#there's not an ounce of nobility in him and I love him for it. a weasel first and foremost | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

milktei · 1 year

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Hold me Tight

Kamisato Ayato x fem!wife!Reader

Genre: Arranged Marriage au, idk if it can be called a slow burn but that’s what I’m calling it, fluff, smidge of angst.

Warnings: unconventional relationship, Reader is described to have long hair that is brushed through. not edited

Requests: Open

a/n: another one out! :o Had to indulge myself a little bit before getting back to requests. arranged marriage au’s are my guilty pleasure and i just felt like writing for genshin again. Hair brushing and physical affection is also just such a big thing for me I had to write it. So if it isn’t obvious i wrote this mostly for selfish reasons and that is the reason why it may be sort of all over the place lol. I hope it’s enjoyable either way!

A hug is all you longed for really. For someone to wrap warm arms around you and let you completely melt into them.

Being married it should be an easy ask

How unfortunate it is for you that your husband wants nothing to do with you.

Although the more you thought about it, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. He did agree to the marriage hadn’t he?

He was the head of his clan, the Yashiro commissioner. Throughout the entirety of the process of arranging your marriage, Kamisato Ayato had every right, and more than enough chances to stop it from going through.

He had nothing to lose if he decided he wasn’t ready for marriage, which was an excuse many citizens of Inazuma had heard over the years.

He really had nothing to gain from it either.

It confused you from the day the elders of your clan elatedly told you that by some insane amount of luck, the Kamisato Ayato had accepted “your” marriage proposal that had been sent in as almost an obligation.

There was no harm in trying and you were now living proof of that.

Why you? out of all the suitors he definitely had, he had chosen you. While your clan was one of the head producers of tea leaves in the country, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around his acceptance, it was not like the Kamisato’s needed the tea, they could have afforded it anyways.

There was no political gain for him either as he was already a tri-commissioner, you weren’t even in line to become heir! Your uncle was the head of the clan and your cousins would follow in his footsteps.

The gossip about you flew all over inazuma like a storm cloud, and you heard it all, people weren’t always subtle in their curiosity or distaste in you after all.

Some of the talk was harsh and negative, and yet you couldn’t help but partially agree with what some people were saying about you.

You were a nobody as far as nobility went. The only reason you could think of as to why Ayato chose you, was likely to reduce the amount of mail that he got, as the marriage proposals had virtually stopped after your wedding. Aside from some particularly desperate people.

Perhaps you really were the best candidate for him. You weren’t a prominent figure in the public eye, you weren’t after the Kamisato’s fame and fortune, and you weren’t the type of person to fawn over your husband 24/7 and demand he shower you in riches and attention.

Although you almost wish that you were. Maybe then you wouldn’t be longing for a hug as badly as you currently were.

While it was true that being married to Ayato meant that you had nearly everything you could ask for at your fingertips, and that it was rare for you to be denied anything—not like you asked for much anyways—the one thing you could not ask for, was your husband’s affection. How ironic. the one person you spewed rehearsed vows to about being his rock and what not, was the one person you could not get an ounce of love or affection from.

Of course you had never really had the chance to try at this point, as despite being married for 6 months already, you can count the amount of times you had a full conversation with the man on one hand.

“I hope that you can find it in you to excuse my lord. He is a very busy man.” Thoma had told you the day you had moved in and your husband was no where to be seen. The look he gave you the mixture of empathy and a wince.

That was the day reality set in. He looked at you kindly on the day you got married. Soft smiles graced both of your features during the ceremony, and you two spoke amicably during the extravagant reception. But this was an arranged marriage, a contract more than a relationship, and you both had duties to fulfill.

A smile that had been drilled into you since your etiquette classes from your youth crossed your face “There’s no need to worry about me Thoma, I understand.”

So you had to learn to get used to being alone in an estate bustling with people. You opened your wedding gifts alone, sorted them accordingly and even sent out an astonishing amount of individual thank you cards to all the guests you had at your wedding.

You often ate alone, save for the times Ayaka and Thoma had time to accompany you. Aside from being reached out to for second opinions or approval you weren’t given a formal job on the estate. Instead you were given an allowance, and were free to spend your days doing whatever you wanted, so long as the Kamisato name was protected.

Yes that was another thing you had to get used to, “Kamisato y/n”, “My lady Kamisato.” Hearing the latter was especially hard, that title felt as if it was reserved only for your sister-in-law, she definitely represented it with more grace than you thought you were ever capable of.

The name and all the responsibilities it came with weighed down on your shoulders unlike anything you had every experienced prior, and here you pushed against it alone. Forced to go through the transition into married life without the other half of the partnership to support you.

That led you to your predicament now. You were coming to the realization that you were horribly touch starved.

It was even worse on cold windy days, or when it rained. All it did was remind you about how your late parents would use those days to curl up with you, a warm blanket, and a book to laze the day away and wish for nicer weather the next so that you could go out on a picnic.

you longed for those days of warmth and love again. Your family had been quite affectionate with one another. While Ayaka would come and spend time with you, treating you like an older sibling. Nothing could reach the craving deep within you.

You sighed to yourself as you walked through the streets of Inazuma, ignoring the whispers of people who passed and recognized who you were.

Or rather who you were married to.

“My lady Kamisato!” greeted the Yae publishing house worker. “You’ve come at a great time, the new volume of your favourite series has just released.”

The worker handed you the book in question and you couldn’t help the excitement that rose within you as you quickly flipped through “I was hoping that I’d be able to pick something up today. I’ve been needing more things to do when the weather doesn’t permit me to go outside. Any other recommendations?”

The worker smiled at you sweetly and handed you another book “Surely Lord Ayato, is able to keep you from getting too bored at the estate my lady?”

Your smile faltered ever so slightly, you couldn’t let it drop in front of the worker, the last thing you wanted was for anymore rumours to spread. You pretended to read the synopsis of the book that was handed to you. “Yes of course, but there are still times where he is not available. My husband is a very busy man.”

My husband, you didn’t think you would ever get used to referring to him as that. He felt like nothing more than a stranger who’s house you happened to live in, who you shared a family name with, who would grace you with a soft smile and a nod as you passed each other at the estate each making your ways to your separate rooms.

A gust of wind blew through the streets and both you and the worker shivered. You looked at the sky and frowned at the dark clouds rolling in, you flinched as a singular rain drop landed on your cheek.

The worker also looked up “it really is rainy season isn’t it?” they looked to you “I would recommend you head home soon my lady, looks like it’s gonna come down any minute now and you’ve got a long walk back to the Kamisato estate”

You sighed, “what a shame, I was hoping to run a couple more errands today.” you payed for both books and placed them into your bag with a smile “thank you for the advice I’ll head out now.”

You walked away from the shop in the direction of the estate, waving behind you as the worker told you to stay safe.

———

Perhaps you should have stayed in town.

You come to this realization as you’re halfway to the estate. Komore tea house would have been much nicer than the weather you were experiencing currently.

The singular raindrop you had felt earlier had slowly progressed into a little more than a drizzle and you groaned to yourself as your clothing grew heavier as it absorbed more and more water.

You should have grabbed your umbrella

It was practically pouring by the time you had gotten to the estate, the trees of Chinju forest providing surprisingly little shelter against the rain.

Quickly, you rushed under the cover of the roof of the estate and sighed in relief once you weren’t being pelted by water. You looked down at you clothes and cringed at the water dripping from the fabric and your hair onto the dark wood

Wringing out what you could beforehand, you opened the front doors of the estate as quietly as you could, albeit in vain as Thoma and your husband were having a discussion right at the entrance.

Both men turned to look at you as the door closed and you could only stare back awkwardly as the sound of water dripping from you clothes and hair, along with your shivering filled the room.

Thoma was the first to break the silence and began fussing over you not unlike a mother hen.

“My lady you’re soaking wet! You’re going to get sick! I’ll have the maids draw a bath for you. Please allow me to grab your belongings. I’ll have tea ready for you once you’re done.

Before you knew it, you were standing in your bathroom with a steaming tub waiting for you. Still bewildered at what had transpired moments before.

Still, Thoma and his efforts were never unwelcome as the bath was exactly what you needed.

You took your time in the bath, taking in the scent of the flowers and oils put in by the maids, appreciating how well the water warmed your once cold body.

Once finished, you were quick to dry off and get dressed, still towel drying your hair as you entered your room.

As promised, Thoma had left a tea set on the table in your room with a container holding tea leaves, knowing you liked to brew it yourself.

The only thing out of place was an extra tea cup.

As if on cue, the door to your room was gently slid open and your jaw nearly dropped at the sight of pale blue hair.

“My lord!” you greeted, the words leaving you mouth before you could even try to stop them.

Ayato paused as the two of you made eye contact, it was almost as if he was surprised himself that you were in your own room.

Ayato was the first to regain his composure after clearing his throat. “Majority of my plans for today have been cancelled due to the weather, I was hoping you could allow me to join you for a bit.”

Your head was spinning, not able to wrap itself around the fact that your husband was in your room and actively trying to spend time with you.

“Of course if that’s how you wish to spend your free time my lord.” you stammered, part of you still believing that this was some sort of dream.

A small shiver ran down your spine and you were reminded of the damp hair that ran down your back. You looked to the vanity in your room and then back at your husband.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I would like to fix my hair situation beforehand.”

“Of course y/n there’s no need to worry, it’s just me.”

That was precisely why you were panicking on the inside at that moment. It was only the man who was so busy, that his presence in the house on a daily basis resembled that of a gust of wind.

You sat down at you vanity and picked up one of your combs, beginning the task of untangling the mess you had created both in the rain and bath.

You nearly groaned out loud to yourself, you had kept your hair long to be able to use the multitude of flamboyant hair accessories you had acquired, but brushing it had always been your least favourite part of the entire process.

A awkward cough caused you to look at the man in your room.

“if you are comfortable with it…I could help you brush your hair.”

You stared in shock at the man in front of you. His face was genuine but you could tell by the reddening of his ears that he was flustered, the most you had ever seen from him.

The combination of being a witness to such a rare site and the fact that you were still in shock that he was there in the first place, had you speaking without much thought.

“That would be very helpful my lord, thank you.”

The surprise on his face was visible You could only hope that your whirlwind of emotions wasn’t as obvious.

Still, not one to go back on his word, Ayato gently took the comb from your outstretched hand and began to work. His powerful presence behind you almost causing you to curl in on yourself.

He was gentle, his hands warm as they followed your comb, a warm feeling spread throughout you chest as he so carefully detangled your hair, taking his time.

You hoped that he wouldn’t be able notice through your reflection just how flustered you were at this moment. Your face was hot, your breathing was slightly rapid and you couldn’t find it in yourself to look up at the mirror in fear that your eyes would connect.

Yet this moment felt so intimate, so tender and domestic. You could almost believe that you two were much closer than you really were.

A soft chuckle broke you from your thoughts.

“This brings me back.” Ayato sighed wistfully, “when we were younger, Ayaka would let me do this for her. Though she seemed less than impressed when I would try different styles on her. I wonder if she would trust me with her hair again after all this time.”

You smiled down at your fidgeting hands “I’m sure she would if you promised no more experiments my lord.”

Ayato hummed in contemplation “I suppose you may be right, but at the same time maybe I won’t need to ask her if I already have yours within reach.” He leaned closer to your ear, “After all, am I wrong to assume that you are enjoying this my dear wife?”

Your face felt like it was on fire, you had never heard him call you that to your face before. You could feel the smug smile that was currently gracing his features as he leaned back and continued his actions.

“Well?” He urged after a moment

“No you are not wrong to assume that my lord.” You managed to stammer out. Your hands clenched into fists in your lap as you forced yourself to say the truth, knowing well that he would be able to see through any lie.

He sighed. “Please y/n I think we’re at a point where we can drop the formalities.”

Your eyes widened at his words and you spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“Are we really?”

His hand that was holding the brush froze mid stroke, the room was suddenly filled with a chilled silence and you cringed at the amount of malice an anger that you managed to fit into one simple question.

This was no way to talk to the man you were married to.

“Forgive me my… Ayato. I did not mean to sound so harsh I just-“

“No no there’s no need to apologize.” ayato assured. He raked a hand through your hair and chuckled bitterly, “I supposed it is my fault that you feel this way about our…situation

You opened your mouth to protest but nothing came out. What he said wasn’t a lie to make you feel better for snapping at him. It was entirely the truth and you were grateful that he understood where you were coming from.

“Finished.” He stated softly before placing the comb back on your vanity. “I hope that I haven’t worn out my welcome.”

You paused for a moment, thinking about the situation you found yourself in, while wanting to get yourself out of the awkward moment, you knew that a chance to spend time with him again would be rare.

“You haven’t, don’t worry,” you stated as you slowly rose from your seat. Still refusing to look up at him you gestured to the low table where the tea set sat, “Please have a seat, I’ll brew the tea for us.”

It was quiet as you worked, the only sounds in the room being the clink of tea set, and the crinkle of tatami mats. You thanked Thoma in your mind when you saw that he had prepared leaves that were better steeped in lower temperatures, as the water had cooled down since he first boiled it.

“We’ll have to wait a couple minutes.” You said as you closed the lid of the teapot. Ayato nodded and an awkward silence filled the room.

“I don’t want to use me being busy as an excuse.” Ayato suddenly blurted out.

You finally look up at him in surprise “Pardon?”

Ayato cleared his throat “My apologies. It’s just that I know that everyone has been using me being busy to excuse me for being absent in this relationship. While I know that lin its simplest terms, what we have between us is a contract, part of me still hoped that I would be able to get to know you well and we could be much more than strangers. There are many times where I could have put my work aside and spent more time with you, but I for some reason I never found myself taking those opportunities.”

He looked almost guilty as he continued. “Now here I am, months later knowing next to nothing about you, and on top of that I expected you to be comfortable with speaking casually around me when we have barely even spoken before.

You pondered to yourself as you poured tea into his cup “Well if it makes you feel any better,” you poured more into your own “I also know next to nothing about you.”

“Unfortunately that only seems to add salt to the wounds my dear.” Ayato grumbled.

Your eyes widened at the pet name and you quickly lifted your teacup to your face to hide your embarrassment.

Ayato followed suit and hummed in satisfaction as he drank. “Well I do know one thing now. My wife is excellent at brewing tea. It must run in your family’s genes.”

You waved him off “it’s just something that comes with experience, my uncle is the true master.”

“I also now know that my wife finds it hard to accept compliments.”

“Hey!”

Ayato smiled at you teasingly as you glared at him, though there was no anger behind it.

“Well now that’s unfair,” you stated “I should get to learn something about you now.”

Your husband raised an eyebrow, “well what would you like to know?”

You faltered for a moment, not expecting him to relent so easily, “well…” you stuttered, “what type of tea would you consider your favourite?”

“Really digging deep are we y/n?”

“I couldn’t think of something straight away!”

Despite the teasing, the questions continued, it was as if you were on a first date.

Except you were already living together and married.

One question was asked after the other. Ranging from you asking him about the daily life of a tri-commissioner, to him asking about the books you had bought earlier in the day.

It was only after Thoma had brought dinner to your room, that you had finally asked.

“So why me?”

Ayato’s chopsticks paused mid air “Why what?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, he was playing dumb.

“Why did Inazuma’s most desired bachelor, Yashiro commissioner, leader of the famed Shuumatsuban, and the man who brought the Kamisato Clan back to its former glory, the Kamisato Ayato. Decide that a nobody from a tea producing clan was the one you would want to spend the rest of you life with.”

Ayato looked at you in exasperation “You aren’t a nobody y/n there’s so much more to you.”

“We don’t need to get down to the specifics, don’t avoid the question!” You exclaimed, ignoring the pleased smile on his face as he took in your flustered state.

Ayato put a hand to his chin and hummed as if contemplating something grand. He took a moment to respond. “Would you believe me if I said that I found you to be a very interesting person y/n?”

You stared at him blankly.

“Don’t lie to me we didn’t even meet until the wedding.”

The smile that he sent you sent a chill down your spine “Well I suppose that’s true in a sense, but we have been in each other’s presence on multiple occasions.”

You couldn’t mask the your surprise, “we have?”

Ayato looked at you incredulously. “Surely you know how often the Yashiro commission requests supplies from your clan for the multiple events we host.”

You fiddled with your teacup “Well sure but that doesn’t mean that it was a guarantee that we bump into each other. I’m sure I would have remembered being in the presence of you of all people.”

Ayato shrugged, “Being in the public eye is much more my sisters domain. I tend to stick to the shadows during bigger festivals that I’m interested in. During one of these times… you caught my eye.”

Your eyes widened “I did?”

He looked bashful as he continued his story, you were sure that you were the first person to ever see him in this state.

“I always knew of you, as I often meet with your uncle for business. I don’t know if you know this but he often worries about you and tends to talk about you during these meetings.” Ayato hummed in contemplation. “Perhaps it was a tactic to make me say yes to the upcoming proposal”

You groaned in horror at the realization that the two men had been talking about you “I apologize for my uncles actions.”

Ayato waved dismissively “Thats not the point. At a festival is where I first saw you and was able to put a name to a face. What I didn’t expect was the fact that everything about you had fascinated me. The way you danced and had that kind of sparkle in you eyes as you wandered around in wonder. The way you kindly greeted everyone you met. I found myself looking for you at following festivals to see if that was always how you looked…it was.”

“So it was only my looks” you teased

he sighed exasperated “Of course not”

You laughed “I’m kidding. Keep going.”

“Then at one point I was due for a meeting at your estate with your uncle and I might have listened in on a deal you were striking with a business man. The confidence in your voice was obvious and the way you negotiated with grace and kindness, yet still with firmness, had me intrigued within the first couple seconds of me hearing it. My interest only grew when your meeting had concluded and I saw you step out. with an accomplished smile on your face”

You gaped at him, you very rarely took part in your family’s business deals, only helping with what your cousins or uncle were too busy to handle. For him to be there at that time on that day was truly a great coincidence.

“You really piqued my interest that day. Although it was not my first choice in ways to get closer to you, when I saw the proposal sent by your clan, everything seemed to fall into place.” Ayato laughed but his tone soon turned solemn.

“Unfortunately not everything worked out for me, because look at how things are going. I left you to fend for yourself against the public, we rarely see each other, and this is the longest we have ever spoken despite being married for months. I think I was just afraid of crossing any boundaries, after all this marriage is arranged and I had no idea as to how you felt about me.”

