal. I might ask the same of you, if you’re so inclined?” Not once have those eyes left your form. You want to look - some terrible, hungering curiosity has gripped you - but you wouldn’t dare.

The stranger hums, in agreement or amusement you can’t tell. They seem to be distracted as that feeling of being watched lifts for a moment. You take the chance to peer over hurriedly, your curiosity getting the best of you. Maybe part of you hopes that you’ll see a simple traveler like yourself - a mysterious lumberjack or hiker that you missed earlier. One quick lookover disproves that. You see a being more beautiful than any human you've ever known and ice floods your veins despite the balmy heat the stranger radiates.

Whoever they are, this not-person is gorgeous . Alabaster skin and amber eyes practically glow under the midafternoon sun; in contrast, you see a wild mane of ebony hair that reminds you more of a crow’s feathers, and upon closer look there are feathers scattered throughout their hair. There’s more muscle-bound body exposed to your flustered gaze than you think you’ve ever seen in polite company and really, it’s a miracle you manage to pull your eyes away from ample cleavage and rippling abs at all. They’re terrifyingly alluring and your eyes practically strain from looking at them too long already. If they notice, they don’t comment as their silver tongue drips more honeyed words.

“I live… Close by. I hardly fear these woods. Still, won’t you let me walk you home? I’m sure I can keep your company!”

You swear you see a flash of fang and iridescent skin before it’s gone in a flash. The being is leaning towards you now and the smell of rotting fruit grows stronger. You don’t want this thing to know where you live. At the same time, you fear that saying no will just result in the forest becoming a magical labyrinth until you agree. With a sigh, you figure it’s the only thing you really can do.

“Alright, you may accompany me to the edge of the forest. After that, we’ll have to part ways.” The being grins widely and straightens up and you can swear that you heard them trill like an insect at your acquiescence. Just what have you gotten yourself into? By this point, the split path converges again and you’re on slightly more familiar turf. It isn’t your garden or your home however and you know you aren’t safe yet.

For a minute, you think, you hope that the fae will lose interest in you if you stay silent. That would be far too lucky for your day as the being once again calls for your attention in that voice of wind chimes.

"That is simply perfect. And may I have your name? I'd love to know a pretty little thing like you all the better!" They grin at you all too sharply and for a moment you know how a mouse must feel under the gaze of a barn cat. It's a trick that you're prepared for.

"You may call me Hare."

Their sharp smile falls a fraction. You worry that you're about to be turned into a toad or cursed with eternal bad luck, but their step picks up just as easily as though nothing happened. Every hair on your body is on end. This man - you at least deign to assume they're masculine in nature - is no human, that much you know for sure. He’s of the Fair Folk and every warning you’ve been told comes rushing back at once.

First and foremost, names have power. You aren’t about to relinquish that power so easily. The being’s breath is as warm and humid as drying saltwater on the back of your neck and it’s all you can do to suppress a shudder. Next you know never to step within the rings that mark the entrance to the Other Side, and you’ve accomplished that. What are the others? The presence that grows overwhelming with each step by your side has your mind blurring with panic. If the being notices, he doesn’t make a remark, but those chartreuse eyes as sharp as a raven’s speak volumes.

“Now, now, we both know that isn’t your name. Come on, you don’t want to be strangers with your neighbor, right? I’ll even tell you that you may call me Soul!” His voice drips with sickly sugar, like spoiled honey. You don’t like the way his teeth click with each word as though they’re just a hint too large. You certainly don’t like the way he manages to tower over you and block out the sunlight that much more. The Fair Folk are tricky with their words and you have to make sure you are careful.

“I simply prefer to be called Hare. I’ll remember how to address you as well.”

Your words are curt but you do your best to hide any tone that could come across as impolite. It wouldn’t do to insult his sensibilities. You can tell that he is displeased if the way his shoulders drop from the corner of your eye is anything to go by, but you make no move to comfort him. For a minute of walking, the two of you are silent (eerily so in his case, not a huff of breath or breaking of a leaf underfoot to betray his presence). Even the animals of the forest have hushed in their calls and cries to a level more akin to a muttering audience. It’s impossible for you to fall into a similar lull as the being inches ever closer as you approach the treeline.

The first spark of hope that you feel since seeing the fairy ring comes when the path thins into mossy cobblestones and crumbling wooden fences. A smile tinges your features before you can stop it and the being next to you notices. His aura feels… Not quite hostile, but more impatient, the same impatience of a cat losing its favorite bird beyond a window. Even your quickening step isn’t enough to shake that unerring pace. The roof of your cottage just starts to crest the horizon when he cuts you off by stepping in front of you.

Your eyes avert and the strange hissing of a cicada rumbles from his lips.

“Why the rush to leave, little Hare? Surely I can tempt you to stay a while longer? Or won’t you invite me to your meal?” He leans closer, closer with each proposal until you’re sure you feel teeth at your hairline. You’re too terrified to look up. You have to choose your words oh so carefully but your mind is torn in a haze of fear, intrigue and decaying flowers.

“I always eat alone, I’m afraid I don’t have room for guests. It’s getting late and I must get home. Tha - “ Your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes flicker upwards as you barely catch your mistake in time. For a moment, you swear you see hope in the amber eyes gleaming so wickedly down at you. When you swallow with a dry mouth, you assure you word yourself better. “I hope you return to your home safely, Soul.”

The hope in the being - in ‘Soul’s eyes - flickers into something dangerous and hungry and that familiar feeling of fear boils in your gut. You take one sidestep, then another, and Soul doesn’t stop you. Even as you pass by their shoulder and towards your cottage, the feeling of hungry eyes on you doesn't leave. You worry it never will. Despite your fear however, you can’t resist the insatiable urge to glance back once more and ensure you aren’t being followed.

That one glance reveals that Soul is watching you too, a thoughtful look on his face that you can’t discern melting into a keen grin. Just before you can leave earshot, you swear you see his whole form flicker like heat waves emanating from hot pavement and he calls out to you.

“I’ll see you again, right Hare? We wouldn’t want you getting hurt out there after all.”

