#(yes maybe true but i think i’m allowed to not want to engage in certain themes because real life has just made some things hard to enjoy)

[fayes-fics]

Confessions

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (references to Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader)

Summary: Benedict confesses to being in love

Warnings: none really... angst, pining then fluffy fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

Authors Note: This is an anonymous request fill (request: Can I request Benedict desiring the reader in silence? What if the reader and Anthony have been courting, or maybe they've just danced together at a couple of balls? Anthony kind of likes the reader, but he obviously doesn't know that Benedict is absolutely in love with her. I'd love a scene where Anthony realises his brother's feelings and Benedict confesses. And maybe then the reader enters the room and Anthony tries to stop Benedict but he just keeps going on with his declaration of love.) Nonny, I can't find your original ask, but luckily I had saved parts of it. I hope you like this <3. Thanks as ever to @makaylan for betaing this.

Anthony Bridgerton is a great catch. The Ton’s most eligible bachelor, indeed. You’ve danced with him quite a few times; he has even called on you at your home. He’s handsome, certainly, intelligent, and engaging. He seems eager to pursue you, your mother beyond keen about the match, and you have no objections to him, as such, so you allow it.

But… he’s not the Bridgerton man that has haunted your dreams for the last year. The one you feel watching you at every event, the one you want to know - what makes him tick, what he loves, what keeps him awake at night, what makes him laugh, how his skin tastes. A hum in your chest that wars with your brain, wanting you to walk over to him, cling to him, beg him to kiss you. It’s the strangest, most powerful compulsion.

Sadly, he has never pursued you; he just lurks in the shadows watching you all this time. An observance so intense it feels like a heated blanket you wear. But lately, with Anthony's pursuit, he seems to dislike you or perhaps just your closeness to Anthony. Every time you are in Anthony’s orbit, he looks like he is chewing glass. 

“Does your brother hate the idea of us?” You ask Anthony as he spins you around the dancefloor of the illustrious Bridgerton Ball. Feigning ignorance about your deepest wish to know what those looks mean.

“Whyever would you think that, Miss Y/l/n?” He seems baffled by your question.

“He’s looking at us right now,” you point out, and as Anthony whirls around, you watch him look over and frown.

“I’m not certain that look is directed at us,” he placates.

“It’s the third time he has done this, my lord. At different balls. I can only think he hates me, dislikes me as a match for his older brother, perhaps?” You offer, knowing you are manipulating him to get the clarity about the man’s true feelings that you desperately seek.

“My brother is nothing of that sort,” he dismisses “it must be something else. I shall talk to him when our dance is over, but Miss Y/l/n, I am certain you have nothing to be concerned over. You are quite delightful,” he assures with easy flattery as the dance ends. He bows, kisses your hand and agrees to meet you later for another dance.

——

“Brother, a word?” Anthony raises his eyebrow with a flick of his wrist. “Quickly,” he adds rather testily when the man in question just shrugs.

He trails after Anthony somewhat reluctantly, akin to a toddler being dragged somewhere they do not want to go but have no say.

They end up in Anthony’s study. By instinct, Anthony pours two brandies, handing one to his younger brother.

“Benedict, what’s troubling you?”

“You dragged me here to ask that vague of a question?” The man scoffs, the irritation in his voice evident.

“Well, I hardly took you away from a situation you were enjoying,” Anthony fires back, “your face was like thunder out there. To the point that others commented about it to me. So yes. I ask again, what is troubling you?”

“Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who commented on my face?”

“Well, if you must know, it was Miss Y/l/n. She is quite convinced you must hate her for the way you were staring daggers at her.”

Benedict scoffs.

“Well, do you? Is there something you need to say? I don’t believe you suddenly wish to judge what match I make, so there must be another reason. Out with it,” he lectures.

“You don’t deserve her,” Benedict mutters almost silently.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Anthony challenges, raising an eyebrow. 

“I said, ‘nothing whatsoever’. As in, I have nothing to say to that.”

Anthony narrows his eyes, knowing that’s not the truth or what Benedict said under his breath.

“Benedict. Brother. I’m worried about you,” Anthony opines, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You seem so despondent lately. Like you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why are you burdening yourself so?”

“It’s not a choice,” Benedict grouses, draining the brandy Anthony gave him. “Love is never a choice; I wish that it were.”

Anthony freezes. “Love?” You are in love?”

“I might as well not be for all the grief and misfortune it brings. But yes, If you must know, I’m in love, and I’m miserable.” He cuts.