Without thinking you reached over the table and grabbed one of his hands in both of yours, touched by how vulnerable he was being with you, “I wouldn’t have agreed to the marriage so easily if I thought ill of you in any way, while I may not have known you, you also piqued my interest. I won’t lie I was- still am extremely shocked, but I saw nothing bad coming out of this marriage really. It started off slow but we’re talking now, and well, don’t you think we’ve made some great progress?”

He smiled endearingly at you, “yes, I am grateful for this opportunity and hope that we can continue on this path.”

You laughed, “now you’re making it sound like a business deal.”

After that, you and Ayato finished your dinner making pleasant conversation. The sun had long gone down when he made the call for the both of you to retire for the night.

He once again stood in the doorway of your room, only this time you were standing right in front of him.

“I’ll have a heavier workload tomorrow but I think I’ll be able to join you for dinner again.”

You smiled up at him “I would like that, please let me know if there’s anything I can help you with, I’m part of this clan too you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you y/n.”

There was a pause and Ayato reluctantly continued. “Well I should take my leave for the night.”

As he turned, something seemed to overcome you, and you grabbed at his wrist,

“Ayato.”

He froze and turned to look at you curiously. you shyly looked away, “before you go. May I have a hug?”

He gave you a teasing smile, “this is all happening so fast, what will everyone think?”

“Oh please we’re already married.”

He laughed and his smile softened.

Without anymore words, Ayato opened his arms.

You couldn’t hold back the giddy smile that crossed your face and without hesitation you allowed yourself to melt into his embrace for the first time in what would become many.

A scent that was uniquely his filled your nose, and as you pressed against his chest you could feel and hear his heart pounding just as hard as yours. You nearly sighed in satisfaction as you wrapped your arms around his waist. A need you had been suppressing for months had finally been fulfilled. His hold was strong and comforting, his hold making you feel like you again.

Ayato chuckled to himself as his grip tightened, “well now I’ve found myself in a predicament.”

Still holding onto him, you turned your head to look up at him. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to let go.”

#genshin impact #kamisato ayato #kamisato ayato x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin x you #genshin x reader #ayato x reader #genshin ayato

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amelee23 · 9 months

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Special | Lee Know Fluff

Pairing: Lee Know x Gender neutral reader

Genre: Romance, poetic prose, first person

Word count: 1k

Warnings: this is disgustingly romantic, reader is worshiping their love for lino basically, talks about mythology and gods

A/n: Please let me know if you liked this, since I do know this is a kind of writing that isn't really done around here (?) but I am a hopeless romantic so here goes nothing lmao

Synopsis: One day, you began to wonder: what makes your love story with Minho so special? As you struggle to find an answer, you only find more love.

Millions of people fall in love every single day, but what makes my story special?

My story, by all normal means, is not in any way special. I'm sure history has heard of stories like mine countless of times.

What could I say to make it sound special? That it was love at first sight?

Well, it was. But that's also cliche. I don't believe it to be as rare as it sounds.

That he thawed my cold heart and made it beat again? Even though he did - my ex made me feel oh so special, and when he walked out of my life, every wall he had knocked down were built right back up.

But then I met another boy, and he spoke to me with a sparkle in his eye, with hidden kindness and sensitivity beyond every word. And I fell in love hopelessly, on the spot.

What else could I say -? That he has a heart of gold? He does, this boy of mine has helped countless animals find shelter, fed starving children across the world and offered every little ounce of him towards the happiness of those around him. But does that make our story special enough?

He's not a king of ancient kingdoms, although secretly, when he sits down at his desk I imagine he could be. A heavy crown on his head, the garments of nobility, an aura around him that demands respect. Plus, he's never taken a selfish decision in his life, he's always looked after me and stirred me in the right direction.

He's not a knight in shining armor, although when we're together I feel so powerful - that we could indeed be slaying dragons! Both of us, clad in armor, standing back to back with wide swords ready to charge into battle, the background forgotten in a mist of smoke and ashes. There is no foe that could stand in our way.

Perhaps you could say, this story is special because he is special. But he would kill me if he heard me say that, that he's special and I'm not.

Because if you ask him, I've got it all backwards. He's just Minho, and I'm the star.

The star of his world.

He swears I must be famous, because although I don't see it (or refuse to admit it) everyone around me adores me. Or so he says. He always says I'm loved, oh so loved, and not just by him. He's merely my biggest fan, and sometimes-! Sometimes he acts like my manager. Marketing me to others, telling stories of how great I am. How cute.

But let's get back to talking about him. Since he's my favorite topic to talk about.

So he's not a king, nor a knight. Perhaps he's a seer, since he does seem to posses the ability to foresee the future! He always talks about such distant destinies, the names of our children, the color of our shared bedroom, the furniture of our kitchen, all these memories we're yet to have... Hmm, maybe he can predict the future. I doubt it's all wishful thinking!

Or maybe he's a magician? A healer, a witch, a mage - he must be able to perform some sort of healing magic, because once, when I had a headache, he kissed my forehead and the pain went away. That couldn't have been a coincidence-!

What else could I compare him to, to make this seem more magical? An Egyptian deity...? No, let's not do that, it sounds somewhat blasphemous to compare a mere mortal to an ancient God... although he should definitely try dressing as one for Halloween! Gold would look great on his honey-like skin, surrounded by his tightly protected kittens... From what I have read he'd fit Anubis the most, for he's such a good listener, so supportive, it's like he has the ability to bring people back to life, breathe motivation back into them when they feel they're at the end of their road - just like Anubis used to help in the process of reincarnation. It doesn't even have to be Egyptian, I could say he reminds me of Prometheus, the man who stole fire from the gods, to give it to humanity in an absolute tragic and noble sacrifice... (I did compare him to gods even though I said I wouldn't, right?)

Maybe he's a forest fairy? No, this one I am a certain about. He blends into nature, it's the place where he most belongs. What else could he be, other than a magical sprite of nature? Animals adore him, I'm sure he can communicate with them in languages only they can understand. And whenever we go camping, and he lies down on the grass, on our old and stained picnic blanket, it seems as though the grass grows; flowers sprout around his body and the sun seeps into his skin, making him glow. And then he smiles and beckons me over, to share with him of his fruit, and I'm sure it's actually ambrosia.

Yes, this should be the one. Being a human, being my lover, it's all just a cover for something so deeply mysterious, ancient and magical, living inside of him, running through his veins... I hope he doesn't lose his magic by settling for someone as simple as me, who could only admire, but barely comprehend the history of his existence...

If he were to read this, he would think I'm very funny. And probably check my temperature for a fever. But one thing's for sure - we could be anything if we tried to be, a supernatural story, a Greek tragedy, a new York besteller... But we don't need to. Because what we have is enough.

There's a million people who fall in love every single day. But there's a million reasons why my lover is made out of pure magic - and while this might not be the most special love story of all time, it is the most special story of my life.

A/n: Just a thousand words my game weak this time around I am sTRugGLINg

If you like my work, consider donating so I can continue writing!

©amelee23 do not copy or repost

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windwheeler-aster · 1 year

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Hello, can I request Diluc and Thoma with a vial of poison + forbidden love + suggestive if that's ok please! Thank you^^

loyal to the very end

summary: your servant, and secret lover, discovers that there was an attempt to poisen you. now, he wants to comfort you in the best way he knows

masterlist | event

pairings (separate): thoma and diluc x reader

reader info: uses gender neutral pronouns (they/them), reader is a person of royalty (can be a ruler or heir, whatever floats ye boat), and reader is not traveler

word count: 1256 words (4 and a half mins~)

genre: romance, forbidden love, suggestive, royal AU

format: one shot

warnings: attempt to poison reader mentioned, swearing, power dynamic/forbidden love between employer (royal!reader) and employee (servant!diluc/thoma), reader being called paranoid, and suggestive endings

a/n: hghghghghg writing sugesstive stuff is always WEE WOO WEE WOO, yknow??? (im normal, trust me)

Thoma gazed at you in the mirror, following your gaze as you looked at yourself. Even though he sees you everyday, Thoma swears that there’s always something new to your appearance, something he never noticed. But your well-mannered servant doesn’t mind. Thoma could never tire from seeing you everyday and discovering something new about you. In fact, it has become the highlight of his daily routine now.

“Thoma?” you called.

He perked up. “Yes, my liege?

“How do I look?”

Ravishing. “Er, very lovely, my liege.”

Thoma saw your perked up brow in the mirror’s reflection. “Oh? Just ‘lovely’?”

A light blush dusted his cheeks as Thoma looked away. “You look stunning, my liege. The members of the court are very… lucky to bask in your presence, today.” Then, he added in a hushed tone, “They’re lucky everyday, my liege.”

You smirked and Thoma felt the tips of his ears burn. “How kind of you to say, Thoma.”

“I’m only speaking the truth, my liege.”

You sighed, “If only all members of my court were as honest as you.”

“What do you mean, my liege?” Thoma tilted his head, ever so slightly. “Has there been a disturbance in your court?”

You nodded. Thoma watched as you opened one of your vanity’s drawers and pulled out a small beaker of liquid. He watched as you shook it gently, the liquid within it swishing gently and slowly. Thoma rose a brow, as he only knew one liquid that could move that slowly: wine.

“Is that from a secret admirer, my liege?” he asked, curtly, trying to hide the jealousy in his tone. Getting gifts from admirers was normal for people of nobility, he tried to reason.

You frowned. “No. The other day, our head chef caught one of the servants trying to sneak by with this. We thought they were going to slip some into my evening meal. Regardless of their motive, the servant has been fired and is now rotting in jail while I decide on a justifiable punishment.” You make eye contact with Thoma in the mirror. “Attempted murder is treason, after all.”

Thoma’s lips parted, but no sound came out. Had he known that poison was in the liquid you held, not an ounce of jealousy or envy would have overcome Thoma. He felt ashamed, even guilty, that you had to go through that. Your servant even worried about you as you stared at the vial, contemplatively, before shoving it back into the drawer.

“To be honest, I want to forget about it all,” you murmur as you rub your temple. “Obviously, the servant won’t go without punishment. However, I find I can’t trust anyone within my court.”

“You can trust me, my liege,” he blurted out, foolishly.

You stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “Of course I can.” You noticed his longing stare and smiled, deciding to be cruel to Thoma’s heart. “Though, I don’t think I should trust you when you have such a lustful gaze, Thoma.”

Thoma stammered, blushing a bright cherry red. He coughed into his fist, a vain effort to clear his flustered expression. “My liege,” the pleading in his voice was adorable, and yet so out of character for the normally stoic man, “I did not mean to offend—”

You chuckled, effectively shutting Thoma up as you slowly walked over to him. “Oh, my dearest Thoma.” You caressed his cheek, slowly turning him to face your wicked smirk. “I take it as a compliment.”

“My liege, we shouldn’t—”

You stopped caressing him. “Do you want to stop?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck the court.”

“No,” Thoma whispered in earnest, “I’m afraid of what the court will think.”

Thoma turned a deeper shade of red.

“Not literally, obviously,” you chuckled. “I’d rather keep you to myself, if that’s alright with you.” You looked at him and placed your hand back on his cheek and smiled. “Now, where were we?”

Diluc carried your morning meal on a silver tray to your room.

The tray was filled with your favorite foods, all specially made by him. Although it had been hard, due to the other servants bustling around in the kitchen, Diluc managed to find a small section of the servants’ kitchen for himself. Even in the midst of all the chaos that was the servant’s kitchens, Diluc found himself smiling as he prepared your favorite meal.

Now, he was carefully prying your door open. He ducked his head, eyes to the ground, as he stepped foot into your chambers. He tapped the door shut with the toe of his shoe. Then, Diluc’s gaze swept up from the floor as he began to smile.

However, upon seeing your sleep-deprived form huddled in all of your blankets glare daggers at him, Diluc nearly dropped the tray.

“My sweet?” he called out, quickly finding his balance with the tray. “Is everything alright? You look a little bit… tired, with all due respect.”

You blinked, slowly. Then you looked down at yourself, shame washing over your features. “Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Diluc frowned. “Oh?” He found his place by your side, gently placing the tray of food on your night side table. “Why’s that?”

“It’s nothing really,” you murmured. Then, you shook your head. “Well, it is something, but I’m just… overthinking it all, I guess.”

“Should I send for the court physician?”

“No, no,” you clutched onto his frame, desperate. “Please, don’t. She’s already seen me.”

“Did she prescribe you something?” he mumbled, slowly patting your back so you’d relax on him.

“A sleeping drought and being diagnosed with irrational paranoia.”

He furrowed his brow. “‘Irrational paranoia’?”

“She says that I shouldn’t worry about it,” you explained. “Afterall, the guards have already locked away the servant who tried to poison me, but still—”

“Excuse me?” Diluc nearly shouted, turning you to face him. “Someone… someone tried to poison you?”

You nodded.

“And you’re diagnosed with ‘irrational paranoia’,” Diluc mutters in disbelief. “Right, I’m going to have a word with that physician.”

“No, please don’t go,” you quietly pleaded, ducking your head into his chest as you tried to make him stay on the bed. “You’re the only person I can trust now, Diluc. Don’t leave me. Please.”

Diluc saw the tears that welled up in your eyes and his heart nearly broke in two. He let out an instinctive coo as you began to sob quietly into him. Diluc tried his best to comfort you, murmuring soft words and sweet praises into your ear to comfort you. He pressed his lips onto your cheeks and temple, the kisses soon growing more rushed and frequent as time passed.

Your lover was glad to earn a few giggles from you, as it only spurred him on further to kiss you, over and over again. Somehow, his lips managed to connect with yours. From then, his kisses grew longer in time, as well as becoming more passionate.

Soon, you both were gasping for air as you two finally parted. A subtle blush had found its way onto Diluc’s pale skin, his eyes nearly black with desire. He smirked at your equally lustful expression.

“You said earlier that you were overthinking,” Diluc murmured. His hand went up to caress your cheek as he leaned in to whisper into your ear. “Would you like it if I made you… think of something else, for a bit? Or not think at all, if you’d prefer that,” Diluc smirked devilishly. “Your choice, my dear.”

taglist:

@x-zho @cxlrosii @i23kazu @tiredsleep @ireallylikehamsters

(send an ask to be added or removed)

thank you for reading 💖 all forms of interaction to my posts are appreciated 💖

#wheeler's works #from the lovely anon #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #thoma x reader #thoma suggestive #thoma romance #thoma royal AU #thoma forbidden love #diluc x reader #diluc suggestive #diluc romance #diluc royal AU #diluc forbidden love #romance #forbidden love #suggestive #royal AU #wheeler's 500

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astralisbelle · 1 year

Text

Dead Man's Hand 11 - Such Pretty Eyes

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: He has to find her soon, otherwise, he won't know what they'll do. warnings: show-typical violence

At first, everything is numb and quiet. Then she regains feeling in her toes and fingers, both sets feeling like icicles. Her neck throbs like it does when she sleeps wrong and it has no support. She tastes her dry tongue and tries to move her arms, but her wrists are stuck together.

Her cheek presses against the ground and her brows crinkle as she regains herself. With a soft groan, she rolls onto her back, made all the more uncomfortable when she realizes she can’t move her arms out of the way.

Din!

Her eyes fly open and she sits up, panting. The first thing she notices are the soldiers clad in white armor, their dark visors all turning towards her. For the first time in years, she is face to face with a squad of Stormtroopers. A horrified gasp leaves her breathless and when she tries to pull with her hands, she feels the cold metal around her wrists. They’ve stripped her of her shoes and accessories, just to add insult to injury.

“You’re awake.” She whips her head around and sees Bras sitting at the table, flanked by two Stormtroopers. He cuts a piece of well-grilled fish with his utensils, continuing his dinner without an ounce of remorse. Behind him, against the metal wall, is a sprawling banner of the Empire’s symbol, albeit with burns and holes. Her eyes survey the room, noticing no windows, just the large door at the end. Along the walls are crates and canisters, many of them dented and dirty in some way. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Where am I?” she growls.

He pats his lip with a cloth napkin. “Patience, sweet one. You understand how playing cards makes one completely famished.”

You’ve never starved a day in your life. That much, I can tell. She keeps her glare fixed in her eyes, her vein protruding from her neck. Bras finishes his meal, washing it down with a glass of red wine. He makes a refreshed “ahh” sound and then stands, circling around his desk. “I warned you,” he says. “Did I not? You should have taken my deal.”

“I wasn’t interested.” She puts on her bravest face.

“And look where that got you. Regretting that decision now, aren’t you?”

She sneers at him. “Is this supposed to scare me? Look around you, old man. If you weren’t scared of me winning in the first place, you wouldn’t have set this whole thing up.”

Bras grins. Then, he tosses his wine glass towards the wall and in the moment it shatters, he wraps his fingers around her neck and lifts, his thumb pressing against her trachea. “What is it with pests like you being so stubborn? You could have had the galaxy in the palm of your hand!” She gasps for air, her chest crying out for relief. “But no. You throw it all away for what? Pettiness? Nobility?”

“Ah… hah… why not both?” she chokes out. His nostrils flare at that. Dropping her back onto the ground, she lands with a pained sound, then he delivers an open blow to her cheek with his palm.

“It’s a damn shame.” He kneels down, clawing her hair with his hand and forcing her to look up at him. “A beautiful mind is wasted on you. You could have been greater than this.”

She shivers, expecting another slap on her red cheek. Her heart races and she’s certain that the end is coming for her and it won’t be pleasant. “So… now what?” She breathes fast. “You’re gonna kill me?”

“Oh, sweet one. Not yet.” He flashes a sinister smile. “I’m certain the Mandalorian is well on his way here, coming for you.” Her face pales. “And when he arrives, we will be sure to greet him.”

“H-He has nothing you want!”

“No? He has a full set of new beskar armor. It will be perfect to add to my collection, in addition to the grand prize.” No! It is only now that her defiance drops and pure terror enters her eyes. The image of Din walking straight into a trap and being brutally assaulted, murdered, by the Stormtroopers robs her of words. She shakes her head. “My…” Bras breathes out in wonder, tilting her head. “You have such pretty eyes, especially when they are so full of despair.” With a dark chuckle, he drops her again. “I’ll tell you what, my little pest.”