The chill in your bones as you hurry into your cottage isn’t washed out by tea or a warm meal for days to come.

#jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #doc's fics #rubber soul jjba #jjba x reader #monster au #teratophillia #stardust crusaders #rubber soul x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #fae folk #yellow temperance #jojo rubber soul

10 notes · View notes

steelcladbutterfly · 2 years

Text

Yandere Headless Horseman: Haunted

This comes from my latest Halloween works. It’s my getting back into the groove stuff basically. I’ll probably post the other nine sometime during the next few days if I have time.

Prompts: Haunted, Forest

The headless horseman is a mythical figure that has been seen in folklore since the Middle Ages. Popular examples include the dullahan from Ireland, the Green Knight from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and the headless horseman from the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, which will be the one this story is based on. The dullahan and the Green Knight both carry their heads around, though the knight is able to attach his back to his neck. The headless horseman is most commonly seen carrying a flaming jack o lantern in place of his actual head, the original story heavily implies it is someone disguised as the myth, while other adaptations make it more likely that it is a ghost rather than an actual human in disguise.

To be honest, this is inspired by the horror movie Smile a little bit. MINOR SPOILERS FOR SMILE The idea that whoever sees the victim die is the next victim is an interesting idea.

A Tv playing reruns of Whose Line Is It Anyway? suddenly began a breaking news story. The mostly quiet room turned even quieter as everyone focused their attention to the reporter now on screen.

“We are sorry to interrupt your broadcast, but a truly horrible incident occurred just this morning, and for public safety we have elected to inform the general public as quickly as possible.”

They shuffled their papers slightly, looking queasy and scared as they began.

“Amanda Halls, the leader of the town council, has been found dead in her home. We will not show pictures at the moment as it is graphic and brutal, but she was found headless. Her head nearby had been split into pieces by a tremendous force. This first came to attention when Cassidy Rath received a frantic phone call from Amanda. We have received permission to play it back from Mrs. Rath, so we will take a moment to describe what happened before it is played to you. At approximately 6:08 am, Mrs. Rath picked up the phone to hear Ms. Halls begging for help as she reportedly ran through the halls of her home being chased by what she described as a demonic horse with a headless rider taunting her from a flaming pumpkin. Mrs. Rath stated she could hear it all and seemed to begin running out of her house still on call, begging Ms. Halls to stay on the line and keep running. She first called to her husband to phone for help to Ms. Halls’s abode. At this point, crashing sounds could be heard and both woman exclaimed at the sound of what Mrs. Rath asserts is the sound of a horse whinnying. The call ends on Ms. Halls side with a scream and what sounds like something being slashed at before the call drops. Her phone was found beside her body in pieces. We will now play the audio for those of you still listening in.”

What followed was more or less note for note what the reporter described, however the sounds of a horse or someone other than the two woman is noticeably absent. Only the sounds of items being shattered and broken enters into audible range. After it ends, the reporter appears once more to finish the broadcast.

“Mrs. Rath is absolutely certain she heard the same noises Ms. Halls had before her death, but the phone call has no such audio to anyone but her. Authorities are uncertain on the true cause, but what is known for certain is that Amanda Halls is dead. More information will hopefully be uncovered soon. Until then, make sure to stay safe.”

The broadcast ended and the reruns continued before it was shut off as well, leaving the horrified faces of those in the small bookstore to be reflected back, distorted and darkened upon the silent screen.

~~~~~

Your hand shook as you placed the remote down. You stayed still, trying to get your breathing under control as the customers and book club filtered out, looking worried and scared as they did so. Soon, your store was almost empty, leaving only you and Dorthy, the woman who ran the town book club that took place in your store. You jumped as she gently laid her hand over yours.

“Oh, (Y/n), you should head home soon too and check on, what’s his name, Dakota? Make sure he’s fine and let him know you are too. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a few moments before trying a shaky smile as you slid out from behind the counter, following Dorthy out the door and locking the door. You would worry about any mess or anything tomorrow.

“Yeah, I should probably check in with him. Knowing Dakota, I’m sure they’re worried out of their mind. In fact, I’ll probably get a call from him soon.”

As if on cue, your phone rang, displaying Dakota’s name. You smiled weakly at Dorthy as you trotted off to answer them, hearing only the last thing she shouted after you before you turned the corner.

“Tell him that I said hello! I’m sure he’ll remember me!”

You chuckled under your breath, waving a hand her way absently as you finally answered the phone.

“Hey Dakota. I’m heading home now. I saw the broadcast and, well, it didn’t feel right to continue with no customers since everyone left almost immediately after.”

His sigh rang through the line, slightly tinny and exasperated as they no doubt messed up the hairstyle they had put together that morning.

“I don’t doubt it. I’m actually at the scene right now, otherwise I would have come to pick you up. Make sure to go straight home! And lock all the doors and windows! I know we’re on the second floor, but I don’t want you taking any chances. I don’t know what I would do with myself if you got hurt.”

You smiled slightly. Dakota always worried over you, made only worse by his job and constantly seeing the darker side of humanity. The apartment came into view and you quickly typed in the code and headed into the lobby.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just gonna check the mail real quick then I’ll head upstairs. Love you!”

You hung up before he could protest and tried to put the broadcast out of your mind as you collected the mail and headed up the stairs. Hopefully, this would be the end of the incident and life could continue on after they caught whoever was doing all this. With that hope in mind, you aimed to continue life as normal until this was all over.

~~~~~

Dakota returned late at night, face dark and concerned. You hurried over, unsure what to do to cheer them up as they collapsed onto the sofa. Before you could do anything however, he finally spoke in a hushed tone.

“I’m sure this will be on the news soon, but Cassidy Rath was found dead in the same way as Amanda Halls. This time, it was in a supermarket. One minute she was fine, the next she’s screaming and running as shelves fall over, the next she’s fallen herself and her head has wound up crushed before anyone could do a thing.”

You flinched, not expecting something like this to emerge. As you locked eyes with Dakota, it seemed clear to both of you something was going on that may not be able to be stopped.