“Now, I’m no expert at affairs of the heart, but even I know that’s the exact opposite of how it should feel,” Anthony states.

“Not when it’s misguided or inappropriate. I can never act on how I feel due to… circumstances. So forgive me, brother, the latitude of not always being the carefree person I used to be, that I wish I still was,” his voice biting, fueled by raw emotion, not bitter cynicism.

“So let me get this straight. You’re in love, but it’s inappropriate, and you cannot act on it because this person is off-limits to you. Brother, did you fall for a married lady?” Anthony guesses.

Benedict laughs cynically. “That would actually be preferable to this nightmare.”

“Just tell me. You’re my brother,” Anthony sighs, resigned.

“It’s Miss Y/l/n”, he exhales, screwing up his face and looking heavenwards, awaiting harsh judgment.

There is none. Just silence for a few moments, so Benedict peeks an eye and lowers his head. 

“Why didn’t you say something before now?” Anthony exhales; he seems neither mad nor sad. Just neutral. “I’m your brother, for god’s sake. I would never have pursued her if you'd just told me.”

“Oh, it’s that simple, is it?” Benedict rolls his eyes, “it’s just so easy to approach someone, my own brother, and say, like some child, don’t pursue this person I have affection for them? That’s patently absurd,” his frustration manifesting in holding his body rigid, locking his knees, fingers flexing. “I should never have said anything!” He suddenly outbursts, seemingly embarrassed and angry he had admitted something he now regrets.

“Benedict I….” Anthony begins

“Don’t”, Benedict cuts in with a bitter tone, “spare me the big brother lecture.”

—-

You have your next dance but barely heed the man’s presence, your mind absorbed by watching Anthony order his younger brother from the room.

You burn to know what they are talking about, where they went.

“Miss Y/l/n?” a voice cuts into your thoughts, “have you heard a word I’ve said?” The tone is disdainful.

You shake your head.  “Very sorry, my lord. I umm have taken quite unwell,” you lie. “Perhaps we could stop dancing? It is making me quite dizzy.” 

With a flurry of apologies, the man takes pity on you and stops dancing and assists you by grabbing a refreshment. 

“Thank you so much. This is indeed helping, but I fear not as much as I’d like. Please excuse me; I must retire for the evening.”

You bustle from the room, headed in the same direction as Anthony and his brother. You still can feel the intensity of his gaze from earlier, like a flame across your skin. 

As you round a corner into a quieter part of the house, one you probably shouldn't be in, you hear a familiar voice and stop short.

“...It’s not that. I just want you to tell me the truth” Anthony’s voice is muffled through a wooden door but unmistakable. Suddenly your heart is pounding. You’re almost certain you know who he is talking to.

"What do you want me to say?” Comes the reply, and your breathing stops. It’s him. Benedict.

“That my thoughts are always of her? For God's sake, Anthony! You want me to approach you and say, ‘the lady you're courting looks at me, and my heart pounds’”

Your thoughts are a jumble, blood rushing in your ears. He feels the same about you as you do him!

He continues, “Or... Or perhaps you’d like to hear how I think of her every night as I take myself in hand, that I have imagined her in every possible way, that my thoughts of her never end. And when I've spilt, I can only burn in shame because she will never be mine." 

His sinful words alight a fire in your body. Every night your hand falls between your legs, and you touch yourself, burning with thoughts of him. The heat only quells when his name falls silently from your lips as you reach your peak. The knowledge he does the same to thoughts of you is breathtaking.

You can’t help yourself; you push into the room. Anthony sees you over Benedict’s shoulder; his face is a catalogue of emotions.

“Benedict…” he warns, but his brother doesn’t heed him.

“You want my truth, brother? Here it is, plain and simple: I'm in love with Miss Y/l/n. I burn for her. Yet I doubt she even cares. I'm almost certain now, especially after what you said tonight, that she does not regard me and may even actively despise me….” 

As he speaks, you breathe heavily, the world spinning at his love confession. You lock gaze with Anthony, begging him not to interfere with your eyes, and he nods almost imperceptibly. 

“…And that dear brother is why I am in a pit of despair and a misery akin to death. And what wounds me the most is the guilt I carry that this woman I so desire is yours. And yet… and yet I still myself incapable of moving on, of putting these feelings aside. What the devil is wrong with me?" Benedict ends his soliloquy distressed, pulling at his hair. 

You are shocked that you are still breathing, still standing. You feel compelled to speak, scarcely believing your boldness, the voice bubbling up from the depths of your soul.