The tip of his boot slips under her chin, tilting it up. “When he dies, I will remove his helmet. And you can look upon him all you want with those pretty eyes.” His foot presses down against her neck. “Let the sight of him be the last respite during your slow death.”

---

The doors of the elevator slide open and the Mandalorian aims his blaster, expecting an immediate confrontation. When he sees that the coast is clear, he enters a brisk pace making his way down the dimly lit hall. He’s taught Grogu well so far on how to keep himself clear of the danger so all Din has to do is focus on rescuing her.

He hears boots jogging towards him about to turn the corner, so he flattens himself against the wall. When they come into view, he immediately opens fire from their flank, yanking the nearest one towards him as a meat shield. It’s at this moment that his eyes widen at the familiar armor, but he does not hesitate in tossing the meat shield towards the ground and kicking its head. “Stormtroopers?”

Grogu’s face crunches in animosity, wrinkles deepening in his cheeks and forehead.

“Dank farrik.” His walk turns into a jog as blood rushes to his head. He hadn’t encountered these since Moff Gideon, since someone else stole someone important to him. Din expects there to be loads more of them up ahead, so he has to exercise some caution if he wants all three of them to make it out of there alive. When he hears more footsteps, he stops in the hallway and reaches for the small bombs in his belt. “Get back, kid.” Just before the Stormtroopers turn the corner, he sticks them on the wall and charges them, listening to the tempo of its beeping.

He stashes the blaster and his hand hovers over his choice of blade: the Vibroblade or the Darksaber. The latter is the more powerful weapon, but it still feels like he’s trying to lift a Mudhorn. No, he doesn’t have time for that. Din grabs the Vibroblade and readies himself. The Stormtroopers come in hot, their blaster fire lighting up the hallway while he hides around the corner. All he has to do is wait for the bomb to go off.

As soon as a Stormtrooper rounds the corner, Din delivers a hard left hook against its helmet to knock it back. In the small window of vulnerability, he darts his Vibroblade forward into the space between the helmet and chest plate, piercing through the softer mesh and disposing of the clone quickly. Just before he falls, Din relieves him of his blaster rifle, using the extra heat to return fire. The tempo of his bomb reaches its finale and he hides behind the wall just before it bursts into a cloud of fire, shaking the ground and scattering the Stormtroopers. He walks past the fire, coming up on a trooper trying to push himself off the ground. Din swiftly uses the flat end of the rifle to slam on the back of its neck, knocking it out cold.

The bottom floor is a maze of winding, dark walls, but he figures that as long as he follows where the Stromtroopers are coming from, he will find her.

Just hold on, please. I’m coming.

---

They hear a distant rumble and the lights flicker for a second. She lifts her head, listening for anything more in the dead silence. Bras leans back in his chair. “He’s here,” he says melodically. “Get ready.” The Stormtroopers make a crescent shape around the door, their rifles at the ready. Her heart goes into overdrive and her eyes glue to the door. Please don’t come in, please don’t come in, please don’t come in!

Another boom in the distance shakes the room, this time louder and closer. Muffled blaster fire and grunts of battle reach her ears. She breathes hard, as if her lungs cannot get enough air, and sweat cakes her forehead. Then comes silence. The door slides open and she holds her breath.

No one stands there.

The Stormtroopers exchange glances of confusion with each other while one takes a step forward. From the corner of the door, high pitched whistles startle them all and tiny blue lights fly through the air. They hone in on the Stormtroopers, piercing through their armor with precision and speed. One by one, the pins explode and make short work of many of them. She watches Bras’s sadistic smile drop in the matter of seconds.

The Mandalorian steps into the door frame and opens fire. Some blaster shots bounce off his armor but others make purchase on his unprotected areas, staggering him and making him grunt in pain. Two troopers gang up on him, using the ends of their rifles to knock him upside the head. “Din!” He takes a knee and a beating before he slaps a button on his vambrace and a stream of fire emerges. Pushing them back and igniting them, he stops his flamethrower and pulls out something that she had never seen anything like in her life.

A high-pitched hum fills the room as a blade of pure black light emerges from the hilt. Din has to hold it with both hands, but one swing slices through Stormtrooper armor clean. With Bras’s forces dwindling, he pulls a blaster out of his desk and stomps towards her.

As soon as Din finishes off the last trooper, Bras yanks her up by her neck, making her scream as he points the barrel towards her cheek. “Mandalorian!” he announces.

The Mandalorian slowly turns towards Bras, his weapon scraping against the floor and making sparks. Following him close behind and opening the canopy of his pram is Grogu, his big eyes narrowing. When he speaks, his words are clear with the bite of seething rage. “Let her go. Now.” He takes a step forward.

“Not one more step!” Bras spits, jamming the barrel deeper against her skin. “You’re going to listen to me, or you can walk out of here carrying her corpse.” Din doesn’t move. “Good boy. Now, let’s make a deal, shall we? I know you’re after the beskar. Let me go and I’ll give you two ingots from the grand prize. How’s that?”

She can’t see it, but she can feel Din’s glare. His shoulders tense and he takes a few more steps forward, the blade scraping against the floor. “No.”

“Th-three ingots!”

“No. Hand her over.”

“I warned you not to take another step!” She shuts her eyes, waiting for the click of the trigger near her ear. It never comes. Instead, the hands around her tremble and she hears pained gasps coming from Bras. Peeling her eyes open, she looks up and see his eyes widen, his tongue peeking out as he chokes. From what? The blaster falls to the floor and he lets go of her entirely and drops her, grasping at his neck.

Din does nothing, but Grogu has his claw extended towards Bras, his eyes focused with murderous intent. As he curls his fingers in, she puts two and two together, sliding away from Bras. Din storms up to him, lifting the saber and driving it through his chest. He clicks the button to draw the blade back, leaving Bras to fall to his knees. He wheezes as he collapses over, the last of his life extinguished.

Finally, she can breathe in relief. “Din!” He faces her and rushes to kneel down. As soon as he’s close by, he takes a tool from his belt and goes to work on the restraints around her wrists. The second she is free and the thick cuffs fall against the floor, she throws her arms around his shoulders and holds him tight. “Oh thank the stars! I thought he was going to kill you!”

He freezes, his hands sitting in the air awkwardly. But then he gives in, resting on hand on the small of her back and the other across her shoulder. “You… you were worried about me?” She was the one who was taken, she was the one being held at gunpoint, she almost died a minute ago. But she was worried about him.

She’s either really brave or really nuts.

“It was a trap. He wanted your beskar.” She pulls away, keeping her hands on his arms. “I--” Grogu jumps into the space between their bodies, his hands clinging to the cloth of her dress. She laughs in relief, hugging him close. “Thank you, Grogu. I can’t believe you came here… I…”

It’s a beautiful sight, Din thinks. Happy tears roll down her cheeks as she presses her forehead against Grogu’s her nose brushing against his. His hands cup her cheeks: a feeling he himself knows well. Din had only seen that level of protectiveness from Grogu for himself, never anyone else. She lifts her head, smiling despite what she just endured.

“Thank you, Din.”

His chest flutters and he feels his face flush again, despite the battle have ended. Words don’t come to his tongue, so he settles for an awkward nod. He helps her to her feet, letting Grogu remain in her arms for now. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah.”

He keeps an arm around her waist just in case. She uses one hand to keep Grogu against her and the other to wrap around Din’s shoulders, leaning on him occasionally when she needs it.

As they walk past the small fires and scattered, knocked-out troopers, Din has a funny thought that he keeps to himself:

In that moment, they feel like a clan of three.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #work: dead man's hand #do you guys realize the smut is next #do you

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tinydestinybear · 2 years

Text

His To Keep

Pairing: Prince!Harry Styles x (f.) Princess!Reader

Warning: Mentions of scars, Threats, Abuses

Word Count: 1294 words

A/N: i’m so excited for you guys to read this! if you missed it, this was inspired by a request here 💕 if you guys like this, please give feedback or come talk to me ☺️

You had been born to the very best of nobility, however that didn’t stop you from achieving your own goals from being a child till now where you’re pursuing your higher studies in the city and soon you were to graduate with your academic excellence and gain experience with the job offered to you. While everything in your life seemed much happening recently, what you were most delighted for was a celebration.

Your upcoming grand wedding with the prince of the Styles dynasty, Harry Styles.

While rumours spread around of your marriage being one of connivence, you and Harry were perhaps correct to say, much in love. And so you were both preoccupied with the task of making this as memorable as it could be for the two of you.

You had been involved in every single detail going behind the events. After all, this was one of your dreams come true - to marry the love of your life. You had grown up to reading about fairytales and to see your own fairytale take a start delighted you.

“We might need to change the date of the ball. It clashes with my Theatre exam,” You said, letting out a sigh at the thought of doing all the changes now.

You were rubbing your forehead with your hand in an attempt to distress when Harry spoke, “We can do that. You need not stress darling, I’ll make sure to send in the changes.”

You looked towards him with a soft smile, “Thank you.”

“Of course, it’s our wedding. Wouldn’t make sense for you to not be there!”

You hugged your arms closer to yourself, the chilly air now making you shiver in the balcony you two stood in. “Come here, let me hold you,” His hand reached out, grabbing you by the waist and you were immediately swept closer to him.

"Hey!" You said, clearly taken aback by his action. "Someone might see us. The queen made it clear to not show any public intimacy until we're married."

You struggled to get out of his hold while he kept his hold on you firm, "I think I’m allowed to hold my future wife,” He levelled his head down till yours, the heat evident in your cheeks. Seeing you like this comforted his heart, he wouldn’t ever like to share you with anyone else, “I love you.” He kissed your cheek before he opened his arms more and snuggled you closer to himself, covering the two of you in his overcoat.

What you didn’t expect was the storm to now reach earlier than ever.

"This has to work, handle it carefully and we’ll get ride of her," Two low whispers were heard in the locked closet before the door was unlocked and they went separate ways.

Meanwhile, Harry had earlier texted you, letting you know that he wished to take you for a visit to a place very dear to him. You had agreed before you let him know that you had been summoned into one of your professor’s office for help.

You had been oblivious to what was about to happen so the sheer quietness down the hall didn’t seem to strike a hint. Just when you entered the room, you heard it instantly close scaring you.

And you were surprised to meet with Cathy, a woman who is known to have to have despised you ever since Harry took an interest in you himself.

"Hello Y/N S/N." She said, an eerie smile on her face as she walked closer towards you. You scoffed at her attempt of being polite towards you. "The next queen seems to have an attitude?” She tutted. “Or perhaps the future queen is nothing but a shameless lady leading on the prince?”

"Cathy, you say I'm a petty woman then you should perhaps also know that I belong to the nobility. It isn't my fault that Harry doesn't return your feelings while you are so obsessed with him." You defended, you were tired of her constantly being after you when you had displayed not even a single ounce of hatred towards her.

"How dare you slut!" She yelled before grabbing you by the hair, now whispering in your ears, “You think it’s gonna be all lovey-dovey? You think he isn’t gonna wish for someone else to be by his side when he sees those scars you hide so perfectly from the war? I wonder whether he’ll choose me to stay by his side while we see you rote.”

Humiliated. That’s what you felt like. You felt disgusted that Cathy had been able to voice each of your insecurity - the thought of Harry leaving you when he sees your scars scared you.

Scoffing at your now teary face, Cathy gathered herself together before she set back towards her cart.

Had it been three weeks? Harry wonders just when he will hear any news of you. He has been increasingly worrying of your absence - no letters, no messages or visits from your end. What surprised him more was that you had moved back to your nobility state without letting him know as if you wanted to possibly break every bond with him.

Your absence had left a void in his heart and he couldn’t help but want to see you more. So he travelled down to the estate of your nobility in an attempt to see you.

He knocked before entering your room, spotting you standing near the mirror as you glanced at your scars on your back with a frown.

"I'll confiscate that mirror soon if you don’t stop hurting yourself by seeing yourself in that way," He said boldly before he closed the door and walked towards you.

"Harry W-what are you doing here?” Yo looked around in search for something to cover yourself, before Harry grabbed the shawl by your bed and covered you while turning you towards the mirror.

“I’m here to take you back and to stop yourself from hurting this way. It truly breaks my heart, why are you hurting yourself by distancing from me darling?” He whispered.

"Please, go away." You muttered, the confidence in your voice now lacking. Seeing him after this long and now requesting him to leave truly pained you like no other.

"If you say that as you look me in the eye, I shall."

You turned sideways to look up at him, gathering all your confidence yet losing it as soon as you made contact with him, "I....I'm not worthy of your love nor to be your wife. You’re a prince, one handsome and brave prince who doesn’t deserve a woman full of scars like me.”

"And these are the same scars which prove your bravery.” His hand gently travels down your spine as he made you look at yourself in the mirror, “You may think otherwise but my love for you is for who you are. Not how you appear. My heart knows that it is you who I want."

He stepped back, walking out of the mirror, "I know who did this to you and I cannot change what has happened but I can reassure you a thousand times that it is because of you that I’ve learned how to love someone, to take care of someone and show them the world by solely looking at them and I would like to do just the same so I’ve come here to take you back to our home, where you truly belong.”

It doesn’t take a split second for you to run into his arms as he sways you gently while you sob, cherishing each other’s warmth again, “Shh, I’m gonna take care of you. We’ll fight this together. Always."

"We will. I love you Harry."

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #prince harry #harry styles oneshot #harry styles story #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic rec #harrystylesfanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #sejal files

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super-ion · 10 months

Text

Undine

(next chapter)

Chapter 1

Alda drummed her fingers listlessly on the arm of her chair. Her chin rested in her other hand as she surveyed the grounds before her.

She was bored. Before her was an entire festival in her honor, with performers and acrobats and dueling knights and she was bored. Only a year prior, she would have been anything but.

But then, in years prior, she had been a child on the cusp of womanhood. The problem now was that all of her friends had grown up and left her behind: Johannes was busy being the duke's son, preparing to one day take their father's place; Huldbrand was a knight errant, living out childhood fantasies of being a hero in shining armor; Gerda was…

She and Gerda hadn't spoken more than a few strained words over the past year.

No, a few years prior, the four of them would have snuck away to steal pastries and watch the jousting from ground level until royal guards were sent to fetch them. Gone were the days of their adventures. No more skinned knees or stick fights or pilfered sweets.

They were all living their lives without her and she didn't know what she was supposed to be without them. She was just Alda, the duke's foster daughter. She was nobility by adoption, but she had no land, no titles of any significance, no destiny except to become someone's wife and then someone else's mother.

She leaned back in her seat with a sigh and looked across the booth at Gerda. Her sister-in-law was laughing, probably at one of her brother's jokes. Alda found herself smiling reflexively at that infectious tinkling laughter.

Gerda noticed her staring and for the briefest moment as their eyes met, Alda felt an echo of what had existed between them. Then Gerda's face shuttered and the laughter faded.

Alda looked away miserably. She wished she could go back and do everything over. Growing up, it was nearly certain that Gerda and Johannes would marry. It hadn't been arranged or foreordained, just accepted as inevitable… but Alda, curse her fool heart, had fallen in love. Growing up, they had been the closest of friends, and for one glorious summer, they had become something more.

It all came to a disastrous end when Johannes proposed. Alda pleaded with Gerda to stay with her, to run away together, but Gerda declined. It had been a mistake, Gerda told her, they had responsibilities, expectations. Whatever the reason, the fact was Gerda hadn't felt as Alda did and Alda's heart had been broken.

Now Gerda was nine months married and six months pregnant. Gerda and Johannes were the perfect royal couple, beloved throughout the duchy. Alda was cordial, but things could never go back to how they had been before.

The crowd suddenly roared as a new competitor entered the arena. Alda swept her gaze over the grounds and there was Huldbrand, the errant fourth member of their gang.

"Oh," her mother gasped. "I wasn't aware that he was in this part of the country."

It took every ounce of Alda's self restraint not to roll her eyes. Of course Huldbrand would make an appearance at a tournament held in her honor. Just as the union between Gerda and Johannes had been all but certain, Alda had been dogged by similar gossip about herself and Huldbrand throughout her teenage years.

In some ways, such rumors had been a shield, a convenient lie that distracted from the impropriety of her true romantic preferences. She was content enough to let the rumors persist for that reason alone.

He of course remained blissfully oblivious to her true nature and had made several subtle romantic overtures towards her that she bore with increasing guilt.

She watched him as he waved to the crowd. She supposed he was beautiful, in the same way a painting could be beautiful, something she could appreciate from a detached distance.

He greeted his jousting opponent with a grin and a handshake. That was Huldbrand, affable and honorable, a paragon of chivalry. There was part of her that resented him for that. He was too perfect. There was no legitimate reason for her to turn him down.

"He would make a fine husband," her mother said softly, giving voice to what had thus far been unsaid.

Alda swallowed and nodded, forcing a smile to hide the miserable twist in her stomach. She wished, not for the first time, that she were someone else, that she had lived some other life, that she could love as she pleased without concern for how she might be judged.

She wondered, also not for the first time, about her birth parents. What kind of life might she have lived if she hadn't been snatched from them in a storm only to be discovered by the duke? Who were they? Did they still think about her?

This of course led her down the path to one of her recurring fantasies. She daydreamed a beautiful and mysterious traveler arriving in the dead of night to reveal that she was the heir to a magical fairy kingdom and the time for her return was at hand. The two of them would embark on an epic adventure in distant lands. There would be trials that Alda, armed only with her wits, would need to overcome. And of course, she would find herself falling for her brave and alluring companion. At some point a disaster would befall them and only the power of true love would be enough to save the kingdom…

Expectant silence shook her out of her reverie. The joust was over and Huldbrand was trotting his horse towards the ducal booth. Alda realized too late that she had been absently staring in his direction with an expression that could be mistaken for wistfulness. To make matters worse, the attention of the entire crowd was now focused on the two of them.

"Oh gods…" she murmured as dread settled into her stomach. "Please don't do something foolish."

Huldbrand opened his mouth and did something foolish.

"Lady Bertalda!" he called. "This humble knight begs for the grace of your favor."

She felt her face redden. Luckily (or unluckily) the onlookers seemed to interpret her embarrassment and shyness. Tittering whispers spread across the stadium like wildfire and all eyes and ears were solely on her now.

She was panicking now. She needed something, anything to get out of this without making a scene.

Her mother cleared her throat softly and nudged Alda.

There was a half formed idea in her mind, some chivalric nonsenseb leftover from her daydreamed fantasy. She grasped at it like she was drowning.