“…Was there anyone who saw or heard something different?”

Dakota winced at your hesitant question, staring towards the ground for a moment.

“Yes. Dorthy Langland, the book club leader, the one that goes to your bookstore for meetings. She said there was a man on a horse chasing Cassidy through the aisles. Apparently he didn’t have a head and seemed to be covered in fire.”

He chuckled darkly at that, shaking his head and closing his eyes as his shoulders slumped. They were obviously exhausted and if the first two deaths were in anyway reliable as tells, it was only going to get worse from here.

“I tried to have her called into protective custody, or at least have a detail on her, but apparently there is not enough precedent to do so. Honestly, I think the rest of them just have a sick want to see what’ll happen next, the bastards.”

Dakota’s teeth began to grind and his back tensed in anger. You laid a hand across his back and he slowly relaxed. You tugged them up and towards the bedroom.

“Look, if you can’t right now, try again tomorrow, first thing. For now, it seems like there’s nothing you can do, so let’s just try to get some rest, alright?”

They sighed and squeezed your hands gently before nodding and allowing you to pull them along. Two deaths in less than a day and Dakota was already stressed. The only hope you held onto was that Dorthy would be able to survive without troubles, not realizing it was already too late.

~~~~~

Across town, screams rang out as Dorthy was lifted into the air, before something separated her head from the rest of her body. She had called the book club to meet in the park since they had forgotten to pick up the new book for the week from her earlier in the day. Most were reluctant, but still showed up, only to have it interrupted when something spooked Dorthy and two other members of the club. What followed was chaos ending in Dorthy’s body slumping to the ground. Her head soon followed before it was crushed under the foot of something massive like the two victims before her.

Then, whatever was there seemed to fade, leaving a shaken group to answer those that approached the disturbance. Most of them dispersed when allowed to, heading home and looking constantly over their shoulder. However, instead of one witness that saw something more than just air, there were two.

~~~~~

You heard cursing as Dakota raced out the door. You yawned emerging from the bedroom and pulling out something easy for breakfast before turning on the news, at which point you quickly found out why Dakota had raced out so fast as it talked of both Cassidy and Dorthy’s deaths, now showing photos of all three deaths, if cropped and censored to cut out the worst of the gore, as well as the two witnesses claiming to have seen what the previous victims had before.

Jerry Walters and Chrissy Forger were both members of the book club and you couldn’t help but fret over your thoughts about the rest of the group if three members had now been targeted. But, once again, you knew that worrying over it would not help and tried to busy yourself with chores you had half started the day before.

Time flew, and soon it was just after noon, at which point you discovered Dakota had left his lunch at home in his haste to get to work, as he often did. Knowing the awful options around there otherwise, you tried to ignore your fear and made your way out to catch a bus to the precinct, a familiar route from the number of times you had done this before.

Upon arriving, you found it mostly empty, just the receptionist and a few officers looking over paperwork, the rest you assumed were at the sites of the murders. The receptionist recognized you instantly as you walked over to check in.

“Should I just leave this here or can I give this straight to Dakota?”

You were unsure where he was, but the receptionist waved you on.

“He’s questioning the witnesses at the moment, but it’s been hours and I’m sure they would all appreciate a quick break. If nothing else, you can drag Dakota away so the rest of the officers can discuss a protection detail or protective custody for the two of them.”

You nodded, waving slightly at the officers in the corner as you headed to the room pointed out to you. Knocking lightly on the door, the quiet murmurs within went quiet and Dakota called for you to enter. Their eyes widened briefly when they saw you, but he quickly noticed the bag in your hands. You waved slightly to Jerry and Chrissy. Jerry waved back hesitantly, while Chrissy just nodded.

“I’m just here to drop this off, but they want your input on whether to give them a detail or keep them in protective custody. But, I guess that’s for you to decide, so I’ll be heading home now.”

Dakota nodded and kissed you on the cheek, waving you off, before turning to the two at the table.

“I’ll be right back, I’ll leave the door open, so just shout if you need any help.”

With that, he swept out, walking through a phantom solid and present only to the two at the table. They shivered as a voice filled their ears before the figure vanished once more.

“It seems I have found my goal. My revenge is almost complete, but let’s not rush it, shall we? I shall be back after I have some time with my beloved. But be warned, one word of this to anyone here and you both will be dead.”

~~~~~

The ride home was quiet, with only a few others on the bus by the time you reached your stop. Despite that, you felt at ease as if Dakota had come back with you. Instead, unbeknownst to you, it was the creature that was causing all this beside you, trying desperately to hold your hand, hug you, or even just touch you.

Despite what it had said about not rushing things, if anyone could see it now, they would see how much desperation was present in the murderer’s form.

You continued past your apartment to pick up a few items from the corner store, especially since the supermarket was likely still an active crime scene. The phantom continued to follow, unseen fire flickering wildly the longer you continued to chat with the cashier, oblivious to their presence. It calmed only once you were alone once more in the so called safety of home.

~~~~~

And so it stayed for two weeks, during which time the figure grew hateful of anything that ruined the time spent alone with (Y/n). They both found out, through Dakota, that Jerry and Chrissy were to be held for two weeks, and if nothing happened, then they would be released with a twenty four seven detail to keep them safe.

“Considering how fast the first three victims went, and the fact that holding them is more distracting for the higher ups, they set the limit at two weeks. I had to push for the details after that, otherwise they would just be released with no protection. It’s so irritating!”

Dakota grumbled, falling back with his head coming to rest in (Y/n)’s lap as they giggled at him before combing their hands through his hair. The angered figure swiping at Dakota from their position nearly wrapped around (Y/n) went unnoticed by both.

“Hey, at least you got it. So, just another week and then hopefully the detail will keep them both safe. Both of them were always so polite at my store whenever they stopped by for the meetings. I hope they will be alright.”

Dakota looked up at the despondent look on their face. He sighed, lifting himself up and turning around slightly to wrap their hands gently around the sides of (Y/n)’s face. They sealed their fate as he sweetly kissed them in front of the suddenly still creature shadowing their lives.