“You are wrong,” your voice rings out, wavering.

Benedict whips around at the sound, still breathing heavy. You watch as shock, fear and embarrassment ripple across his handsome face in war with each other for supremacy. You push on despite your clammy hands and pulse beating heavy in your ears.

“I could never despise someone who haunts my every waking moment,” you continue, steadying your voice, taking a step closer, “and my nightly dreams.”

His face morphs into something like surprise, muddled with hope.

“Anthony,” you address over Benedict’s shoulder, “I hope you will forgive me, but I have perhaps been deceptive with you. While you are a fine good man, I let this match happen not because I wanted it myself but because my mother desired it. But if I should be honest, you were never the Bridgerton I wanted, the one who has stolen my heart.”

You hear Benedict audibly inhale and move your gaze to meet his. Blistering as ever.

 “It is you whom I desire, most ardently,” you state clearly. “It has always been you, Benedict,” you exhale, taking another step closer. “When you look at me, the world quiets but strangely also bursts into a riot of colours. I… I…,” you falter as suddenly you are surrounded.

He has closed the gap between you and enveloped you into his embrace. You can feel the warmth of his body seeping into yours, and you never want to let go: with a relieved sob, you band your arms tight around him and press yourself into his body, wanting to melt into him. Every nerve ending is alight; it feels like the most comforting and most exciting place you could ever be.

“Oh Y/n,” he stutters, his voice thick with emotion, his breath warm on your cheek.

“I dream of you,” you whisper urgently near his ear, “and your name is on my lips every night when I touch myself. It’s always you; I always think of you.” 

He growls at that confession, and his fingers dig into your dress. His warm lips press against your cheek, and your hand flies up to cup his jaw, urging his lips to meet yours.

Anthony clears his throat, and you both jump apart as if burned. Suddenly remembering you are not alone.

“If this were to become known, it will certainly be a scandal we can ill afford,” Anthony lectures as Benedict’s hand reaches for yours, and you take it, your breath hitching as your fingers lace. “To be the subject of Lady Whistledown”s missive. I can see it now - The Viscount loses his match to no other suitor but his own younger brother. It would be quite the juiciest news of the year for these rabid gossip hounds,” his tone is bitter. “And that is why this must be kept secret until a suitable moment.”

When he sees your joined hands, he frowns and stalks to the window and slams the wooden shutters. “Pay mind, there is an event here tonight,” he chides “if you must touch, ensure you are unseen,” he warns.

“Anthony, you are not displeased by this idea?” Benedict asks, laced with curiosity.

“I know love when I see it, brother”, he sighs. “I can endure the ridicule for a love match. I just wish I knew before now. I would never begrudge either of you the happiness it would appear you could bring each other.” His chivalry touches your heart

“Thank you, Anthony. Lord Bridgerton,” you correct, “ I do not deserve such kindness”, you bow your head.

“‘My no doubt future sister-in-law, you have done nothing but admit your true feelings,” he replies. Your heart soars at his words.

Benedict pulls you in front of him. “I would marry you in a heartbeat”, he confesses.

You inhale sharply. “Is that a proposal Mr Bridgerton?”

He laughs. “Not yet. You deserve better than that. But be in no doubt. You WILL receive my proposal.”

Your heart stops. “And you will receive my answer”, you reply with a small smile.

He breaks into a crooked grin that makes your skin buzz with static. “Any chance of a preview of what that answer might be?”

“Yes, Mr Bridgerton, a thousand times over, it will be yes,” you whisper. 

The soft, soulful look in his hazy blue eyes melts your heart. 

“I’m just going to leave,” there’s an exasperated sigh from Anthony. You again forgot he was in the room, your whole focus being Benedict. 

“Sorry,” you both mumble. 

“Congratulations,” Anthony offers as he grabs the door handle, looking back at you both, “sincerely.”

“Thank you, brother,” Benedict nods. 

As the door closes, you realise what a scandalous position this could be, you alone with a suitor without a chaperone.

“It’s only scandalous if we’re not engaged,” Benedict’s soft voice cuts in, intuiting your thoughts as you chew your lip and stare at the door.

“We are not yet, Mr Bridgerton,” you remind.

“In my heart, we are already married,” he rushes, “and perhaps you are with my child right now?”

You inhale sharply at the potency of that idea.

“You wish for children?” you question, wavering with emotion. 

“With you, yes,” he asserts, “my love, my heart. We will build a family together.”