"Um…" she began haltingly. "Sir Huldbrand, I am… flattered by your request… and I shall grant you my favor if you complete a noble quest"

The crowd erupted in hushed gossip. It took every ounce of self control for her not to cringe at her own brashness.

She glanced at her family, desperate for some assistance. Her father and brother were looking at her with something like awe. Her own grandfather had slain a dragon to win the favor of her grandmother, after all. Her mother looked composed as ever, but there was a thinness to her lips, a tightness to her eyes that spoke of shocked disapproval that she would certainly hear about later. And Gerda… Gerda arched a questioning eyebrow, but her expression was otherwise unreadable.

Alda looked back down at the knight who was watching her expectantly with something sickeningly close to adoration. Oh no... she had misjudged the depth of his feelings towards her. The fool would march into hell if she asked for the head of a demon on a platter.

She would never ask that of him. She shouldn't be asking anything of him of that nature, but she had blundered too far into her own trap to backtrack now.

"I… um… I bid there, go forth, into the darkwood. At its far edge near the sea, they say there are spirits that dwell in the swamps and jealously guard untold treasures. Return with a water spirit's treasure and you shall have my favor."

It seemed challenging enough to buy her time, not fantastical enough to be truly impossible, and most importantly, not so dangerous that he would get himself killed doing it.

He grinned at her and bowed deeply.

#my writing #lesbian #sapphic fairy tale #queer fairy tale #fairy tale retelling #writers on tumblr #writeblr

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margridarnauds · 1 year

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Something I feel isn’t discussed enough re: Thunder and Whisper, mainly because I think we all take it for granted, is that they aren’t from Albion. We know they’re from "The South Islands”, possibly Aurora, possibly someplace that isn’t explained in later games (my personal belief), but the point is that they aren’t from there. They’re only in Albion because Thunder was able to save the both of them, the implication being that, if their parents weren’t dead already, they died in the shipwreck. Thunder can’t have been too old at the time -- There seems to be an age gap between the two of them, but it stands to reason he might have been a teenager. So you have these two people, these two kids, alone in a foreign country. We know, from Lucrezia’s presence (though I suspect she comes from Samarkand, not the South Islands) that there’s a taste in Albion for what they consider to be “exotic”, but that doesn’t translate into respect or care. We don’t know when they got to the Guild of Heroes -- it might have been just afterwards, with the Guild becoming aware of their actions during the shipwreck, it might have been after.

Of COURSE Thunder took to being a Hero. It got him respect, it got him *belonging*, it got him status. Of COURSE he pressures his sister into being the best Hero she can be -- in his mind, being a Hero is what got them everything they have, every ounce of stability. It’s all he’s really known for years, it’s what he lives for. It doesn’t mean that it’s right, especially given that it comes at the expense of the Hero of Oakvale, who’s a traumatized child, but he isn’t the only traumatized child in the Guild at the time. Of course Whisper would be competitive, because she has to be. The Hero of Oakvale *is* from Albion, he blends in, he is accepted as One of Them in ways that Thunder and Whisper never will be. It isn’t an option for her to sit by and take second place when she has to justify her place in society in a way that the Hero of Oakvale doesn’t. Of course Thunder resents the Hero of Oakvale for the arena and then taking Lady Grey -- regardless of whether or not he does love her in canon (I think that the writers, honestly, just fell into a lot of unfortunate stereotypes about black men and white women), she is also a *lady*. She’s beautiful, yes, but she also represents a level of nobility, privilege, and status that Thunder, as a foreigner, can’t achieve. Marrying her wouldn’t just be marrying Elvira Grey, Mayor of Bowerstone, it would be marrying his way into society. And then that’s taken away from him. By the Hero of Oakvale, who is, once again, a native citizen of Albion. If he’s lost Whisper as well, that’s everything. He’s lost his prestige, he’s lost his chance to integrate into Albion society, he’s lost his little sister who is the only thing that he brought to Albion with him. Of course he’s broken. Of course he’s bitter.

And obviously, this is built on a lot of headcanons and speculations, I’m not claiming this is canon when we get so little of these two in canon, but it at least helps to explain *why* the two of them are like that -- they’re playing by totally different rules than the Hero.

#thunder and whisper are in roughly the same position as rose and sparrow are #the main difference is that they don't even have the tenuous place in society that Rose and Sparrow did -- they were poor Albion citizens #BUT they were Albion citizens -- they had a community they were part of #fable the lost chapters #fable tlc #thunder fable #whisper fable

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waeirfaahl · 1 year

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Interview with Dev Ross, Balto-2 writer

So, initially this interview was supposed to be published on the English-language Animation Source site, but the creator of the site took it down a couple of days ago, which is why all the interviews published on it with people who worked on Balto have been preserved only in the archives. It is unknown whether the site will return or sink into oblivion completely, but for now I will publish this interview here. So, this is another exclusive interview with Dev Ross, writer of Balto-2 Wolf Quest, published in 2022. 1. Were you aware of the original Balto before working on Wolf Quest and what you thought about Balto-1 after watching? How you got a feeling that it was the right choice for creating a great story? Universal film studio was very happy with my LAND BEFORE TIME sequels so they asked me to do the BALTO sequel. I’m a huge dog lover and I had a half wolf, half dog at the time. It was very difficult for my wolfdog to adjust to my other dogs. She never fit in. Ultimately, I had to give her to a woman who specialized in wolves so my wolf-dog could be happy among others like herself. I liked Balto 1 very much and felt that having had my own half dog, half wolf, I understood how they might feel being domesticated. Some are okay, others are not as the wolf is too strong in them. I based this journey on my husband's quest to find his true family. My husband's real father was a Native American who was murdered when my husband was very young. His mother was ashamed of having married him so hid my husband's Native heritage from him. Just before writing Wolf Quest, I journey with my husband to find his long lost family. It was a deeply emotional experience that I hoped to capture in my story. I also spent time with Native American Elders who imparted much of the wisdom in my story. 2. I’d like to ask about the fox, one of the totem spirits. I’ve heard that originally this character apparently supposed to be an arctic fox instead of a red fox. Is it true or not? If yes, what was the reason for changing? Yes, it was supposed to be an Artic Fox but I believe it might have been a color choice as Artic Foxes are white and our story contained the Great White Wolf. 3. Balto mentioned that he accidentally got lost, when he was very young. What caused his accidental separation from mother? Blizzard? Avalanche? Flood? Wild animals? Something else? Sorry, I don’t remember why. 4. I’ve read other interviews with you, and I became impressed and interested in your words about Aniu and how from a regular grey wolf, who loved her children and her pack, after death she became the white wolf deity (the Great Mother of all wolves) and a part of the Great Guardian Spirit. I got impression that all these totem spirits are ancient and, being mortal animals in the past, showed their nobility to the Great Spirit for becoming a spirit guardian after death. So, I’d like to ask you about the wolverine spirits. I noticed, every spirit guardian solely symbolized something (the raven, Aniu, the fox, the bear, Muru), while the spirit, who symbolizes fears, is not one, but three. How happened that not one, but three wolverines became these enigmatic spiritual beings? I choose three wolverines because the number 3 is very powerful to me. It can be birth, life, death, or have any number of other very important spiritual meanings surrounding survival. Wolverines teach us to survive and adapt, to call on every ounce of our courage. I used three to call in the need for courage in a life and death situation. How we respond to such situation often births something new in us. 5. I’m interested in the mystical cave with murals, where Aleu met Muru and other spirits (I even found a production drawing for this scene, i.e. Who You Really Are sequence — it depicts all animal spirits, the Great Guardian Spirit in the center and under it Aniu sits at the top of mountain, all wolves bow to her). Through Muru’s song there can be seen the mural even with Aleu’s destiny as a true leader of the pack from Aniu’s prophecy. How ancient it is? Is this cave a den of these spirits, even showing something from the past and the future? You answered your own question here. The cave was very ancient and contained the history of the present, past and future. To some of us who believe time is just a man made construct, all time exists at once. 6. Wolf Quest implied that Muk and Luk are orphans, so what happened with their mother? How Muk and Luk ended up living with Boris? Muk and Luk were established in the first film and no explanation was ever given to why they were orphaned. 7. I’m interested in the supernatural abilities Nava and Aleu have. And if Nava is a shaman, who is tied with nature, spirits and other animals, so what’s about Aleu? Did she inherit these abilities from Aniu? Is there potential for her as a leader and as a part spirit to find out more abilities during her journey with the pack? What depends for an animal to have these abilities? Yes, Aleu inherited her abilities and can increase them by challenging herself as a leader and a listener, especially to nature. I believe we ALL have these abilities; some to greater or lessor extent. My grandmother had them as did my mother - but my mother was afraid of them so repressed them. As inherited from my grandmother, I tend to have dreams that often give me glimpses into the future or into other people. I feel things and know things sometimes. I’m not afraid of it, thus I nurture it to allow my abilities to grow. My sister, however, suppresses her knowingness out of fear. Animals are far more intuitive than we are. They feel things more than think them. And animals inherit traits just as humans do. 8. After emotional scene, where Balto says good-by to Aleu, he meets Aniu, who reveals herself to him as his mother and then disappears. And this moment stuck with me for long time after first watching Wolf Quest, I always felt some bitter sadness in this scene, since Balto literally knew nothing about Aniu, just had vague memories about her white fur and warm voice, and she showed no tenderness toward him. Why she didn’t reveal herself to Balto earlier, during the original film, where she helped him to embrace his wolf nature, or even earlier? Why she didn’t stay with him a bit longer and told nothing about her past and her feelings toward her long-lost son, but just disappeared in the end of Wolf Quest? I am unable to answer anything about the first film as I had no story input into it. That said, I believe that sometimes we just must live with and accept the mysteries in our lives. Because of how the white wolf was established in the first film, I had to be consistent and keep her enigmatic. 9. In the end of Wolf Quest Nava and Niju are the only members of the pack, who stayed at their motherland, and Nava ran off to find Niju. What do you think about their fate, left unknown? What happened with them later? Will they survive together or not? Once again, their fate is one of the great mysteries of life. We can never know and, I feel, must accept that. For me, life is not really a story that has a neat, wrapped up ending. For me, life is mysterious and unpredictable. We cannot know everything. As soon as I think I know what will happened, it changes… 10. You worked as a writer on several sequels to The Land Before Time (The Great Valley Adventure, The Time of The Great Giving, Journey Through the Mists, Journey to Big Water). How you were aired for working on these movies? What was an inspiration for you during making of these stories? What themes you wanted to cover and develop? Yes, I was hired to write these sequels. My story inspiration always came from my own kids. I watched what they were going through in their young lives and then used lots of imagination to bring their issues to my dinosaur characters. My biggest theme then as it is today, is xenophobia – the fear of the unknown. I love exploring that topic because it exposes judgement, prejudice, and having fear of others just because they may seem different to us. 11. What difficulties you had, writing the scripts? Maybe the studying of dinosaurs? I love the study of dinosaurs and spent lots of time in museums with their bones! I also read a lot of books on them. My biggest difficulties were often trying to please the “higher ups” at Universal Studio. If they didn’t like my stories, I often had to start all over again. They also asked me to include different themes in the stories that I found difficult. THE TIME OF THE GREAT GIVING was supposed to celebrate our holiday of Thanksgiving as well as give a fire safety message! Watch that movie again and you’ll see it! 12. One of the unique and special elements in your movies was the fresh decision to make the predator dinosaur (Chomper the young tyrannosaurus) to be one of the main protagonists, as well as to show the predator dinosaurs (Chomper’s parents) as living beings, who can feel and love too, not as a killing machine from the original film or several later sequels. How did you get and develop this idea? Would you like to develop this concept in possible new film of the franchise or in your own stand-alone story? I developed Chomper in the second sequel but his parents were developed by another writer in a subsequent sequel so I had nothing to do with that story. And, no, I have no feelings to want to do any stand-alone story. I don’t own the franchise, nor did I have any say in what was further developed by other writers. 13. What animation projects are you proud of? What experience have you gained, working on them? And what would you recommend in writing a story, based on your experience? I am most proud of “Wolf Quest” and my work on Disney’s “Darkwing Duck.” Both were such different kinds of shows – both of which caused me to stretch out and use both sides of my talent: Adventure and comedy. Now I only work in live-action, which is stretching out in an new way. I love human actors! I think my best recommendation for writing stories is to start with what you know. Use your own experiences as catalysts to spring off into new worlds. I always ask myself “What if?” As an example: What if I was walking down the street one day, feeling sad or even happy, when THIS CRAZY thing happened that causes my world to turn upside down? Later I will post other interviews from AnimationSource.

#balto baltowolfquest #aleu #balto #balto movie #balto 2 #balto 2 wolf quest

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giggly-squiggily · 1 year

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If it's okay, can I request Lee Noelle and Ler Vanessa? It can be headcanons, a fic, or drabble, whatever you want. Maybe Vanessa is teasing Noelle while they're shopping for clothes and she finds out she's ticklish? I just think their sisterly relationship is really cute (I've never really sent in a request before so I'm sorry if I did something wrong or left something out)

Eee, my girlies! I love their dynamic so much! I’ve gotcha covered, anon! :D I mixed in a bit of Noelle x Asta because they’re too cute not to include! :D I hope you like it!

Noelle was in quite the predicament.

The Black Bulls were throwing a party to celebrate recent events, and the resident Water mage had nothing to wear.

Digging through the chess in her room, she tossed bundles of silk and glitter over her shoulder in hopes of finding something fitting for the event. Back home, finding the right outfit was easy- her nobility gave her access to a wide variety of dresses and gems, allowing her to stand out just as brightly as the rest of her siblings.

Granted, she wasn’t a fan of those dresses. Heavy and thick, tied with old painful memories of her siblings mocking her, the eyes that cut through the unbreathable fabric as they judged her for her inability to control her magic.

When she came to the hideout, she made sure to only bring lightweight, breathable dresses and outfits. Still finery, but nothing like what she was forced to wear back then.

That is where we find her now- struggling in search of something fitting the evening. It wasn’t anything major- she doubted anyone would care if she showed up in her usual outfit. It wasn’t them she was trying to impress.

It was Asta.

Short, dorky, obnoxious Asta.

The guy her heart wanted more than anything else.

She couldn’t tell you exactly when she fell- maybe it was when they first met. Maybe it was the warm hand he offered her that day after saving her life, not an ounce of judgment in those green eyes as he smiled. Maybe it was how ambitious he was, despite his reckless behavior. Maybe…it was just him.

And now here she was struggling to find a dress- something not too flashy but with just enough of an effect to make him pause and really see her.

And maybe…

Grabbing a stray dress, she buried her face in it to muffle a scream, shaking her head rapidly. No! No! Don’t even let that thought enter your mind- he’s Dorksta! He’s loud! He’s annoying! He…might never see her as anything.

The thought made her depressed. She let out another sigh.

“Whoa. Clothes on the ground, you’re sighing- the water jug by your bed is shaking-” Vanessa’s sudden voice cut through Noelle’s internal monologue, startling her so badly said jug began to tip. Hadn’t it been for Vanessa’s threads, the floor would be soaked- adding to the already existing mess of Noelle’s life. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I’m-” There was no lying. Not with Vanessa. Looking up at the older girl, Noelle started to stand, going for some composure. “I…I’m trying to decide on what to wear. Everything's…not right.”

Vanessa only hummed, looking around the room. With a flick of her wrist, all the clothes retreated back to the chess, folded neatly as the lid closed. “I see. Well- that makes two of us.” Noelle blinked, and Vanessa smiled. “I spilled wine on my favorite dress, and I don’t have time to get it clean. You’re in need of a new outfit to impress a boy.” She laughed at the blush spreading over Noelle’s cheeks. “Let’s go shopping!”

“Right now?” The water mage could barely get out before Vanessa took her hand, pulling her out of the room and into the ever changing hallways of the hideout.

“Yes, now! The party starts later tonight! We’ve got to hurry before we’re left to our usual getup.” Vanessa winked, something playful in her eyes as they waltzed out the front door, her broom hovering and ready to go. “Ready to fly?”