“I promise, I will do everything in my power to keep them and you safe from whatever is causing all this. So, make sure to stay as safe as possible and I will try to do the same.”

He leaned in to kiss (Y/n) once more, and then one more time before they fell back onto the bed, covering them with most of his body. The creature stood there and took it all in, white hot rage coursing through him at what took place before him. The only thing holding him back was the plan that found a place to root itself within his mind as he swiped furiously at Dakota, gently stroked (Y/n)’s cheek, and stood up to leave, still unnoticed by the couple. A smile widened as flames roared to life. They stepped out of the apartment and were almost instantly on ground level, atop a massive horse that took off at the flick of its reins. As it sped through the streets, unnoticed by all it passed, the dark promise that slipped into the air hung for only a moment as a spine chilling laugh followed after, causing a shiver to go down the spines of those in the area.

“Enjoy divinity while you can, Dakota. For in a week you will be left with nothing, as you deserve.”

~~~~~

The day had finally arrived. Dakota parted ways with (Y/n) as they headed to their bookstore, while he got into his car and headed into work. Jerry and Chrissy had been silent and shaky the first few days, but slowly relaxed as nothing seemed to happen. He hoped it would stay this way and that the protection details helped keep them safe.

Most of the day was filled with paperwork and filling out shifts for the officers on the details, but finally, as the four officers assigned to the first shift headed towards the houses of the two, Dakota arrived at the holding room to bring them both home. However, upon opening the door, what greeted their eyes was a bloody mess from a headless Jerry and Chrissy following suit as a sword swung and slid through her neck like butter, a spray of blood following that splattered around the room and across Dakota’s uniform. Finally, he saw what monster was causing all this as the horse reared up before bringing its hooves down upon the detached heads. A voice seemed to resonate from no where and everywhere at the same time as a gloved hand pointed directly at Dakota.

“Run if you want, but I will track you down and kill you the same as all the others. You will be my final bloody sacrifice to the tragedy your ancestors caused long ago. And then I shall finally reunite with my beloved (Y/n).”

Dakota bolted, somehow avoiding being seen as he rushed to the car and started it up, the only thing on their mind being the possibility of getting far enough from town with (Y/n) that the beast could not follow them any further.

They should be closing the store soon, so with their first destination in mind, they sped off, refusing to give up and let the monster win, not when there was still a chance to escape and survive this horrible series of events.

~~~~~

The sound of screeching tires reached your ears as you locked up the store. You didn’t pay it any mind until a very familiar car was barreling down the road and pulling to a screeching stop right beside you. You could only blink in confusion as Dakota, with blood covering part of his uniform, got out of the car and started tugging you towards it. You balked, unsure what to make of this situation.

“Wait, wait, wait! Slow down, Dakota. What is going on? Why are you covered in blood? Aren’t you still supposed to be at work?”

“There’s no time (Y/n)! They were all right, the killer is a headless horseman! And now he’s after me and you. We need to get out of town now before he starts coming after us.”

Dakota used your confusion to finally pull you up to the side, gently shove you in, and buckle you firmly into place. They came around to the other side and he buckled in himself. They started up the car once more before peeling off down the road once more. Dakota was frantic and obviously scared, but if what they said and saw was true, then there was no doubt why. Still, you felt this was a little extreme and voiced your thoughts as the paved road became shadowed by the tall trees of the forest and the sign wishing you happy travels from the town flashed by.

“I refuse to take this lying down. I’ve been after this monster without knowing what it truly is. And if what he said is true, then I certainly don’t want him to get his claws into you, as well. All of these deaths and incidents have happened in town, so I’m just hoping beyond hope that if we get far enough from town we may be able to escape.”

You furrowed your brows as Dakota sped up, driving recklessly on such a narrow sighted road, but before you could say anything, the sudden sound of thunderous hoofbeats filled the air and a menacing cackle broke through the otherwise silent forest.

“Run, run all you like! But you haven’t escaped me yet Dakota!”

Dakota flinched as you turned to look through the back windshield.

“Don’t tell me you can hear him (Y/n)?”

Your eyes widened as you spotted the towering horse racing ever closer to the car and the large figure perched steadily atop it, clad in a dark coat, with black boots and leather gloves encasing the hands. A long sword sheath could be seen at the waist of the figure, and blood could be seen splattered lightly on the tan riding pants encasing the legs of the figure. But, most notably, there was a flaming jack o lantern held firmly under one arm as the other was occupied with urging the horse onward. As soon as you laid eyes on the pumpkin, it felt like the eyes locked onto your form and the grin carved into it seemed to widen as your breath stuttered at the sight. You fell back into the seat.

“I can. And I can see him too. I’m pretty sure he saw me as well.”

As if to prove your point, the voice rang into the air once more as Dakota tried to keep up the speed as the road began to wind.

“Lovely (Y/n), can you finally see me? It’s been centuries and my soul called out but yours never answered. But now you see and soon you will know. Stay where you are and I shall have you once more, as it should be.”

Confusion and fear filled you as Dakota slammed on the gas, pushing the car to its limits in an attempt to stay ahead of the beastly form steadily approaching. However, there was no time for anymore conversation as Dakota tried to take a quick glance behind and wound up spinning off the road. As the car slammed into a tree and the airbags quickly deployed, the clopping sound of hooves was ear deafening before fading slightly from earshot as it wound up rocketing past the crash. An angered scream trailed off as you slowly came back from the sudden pain throughout your body. Your side of the car had impacted the tree, leaving you to rely on Dakota to quickly pull you out. You cried out in pain, but Dakota continued to tug you out and brushed off as much glass as he could from the shattered window before lifting you into his arms and staggering into the forest.

They had been injured as well, but the adrenaline coursing through their body enabled them to make it far enough into the trees to stay out of view when the monstrous horse and rider stomped towards the wreckage. His angered shouts pulled you from your near black out as the car shrieked in protest as it was torn and smashed in a fit of rage. Dakota carefully set you back on your feet, taking your hand and running further off into the forest as the threats and sounds of metal faded further behind your retreating backs.