“I can’t wait, Mr Bridgerton,” you whisper honestly. 

“Neither can I,” he sighs as he pulls you into another embrace. 

You don’t let go for what seems like hours.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @wysteria-clad @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @chaoticcalzoneranchsports

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

[sirianasims]

Chapter 22

A Million Dreams

The university found out, of course. They gave me my diploma, but I wasn’t allowed to attend the graduation ceremony, and I was told to move off campus immediately. I had nowhere to go but home.

My father, always the responsible one, was angry and disappointed.

No surprise there.

My mother seemed more worried about the age difference. She said that we were at very different stages in life. Katherine being 38 had never bothered me before, but maybe my mother was right. I was only 23, so it was a pretty big gap.

“We’ve given you everything, Eric. Always. Everything you wanted – and you almost threw away your entire future because you were thinking with the wrong head! I thought we raised you better than this.”

“I know, dad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. And we… I thought we were being careful.”

I hid my face in my hands.

“Just… not careful enough, I guess.”

My father, of course, was thinking like a lawyer. He insisted that I should also get a paternity test.

That hit me hard. I hadn’t even considered the fact that I might not be the father either.

“Seriously, Eric, for all you know, the father could be any student on campus.”

“That’s out of line, dad! Yes, we were stupid, but Katherine is not… she’s not like that.”

My father looked at me, stone-faced.

“How certain are you, son?”

I understood what he meant. The amount of cheating and lying he’d seen as a divorce lawyer for over three decades was staggering.

“I… I guess I can’t be sure.”

Finally, my mother spoke up.

“Zane, honey, you’re being too hard on him. And her. We all make mistakes, remember? And this family wouldn’t even exist if my life – or yours – had turned out the way we originally planned.”

My father briefly glanced at the pictures behind us. I remembered hearing he’d once been engaged to someone else.

“No amount of arguing can change what happened. What we need to do is find out how we can best help our son.”

She put her hand on mine.

“And our possible grandchild.”

I let out a sob, and my mother pulled me to her, hugging me tightly.

As my mother held me, I wished I could go back to being the carefree teenager who had his life all figured out.

Was it really only a few years ago?

My room had been left untouched while I was away. It was almost like travelling back in time – almost. I could hear my parents’ voices downstairs. It reminded me of the night the Sixams came for my brother.

I wondered what Daniel would be doing now if he hadn’t gone with them. We never heard from him anymore.

My perfect brother definitely wouldn’t be going around knocking up married women, that’s for sure. But I had plenty of problems without worrying about him. How could I be so stupid? I had no idea what to do.

I used to have my entire future planned out. I had a million dreams. Some people have a 5 year plan, I had a 25 year plan. Now I felt lost and uncertain.

My father came in and sat on my bed. I quickly wiped away my tears.

He apologised for being so hard on me. He told me that he had discussed things with my mother, and they had decided to do their best to make some of my dreams come true despite everything.

Daniel was unlikely to ever return, so I was their only heir. My parents were going to cash in some of their assets and help me and Katherine get set up. He called it an early inheritance.

The numbers he mentioned were intimidating. I always knew we were pretty well off, but I had no idea how much money my parents had accumulated in investments and savings over the years.

I accepted. It wasn't like I had any other options.

beginning / previous / next

#duchellilegacy #duchellichapters #duchelligen3 #eric duchelli #zane fyres-munch #cora duchelli

[lindszeppelin]

I feel like it’s a PR relationship 100% kaia is using his fame for her own career. Like she did for Jacob elordi when they just so happened to be dating when season 2 of euphoria got released. Same thing when she dated Pete Davidson right when he was blowing up on snl. She needs to stick to modeling truly. I hope it’s just like a two year contract and we will here that they’ve “split up” by January. I’m sure he’s getting paid for it. It’s also so suspicious to me how she apparently started dating Austin not even a month after her split with Jacob when there 1 year anniversary was the month before. I also don’t fully blame her and I’m sure her parents have something to do with it wanting to get her name out there like she isn’t Cindy Crawfords daughter and couldn’t get any role she wanted without dating a man who was trending at the time. I just want Austin to be happy. I also hope she realizes that Austin’s not gonna want to get married for like 2-3 years minimum. He’s gonna wanna work on his career. Doesn’t mean he won’t actually date but he’s not gonna settle down anytime soon. I just want their relationship to be over. I don’t want to hate on Kaia but it’s just so frustrating when she is a literal model because of her mom, she’s an “actress” because of her mom. It’s not for her being her. Like all nepo babies nowadays are successful because of their parents.