Noelle didn’t hesitate, heart swelling. “Yes!”

~~~

Dress shopping turned out harder than expected.

“I don’t know…it just…” Noelle turned to look at herself in the mirror, brows furrowing at the dark blue dress flowing around her knees. It fit perfectly, and the color was rich like the ocean at twilight. It made her hair look like moonlight as it fell loose against the back, but still…something about it felt off.

“That’s alright, we can always try a different one.” Vanessa smiled from her spot nearby, her own dress a deep velvety black that made her look like a dark queen. Noelle loved it on her the instant she stepped out, sealing the deal for the older one.

“I suppose…” Vanessa was too kind to say it, but Noelle’s eyes caught the various rejected dresses piling up beside them in their dressing room. This was the sixth, she guessed? No luck at all. “Maybe I’ll just wear something from home. I’m sorry Vanessa, I feel like I’ve wasted your time.”

“What? Nonsense. I’m having a great time!” Vanessa stood up, her smile dropping into a look of concern at the tears filling the younger girl’s eyes. “Oh Noelle, don’t cry. It’s alright- we’ll find you something to wear.”

“I’m sorry.” She wiped at her face, feeling like a child. It was just a dress- she shouldn’t be so hung up on this. “I don’t know what’s wrong- I just…” She shook her head, more tears falling down her cheeks.

“Oh sweetheart.” Vanessa came over, hugging the other close as she ran her fingers through her hair. “I know it’s stressful. Trying to find the one thing that will make you feel good but also impress someone you care about.” She reached down and took Noelle’s face in hand, making her look up. “The important thing is the former. If you feel your best, the rest will follow. If there’s anything a boy like Asta likes, it’s seeing a girl like you shining brightly.”

“But I…I don’t feel my best.” Noelle admitted, pinching at the skirt. “I don’t know why- I just don’t.”

“Maybe it’s not the dress or how you look.” Vanessa thought out loud, tapping her chin. “Both you and it are stunning. Hmm…Got it! You know what a good dress needs? A smile.” The witch grinned. “A bright one that helps accentuate the natural beauty within and makes the whole look that much better. Come on, give it a try!”

“A smile…well, okay.” Noelle tried, pulling her lips up in what she hoped to be a convincing smile. It felt tight and wrong- she immediately let it fall. “It didn’t work.”

“That’s because you need the right motivation.” Vanessa was behind her. Before she could react- ten fingers were dancing along her sides, making her jump and squeal. “Here we go- come on; give me a real smile this time.”

“Ah! Ahehahahhahaha! Vanehehehehehehsahahahha!” The water mage tried to bat her hands away, nearly falling to her knees as Vanessa’s nails scratched along her lower ribs, keeping their focus along her waist. “Dohoohohn’t tihihihickle mehehehehe heheheheheere!”

“Not here? Okay, what about here?” Vanessa kept one hand at her waist while the other shot up to her upper ribs, earning a high pitched shriek. “Oo, is this a bad tickle spot for you, hon? What about here?” Her other hand came around to tickle her belly, making Noelle double over. “Aren’t you a cutie.”

“Plehahahahhase, Vanehahhahhhahahasshahahahahha!” Noelle cried, cheeks red and eyes squeezed shut with mirth. Giving up on trying to remain standing, her knees hit the floor as she curled her arms around her torso, giggles and laughs bouncing off the walls around them. God, this was embarrassing- surely someone was going to hear them.

Yet, she really didn’t mind it. Nor did she mind being tickled- it felt rather nice.

“Aww, whatcha doing down there, cutie pie?” Vanessa teased, kneeling beside her with devilish eyes. “Oh, I see what you want now.” Without much warning, Vanessa gently pushed her, grabbing a now exposed leg. “If I recall, you’re rather ticklish along…here.”

“No, VanessAHAHHHHHA!” Noelle shrieked with mirth as the pink haired witch squeezed her calf, her other hand coming up to scribble beneath her knee. “WAHAHHAHAIT NOT THEHEHHEHERE!”

“You know- I’ve always wondered why you wore those leg warmers.” Vanessa spoke with a smile, her touch just light enough to drive the younger girl crazy. “Very cute with your outfit, and effective in hiding your worst tickle spots? Clever girl.” She gave the front of Noelle’s knee a squeeze, nearly getting a kick to the chest. “Whoa, careful now!”

“STAHAHHAHAP IT PLEHAHHAHAHAHHAHSE!” Noelle cried out, face flushed and eyes wet with fresh tears. Her laughter was fading in and out, going near silent when Vanessa dragged her nails down the back of her calf.

“Hehe, alright.” Eventually, the older girl let her be, giggling as Noelle curled in herself like a cat, gasping for breath as she guarded her legs. “Feeling better?”

Noelle tried to glare, but the smile on Vanessa’s lips killed any real annoyance. Her body felt exhausted, but she no longer felt stressed. If anything, she felt relaxed. “I do…alot better, actually.” She sat up, smoothing out her dress. “Is it weird to say thanks?”

“Pfft! Not at all!” Vanessa laughed, reaching out and hugging the other once more. “If anything, I’m just happy to see you smiling again.” Noelle hugged her back, eyes misting over. Vanessa felt like such an older sister to her at that moment.

“Now- shall we keep searching? I think I might have found something while you were trying on that one dress.” Vanessa stood with a smile, gesturing for her to wait as she went to retrieve said outfit. Noelle wiped her face, the smile on her face no longer tight. God, she loved this team.

“Tada!” Vanessa walked back in, presenting the dress. Noelle gasped, a hand to her heart as she took it all in. “Whatcha think? Wanna try it on?”

“Yes…I’d like that very much.” Noelle nodded, standing as she took the garment.

Before long, she had the perfect outfit for the party.

~~~

“There you two are! Took you long enough to show!” Magna greeted them at the door, opening it wide. Beside him, Finral took them in, eyes lingering on Vanessa in speechless awe.

“The best dressed always show up fashionably late.” Vanessa smiled, reaching out and closing Finral’s mouth on her way in. “I’ll take you like the new look, Finral?”

“Love it. You look amazing. Both of you do.” He smiled at them, cheeks dusted as he watched Vanessa head inside. Noelle began to wonder if a wine stain really was the reason why Vanessa wanted a new dress.

“Well, don’t be a stranger- you live here too! Come on- we’ve got cake.” Luck ran up and took Noelle’s hands, pulling her in while she protested.

“Wait! I can get in on my own! You don’t need to-whoa!” She yelped upon crashing into Asta, the other’s cheeks coated in crumbs. “W-Watch it, dorksta!”

“Hehe, sorry Noelle! Luck got to you?” He smiled as he gave her space, eyes widening some. “Oh wow…”

Her dress was a pale blue with soft purple accents, the shirt bellowing at the waist. It was shorter in the front, the panels embroidered with white whirls to look like water. The sleeves were lace, reaching to her elbows before bellowing out to mid forearm. They also had the soft water like design on them. She had her hair down, the long silver locks reaching her lower back- some curling over her shoulder.

“What, did something get on me?” She stammered, cheeks heating.

“Not at all, it’s just…you look really pretty.” He smiled, making her face flush more. “I like your dress.”

Before she could- she didn’t know; swat at him, call him dorksta, faint- Magna threw an arm over his shoulder, dragging him away and back to the party. “Asta! We’ve got potatoes!”

Hage potatoes. Your friend brought them over earlier” Yami called, making the shorter boy speed up, nearly dragging Magna with him. “Hage Potatoes? No way! Oh, be right back Noelle!” Asta called before sprinting to the table.

Noelle pressed her hands to her heart, cheeks red and eyes shimmering. He called her pretty. PRETTY. And he liked her dress.

“Thank you, Vanessa.” She breathed, making a note to send the witch the best wine she could find.

I hope this was good!

#black clover #vanessa enoteca #noelle silva #tickle #tickle fic #fluff #dress shopping #sisterly bonding #crushes and shopping stress #but it all works out in the end

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augustinewrites · 2 years

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part one | wonderstruck one | two | three note: the arranged-marriage/royal au no one asked for but that you're all getting anyway

There could be worse ways he could be spending the evening, Akaashi reminds himself as he boredly glances around the ballroom. It’s just a party.

Yet as he swirls the wine in his glass disinterestedly, surrounded by sparkling chandeliers and guests dressed to the nines, all he can think about is how mind-numbingly bored he is.

He knows this is a social event. To his credit, he attempts to socialize, build his network, put himself out there for the sake of his House.

But nobles can be conniving, insincere creatures, their intentions hidden behind stiff smiles and vacant laughter. It’s not long until he tires of constantly trying to read between the lines. So he retreats to the sidelines to observe, rather than subject himself further to the nonsense that was the nobility.

His eyes lazily shift around the room as he leans against the wall, counting down the seconds until he could acceptably take his leave. Then someone catches his eye.

Your dress isn’t rich with embroidery or lined with expensive looking silks. Your neck and fingers aren’t adorned by sparkling jewels. In fact, the only indicator of your status is the simple circlet resting atop your head and a golden emblem trailing down the front of your dress. He recognizes it almost instantly. You're of a major noble house.

Yet it's as if you don't want to stand out, but his gaze lingers on you anyway. The look on your face appears perpetually bored, but it’s not because you think this event is beneath you. You just aren’t enjoying yourself.

His face heats when your eyes meet his, and the way he turns his entire head to avert his stare makes it clear he was looking at you. Gazing shamelessly like some lovesick fool.

It’s utterly embarrassing, and maybe it’s the grand, two glasses of over-filtered wine he’s had, but he looks up again, shyly meeting your gaze.

You’re watching him too, a small smile curling on your lips.

It makes his heart do something strange, and he has a fleeting thought of, this how most love stories start, right?

It’s how they start in the novels he’s read. Tales of chivalrous knights and handsome princes meeting their beloved, future brides in situations like this.

A crowded ballroom. A stolen glance. A pretty smile that causes heart palpitations.

Check, check, and check.

You’re still watching him, gaze questioning as you tilt your head a little, waiting.

Akaashi isn’t naive or some hopeless romantic. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but there’s this undeniable pull of something as he takes his first step towards you.

“Akaashi! There you are!”

…Only to be stopped by a heavy arm being swung around his shoulders.

“Your highness,” he greets a little dazedly, blinking up at his friend.

“Hey, none of that!” Bokuto scolds lightly, ruffling his neatly styled hair. “We’re friends first! Now c’mon, I have something to tell you, but have you eaten anything yet? The cooks made a great braised…”

Akaashi tries his best to fix his disheveled hair, desperately looking over his shoulder to shoot you an apologetic look as his best friend drags him off in the opposite direction.

He can’t help the sinking feeling of disappointment when he finds your spot against the wall empty.

It’s about halfway through the night when Akaashi sees you again, and this time, he’s determined to actually talk to you.

(Unlike in the stories, Akaashi isn’t a prince. He’s not even a knight. Sometimes he wishes he could be either, if they could loan him even an ounce of bravery, because, god, he’s nervous.)

He waits until Bokuto’s distracted, talking animatedly to the head cook, then slips into the crowd. You’re making conversation with a few other women, smiling politely.

Akaashi doesn’t want to interrupt, so he waits, lingering by the refreshments table and pretending to be interested in the crystalline punch bowl (whose cost could feed an entire village, he’s sure). He’s mulling over it when he looks up and sees that you’re on the move again.

He swears you look over your shoulder, just to see if he’s following, and Akaashi takes a quick look around for any signs of Bokuto before deciding to.

He follows you out of the ballroom, hesitantly stepping out into the cool air of the starlit garden. As he traverses the stone pathway, he sees it’s crawling with ivy, vines of it coiled around the archways and the castle exterior. Bright flowers dot the greenery, their sweet scents floating through the air and soothing his nerves a little.

“Hello.”

But they return the instant he sees you sitting at the edge of the fountain, a book laid in your lap - where did you even get that - and a gentle smile on your face.

There’s something ethereal, he thinks, something almost poetic about how the pale moonlight catches on your circlet and washes over your face, your bare shoulders. He can’t believe he’s forgotten himself and his manners.

“Are– are you not cold?” He asks, already unfastening his mantle and holding it out to you in offering.

Your eyes widen in surprise, as if shocked to hear his voice, but just as you begin to shake your head, Akaashi closes the distance between you and drapes it over your shoulders. “Please, I insist.”

“I– thank you, my lord.”

It’s the cold that makes his cheeks flush, right? It positively cannot be the mere sound of your voice bringing him to his knees like this.

“What are you reading?" He inquires, equal parts curious and eager to redirect the conversation.

You hum a little, hugging the leather-bound book to your chest. "Nothing you would know, I assume."

"I beg to differ, my lady."

You raise a delicate brow. "Presumptuous aren't you? Alright then." You open your book to a random page, clearing your throat before beginning to read, your voice drifting softly through the summer air like music to his ears.

"'There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who's ever lived--'"

"'I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough," Akaashi finishes with a satisfied grin. So you're a romantic. "A lovely choice, if not a tad tragic."

You close your book, folding your hands in your lap. "Well, a story without tragedy wouldn't be very interesting to read about, would it?"

"I suppose not," he agrees. "Tragedy is one of life's greatest motivators."

The following silence between you two is filled with gentle trickle of the fountain and the soft rustle of the breeze. Akaashi often finds silence uneasy, eager to fill the space with his own voice, but something about this is...comforting. Easy. Your company is enough.

"Have you grown weary of the festivities? I know you are close with His Highness, and he mentioned earlier that parties have never been your cup of tea."

Akaashi's brows furrow. "Oh, so you've spoken with--"

"Akaashi!"

He cringes internally. Again, really? He braces himself for a slap to the back, but the prince strides by him, taking your hand and placing a kiss upon the back of it with a surprising gentleness.

That's when Akaashi sees it. The ring with a brilliant sapphire on your finger. His glance darts between the two of you, a lump rising in his throat.

"I guess you've already met my fiancee, huh?" His best friend chuckles, placing a hesitant hand upon the small of your back.

You visibly stiffen at the action, and though you're smiling, Akaashi thinks you look...sad.

Well, a story without tragedy wouldn't be very interesting to read, would it?

When you retire to your chambers - after kissing your fiancé goodnight - the first thing you do is lay on the plush bedding, covering your warm face with your hands.

You shouldn’t be thinking of him. Of the soft-spoken nobleman with deep blue eyes and a gentle smile that soothes like a cup of warm tea on a brisk morning.

You’re engaged to the prince. Who is kind and strong and, well, royalty. You should be thinking about his honeyed eyes and the way his boisterous laughter filled the ballroom. Of the battles he led his men into and emerged victorious. Of the careful way he’d kissed the back of your hand, an apologetic look in his eyes.

It’s be a true honour to marry someone like him. You could have been engaged to worse, really. Yet as you stare at the canopy of your bed, your mind still wanders from your fiancé to linger on his best friend.

The one who’d glanced at you from across the ballroom. The one who’d followed you out into the palace garden. He hadn’t come with the intention to instruct you to lift your nose from your book, request that you return to the ballroom, or even to ask your father for a favour.

Your mind lingers on the way he’d looked at you with such genuine concern instead, already slipping off his mantle as he approached.

As you begin to drift off to sleep, you think of deep sapphire eyes, a shy smile, a tender touch.

You twist the engagement ring off your finger, setting it on the nightstand. A ghost of a smile graces your lips as you rest your cheek in the palm of your hand, staring at the borrowed, deep blue mantle draped across your chaise, thinking of its warmth, of its comfort.

Are— are you not cold?

You think of his warmth, and this foreign sensation bleeds through your veins with every beat of your heart. No one had ever asked you that before.

#yes i quoted the notebook. what of it?#akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji #haikyuu au #haikyuu fic #bokuto koutaro

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

Text

Pain in My Heart // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: Could I please request a Bridgerton imagine where Eloise or Daphne are trying to matchmake Reader with one of their brothers (you can pick which one) but Reader actually hits it off with another brother who's in love at first sight (again, your choice!!). - @libraryoffandomsuniverse

A/N: I am so sorry for how long this has taken!! I hope I have done your request justice. I had a lot of fun writing this, I’m pretty proud of what I’ve come up so I hope you like!! Thank you for requesting! Title: Pain in My Heart - Otis Redding

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader (Platonic), Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader (Romantic)

Warnings: pining, mutual pining, awful flirting (I can't write it for the life in me), unrequited love (?), a pride and prejudice moment, love confessions, fluff, very very light angst.

Word count: 4.7k

There wasn’t a lot that Daphne and Eloise Bridgerton had in common. It was thought by their mother that due to their closeness in age, they would get along swimmingly. However, by the time that Eloise could speak for herself, it became increasingly clear that there were to be no two people different than that of Eloise and Daphne.

However, whilst the two did not share the same tastes in music or literature, they were united in the hope that they would see their elder brothers happily in love.

It is on a Wednesday in the middle of February when Daphne decides that it is time for her eldest brother, Anthony, to find a wife.

Her decision is made when Anthony stalks into the family drawing room. The only sign of his anger being the blazing of his eyes. Dramatically, he throws himself onto the closest couch, his legs stretching across the pale blue fabric as he laments the meddling of mothers.

Daphne barely represses the urge to roll her eyes. She could tell that Eloise was having a hard time not telling her brother how easy he had it in comparison to rights of women and marriage.

Thankfully, however, Anthony is saved from such a lecture by the announcement of a beloved friend. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had known the Bridgerton family for as long as she had been alive. The same age as Daphne, the two had fallen into an easy friendship that grew more cherished the more time passed.

Upon her announcement, Anthony sits up with keen interest. An action not missed by both Daphne and Eloise – they share a look, one only understood by sisters with masses of brothers.

“Dear (Y/N),” Daphne greets, standing from her chair to greet her lifelong friend, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been very well though it has only been a couple of days since you saw me last.”

Daphne laughs; a light and airy sound. “I can still miss you in that time. Come, sit by me and we can catch up.”

The two women are soon joined by Eloise who places her book down on the table, spine up so she does not lose her page. From where they sit, neither Anthony nor Benedict can hear what the women seem to be whispering about though it seems to be of a serious issue with grave looks on their faces.

Benedict decides that he doesn’t like the look of frustration on her face; the furrow of her brows. If it wouldn’t raise questions of his sanity, he would press his thumb to the furrow, smoothing out her brow so not a trace of the worry remained.

“(Y/N),” Anthony calls, interrupting the conversation currently taking place between the three women, “Would you be attending Lord and Lady Hopton’s ball later on this week? Lord Hopton has done nothing but discuss the expense being put into the event.”

(Y/N) swallows her small sip of tea, placing the cup and saucer down on the table before answering the eldest Bridgerton. “I do plan on attending,” She smiles, fiddling with her gloved fingers.

A pleased smile breaks out across Anthony’s face as he nods. Turning away from her, Anthony walks back to the pale blue couch that only mere moments ago he had thrown himself across in vexation at his dear mother. Now, he sits down gently, making sure every ounce of his nobility is on show.

Benedict cannot help but roll his eyes at the antics of his elder brother. As if on a covert mission for the crown, Benedict’s gaze slides back to her – runs over her figure, taking in the way her dress sits on her form and the way her smile lights up her whole face. He’s a fool in love, he realises, but he would rather be a fool in love with her than a fool in love with anyone else.

It’s as if he finally understands what the poets write about; how the artists never paint more than their muse. As Benedict peers down at the sketchbook in his hands, he comes to realise that he has been drawing her for months. He has found his muse and it’s close to breaking him when he sees the plotting glance shared between Daphne and Eloise.

(Y/N) sits at the table, utterly unaware of the plan being concocted between his sisters. He has the urge to scream, to yell but he keeps quiet. Benedict becomes the very definition of decorum; smiling politely at her when their eyes meet from across the room. The very moment sends his heart skipping a beat before picking up a rhythm he isn’t certain is compatible with life. He has to stop himself from reaching up to grab his chest to ensure his heart doesn’t beat right out of it.

All too soon the moment is over, and she returns to laughing with his younger sisters, but even she knows that something has changed between them. (Y/N) wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight; the very notion belonging only to fairytales, but she, herself, could not deny the thrill that overtook her body when she met the blue eyes of Benedict Bridgerton.

-----------

Lord and Lady Hopton owned one of the last remaining Tudor residences in London. Many had fallen during the reformation, but in some strange stroke of luck, the Hopton’s home had remained largely undamaged. From there, it passed down the male line as all properties and titles were wont to do in such a society.

The current Lord and Lady prided themselves on the tracking of their lineage, dedicating themselves to the conservation of their home. It was rare for them to throw a ball such as this one, but with the favourable weather, Lady Hopton was able to convince her husband it would be well enough for the courtyard to be used to entertain their nearest and dearest.