“I’ll find you! I’ll find you and I will tear your head from your neck with my bare hands Dakota! You can’t run from me forever, I will find you and I will kill you! There is nothing you or anyone else can do about it!”

You sniffled, stumbling slightly as tears filled your vision, but Dakota tugged you onwards. A sudden steep drop stopped your frantic run in its tracks. A rushing river, filled with rapids and sharp rocks was all that awaited you below your feet. The pause to consider which way to go gave you enough time to hear the now menacing sound of stomping hooves growing closer once more. You took the lead now, racing off towards what looked like a building towards the right. Dakota panicked but quickly caught on and took the lead once more as they heard what you did. The building turned out to be a covered bridge, stretching from one side of the ravine to the other. Dakota raced onwards, tugging you along, focused only on getting to possible safety, as you looked over your shoulder as the horse burst through the woods, creating its own trail through the forest and onto the path you were on now, closing the distance in mere seconds.

Your scream filled the air as you squeezed your eyes shut, expecting to get trampled. Instead, a firm arm looped around your middle, tearing you away from Dakota’s grasp and up, up, up into the air before you found yourself held firmly to the horseman. A scream left your lips once more as you saw Dakota get trampled instead, bringing him down just before the bridge.

The horse trotted around their downed form before coming to a stop at the urging of the rider. You squirmed, trying to get out of the iron like grip he had on you, stopping only as his other arm was raised to bring the flaming pumpkin up to eye level. A whimper escaped your lips as the eyes seemed to take in everything they saw before a voice seemed to emerge from both the pumpkin and the stump where his head should have been to begin with.

“(Y/n). You have not changed at all, still as lovely as the day I saw you last, the day they took everything that mattered from me. They called you a witch, screaming for your head just as they had for mine. But you did not come back like I did, a wretched beast living only for death and destruction. No, you have come back perfect and whole. And I shall never let you leave again. I will never let you be taken again. I shall never let you die again. I will keep you safe once more, my love. Now, stay put while I deal with the last of this trash.”

His hand placed the pumpkin over the stump on his neck, fire roaring from the top as the pumpkin took the place of his missing head. Before you could truly react, his arm uncoiled from your waist as he hopped down. Then, you found yourself suddenly tied down to the saddle, with rope pulled from a saddle bag, stuck until he decided to unravel the knots suddenly binding your body to the horse. You still tried as he approached Dakota, but could do nothing as one large hand grabbed their hair and yanked them up as the other wrapped around his neck and began to squeeze.

“Now, I believe I did promise I would tear your head from your neck with my bare hands and I always keep my promises. Hold still, this will only be worse if you struggle.”

You should have looked away or struggled harder or done something, anything to prevent this horror from playing out. But the adrenaline had run out, fear had overwhelmed you, and the pain from the crash was no longer dulled by a race through the trees, so you watched every second of the horrible feat of strength, heard every agonizing cry and tear of flesh from Dakota, and could smell the fresh blood fill the air as it sprayed from the now dead body of your lover. Dakota’s head was dropped from bloody, gloved hands. You sobbed as it rolled slightly to reveal the fear still engraved on the face.

The horseman approached the saddle, tugging the ropes from your form and pulling your limp form up to lean back against his firm chest, hands leaving bloody smears everywhere they touched. You couldn’t even bring yourself to struggle as he flicked the reins and the horse started moving once more. It stepped over the remains, one heavy hoof falling on the head and caving it in with a loud crunch before beginning to pick up speed once more, racing along the side of the cliff. With the jack o lantern still firmly on top of the neck, it left him a free hand to hold your form close as his voice filtered into your ears above the thundering of the running horse.

“I was a little worried there darling. A little farther and I wouldn’t have been able to get either of you. But, it matters no more, Dakota is dead and you are safe in my arms. As you should have been from the start.”