First of all thank you for your commentary, anon. You're not alone in how you feel. There are plenty of us that think the same exact way, some just don't always vocalize it, so cheers for being one of them that speaks up on it.

I had quite a nice day today so I'm in a good mood to go a little in depth with my answer right now. And then go back into my little cancer crab shell lol

What's crazy to me is she looked so much more suited and happier with Jacob Elordi. They were always snuggled up to each other and he looks more her speed. If they were PR then they did a very convincing job because he actually looked happy to be loved up on her and to be seen with her, unlike someone we know lol. And she looked happy to be with him. Plus, she actually posted him to her socials and they talked about one another all the time in the papers. So. It's wild the 360 there between Elordi and Austin.

And yes I do remember that she was broken up with him and then 1 month later she was seen with Austin. That's buckwild, and the fact we still do not know at all how they got together in the first place is very strange

But yes to everything you express here. Also the thing with Austin, I feel like he's still focused on his career that i think 2-3 years isn't long enough of a gap to be honest. He was with V for 9 and he never popped the question. This man is dead set serious on his career first. And conveniently so he also uses that as his excellent and genuine excuse to not allow engagement rumors to flame with K, seeing as that died in less than half an hour with a quickness on social.

Let's just be fucking real here, K is not his forever girl. I feel like whenever Austin meets his one true love that he'll marry then he'll be all about it. People are getting married AND having children at older ages now, and while he's only gonna be 32 this year that is still young to where he could wait until mid/late 30s to get hitched. Who knows. The man has plenty of time, he's in no rush clearly. She however is only 21 and she's still a child and she needs more time to mature and grow as an adult with life experience. As a near 30 year old woman I remember how I thought i was tough shit and knew everything at her age and thought i was soooo grown up. But hell no, you're still a kid.

When someone is dying to get married, you have to question the reason why. There could be deep seated insecurities where by a certain age one feels like their clock is ticking and they need to settle down with the next available person immediately. Or maybe it's for security financially, etc. It could also just be desperation in order to feel like you're wanted. I'm looking at V here because she moved on with that Cole guy so quick and got engaged so quick and throws shade to Austin all the time. Still bitter about not being Vanessa Butler lol. But rushing down the isle is a big mistake. Austin's background dictates that he knows 100% the seriousness of a commitment and he will not just marry any woman when he knows divorce could maybe be in his future.

aaaaaand end rant lol. I pray Austin finds the Pam to his Jim one day!

#lindsay's anon asks

[michelleelizabethtanner]

Read the latest My Girl chapter it was so soft I love it. One of my favourite brio dynamics is when they’re soft with each other but pretending they’re not and they justify their actions in the craziest ways instead of just admitting to themselves how they feel

I do have a couple questions / discussion points. Do you believe Rio is in love with Beth in this story? If so does he know? It’s tricky because the definition of love can be so broad. If he is in love I think that maybe deep down he knows but he would never admit it to himself and would try to shut any of that train of thought

I’ve been thinking about this question, Anon. I’m so glad you liked ch3. It was very soft and I enjoyed writing Rio that way. I think Rio is in love with certain ideas in this work. Ch3 had him very sentimental. He noticed a lot of sensory stuff and kind of reveled in allowing himself to really really get lost in the feeling. His observations of salt and chocolate, the movements of his baby in Beth’s belly, the feel of her contraction and then release, the sound of her even breathing as she slept… All those things are immersive for him and a way of almost escaping or denying what reality actually is. He did very little acknowledging of the actuality of things. That Beth was now in a broken marriage, that she was pregnant by a man she wasn’t actually romantically involved with, that her personal life was incredibly unstable, that the physical demands of her pregnancy would bring an inevitable end to her independence, that a body in middle age going through a pregnancy is no small feat.

This whole ✨flavor✨ is supposed to mirror 2.09, when Rio really allowed himself to get lost in her, not really considering all the reasons and circumstances behind what she needed. He was aware her husband had left her, that he took her children, that she had somehow managed to work out their return. He set aside her experience and then was blindsided when she wasn’t prepared to continue to engage with him in ways he assumed she’d want to.

So I suppose yes, he is in love with her in the sense that he receives a major dopamine boost from their interactions. He seeks them out — positive or negative. He creates situations in which she is dependent on him or has to continue to allow him into her life, because he wants their relationship to continue. It’s the feeling that’s most often described as “being in love.” It’s more of an obsession, really.