There was no set theme; an idea many were grateful for. As much as (Y/N) loved the dress up, the competitive nature between eligible ladies wasn’t something she was in the mood for.

The atmosphere is much more relaxed as (Y/N) takes a turn about the room, smiling politely at the women she has grown up with in London society. They would be civil towards each other, but there was no real friendships forged. (Y/N) was quite content with the Bridgerton brood.

Though they had arrived together, (Y/N) found herself wandering from the comforting presence of the family. She could feel Anthony’s eyes on her, and she thinks of Daphne’s suggestion from the other day; the eldest Bridgerton girl had all but suggested that (Y/N) marry Anthony.

Whilst the suggestion was flattering, (Y/N) hadn’t stopped thinking of the moment she shared with Benedict. She thinks of the moment often; remembers the way his stare felt, as if he was staring into her very soul and he liked what he found. She thinks of the way her body responded; the shiver sent through her and how she realised that she liked the way he looked at her. As if she hung the moon and stars in the sky for him, and him alone.

(Y/N) loses herself in the crowd. She wanders and wanders, watching new love form and old love strengthen as she catches sight of couples beginning their night. (Y/N) continues her ruminating until she bumps into something hard. Another body.

(Y/N) cringes when she finds herself face to face with the chest of Benedict Bridgerton. “Benedict!” She gasps, “I’m sorry.”

He steadies her with a gentle hand to her elbow. “You have nothing to apologise for. You looked to be deep in thought, I’m only sorry for interrupting you.”

(Y/N) feels her skin begin to flush. I was thinking of you, she wants to cry at the man, but she only just manages to refrain herself.

Benedict laughs before he can stop himself. “If you’re reacting like that, I have to know what you were thinking of.”

“Nothing for nosies,” She responds, a coy smile crossing her painted lips.

Benedict gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me, (Y/N).”

“I’m sure you’ll recover,” (Y/N) laughs, patting Benedict’s arm in mock pity.

“I don’t know,” Benedict expresses, his eyes running over her face and outfit. “I think I’m going to need someone to nurse me back to health.”

(Y/N) feels her skin once again begin to heat at the insinuation in his words. She had encountered banter before with the Bridgerton brothers, but she had never encountered such overt flirting. Benedict’s eyes glittered with mirth; his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes – this was him. This was Benedict in his element; he was an artist, a gentleman, and a man that could render her speechless with a simple line of speech.

She finds it hard to respond for a moment; finds it hard to string two thoughts together in his intoxicating presence. She flounders for a second, watching Benedict continue to smile widely as if he had nothing better to do than waste time with her.

Eventually, she collects herself enough. She peers up at the man from under her lashes, fluttering them to the best of her ability as she whispers, “Such requests may make the recovery period a lot longer and a lot harder.”

Leaving the man speechless, (Y/N) pats his arm once more before taking her leave. Feeling hot and bothered by her encounter with Benedict, (Y/N) ambles over to drinks table. Daphne and Eloise stand there nursing their own drinks; they smile widely at their friend as she approaches the table.

“Have you given thought to what I suggested the other day?” Daphne asks; watching her best friend over the rim of her lemonade glass.

“Courting Anthony?” (Y/N) clarifies, reaching for her glass of the tepid drink. She frowns absentmindedly; it was one of the main issues with balls, they never could keep the drinks cold enough to be refreshing throughout the night. They almost always turned sour.

“The very suggestion,” (Y/N)’s dearest friend states with a smile.

“It wouldn’t work,” (Y/N) protests, urging her friends to see the truth. “We aren’t suited for each other.”

“Anthony disagrees,” Daphne chimes, looking and feeling all to superior in the conversation. “He confided to me only yesterday that he wants to court you.”

The ground is close to swallowing her whole; the walls becoming far too close for her liking. Her mouth is dry when she tries to swallow around the lump in her throat. “That wouldn’t be fair to him,” She croaks, feeling all too close to tears.

“Why not?” Daphne demands, making her vexation known by placing her hands on her hips.

“Daphne,” Eloise interrupts, glancing warily between the two women. “(Y/N) isn’t in love with Anthony. She’s in love with someone else.”

The fight leaves her beloved friend in an instant; she brings a hand to her mouth to cover the shock of Eloise’s words. “I didn’t know,” She whispers, “I wouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

“I know you wouldn’t have,” (Y/N) appeases, “I’m rather new to this.”

“Do we know who it is?” Daphne asks, unable to keep the excitement off her face as she thinks of the handful of men worthy enough to love her dear friend.

(Y/N) sighs, deciding whether to come clean and tell her longest friend that she has found herself hopelessly in love with her brother. She hadn’t even expected it. “It’s Benedict,” She eventually confesses, feeling pressured by the investigative gaze of Daphne Bridgerton.

“Benedict?” Daphne asks, confused, “As in my other brother?”

“The very same,” (Y/N) comments lightly… too lightly as if ready to be on the defence for her feelings for Benedict.

Daphne blinks once, twice before her face breaks with the most beautiful smile. “Oh (Y/N)!” She cries, “This is wonderful!”

“He might not love me back,” (Y/N) whispers, doing her best to keep a light spin on the situation but the idea that Benedict may not return her feelings hurts far more than it should.

“And Anthony still wants to court you,” Eloise reminds her, her voice close to pity.

“Speaking of the devil,” Daphne murmurs with a smile on her face, “Anthony is heading this way.”

“He is?” (Y/N) asks, pivoting on the spot to the find the eldest Bridgerton making his way through the crowd. He smiles at his sisters, briefly checking their glasses to ensure they were sticking strictly to the lemonade offered. When he is suited with what he finds, he turns to (Y/N) and holds out his hand. “Would you care to dance?” He asks her with a confident smile.

She nods her consent, taking his offered hand and allowing herself to be led to the floor. Anthony leads her expertly across the floor; lessons as a child and years in the London society forging him to be an impressive dancer. He makes her laugh as they continue dance, and whilst (Y/N) has a good time with the eldest Bridgerton, she cannot see herself falling for the man like she can see her entire future with Benedict.

------------

The ball had wound down naturally; families and lovers beginning to make their way home through the early morning London streets. (Y/N) travels with the Bridgertons, having arrived with them in the first place. Daphne focuses on the streets of London, doing her best not to fall asleep before getting home to her bed.

“How are you getting home?” Daphne asks, not removing her gaze from the darkened streets of the capital city.

“I’m not sure, I don’t want to have to wait for another carriage,” (Y/N) complains, holding a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn that had slipped out. The tiredness was clinging to her bones now; she wanted nothing more to crawl into her own bed, sink into the pillows and fall into a dreamworld where Benedict climbs into the other side of the bed.

“Stay with us,” Eloise invites, meeting Anthony’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t be an imposition?” (Y/N) asks smally; the last thing she wanted was to be burden on her friends.

“You never could be,” Anthony smiles, “You’re always welcome to stay the night.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” She whispers, reaching for his hand in the dark and squeezing.

Silence falls for the rest of the ride; the weariness of each of them punctuating the air, creating a warmer atmosphere that leaves (Y/N) blinking away sleep. Eloise does her best to remain awake, but her head soon winds up on Anthony’s shoulder to which the man looks the surprised. He recovers quickly, adjusting his younger sister to make her more comfortable.

The Bridgerton siblings and (Y/N) all sigh in blessed relief when the carriage rolls to a stop outside Bridgerton House. The door opening lets in a cold blast of air, making her shiver as she reaches for the handle to help herself down.

“Here,” Benedict’s voice sounds in the dark light of night, “Let me help you.”

His hand reaches for hers; it clasps hers gently as he helps her down from the carriage. All too soon, his hand falls from hers and (Y/N) is left feeling bereft from the absence of his touch. “Thank you,” She whispers, taking a risk and glancing up at the blue eyes already fixed steadily on her.

“You’re welcome,” He murmurs. Benedict glances back to the carriage to find the rest of his family descending on them. “Goodnight,” He whispers, ducking his head in a bow and leaving her on the steps of Bridgerton House.

(Y/N) watches the man depart in somewhat of a daze. If she focused hard enough, she could still feel his hand in hers. She could feel every fingerprint, every crease, every line in his palm. She could feel it all; she wanted to feel more. She wanted everything with that man; would happily offer up her everything for a single glimpse at what it could be like to wake up in his arms and be happy.

Sighing heavily, she touches a hand to her forehead, pausing in the grand entryway of the Bridgerton family home. She felt so keenly for the man that she knew she would suffer the worst fate to man should he not return her feelings: heartbreak.

“(Y/N)?” Anthony calls from the door, his arm around Eloise’s waist. “Would you meet me in my study? I need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” She allows, smiling at the sight before her. Anthony whispers something to his sister to which Eloise offers her goodnights and begins to climb the stairs to her room, Anthony following behind her with a worried look on his face that only a beloved brother could master.

Anthony’s study smelled of wood polish; the mahogany desk sitting by the windows being the main feature of the room. It’s dark wood providing the much of the fragrance in the room; it’s a comforting scent. (Y/N) smiles when she realises that it’s comforting as it reminds her of the Viscount; the scent of his spicy cologne intermingled with the wood, becoming one and the same.

“Thank you for waiting,” Anthony whispers, closing the door behind him, “I know how tired you are, but I really wanted to speak to you.”

“Whatever’s the matter?”

Suddenly, Anthony no longer holds the prowess of a Viscount but rather, looks like the eighteen year old boy handed a peerage all too soon. He runs a hand through his hair out of nerves, pacing back and forth behind his desk. Eventually, he comes to a slow stop, resting his hands on the back of his father’s ageing chair. “Have you given any thought to your future?”

“It’s been on my mind more and more these days,” She answers honestly. It’s all she has thought of since her eyes met Benedict’s across the room and she got a glimpse into what her mornings, afternoons, evenings with the man could be like.

“I think we could be good together,” Anthony argues, offering up a slice of his heart for the taking, “I think we work well together.”

“Anthony, may I be honest with you for a moment?”

“I’d hope for nothing more.”

She takes a deep breath; steeling her nerves before smiling at the Viscount. “With all due respect, I don’t think you do love me.”

Anthony moves to interrupt her; a flash of anger and upset in his eyes. He quietens when she holds up a single hand; begging him to let her continue. “Anthony, I think you were looking for someone to stop your mother from pestering you about marriage. I just happened to walk into the room at the right moment.”

Anthony frowns; he takes in (Y/N)’s words, letting them roll around his mind as he thinks back to the first day when he realised he could truly love the woman sitting in front of him. Violet Bridgerton had been on him from the moment he walked through the front door; producing yet another list of eligible women in London that he could find a potential match in. He had taken the list from his beloved mother and in the privacy of his study, he had ripped the list to tiny pieces making sure that none of the names were legible.

On some level, he has always loved her. (Y/N) had been in his life from the very day she was born; mother being friends, Violet able to offer (Y/N)’s advice as she was her firstborn. At this point, Violet was a seasoned expert on motherhood. Anthony had always known of the girl that was best friends with Daphne; he had watched her grow up. On some level, he has always had some feeling for her.

He knows know, though, that those feelings could never broach romance. There was too deep an affection between them.

“You’re right,” Anthony states, “It wouldn’t be a love match.”

“It wouldn’t,” She affirms, taking a seat in front of the large, wooden desk. Silhouettes of his parents and siblings decorate the space; it brings a fond smile to her face. Anthony presented a strong front, but in private, he was as much the adoring son and brother.

“But you think you have found your love match,” Anthony declares, wanting to clear the air.

“I’m not sure,” She laughs mirthlessly. “I have no clue as to whether he feels the same.”

“He’d be an idiot, not to,” Anthony compliments, “Do I know the lucky man?”

(Y/N) looks sheepish as she stares at the Viscount. She had already confessed to Daphne and Eloise – what harm could one more person do?

“It’s Benedict.”

“You love him,” Anthony whispers; not an accusation, not an ounce of anger in his voice. A simple fact stated for the room.

(Y/N) nods. “I do. I love him with all that I am and all that I know I could be.”

A sad, bittersweet smile crosses Anthony’s face; he won’t speak of how the words hurt him. He reaches for her hand and clasps it tightly between both of his.

“Go to him,” He whispers, “You have my blessing.”

(Y/N) stands. Her intention is to leave the room and find the Bridgerton who had so readily taken root within her heart, but first she crosses to where Anthony stands behind his desk. He watches her with curious eyes as the silk of her glove brushes his cheek; his eye flutter closed when he feels the featherlight press of her lips and the whisper of her gratitude.

Anthony keeps his eyes closed when she pulls away from him; he keeps them closed until he hears the tell-tale click of the door. It is only then that Anthony allows himself to open his eyes and peer into the heartbreak now cracking open his chest. Not for the love he though he felt, but for the utter want racing through his body. He wants a love like that; he was going to find a love like that.

They would be happy together; he thinks to himself as he breathes in the floral scent of her perfume. They would be happy together, perfectly suited to the point that Anthony craves such intimacy. One day; he promises, one day he would hold such a treasure within his hands.

-------------

Bridgerton House remained warm and inviting even after the family had long retired for bed. The sconces lining the walls still lit; their warm light easy on anyone’s eyes should they need to traverse the hallways for whatever reason.

The path to Benedict’s room isn’t one she has taken often. Thinking on it, (Y/N) realises that save for being shown the door on her first ever visit to the London home, she has not stepped foot close to the room since. Until tonight, that is.

Her skirts swish delicately underfoot as (Y/N) makes her way to his room. She doesn’t dare utter a single breath for the fear of being caught; all around her slumber her closest friends. If she were caught by a member of staff, her reputation balanced on being ruined.

Her hand trembles as she clenches it into a fist, raises it to the plain white door and knocks twice. She waits on the threshold, twisting her fingers into her skirts – a nervous habit she’s had since she was a child. She was thankful that she no longer bit her nails down to the bed.

“Come in,” calls his quiet voice and her nerves only heighten. Taking a deep breath, she pushes open the door that could reveal her future.

“(Y/N),” Benedict gasps, the deep v of his shirt falling open, revealing far more of his bare chest than (Y/N) had expected to see tonight.

“I wanted to talk to you,” She whispers, hovering between the doorway and his room. She does her best to not stare at the defined muscles on display but loses the battle. Her eyes run over the parts of his muscular torso and the strong forearms shown with the sleeves of white shirt rolled up. She didn’t think it was possible to be attracted to the forearms of a person, but here was Benedict proving her wrong.

“What if you get caught?” He whisper-asks, worry lacing his tone as he glances at something behind her. She turns on instinct only to find an empty hallway and three lit sconces.

“Anthony knows where I am,” She retorts, stepping further into Benedict’s room.

“Anthony?”

“He gave me his blessing.”

“To enter my room… unattended… late at night?”

“Essentially, yes,” She smiles, thinking back to her conversation with the Viscount.

“Why were you talking to Anthony?” Benedict asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t like the simmering jealousy he feels that the picture of (Y/N) alone with Anthony in his study. He clears his throat to chase away the hollow ache of envy; he doesn’t want to picture the conversation. He doesn’t think he could handle it.

“He asked me to court him.”

“Oh,” Benedict responds, feeling his heart begin to crack in his chest. “What did you say?”

“I told him I couldn’t. We wouldn’t suit each other and one other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“I don’t love him. I love someone else.”

“You do? Do I know them?”

(Y/N) laughs, stretching her arms out as she gestures to Benedict’s bedroom. “I’m stood in your room in the middle of the night, Benedict, with full knowledge that if I were to be caught by any of the staff, I would be ruined. What does that tell you?”

Benedict frowns, refusing to let himself fall into the hope growing in his chest. He feels like Icarus; too close to the sun, too close to thing he wants most in this world.

“Stop this pain in my heart,” She commands weakly. “Stop this pain and tell me if you feel the same. If you don’t, I understand but I’d ask you not to tell anyone of this midnight visit.”

His mouth runs dry, and he finds it hard to answer. He’s falling, falling, falling for the woman stood across from him and he cannot find the words to accurately describe the depth of his feelings for her. That day in the drawing room – he’s known her for years, always been aware of her, but that day, it was as if he was finally seeing her for the pure beauty that she inhabits. She could rival Aphrodite herself.

Upset shutters across (Y/N)’s face as she nods twice, trying her best to keep the burn of tears at bay. “It’s okay, Benedict,” She whispers, turning for the door, “Thank you for listening.”

At the last moment, Benedict reaches out and snatches her wrist. “Don’t go,” He pleads, “Don’t leave me. I don’t think I could live with myself if you left me.”

“I don’t understand,” She whispers; confusion lacing her voice. Her eyebrows furrow as she stares at the man before her, “You didn’t say anything. You stayed silent; I took that as my cue to leave.”

Benedict shakes his head. “Don’t go,” He whispers, bringing a hand up to card through the loose strands of hair framing her face. He almost preens as she leans into his touch. “I feel the same, I love you just the same,” Benedict confesses; feeling the weight leave his chest.

“You do?” She asks; her voice small but hopeful.

“I do,” Benedict smiles, brushing her cheek with his finger, “I think I always have, but I didn’t realise until recently.”

(Y/N) sniffles as tears threaten to make an appearance. She laughs wetly, unable to stop the giggle from leaving her mouth as Benedict wipes away the tears. “I hope those are happy tears,” He murmurs wryly.

“They are,” She answers, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her level. “They definitely are.”

“Good,” He answers.

Their faces are so close now it would only take a fraction of a movement to press their lips together; to seal the promise of their union. “Kiss me, Benedict,” She whispers; need lacing her voice as she stares into his famously blue eyes.

Benedict doesn’t need to be told twice; it isn’t often he gets to kiss a goddess.

********

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talesofbirbal · 2 years

Text

Diet Daddy

"Mr Lascelles will see you now," announced the petite twink in a girly voice, twirling to flaunt his skimpy French maid's costume.

Brett, the 31 year old out-of-shape muscle bear, sporting a ginger beard and long curly ginger hair, who had been waiting in a hallway of this grand house for the last half an hour, got his ever-growing fat ass off the small hard wooden chair and entered the room as the twink opened the door.

"Come in," said Mr Lascelles, a 6'4", a compact 68 year old with powerful shoulders and arms, silver hair and a faint grey moustache, in his deep, aristocratic English voice.