Tears continued to trickle down your face as the horse pulled away from the river, heading further and further into the darkening forest, taking both its rider and captive away from help, leaving only a wrecked car and a brutally dismantled body to be found behind them.

~~~~~

In a somber studio, another news report was being broadcast, this time with more horror than ever before.

“In other news, the murders that have plagued our town find no solace with the fact that the fourth and fifth victims; Jerry Walters and Chrissy Forger, have been discovered dead just before their release from protective custody. The lead on the case, Dakota Koche, was supposed to see them off but when they did not return, and the bodies were found, a search had been initiated, with Dakota and their lover; (Y/n) seeming to have vanished from town.”

Censored images of the two bloody bodies are shown, followed by pictures of the next two possible victims appearing on screen. This is quickly followed by more grave news.

“Authorities soon discovered a wrecked car off the road through the forest and matched the plates to Dakota. They followed a small trail to the side to discover their body, in much the same condition as all the other victims at a covered bridge leading further into the forest, the only difference seemed to be that his head had been brutally ripped off rather than cut off. However, (Y/n) has still not been found, leading us to believe they may have gotten away for the time being. The forest shall be searched to try to find them, whatever condition they may be in. Remember, any information you may have on the victims or the mysterious killer will be helpful, send in any evidence as soon as possible.”

The broadcast ended with a scrolling list of the victims and the information gathered so far, while the image of the missing person remained smiling to the viewers.

#yandere #yandere monster #headless horseman #yandere x reader #yandere mythology #Folk tales #still no idea what exactly to put in the tags #Murder #there is murder in here

47 notes · View notes

harveyb-wabbit92 · 2 years

Text

Submas Bedfellows au: What goes bump in the night 1.

AKA: Boogeyman! Subway bros.

[Ingo and Emmet were the twin imaginary friends of two lonely children, they had with their wards, drew pictures, played games. but the children grew up they began to forget about the Ingo and Emmet much to the twins dismay, over time anger from being forgotten abandoned by their friends, it twisted the boys appearance and their gentle nature was soon replace with something frightening and mischievous they started develop abilities which they terrorize little children for years, until one fateful night the past comes knocking.]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

E-S/o, was babysitting for their cousin, the evening was going pretty smoothly they were just were putting the little one to sleep when the kid starts crying about monsters under the bed and in the closet, "They're there! I know, I saw it!" the child sobbed as E-S/o tried to calm the kid down reassuring them that it was just bad dream; there was nothing to be afraid of, and they were safe.

But the kid was so sure there was something in the closet, that E-S/o decided to check anyways to give the kid some peace of mind... Well, they got up and checked the closet and unsurprisingly "I see a whoooole lotta nothing!~" they chirped in goofy voice causing the kid to giggle and E-S/o smile.

Then E-S/o walked over the kid's bed and crouched down to check under it, their smile slowly dropped as they blankly stared at...

Well, E-S/o's not quite sure what the hell they were seeing.

At first they thought it was a man... He was tall dressed in a torn and patchworked white and red striped coat and hat, he was smirking and snickering at E-S/o as if they were stupid and couldn't see him sitting there! Then they noticed the glowing silver eyes, the claws, the wagging tail, gray skin and Sharpedo-like teeth.

E-S/o snapped out of their shock shouted horror. "What in the absolute fuck are you?!" the creature recoiled in shock "Wait, You can see me?" it exclaimed very startled. Needless to say, E-S/o screamed bloody murder, which caused the man-thing to scream and the kid to scream....

E-S/o grabbed the now crying kid off the bed and ran out of the house in terror and After collecting their wits E-S/o got their phone out and called the cops...E-S/o and their cousin's child waited warily outside as the cops searched the entire house for the intruder, only to come back empty handed. There was no sign of any man under the bed or anybody breaking in, even their Stoutland couldn't pick up a scent!

Officer Jenny could see how shaken up E-S/o and the kid were and said they'll keep an eye out around the neighborhood in case the person was still around, but suggested they make sure the doors were all locked and secured, E-S/o's cousin came home as officer Jenny was getting ready to leave.

She explained what happened and E-S/o's cousin assumed it was their stalker ex trying to take their kid from him/her the ex must've heard He/she would be out for the night, and got spooked when they saw E-S/o checking under the bed.

Needless to say, E-S/o went home feeling like they were nuts... there was no way that thing was their cousin's ex-husband/wife! It wasn't human at all! they could still picture the monster's jagged smile and...White coat. Then a wave of nostalgia washed over E-S/o they weren't sure why but that white coat; though a little patched and tattered, was definitely familiar... They've seen it before, but couldn't remember where for the life of them!

The next day.....

E-S/o was at their Café it was slow they spent the time absentmindedly doodling the striped coat, the cafe's radio was playing low in the background and the sound of their coworker shuffling behind the counter kept their mind at ease, E-S/o was so absorbed in their drawing they didn't notice the woman in scrubs sit across from them. "Oh hey there's something I haven't seen in a while!" E-S/o flinched from the sudden voice and stopped doodling they looked across and saw Y/n sitting there.

E-S/o brow furrowed as they registered what Y/n had said "What?" Y/n had this far off look on her face as she told them about their old imaginary friends. "Remember? the train conductor twins? I made the one in black, he always wore frown and think you made him a twin brother, who always wore white and smiled?" E-S/o thought for a moment at they searched down the cluttered streets of memory lane...

"Ingo and Emmet?" they murmured unsure Y/n snapped her finger and did a gunshot motion. "Yep, that's them! damn it's been almost, what? twenty years now? we were just two little 7 year old misfits playing pretend." Y/n then curiously asked why E-S/o was suddenly drawing up their old imaginary friends clothes? "Oh, are you making a costume for a show?" she asked assuming this was for a drag performance at the cabaret E-S/o also worked at, they were known to make their own costumes after all. "Um...No, it's..." E-S/o's mouth froze as their voice trailed off in that moment they realized how rightly insane this would sound.

*Oh, last night I was watching my cousin's kid and I think I saw some twisted version of one of our imaginary friends hiding under their bed!*

Y/n was a nurse. She was a medical professional and the second she hears that load of spoinkwash, she will likely drag E-S/o by the ear to the the hospital's mental ward and have their head checked! "...It's nothing special, I was just reminiscing is all." E-S/o murmured trying not to sound too nervous, Y/n seemed to believe them? but she couldn't shake this feeling that something was going on, before she could say anything Waffle called Y/n's order number, and more customers started coming into the café, the two friends quickly said their goodbyes and moved on with their day...