I think more of his actual mindful and selfless emotion will come out as the story goes. Intentional self-sacrifice for her benefit, true honesty with himself about his own mistakes. All of those things are what’s expected of “lasting love.” This is what makes relationships. Empathy and commitment even when it’s hard. Hopefully this will mirror his story arc from s4 when he made some very deliberate choices to show her he’s devoted, that he wants her and chooses her.

I would be curious to hear if by the end of this story you believe he loves her. Or that she loves him. If they’re even capable of it with each other. I’m really just so excited that you’re enjoying the story at all. I was so insecure about this entire concept. I’m glad it’s turning out!

#My Girl #good girls fics #good girls nbc #asks #brio #headcanon

[nevergeneralize]

Hi! This might seem a strange question but: what is so saddening about the twitter thing. To be honest in my country twitter never really became a thing so I mostly observed sometimes what happened there. But to me it didn't really seemed like a useful thing, or to be honest a safe thing. I heard that many got censored there or were doxxed for saying the not correct thing. So my question: why is it now saddening? Sorry for my english. I really like your yuumori posts! Thank you!

Hi! Not a strange question! It’s actually one that I have been giving a lot of thought to, because your negative impression from the outside is also true in some ways. (Standard disclaimer that since the platform is so big and the user base is diverse, I imagine there are many many different perspectives on / experiences of Twitter, so mine is particular and likely not very representative etc etc.) This turned out so so long I’m sorry if this is way more than you asked for! Also thank you for asking and I’m very glad you enjoy my yuumori posts that’s super nice to hear!! 💚 (also no need to apologize for your English you were quite clear!)

I’ve spent most of my time on Twitter specifically in fandom spaces, and I think it is/was a good platform for having certain kinds of interactions/experiences in those spaces, so I will miss it for that. ALSO I think it’s such a big, popular platform (and one of the few to allow/host NSFW!) that it’s just absorbed a lot of creators which might otherwise be elsewhere; maybe it will be good and healthy to find artists and writers and friends on different platforms, but maybe the (re)atomization will feel scattered and I will engage less due to inconvenience and that will be a genuine loss. Hard to say!

Things I do/did on Twitter that I might miss doing specifically on Twitter or at least have to adjust habits:

1. Browsing art and writing! I used Twitter Lists to curate my experience fairly well, and had found many wonderful accounts to follow. Obviously that’s available here, too, though I do worry specifically that many artists I follow on twitter who post adult content will have a hard time finding new spaces and I will miss them. Honestly the tagging system and the format of image posts on tumblr is just a straight up improvement to this experience but not all the artists/writers I love to see are here! Hopefully they will be somewhere!

2. Posting art and thoughts! Again I think tumblr is just as good if not better for this at a structural level BUT I do find myself often feeling like I need to meet a certain standard of quality before I want to post something; on the art side there’s much less of a culture of posting WIPs here, in my experience, so I usually only post finished art when a lot of what I produce is just neat little sketchies. I don’t Need to post all things I create or am in the midst of creating but I do love seeing other people’s half-baked sketches and casual underdeveloped ideas and artistic processes and it is sometimes fun to post more of mine, which I have generally felt more welcome to do on twitter. And similarly on the writing side I feel like having One Good Joke or a cute hot take about a thing I’m watching/reading/thinking about is exactly what twitter is in the market for, and I come here mostly when I have an entire essay in my heart yearning to be free. Can I adjust that attitude? Yes! I can liveblog the next anime I watch or the Grand Prix series or my [redacted]th rewatch of Yuumori, people definitely do post in that format here and also who cares! It’s easier to feel freer to have a half-finished and conversational thought rather than a Fully Developed Thesis on twitter but it’s not the only place for that, so I will adjust!

3. Discovering specific things!

3a. Zines! A good network of zine promotion had built up on twitter at least in the fandoms I was in. I don’t (yet) see that on tumblr but maybe it is or will be here, I don’t see why it couldn’t be. Same deal for ship weeks and big bangs and other fandom events but I do see more of those cross over to or be hosted on tumblr so maybe the zine universe will move. Improvise adapt overcome