This room, like this whole house, is amazing, thought Brett. He had never seen anything quite like it. The place had the feel of a country house belonging to the nobility, bookcases, paintings and antiques everywhere, wallpaper and carpets of the most elegant tastes, heads of stags, lions, tigers and other such animals hanging from the walls.

"Sit down," said Mr Lascelles.

Brett sat. This chair was bigger and more comfortable than the one in the hallway was.

"And tell me, what appears to be the problem...?"

"Well sir," said Brett, blushing and spluttering, self-conscious of his American accent. "I seem to have gotten a little fat".

"So I can see," said Mr Lascelles. "Antoine" he called in a loud voice, and the twink from the hallway came scuttling in through the door.

"Antoine, fetch the scales and tape measure," he ordered.

The twink dashed out and returned, moments later, with the required implements.

"Measure this gentleman's height", he said, adding "Shoes off!" to Brett.

Brett shook off his shoes and stood up straight, whilst Antoine measured him

"Five foot ten, sir," reported Antoine.

"Hmm," mumbled Mr Lascelles, "you told me five foot eleven, that means your BMI will be a little higher."

"Sorry, sir," said Brett.

"Now the scales," barked Mr Lascelles.

Antoine placed the scales on the floor, and Brett walked towards them.

"Naked," ordered Mr Lascelles.

Brett blushed red, looked at Mr Lascelles then looked at Antoine. From Antoine he saw an expression of sympathy, but Mr Lascelles' visage was hard and cold as rock.

"Now, please, my time for this appointment is limited," demanded Mr Lascelles.

Brett nervously slipped off his suit jacket, then undid his tie, then his shirt, then his trousers, then his socks and then lastly his briefs. He then walked again towards the scales, but Mr Lascelles interrupted.

"Antoine, first trot him round the ring, I want to see his gait and how he moves."

Brett felt confused, but Antoine looked at him kindly, held his hand, whispered to him to follow, held him affectionately by the hand, then walked him slowly around the room in a big circle. Mr. Lascelles' cold, scrutinising stare followed him the whole time.

"Hmm," muttered Mr Lascelles neutrally, sounding neither satisfied nor dissatisfied. "Scales", he snapped.

Brett stood on the scales.

"101.605 kilograms," announced Antoine.

"Not that continental claptrap you're always picking up from your mother," snarled Mr Lascelles.

Antoine cowered backwards, then picked up the scales, adjusted the settings, put them back down again and gestured to Brett to get on them again.

"16 stones", announced Antoine.

"Or 224 pounds, as the Americans would put it," grumbled Mr Lascelles. "Change the setting just to pounds next time, so this young yank here can understand what we're talking about."

He turned to Brett. "Your profile claimed you were only 209 pounds."

He took out a small calculator and performed some calculations.

"BMI 32," he stated, "obese".

Brett felt so embarrassed. He could not hide it, standing up here, all naked. He used to be so muscular, without an ounce of fat on him. All the twinks, who he adores, used to fawn on him and beg to suck his cock and be his slave, which he loved. For the last year, though, he had let himself go. In front of him was a big fat belly, behind him a soft blubbery ass, and to his disgust, he was even beginning to sprout tits. The twinks were less keen now. Some of them even laughed at him. The last one he went with taunted him about how his fatpad was making his dick smaller, and that battered his confidence so much, he could not even get himself hard enough to perform. After that humiliation, he resolved, he had to get something done. That was when he came across a user called "Diet Doctor" on the kink website, who promised to help him lose weight and regain his physique again. This was why he was here.

"What have you to say for yourself?" said Mr Lascelles, allowing his eyes to run all over Brett's body.

"I am here for your help, sir," said Brett.

Mr Lascelles clasped his hands in a triangle, considering.

"I propose to proceed as follows," he drawled. "You will meet me here every two weeks, and I will weigh you. If you lose weight, I will generously share with you my professional advice about diet and maintaining fitness. As you can see, I am a fine specimen of a man, even at my current age, and my physique puts men half my age to shame."

He was right, thought Brett, melting at the sight of the fit sexy daddy in front of him. What he would give for a night with that...

"Especially," he added, "fatboys like you."

Brett blushed.

"However," he continued, "if you do not lose weight, then I will punish you, and if you gain weight," and at this a cruel leer appeared on his face, "Let's say I have some funny ways I could punish you even more."

"Yes sir," said Brett. He was falling for this daddy really bad.

"But first," said Mr Lascelles, "I need to know if there are any psychological blockages we need to address."

There was a pause.

"I am not sure what you mean, sir," said Brett.

"Psychological blockages of a physical or sexual nature, in particular."

There was a pause.

"Antoine," said Mr. Lascelles, "remind me what we had in the file about him".

"He doesn't like to suck cock, sir," said Antoine.

Brett felt his heart sinking to the ground. He had no idea how they had found this out, but it was true. He could not abide sucking dick. Ever. That was something other guys did to him. It was never something he did to anyone else. Ever. The thought of it was so degrading.

"In my experienced opinion," said Mr Lascelles slowly, "before this young man can overcome his laziness and his greed, this particular blockage in his psyche will need to be eliminated."

"But please, sir..." pleaded Brett, "it is not natural to me, I can't do it, it's too much..."

"If this is too much," said Mr Lascelles, "then how do you hope to summon the discipline you will need to regain your physique?"

"I do not know sir."

"On your knees, boy!"

Brett got on his knees.

"Antoine," ordered Mr Lascelles.

Antoine walked towards Brett, hovering over him, then lifted his short black skirt, exposing a knickerless, pubeless crotch, alongside an obscenely sized pair of balls and a humongous sausage of manhood, far thicker and wider than he could ever have imagined on such a small guy. Brett stared forward, in shock, speechless, mesmerised and horrified at the same time.

Mr. Lascelles rapped his desk with his knuckles. "It is time for you to do as other fatboys who have visited us have done," he growled.

Brett began to tremble. He could not face the humiliation.

Antoine placed his hands tenderly around Brett's face, stroking his double chin and beard. "It will be okay, I'll look after you, I promise," he said, and guided Brett's lips slowly to his cock head. Brett looked up at Antoine, and Antoine looked down. He has a kind face, thought Brett. He disdained men who dressed in female clothing, but something about Antoine was different and alluring. It felt wrong, he thought. Antoine should be going down on me. But, well... for Antoine, I would do anything for now to please him. He'd just better not damned fucking well tell anyone, that's all.

Within a few minutes, Brett was devouring Antoine's big, hard cock, and he did not like to admit it, but he was loving it, and wanting it more and more.

Mr Lascelles was chortling in the background. "Fatboys always make such good cocksuckers," he laughed, watching the outlandish sight of a fat hairy muscle bear sucking off a twink in a maid's outfit.

It came as a complete surprise when Antoine's cum shot like a fountain into his mouth. He should have known this would happen, of course, but perhaps the fact he had never sucked cock before meant he somehow overlooked the inevitability of such an outcome.

"Uugghhhhhhh!" he spluttered.

Mr. Lascelles laughed uproariously at what he was seeing.

Antoine, seeing Brett's discomfort, pulled his dick out of Brett's mouth, and shot the rest of his load on the carpet. Mr Lascelles was not pleased.

"Not on the carpet!" he shouted. Brett and Antoine looked at him, downtrodden.

"Lick it up!" he ordered.

Brett and Antoine exchanged glances. Antoine, sparing Brett from further humiliation, got down on his knees and licked up his own semen himself, as though this was something he did every day.

A bell in the corner of the room started ringing. Mr Lascelles stirred to action. He had other business to attend to.

"Back here again, two week's time," he said.

Antoine escorted Brett from the room, then set up the date and time for the next appointment. He walked Brett, who was still trembling, to the front door, then before leaving, embraced him tenderly, pecked him quickly on the lips and said "I do hope you will return, I like you so much, and he's not as bad as he sometimes seems, you know."

Two weeks later, Brett arrived again at the grand old house. No waiting around this time. The servant ushered him straight in.

"You know the routine," said Mr Lascelles, who was on his feet and faced towards the window, admiring the garden, not even acknowledging Brett.

A pair of scales stood on the floor. Brett stripped off his clothes. Gosh, this was embarrassing. He had been planning to stick strictly to his diet and work out every day, but none of that ended up going to plan. Eating and drinking and snacking was just too good to give up, and exercise was too much hard work. And if he was completely honest, a part of him was titillated by fantasies of how Diet Daddy might punish him if he dared to gain weight when he was supposed to be dieting.

"Well?" demanded Mr Lascelles.

"232 pounds, sir," said Brett.

"Antoine," called Mr. Lascelles.

Antoine entered through a door from an adjoining room, dressed like a tart in a pink and black latex dress and bunny rabbit ears, and eyeing up Brett lasciviously. He produced a small notepad with a pink cardboard cover from his pocket and started to study it.

"224 pounds last time," stated Antoine in his sensual voice, "so an increase of 8 pounds".

Mr Lascelles turned around from the window and faced Brett, eyes coldly taking in his body.

"This is not good at all, not good at all," he muttered.

"I've been finding things difficult," said Brett, feeling very self-conscious of his enlarged furry belly.

Mr Lascelles drew his chair back a distance from his desk, then sat on it.

"Over my knee, boy," he demanded.

Brett's face went scarlet red. He had never done anything remotely like this before.

"A psychological corrective will be required," continued Mr Lascelles, "and it involves you getting your slovenly fat hairy ass over my knee".

Antoine smirked and almost giggled, but somehow managed to hide this from Brett, and instead took him by the hand gently, and led him, like a nervous little boy, to Mr Lascelles. "Don't worry, it won't be so bad and I'm here for you," he whispered to Brett.

Mr Lascelles slowly stroked Brett's plump rump with his fingers, a look of glee flickering briefly in his face, then he straightened out his fingers, closed them together, drew back his hand, then spanked the helpless fat bear across the rear, softly and slowly at first, then faster and faster.

"Ow! Ow! Owww! Owwwww!"

Brett felt so humiliated and turned on like he had never been humiliated and turned on in his life, and he felt his cock growing bigger and harder.

"This is what we have to do with fat, greedy, lazy boys who don't control what they eat and can't be bothered to exercise," scolded Mr Lascelles, as he parted Brett's blubberous buttocks and poked his finger suddenly into his hole.

"OOWWWWWW!" shrieked Brett, grimacing in pain and startled by this gross invasion of his manhood, the likes of which he had never experienced before.

Mr Lascelles laughed loudly, but withdrew his finger and continued spanking Brett's ass.

Antoine's cock stiffened at the sight before him, Brett completely bare assed naked, cock throbbing away, getting his fat bright red ass mercilessly spanked.

Mr Lascelles squeezed Brett's big hairy balls gently, but enough to elicit a squeal of pain, then laughed cruelly again. "If it doesn't hurt it won't work," he said, delivering an especially powerful swipe to Brett's left butt cheek.

"OWWWWWW!" shrieked Brett.

"Get up," barked Mr Lascelles.

Brett rolled off Mr Lascelles' knees, but feeling dizzy, found himself crawling on to the floor.

"Now undo my zip and suck me off," he ordered.

Brett could not believe it. He wanted this so, so much, but this was not something he would usually do at all. This was beneath him. And yet he wanted it. So he crawled forwards to Mr Lascelles, still seated in his chair, undid his zip, pulled out his big cock, and began sucking it, just like he had done Antoine's two weeks previously.

"Mmmm," groaned Mr Lascelles softly, taking hold of Brett's fat face by the fat rolls and guiding his mouth up and down his cock.

After the session with Mr Lascelles was finished, Antoine put his arms around his waist, briefly squeezing his side-belly, then invited him to have tea with him in another room. Brett's dick had been straining like anything back there but been given no relief, Antoine knew, and he could not resist the opportunity to have a little fun with the handsome chubby bear himself.

Before barely a few drops of tea had been drunk, Antoine was all over Brett, undoing his clothes, stroking his long hair, kissing and licking his big hairy body.

"I can't get enough of you," rasped Antoine. "You are so big and sexy and hairy. And do you know what, I know you are supposed to be here to lose weight, but your beer belly turns me on more than I can tell you, it is so masculine, and it makes me want to strip you naked and worship and suck you off and do every little thing you want me to do. Can I tell you a naughty secret? Nothing would turn me on that to see you grow this belly fatter and fatter and fatter for me. I want you to be my big fat daddy bear!"

Brett gloried in the attentions of young Antoine, finding him impossible to resist. He did not usually go in for girly twinks, particularly ones dressed in girly slutty clothes, but Antoine was different. And whilst the emasculation he had experienced with Mr Lascelles had awakened erotic impulses in him he never knew he had, deep down, he was finding Antoine's validation of his masculinity comforting, and a massive turn on. Before he knew it, he was laying down on the floor, naked, and Antoine was shovelling small pieces of delicious chocolate cake in to his mouth, and his cock, which had been aroused beyond endurance already, was clasped between Antoine's pert, muscular and supremely experienced buttocks, which he manoeuvred powerfully and skilfully to bring Brett to a jiggling, sweating, grunting, moaning, howling climax.

I've still got the magic touch with the twinks, Brett grinned to himself, catching an utterly voluptuous look of satisfaction on Antoine's sweet face. He left the grand house with a swagger in his step, his sense of proud masculinity restored.

Two weeks later, the familiar ritual repeated itself.

"245 pounds," announced Antoine, "a gain of 13 pounds".

Mr Lascelles glowered sternly across his desk at the fat hairy porker bear standing naked on the scales in the centre of the room.

"Shave him," he snarled quietly.

Brett's face turned crestfallen.

"Please, not that," whimpered Antoine in his effeminate voice, putting his arm protectively around Brett.

"Every psychological blockage to weight loss must be removed," Mr Lascelles rasped meanly. "This fat ass bear thinks being fat and hairy makes him manly and sexy. Well, we'll see about that. Shave off all his hair and leave him as smooth and pink and soft as a porky piglet."

Then he chortled cruelly. "We'll see what all the silly bear-besotted twinks think of him after that."

Antoine morosely pulled out a high portable bed with wheels from a corner in the room, and tapped on Brett's ass playfully to signal him to lay down on it, which he did. Then he went to a drawer, and returned with an electric razor.

"Zzzzzzzzz!"

Mr Lascelles began giggling as the razor glided over Brett's chest, then in circular motion over his big round belly, shorning him of the prideful emblem of manhood he set such store by.

"Zzzzzzz!"

Oh fuck, thought Brett. This was so humiliating. He would never live this down.

"Zzzzzz!"

The shaving went on and and on and on, with Mr Lascelles taking the closest interest in the proceedings, cautioning Antoine not to miss bits.

"Zzzzz!"

"And his beard and the hair on his head too," demanded Mr Lascelles. That all went too. Brett's proud beard and long curly ginger hair all went.

"Zzzzz!"

"And his pubes."

They went too.

"Zzzz!"

Everything was going. Even the hair on his thighs and legs.

"Turn him around".

Brett reluctantly turned around. His back was shaved, and his back legs, and his blubbery hairy ass, everything.

"Now stand up."

Brett stood up.

"And walk around the circumference of the room for me."

Brett did as he was told, as Mr Lascelles laughed lasciviously at what he had achieved. Antoine stood quietly, holding a clipboard next to his groin to conceal his massive hard-on.

"You know what comes next," Mr Lascelles said.

And Brett did. Being spanked over Mr Lascelles' knees, and then getting down on his knees and sucking Mr Lascelles cock.

The hottest and most humiliating thing about it all for him was this: he loved it even more than the time before.

The morning of his next session, two weeks later, Brett weighed himself on his scales at home. 261 pounds. Fuck, he thought. But it was no surprise. Getting fatter was turning him on so much. There was no way he would stop it now.

When he arrived outside the grand house, however, he was greeted by a different scene to normal. A limousine was pulled up in the drive, along with several burly looking security men on motorbikes. He heard one of them talking on his mobile phone. "The traffic is so blocked up we'll never get her back to London now," he said. "We could have done a private flight but the optics would not be good right, y'know, with the press and everything."

I wonder what is going on, thought Brett.

Another sight now greeted Brett, this one even more surprising. It was Antoine, but looking completely different, dressed in the suavest suit he had ever seen, and a top hat. He marched elegantly to the limousine door, and opened it.

He looks so changed, thought Brett, but so damn smoking hot as well. This is the first time I have seen him not looking like a female prostitute.

Out from the limousine stepped a smartly dressed little old lady, with a small walking stick and handbag. Antoine bowed, and kissed her hand, then they promenaded together towards the main door, with lots of onlookers crowding round to watch.

Brett looked on, feeling awkward.

One of the security men came up to Brett, and began to interrogate him. "Good morning, sir, and you are...?"

Brett felt so shy, but another smartly dressed lady, a much younger one this time, emerged from the limousine, with 3 dog leads and 3 corgis, and approached Brett and the security man with a charming smile.

"You must be one of Lord Beale's special friends, I can always tell," she said, poking Brett playfully in the tummy. "Come in with me, it will probably be easier."

Brett, grateful for the assistance amidst this growing throng of people, did as he was told, and was recognised by the doorman, who helpfully provided him with a shortcut to Mr Lascelles' study which would avoid the busy main corridor, where more and more people were gathering.

Brett knocked on the study door.

"Come in!" barked Mr Lascelles.

Brett entered.

Mr Lascelles leaned back in his chair, taking a good, long look at Brett.

"You are letting your facial hair grow back."

"You did not tell me I couldn't, sir."

"But you should have known, you should have known. This is most insubordinate of you, and you will be punished."

"Yes sir," said Brett.

"And I can see without even weighing you that you have gained weight again. Do you deny this?"

"No sir," said Brett. "I have been trying my best but it is not working," he added lamely and somewhat deceitfully.

"Hmmm," grumbled Mr Lascelles. "There is only one thing for it. A short, sharp shock which will make you terrified of coming here again having gained yet more weight. Something that will remove the last psychological blockage that we have somehow failed so far to identify and erase."

Brett looked at his shoes.

Mr Lascelles got up off his feet.

"Bend over my desk," he ordered.

Brett looked askance.

"I said bend over my desk."

Brett did as he was told.

Mr Lascelles walked round to the other side of the desk, and stood behind Brett.

"Lower your trousers and pants."

Brett obeyed, listening to the sound behind him of Mr Lascelles removing his belt.

Thwack! The leather belt smacked against his big fat smooth ass.

"OOWWWW!" shrieked Brett.

"Shut up, fatboy, there are important guests in the house."