"Was that Y/n lady your sister?" Waffle asked curiously while making a Wyndon fog, E-S/o look at him perplex shook their head." "No."

"Ya sure? you guys look so alike, you could be twins!"

"Pretty sure... Why does everyone keep saying that we look alike? I just don't see it!"

Waffle looked at them as if they said the sky turned bubblegum pink.

"Really? How do you not see it??"

The two went back and forth unaware of the silver eyes watching them from every dark crevice, when closing time came around Waffle had gone home.

E-S/o was alone in the back doing inventory, when they felt the hair on the back of their neck stand up, someone was watching them! E-S/o's heart rattled in their chest as their body tensed up, the presence was right behind them, they could feel it breathing down their neck! They tried to pretend to be unaware as their grip tightened on the metal clipboard in their hands.

They tried to keep their breathing even, a second later they shut their eyes tight and whirled around brandishing the clipboard intending to smack the intruder with it, only to nearly stumbled as the board connected to nothing.

E-S/o gasped but managed to steady themselves than cautiously looked around the storage room, it was like a switch was flipped. Suddenly the small space didn't seem all that familiar and soundly anymore... that on edge feeling was still lingering in the shadows as E-S/o's went back to work but kept their eyes and ears peeled for anything out of place, the sooner they were done and out the better....

[Meanwhile at Nimbasa's children's hospital.]

Y/n was doing paperwork in the almost abandoned hospital cafeteria, the sound of her pen scribbling and rustling of paper were coupled the hushed and somber whispers of overnight visitors, or the soft snoring of one of her co-workers trying to catch up on their precious sleep before they were called back to work.

Sleep. That sounded great right now...

Y/n's vision went blurry and out of focus briefly as she stared down at the form she'd been filling out, the y/hc pushed her glasses up to her forehead and rubbed her tired eyes; than reached for her coffee cup, only to find it empty "Time to refuel..." she murmured with a tired sigh.

She got up from the table and stretched her tired joints. "When I get home I'm gonna sleep for like a week..." Y/n mentally promised to herself as she walked up to the coffee machine and was about the press the button for her usual drink.

When the cafeteria lights started flickering, Y/n felt a pit form in her stomach as she turned around to ask one of her coworkers if they should head back to the nurse's station in case of a blackout? But to the y/ht nurse's shock there was a little boy standing right behind her.

The nurse nearly jumped out of her skin, Y/n was surprised she didn't hear him walking up behind her! the boy looked about 7-10 years old maybe? he had these odd knife like sideburns and piercing silver eyes; he was wearing black overalls and a train conductor's hat, he looked at her with this blank expression.

Y/n wondered if he was the sibling of a patient that had wandered off, or was looking for his parents? Y/n crouched down to his level. "Hello, where'd you come from?” The boy kept staring, unblinking; which further unnerved the nurse “what's your name?" The boy's face suddenly contorted into a angry scowl and without a word he suddenly ran out of the cafeteria. Y/n was about to chase after him when this gut wrenching screeching caused the world to crumble away...

Y/n gasped as her eyes shot open, she sat straight up and looked around wildly taking in her surroundings, the nurse was startled to find herself laying in the middle of the hallway of the children’s sleep ward, Y/n was baffled as to how she got there? She was sure she was just in the cafeteria! However, Y/n didn't give herself much time to think about it, she could hear one of the kids screaming like they were being murdered!

She pulled herself off the floor and rushed into the screaming girl's room. "Alice? Alice! What is it, what wrong?" Y/n asked grapping the little girl gently by the shoulders, Alice was in hysterics and kept frantically pointing towards her room's closet, Y/n thought she saw something move behind the door... After getting Alice to quiet down, Y/n cautiously made her way over to the closet door, despite the little girl's desperate pleas and head shaking.

Y/n let out a shuddering breath as she reached for the knob and pulled the door open, The nurse felt her stomach turn to stone as she stared into a pair of silver eyes that belonged to... Y/n wouldn't know how to describe this thing, other than it looked almost human but it...

He was very tall, wore a lightly tattered black coat and had dark gray skin, she could also see what looked like a tail wagging behind it in agitation. "Wh-what who are you." Y/n stammered in fear as the creature's frown contorted into an angry snarl showing off his Sharpedo-like teeth, he made a move like he was going to grab Y/n! The nurse screamed and quickly slammed the closet door closed and locked it before pressing the room's panic button.

Y/n hugged Alice close as the guards and head nurse cautiously entered the room, the guards had their tasers drawn. "in the closet" was all the y/ht woman said as she and Alice held their breaths. But to the nurse's utter bafflement.

There was no one.

That's right when the guards unlocked and opened the closet to confront the intruder....there was nothing! "B-but he--it was right there!" Y/n a dumbfounded insisted she saw a man or something standing in that closet, "It was the Boogeyman!" Alice tearfully chimed she was still clinging to Y/n's shirt, the head nurse looked at them both concerned.

Needless to say, Y/n was sent home early, her boss told her that the exhaustion from working 48 hours with little sleep was probably getting to her, Y/n decided not to argue with it, since she knew her boss would send her to the loony-bin, if she said anything else about the oddly terrifying situation. unbeknownst to Y/n and E-S/o their night of torment was far from over....

84 notes · View notes

kailings · 3 months

Text

Yooooo Icarus's first chapter for his story is out!!!!

0 notes

hxzbinwrites · 4 months

Note

Hey!! Saw that u were taking request <3 I was thinking that an Alestor x wife!reader being a power (but absolutely terrifying) couple would be soooo cool, like maybe they already knew each other from when they were humans, and Alestor is just 10000% a simp for his wifey lol. Hope u like it!

Alastor x Wife! Overlord! Reader | Forgiveness |

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Death, Killing, Mentions of Alastor being a Cannibal, Reader makes STUPID DECISIONS

In the Pride Ring is where all of the sinners and Overlords alike mingle. The uppermost ring of Hell and the closest to Heaven. That’s where some of the most feared and powerful beings live. Two of those entities being Alastor, the Radio Demon, and (Y/n), the Jazz Demon.

Together, they rule their districts with an iron grip. While some Overlords team up, like the Vees, Alastor and (Y/n) were the first to do it. Well, it makes sense really, especially because they were close during their respective times alive on Earth.

——————

Three gunshots were heard that fateful night. One ending a mans life by his hand, one ending the witness’s life by his hand, and one ending his by justice’s hand. No more Bayou Killer, but he took two more lives before he went. Awful, sick man. Good thing he’s in Hell now…

Alastor hissed as his back hit the pavement. His squinted eyes took in his surroundings, he was in Hell. Hmm, no shocker there. What was a shock was seeing the body next to his.