3b. Merch! Similarly I am more often led to Things To Purchase on twitter than from anywhere else on social media, which maybe should go in the negatives column but I really like financially supporting fandom artists, small makers, etc and I am fortunate to have the capacity to do so! People that I follow there often find and boost delightful art sales, commissions, merch, apparel from small makers, etc, and this adds to my life; weirdly I am markedly more fashionable since spending more time on fandom-twitter the last few years. [[Side note seriously everybody my best life advice is to wear more anime merch or whatever it is that delights you, people who know what it is get a shock of joy and recognition seeing you in the world and people who don’t know what it is still like to say “wow cool design what is it” and having either of those interactions available to happen in my day causes more positive interactions with strangers and thus probably a very slightly kinder outlook on humanity. I’m so serious about this, choosing Weird and Particular/Personal Fashion is good for you and you will feel 1-3% more connected to your fellow human beings]] As with zines I don’t really know why that’s not also here on tumblr from a structural platform feature perspective but it has not been, in my experience, so I think it’s just a platform culture thing? If we’re mutuals know that I would love to see your and your friends’ merch/prints/commission openings appear on my dash, I’m an easy mark, a real rube

4. Social or parasocial relationships with actual human beings! This one is probably its own real long post so I won’t go too deep but I have found a specific model of distant but warm internet friendship available via the model of: actually type out my excited/complimentary internal response to a piece of creative work or contribute to a conversation about a fandom thing, repeat many times, also post my art or my media opinions with no one particular in mind, begin to recognize people who engage with me often, begin to value and take interest in that specific person’s opinions, form a model of them as a person and include them in my social brain/universe (having thoughts like “what would X think about this” / “X would really like this” / “I look forward to hearing from X” / “I hope X is doing well” / etc). I think twitter specifically contributes to a super low barrier to entry on actually responding to things; I sometimes find myself consuming tumblr like it’s an rss feed of Very Important And Thoughtful Bloggers who I could never be as interesting/funny/insightful as, and it’s just… not as easy to fall into that mindset and build up a wall of unapproachability on twitter, maybe because everything feels sort of ephemeral anyway? So I worry there will be something lost, there, but I’m trying to maintain the idea that talking to other people online (with kindness and consideration obviously) is mutually beneficial (everyone is constantly asking for more interaction, right??) and that I have the right to respond to things. This is also something I have a hard time doing on chat servers, which I have a much more tumultuous relationship to: I usually join, chat for a while, read and wish I were participating, feel embarrassed about dropping in and out, feel embarrassed about inserting myself into what feel more like personal conversations between people I always imagine to already be closer friends with each other than I ever will be, eventually stop engaging at all due to a weird and specific FOMO guilt. And twitter by contrast makes available an extremely easy model of maintaining casual connections based on mutual interest. Where a chat server or forum feels like a party at which I must enter or leave particular conversations, twitter interaction is more like seeing the same person over and over again at the game shop / coffee shop / ice rink and giving them a friendly nod or saying “hey rad sweater” or “how’s the novel going” or “wow your [specific skating move] looks really good!” I find this type of mutually-low-demand social “ping” to be really pleasant, personally, and it’s nice to have that available online and in fandom. (Again, lots of thoughts left to unpack on this topic. It’s also maybe less relevant than it has been the past few years after the return to physical spaces and the “social ping” being available offline again, but oh boy did I truly need this in the depths of the pandemic, and twitter was generally pretty good for it!)

Things that make me actually feel a sense of relief that this garbage fire platform is dying and we are all free at last:

1. The danger of doxxing and/or getting threatened! Real and true! I could post a Whole Thing about cancel culture and fancop behavior and ship wars or whatever and I will refrain here but my god, I worried about Thought Crimes constantly on Twitter, to the degree that I stopped really posting to the platform months ago. I was directly(ish) threatened with doxxing as a member of an AO3 committee during the email attacks earlier this year, so that made me extra vigilant, and I witnessed several instances of people getting harassed or threatened or otherwise yelled off the platform during my few years of fandom there. And the consistent visibility of conversations about fandom (and broader) politics promotes a low-grade paranoia about the whole thing at all times so I just thought about it constantly forever! Unsurprisingly this pervasive dulling toxic sludge of social hypervigilance feels real bad for the brain! Especially having chosen to be there and to spend my free time and energy in the fandom community.

2. The constant intrusion of content topics that I at best do not care about and at worst actively do not want to see! As much as I praised the Lists curation above, this is imperfect and twitter honestly has very few robust tools for filtering things, so I just scroll past a bunch of stuff that is at best tangential to my interests. And even beyond The Algorithm I think also there’s a sort of platform culture about needing to engage in Big Topics which means that specifically the worst most “engaging”/contentious political topics break through on a repeating basis, and every twitter session was always at risk of ending in exhaustion and hopelessness. Also not great for the brain!