Thwack!

"OWWW!"

"Be quiet!"

That last voice, that "Be quiet", sounded so like the voice of Mr Lascelles, and yet not quite like it.

Thwack!

"Be quiet!"

Where is that voice coming from, thought Brett.

Thwack!

"OOWWWW!

"Be quiet!"

Brett looked straight ahead of him. Sited against the wall at the far end was a parrot cage with a macaw parrot inside. It was shrieking "Be quiet!" whenever he yelped.

"That's the Duchess," said Mr Lascelles. "Only in this room today because she doesn't like women and tried to attack our VIP the last time she visited."

Thwack!

"OWWW!"

"Be quiet!"

"I can't believe how fucking fat you are", Mr Lascelles continued, groping Brett's belly. "Such a fucking fat hog".

Thwack!

"OWW!"

"Be quiet!"

Mr Lascelles inserted his belt into Brett's mouth. "Chew on this, boy," he whispered, "there are important people outside and I don't want them to hear your pathetic little squeals.

Brett grimaced with pain and chewed on the belt as he felt Mr Lascelles' thick long cock slowly and humiliatingly invading his boyhole. Oh fuck, he thought. He had never had this done to him before. This was something he always did to other people.

Antoine's voice floated in from the hallway outside, sounding deeper and richer than previously: "We hold fitness and dieting classes in this wing of the house. My head gardener, Mr Lascelles, is taking the lead at the moment. He is a retired nutritional psychologist, but helps us out here, and is in charge of the garden and the classes."

"How fascinating," came another voice, a posh, perfect female voice, a voice he could swear he had heard on television but could not pin down.

Brett grunted as a particularly vigorous thrust of Mr Lascelles' cock sent vibrations racing through his body.

"Keep shush, lard ass," Mr Lascelles hissed, "I can't have you setting the parrot off again."

"It's just one of the many activities we have here," said Antoine's voice.

"Oh, I am sure," said the female voice. "Do you know, my sister tried dieting so many times, and she always told me it was the most tedious, the most boring thing in the world. Which is why I marvel that, from what you told me earlier, that you can make it so exciting and interesting for people."

"Well it is not only diet advice we give," came Antoine's voice. "We have a billiards room, tennis, a swimming pool. And the estate grounds are bigger than you might think here, so we do horse riding, clay pigeon shooting, archery, marathons, all sorts. The other day my wife was organising a dog show for the Bedlington Terrier Club, and Lady Margate's little Saffy won Best in Show."

Brett chewed teeth marks into the belt, pressing his hungry fat rump greedily into Mr Lascelles' groin and stifling an uncontrollable moan as Mr Lascelles grabbed him by the neck and pumped his cum into his ass with a series of fast and powerful thrusts.

"There is just so much to do here, isn't there?" came the female voice. "So much, so much I am hardly sure it is the dieting your visitors all keep coming back for."

#gainer fiction #gay gainer #male weight gain #gainer stories #gainer story

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goodieghosty · 2 years

Text

Victory and falling

"Orpheus! There you are," Damocles whisper yelled when Orpheus returned to the citty.

"Usually it's me dissapearing on you without a warning. Is this payback or something? And did you seriously get out of town? Did praying work so well that you have no fear at all? Don't know how either of us will live if i have to be the responsible one," the boisterous man laughed.

"I... Wasn't alone," Orpheus replied, not sure why he was blushing right now. He'd need to go to bed and think of what had happened. Once his friend stopped interogating him.

"Uh, huh. And did whoever you where with give you that? That must be worth more than my house bud. Careful they don't take that away now," he warned.

Orpheus' eyes widened and he pinned the symbol on the inside of his tunic. Damocles bumped their shoulders. "Sooo, what's their name?" he wondered.

"W... Why would you ask it like that? It's... It's not important!"

His friend let out a careless laugh. "Yeah right you dissapear for a whole afternoon and a good portion of the night and return with some wicked jewelry and red as a strawberry. I'm surprised i didn't realize it sooner. Things must be getting serious if they give you jewelry like that," he insisted.

"It's... Listen Damocles. Please let it go okay? I really have to get some sleep for tomorrow. Big day and all," he rushed before sprinting off not giving his friend a chance to reply. They got to their home in the poorer part of town. And as they got in bed they pondered how this could've happened. Gods took interest in nobility. People who already had some godly ancestry or who'd shown great promise as a follower of their temples.

All he had done was ask to learn... All Virgil had done was teach him about his domain in a way he'd never thought to consider.

But now it seemed so simple.

And he'd held his hands... And called him brave... And given him this beautiful stone... A symbol, that marked him as his champion... Gods he hoped he wouldn't make him regret it. He didn't think he ever heard of Virgil having a champion.

He was known as one of the gods who rarely interacted with people. Or at least never revealed himself when he did.

What made him so special?

Nothing... Orpheus went to sleep, confident that in the morning the precious gift would be gone and he'd find that he'd only dreamed that a beautiful dazling man saw anything of worth in a nobody like him.

But the symbol was still there in the morning and every time he carefully carressed it Virgil's eyes came to mind. Playfull, encouraging, challenging. His lessons rang loud and clear but mroe than that. His request. He couldn't let him regret it.

He marched on with his fellow men in the front line and as the troups got more restless as the night approached, he became strangely calm. This was his domain. Maybe... Maybe darkness could be looked at in a different way too...

"We are setting up camp! I want everyone in their tents by the time the moon is down!" their comander, a descendant of Janus the rumors said, announced. Now he deserved to be a champion. He was of noble and godly blood. It would make more sense... No. Virgil chose him.

"And done!"

"Will you be quiet?" he remprimanded Damocles as they finished securing their tent.

"Why?"

"Because we are much to close to enemy lines. Do you not have an ounce of fear?" he demanded.

"Nope. Fearless as ever," Damocles grinned.

"Damocles. I love you like a brother. But that is nothing to boast about," Orpheus chuckled.

"Oh boo. One visit to the dark one's temple and you are all enlightened on fears huh?" Damocles joked. Though he did lower his voice.

Meanwhile Orpheus scanned their surroundings. He was no tactical genious. But he knew that the enemy was on the other side of that hill. And that if they knew they were comming, they'd attack at first light... And they'd be sitting ducks... Unless...

"Now what are you doing?"

Orpheus barely contained his fright.

"Virgil," he realized as he saw the glint of purple in his eyes.

He could remember the markings that ran under them, the exact sweep of his hair... Why could he remember all that in such vivid detail?

"Hi... I was thinking about... About tomorrow and I realized... I'll have to fight. And i'd rather attack from above than from the valley?" he siad.

A flash of teeth. "Lesser of two terifying things huh?" Virgil guessed.

Orpheus nodded. "Um, i suppose... But finding the general..."

In the dark when they couldn't light anything cause that was a dead sentence.

"I'll walk you there. Janus and I are old friends. Would be nice if he owes me another victory," he said playfully.

Orpheus felt a hand in his and let himself be guided to the tent of the commander.

"You'll have to do it alone from here. I can't actively take part. So you'll have to convice him to listen. And you can't count on those lovely eyes to do your work for you. You'll have to use your words. Can you do that Orpheus?"

He tried not to pay attention to the complement, instead gently touched Virgil's marker.

"I have to admit Orpheus. I was this close to running you through when you came in in the middle of the night. But am I glad i didn't!" General Ajax exclaimed as Orpheus and Damocles were led into his vila during the victory party.

The later becuase he refused to leave his best friend's side. Not until he was certain Orpheus was okay with being left alone with the General. Like he said. Idiot, but a loyal friend.

"Me too sir," he said as he accepted the glass of whine.

"First battle and already such insight. Briliant really. Of course with some help from me, but my great grandfather is the litteral god of warfare, so i cheated," he winked.

Orpheus simply smiled politely at the joke.

"You know what. This sounds like a two person party and I hate to make a crowd," Damocles said jovially before wisphering seriously to Orpheus. "Buddy, I'll be withing shouting range. If you want out just let me know. But I'll be moving on if it sounds like you don't need help okay?" he whispered.

Before Orpheus could ask what he meant his friend was already walking off.

"Good. Now that this is a private conversation," Ajax said as he sat himself on his desk. Orpheus thought back to Virigl sitting on his alter and he looked much more comfortable up there than Ajax did right now. He'd looked better in general too.

"You are quite a find Orpheus. I'd like to keep you close at hand," he said lowly. Orpheus remmebered the soft tones Virgil used and how effortless they strung his heart allong.

Ajax crystal blue eyes traced his features and he beconed him closer. "Relax a little, this is a party still. I just have a proposition for you you might like," he offered. Orpheus still felt nervous. Two days ago he wouldn't be considered good enough to breath the same air as Ajax. And now here he stood sharing wine... Not only that but 24 hours ago he'd walked through his camp led by the hand by the original god. The same god who 12 hours before that had sat with him on a hill and talked to him like an equal. He must've known that he was the lowest of all free men. And yet... With nothing more than one right question, he'd made him someone.

"What is that?" Orpheus snapped out of his thoughts and realized that Ajax had spotted Virgil's symbol.

"Um... A good luck charm of sorts," he answered a bit awkwardly.

"Aw, you think i'm good luck? Maybe we should revise your lessons then Orpheus."

Orpheus turned around and felt his lips shape into a smile without his intention. Was it normal for a god to visit their champion so often?

"But Ajax is right. This is a party. And as such. I came to offer my congratulations. Janus said i couldn't ever repeat those words to a single soul. But i rarely listen when i'm told not to do something and he should know that. He was very impressed with your adaptive thinking Ajax. Do with that information what you will."

Ajax was quite astonished, staring quite openly at Virgil. He was not dressed in his robes now. He was dressed in black armor and a purple hood and cape.

"He really... Um. Thank you. Lord Virgil," he said when he finaly collected himself and jumped off the desk. All suave confidence gone.

"Um. Pardon me, but... That stone. Does it mean...?"

"Orpheus is my champion yes. Last night was his trial so to speak. But he's earned the title i'd say. I'm sure you were about to offer him more comfortable living arangments. But I thought you might want to know there are options should either of you want them," he announced before turning and walking away.

"I know you are hiding there. That knife won't hurt me."

Orpheus looked up and saw Damocles hiding behind a pillar, knife at the ready, shaking in his sandals.

When Orpheus wanted to turn to Virgil again to ask when he'd see him again, yeah he knows how that sounds, he was gone.

Damocles sprinted towards Ajax and Orpheus.

"A champion? His, champion?" he gasped in disbelief.

Orpheus shrugged. "I'm just as taken aback as you are," he admitted.

"Well... I'll allert the council first thing in the morning. We'll need to get you a villa and some protection... Gods i don't even know what the protocol would be on a champion of the night... Oh boy... Um... Just for the record, i wasn't trying to... Make you uncomfortable. Cause i'm not sure what vibe you were giving...?"

Orpheus looked at him completley dumbfounded. "What?"

"No then. Good, good. Sorry. It's just... offending a gods champion equals to offending them directly. And Virigl is a god who's favor you do not want to lose. I knew i needed to keep you close at hand. Man... Go enjoy your night. We'll have you moved by the end of the week," Ajax insisted.

Orpheus nodded and let Damocles lead him outside.

"That was the legit god of fear who sent shivers down my spine when i walked by?" Damocles asked again.

Orpheus nodded. "And he chose my brother in arms as his champion?" Damocles pressed.

Once again the former lowly footsoldier nodded.

"Oh boy. I don't know if this is the best thing that's ever happened to you or something horrible. Which is wierd because i feel like usually just knowing that he isn't likely going to kill you would be enough for me..."

"It's probably his presence making you actually feel fear and think things through for once... I have one thing that might tip the scales though," Orpheus admitted as he came to terms with the realization he came to as he saw Virgil walk away after barely saying hello.

"What's that?" Damocles asked.

He couldn't straight up say it. Gods might be listening. So he said it in a way that Damocles would know what it meant.

"I think I want to give him a poem," he admitted.

"Oh... Oh no Orpheus."

_____

@lovelivingmydreams

Damocles knows what's up. I absolutely love Ajax??? I-this is so good!!

I hope the layout isn't wonk, tumblr did a fcky wucky when trying to add tags

#submission #lovelivingmydreams #godsides au #others fics

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siriusmydeer · 3 years

Note

can you do young sirius black x reader fic where him and the reader are dating the reader has really awful parents that make them feel like shit all the time

the promising potters

sirius black x gender neutral!reader

summary: sirius offers you a better position then one you’re already in.

word count: 1.2k

warnings: mentions of child abuse, mentions of self insecurity/doubt, crying, guilt, hurt/comfort, mentions of feeling unworthy/useless, angst but only if you squint, bad parent-kid relationship bonds

a/n: so i combined this with another request bc they’re so similar.

there was a familiar recurrent amount of anticipation weighing like a tipping scale in your subconscious, simply waiting for it to tip too far. it was a circadian never-ending cycle of thoughts, of venomous thinking that had immense potential to swallow you whole if you’d allow it. the recurrent malignant thoughts were never-ending.

as the sorrowful day continued, it felt like an eternal chain of events that would never cease, the recurrent thought pounding in your psyche similar to an alarm without a snooze button. the burden on your mind, the letters upon letters barricading your every thought at the disappointing words scribbled upon the parchment. there was only feeling that was a considerable emotion among the others that were struggling to afloat,

dismay.

how could you be good enough for yourself if you couldn't be enough for the people that brought you into this world that was supposed to love and cherish you? it was quite a familiar question that rapidly came and went in a vicious cycle swishing around your mind almost making your perception an obscuring fog that regarded any other thought.

your bottom had been sprawled upon the carmine stitched duvet, that belonged to sirius, for the past several hours. the small parchment clutched between your trembling digits from recurrent gazing at the wounding letters sculpted into the paper by your parents following their signatures. the letters becoming a jumble of words that you could no longer read due to the tears obscuring your vision.

there's a stutter of words that spill off your tongue in the sense of dejection, a faint cough escaping your lungs through your trachea before you spoke again. “sirius— i just can’t do this anymore.” you spoke desperately, the slight jut of your lip quavered whilst you spoke in sorrow. there was an erratic palpitation soaring through your chest every millisecond at the uneasiness strumming through every minuscule blood cell that your body could possess.

your fingers slightly trembled while you clenched them deeper into the creased parchment from your steady and unwavering grip. “hurts so bad.” your words slightly muffled from the tears that were bound to spill over your waterline. your sentence was almost disorganized from the congestion that had formed in your throat due to the number of tears you had shed then less than ten minutes ago.

he began to soothe you with his tranquil fingers that began to trace bemused shapes down your spine, feeling the balmy touch of his finger pads through your shirt ventured into the beginning of tranquility in his endeavor to comfort you. his chin had been resting on the curvature of your shoulder whilst his nose slightly prodded at your clavicle, seeking to conciliate you further.

how could a parent reject their child? what could that child have done so wrong that suddenly they’re unworthy of a parent's love?

who is deserving of that treatment?, not you, certainly not you.

there was a cycle of questions that remained prominent in your mind that only swirled down for a few moments as you were distracted by sirius’ soothing touch, your subconscious yearning for the answer since you had been a young child pondering why you felt so dejected by them. if you were given the opportunity you could've to plead on your knees for an answer as to why.

your respires were beginning to elevate tremendously as you thought of the answers to your ignored questions. whilst sirius began to notice the heaving movements that trembled in your chest, he placed a soothing palm on the bend of your spine— he was adamantly trying his best to comfort you in a situation he had been incredibly familiar with.

“i know baby, i know,” he spoke with a small quiver in his voice. an empathetic sense beginning to acquire over the planes of his sensorium, feeling the uttermost affliction that had been radiating off of your body now melding into his own.

“i wish things were different.” you sighed. your neck began to crane to the left in an attempt to glimpse at the boy. sirius’ chin remained on the curvature of your shoulder and the movements of his palms never faltering, he peered his eyes at you. the familiar pearl-hued irises covered in a clear glaze of empathy towards your slouched figure that was sat upon his bed.

he nodded as a sign that his attention remained on you, observing the way you brought your hand, with a slight tremor now enabling its way from the exertion of stress your body had to endure, and bringing it to wipe across the streaks engraved its way down your cheeks; letting your hand flop back onto your thigh in exhaustion.

“i’m here, m’love. ‘m here,” he whispered into the pulse point of your neck along with a small kiss, identifying how your jugular began to quiver faintly at his consoling words.

he pondered for a moment in silence. if his next words were worthy to be sputtered out in the despairing aura that remains present in the room since you had trudged in his dormitory. james wouldn’t have the slightest problem, euphemia nor fleamont either.

‘the more the merrier.’ they would say, sirius’ mind depicting their exact voices.

“i feel so useless.” you broke the silence once more, wiping another tear whilst expressing your concerns to the gryffindor. “like there’s nothing else i could do, besides disappointing them,” you spoke without an ounce of dishonesty in your voice.

the murmur of your honest confession was enough to bring tears cascading down his pallid cheeks.

sirius’ hand had paused and his chin had lifted from your shoulder, his brows contorting into a broad emotion of perplexity. bewildered at his sudden actions your eyebrows began to crease at his movements. “listen to me,” he began to speak in nobility, “you’re not a disappointment nor useless, you hear me?” he chastised sternly.

“and i don’t ever want to hear you think like that again.” he proceeded to lay his hand on your dampened cheek feeling the familiar searing burn of embarrassment rise to your face, sliding the pad of his thumb against your skin in a comforting motion. “stay with me, and james, and the potters.” he offered, your eyes shooting rapidly into a widened state at his request.

“i can't, it’s—“ you began to deny his offer with the shake of your head, feeling a barricade of guilt. you hastily cut yourself off while attempting to put together your disfigured thoughts. “s’not worth it, ‘m not worth it. to ruin everything you have going with the potters.”

“you aren't ruining anything, love. ‘m gonna talk with james, you don't have to do with it alone.”

you gaped at him, wide eyes glistened with glaciers of despair and dejection while your lips were adamantly trembling attempting to not let a flow of tears overcome you once more. simply not wanting to disturb the atmosphere that had been built in the potter household since sirius had arrived, as well as having no desire to burden them with the faults that had been weighed upon you. but sirius would have none of that, the potters had adored you since the first christmas you had to spend with them in second year.

there would be zero troubles taking you in, and he was going to make sure of it.

“everything’s gonna is alright, i promise you.”

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