“Ugghh” They groaned, sitting upright on the pavement next to him. They locked eyes. It was (Y/n). Before Alastor could even speak, she pounced on him, pushing him back into the pavement.

“You sick son of a BITCH!! YOU KILLED ME!! SHOT ME LIKE I WAS AN ANIMAL FOR YA NEXT MEAL!!” She yelled, shaking him back and forth by gripping his collar. His collar looked identical to hers, and he tuned out her yelling, he noticed her attire. She was now wearing a black suit with red and white accents, one that looked like a reverse image of his. Except a few details weren’t the same, hers looked more feminine, but also had less harsh edges to it. She looked more elegant while he looked more harsh.

He then looked up to her face, she had red eyes and long, silky black hair, with red underneath. He looked to the top of her head and noticed two fluffy, black ears. They were currently pressed to her scalp, a clear indicator of her unhappiness at the current moment.

“AND TO THINK, AFTER ALL OF THAT BEGGIN, YOU WAS JUST DYING TO GET ME ON YOUR RADIO SHOW!! WELL LOOK AT US NOW, MR. ALASTOR. LOOK. AT. US. NOW. WHAT EVEN ARE YOU, YOU SICK FREAK. EVERYONE KNEW THE BAYOU KILLER ATE FOLKS. IF YOU WERENT SHOT, WERE YOU GONNA EAT ME?? WAS I GONNA NOT EVEN BE ABLE TO HAVE A BURIAL NEXT TO MY PA, CAUSE YOU ATE ME!? OH LORD HELP ME!!”

Alastor rolled his eyes, feeling no remorse for the doe that whined above him. (Y/n) was a famous musician in Louisiana, particularly in Jazz. Alastor had begged her to come onto his radio show, play some tunes for his devoted fans. She agreed, but that night Alastor didn’t show to the studio. She heard shouting in the woods across the street from the building, stupidly she went to investigate. She saw the oh so famous radio host, and with a bang of a shotgun the other man was dead. Probably in Heaven now. Trying to stay silent, (Y/n) tried to back away before a branch snapped, like a doe her eyes widened before she darted away, only to be shot right in the heart and drop down to the ground. She heard another shot faintly in the distance before she felt the wind brush past her as she fell.

“My dear, I apologize.” Alastor said, gently grabbing (Y/n)‘s hand. “It was never my intention to make you my target. I knew that if word got out about my….hobbies….that my reputation would be ruined. No more radio show.”

“You can apologize for the rest of eternity” She scowled, smacking his hand away before standing up,” You’re a MONSTER. Leave me ALONE. Hopefully someone down here will be nice, but I’m not taking no help from you”. (Y/n) finally walked away, leaving a very annoyed Alastor sitting there.

———————

About 20 years later

Alastor was a feared Overlord now, rising the ranks out of seemingly nowhere. Even with this newfound power and respect, (Y/n) still wanted nothing to do with him. She was famous in her own way. Music was not very abundant in Hell, and she profited off of that. She had little to no competition in the music industry. Becoming an icon of Hell, her name was in everyone’s mouth, making Alastor yesterday’s news, which irked him to no end.

‘I need her.’ Alastor initially thought,’ with someone as influential as her now, having her on my side will make my power increase tenfold.’ But after many times of asking over the years, he just yearned for her admiration. Not only to be on his side, but by his side. He didn’t know where the newfound obsession came from, but Alastor knew he wouldn’t stop until he brought her to him.

Alastor made his way to her huge studio, basically a small turf at this point. Without ever fighting, she’d managed to become a little bit of an Overlord, just not to the extent she could be called one. He made his way up to her penthouse, knowing the way by heart since this is not the first time he’s made a visit for an alliance.

“What Alastor.” (Y/n) asked, not even looking up from her sheet music she was writing.

“Hello my dear!” Alastor said,”lovely to see you again! I just miss you so much darling!”

“Miss me from what?” She said, turning around to meet his eyes,” we were aquatinted when we were alive, and then you killed me. What exactly do you miss me from?”

“I just miss seeing you.” He said in a softer tone,”Please (Y/n), you must realize that your death was an accident. I was never planning to hurt you. I was never planning to do anything to you.”

(Y/n)’s head tipped down, her ears pressed to her scalp,”but you did, Alastor. You killed me.”

“My dear….” He said, getting closer slowly, like she’d dart off at any given moment, just for him to not see her ever again. “My dear, I cannot imagine the pain you’ve gone through. I know it’s been a few years now, but that’s a few years you could’ve still been alive. Found a husband, had a better music career, just lived. I took that from you, and I’m…..I’m sorry.”

“I know Alastor.” She said, hugging him. Even though he hated when people touched him, she did not know this, so he internally decided to let this one time be the exception. “You know I can never fully forgive you….but after all of these years, I think I can at least try to have you in my life….but if you screw up ANY, I’m gonna kill you. I don’t care if you’re an Overlord or whatever the hell you’re doing, I will kill you like you killed me.”

“Hmm, fair enough” He shrugged, breaking off the hug as he sat down in the chair across from hers.

———————

Present Day

“So hold up” Angel said, looking at the two powerful Overlords,”He literally killed you and you were like, ‘oh well, I forgive you’. What the hell (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) was a true Overlord know. Once she let Alastor back into her life, he taught her the ways of toppling Overlords. She didn’t posses near the amount of power that he had, so he did the gruesome part for her. Building her musical empire (and later on having to shoo of Vox who begged her to join his up and coming ‘Television’ idea after Alastor shot him down).

“Oh I’d hardly call it forgiving.” Alastor said,”I get constantly reminded about it every day, multiple times a day. You wonder why it took us 60 years to even get engaged.”

(Y/n) just rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. Alastor smirked, looking over at his wife.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do? The man kept coming by begging me every week for TWENTY YEARS!! Lovesick puppy if you ask me.”

Charlie squealed, hugging onto Vaggie. “Look Vaggie! That could be us one day!!”

“I hope not” Vaggie said,” A freaky cannibalistic overlord and his delusional companion. I’m fine with staying as us.”

“No Vaggie! I meant married! Wouldn’t that be fun!! Married for a long time!! Forever!!”

While Charlie was helping Vaggie stop short circuiting, (Y/n) and Alastor just looked at one another with a knowing glance. Alastor took her hand and kissed her knuckles, smiling up at her.

“Thank you again my dear, for letting me back into your life. I’m eternally sorry for what I did.”

“I know you are Alastor, plus I’d be dead already now regardless.” (Y/n) giggled,”I still don’t know what overcame me that day. I mean, who lets someone back into their life after doing that!! I am glad I did though. It’s like you said in that apology, I have a husband, I have a huge music career, but I’m not living, technically, but it feels like it!!”

Alastor chuckled,”that’s right, my precious doe. Now, I am off to go grab lunch for the both of us! If you excuse me, I shall make a trip down to the Cannibal District, and then over to the grocery store for your food!”

———————

Word Count: 1,560

3K notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 23 days

Text

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.

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 #1k notes #1k notes omg you guys!

1K notes · View notes