I mentioned to an IRL friend that I was worrying a little bit about where to take my fandom activities and he said “I don’t know why everyone doesn’t use Reddit, it’s so much better for that,” and I thought “what a bonkers opinion to have” (I said out loud “Well your mind is very different from mine and I treasure your friendship for that. Also that’s a bonkers opinion to have.”). Every platform has a culture that grows organically from its available features/mechanics of social interaction and from its particular history, and I will mourn the specificity of twitter if it really dies, even though I have/had a very complicated and not wholly positive relationship to it. It’s something like losing a job or graduating from school, on a smaller scale: I may have hated it there sometimes and I might have had complicated feelings even about the existence of the institution itself, but the shape of my life and the way I spend my time will change due to this thing being over, and I think change itself may sometimes be cause for a feeling that is very like grief.

#asks #thank you for the ask <3 #i enjoyed writing this #apologies to anyone to enjoys Reddit fandom for the dig at Reddit fandom i just do not understand the culture there #but that’s a whole different post #and my point is merely that platform cultures are specific and may or may not be a good match for individual taste

[katierosefun]

B99 tcw au: Anakin: Jake | Padme: Amy | Obi Wan: Charles | Ahsoka: Rosa | Rex: Terry | Cody or Mace: Captian Holt

i hear what you’re saying anon, and b99 has a special place in my heart too, but i feel odd thinking of a b99 au in an age of police brutality, sorry :(

#anon #answered #separation of fiction and reality and etc i know #i enjoy b99 too and sorry to rain on your parade #but i can’t put myself in b99 au mode just because like..........everything has made me.....kinda feel :((( about b99 #(that said: i think b99 is wonderful in how it features 2 latina ladies and has a leading black gay man and another black man in the cast) #(and there are genuinely funny parts of the show and! i do enjoy it!) #(but idk just......hm. events of 2020 kinda left me going ‘://///’ about watching any show that portrays cops as inherently well-meaning #folks. like. that’s a me thing personally.) #(i’m sure there’s other people who would love this au but i unfortunately can’t say much on it :///) #(yes i am sure there are non-racist cops out there and yes i’ve had to speak to cops as a part of some legal studies work) #(and they were friendly and understanding and also both men of color who were equally frustrated with the institution) #(but like. the police as an institution. again. that’s just. hm. i’m tired and don’t feel like discussing it rn) #(but like. just looking into the history of american police and also the way police systematically cover up the brutal murders of largely #black folks....hm. not a good look.) #i mean am i looking too much into this? it’s just fiction / fanfic! #(yes maybe true but i think i’m allowed to not want to engage in certain themes because real life has just made some things hard to enjoy) #tw cops #tw police brutality

[ilalos]

Worth it (Anthony Bridgerton x reader) Part 1/2

Summary: You’re Simon’s cousin and you are ready for your first social season, excited for the courting and dancing. Your plans are shattered when you find yourself in an arranged marriage to none other than Lord Anthony Bridgerton, the one man who avoided love like it was the plague.

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, arranged marriage, tiny bit of angst, Anthony is an idiot, if you think of anything else please let me know.

Word count: 2.5k

It was the second season the duke and duchess had the pleasure of enjoying together in their London home. The duke’s household had been rejoicing in the arrival of baby A for a year now and the family was also preparing themselves for the birth of their second child. One might think that they would rather spend these blissful moments away from the chaos that the social season brought, and one might be right.

Simon and Daphne had opted to miss this social season in view of the fact that Daphne would be heavily pregnant when the summer started and would be at risk of having the baby in London instead of the comfort of her home. They chose instead to visit the Bridgerton home before the season started so Daphne could be with her family for a couple weeks with no added stress.

But their plans changed when Simon’s aunt, seeing that they were going to London, decided to ship you, her daughter, with them so you could be part of the social season and hopefully find yourself a husband. The couple had agreed to take you to London and also to chaperone you throughout the social season.

You were a good, polite, and well-prepared lady; your mother had sent you to the finest finishing school in the country to make sure you were molded into the perfect bride. Despite the extensive preparations your mother had subjugated you to, there was one thing they couldn’t take away from you and that was the desire to marry for love. Everyone told you that what mattered was how well you could marry, that you’d eventually grow to tolerate your husband and that your children would give you more than enough joy; but that just didn’t seem enough for you. It didn’t matter how you felt about a loveless marriage though, your mother had been clear when she told you that you had this one season to find a husband and if you didn’t she’d choose for you whomever she seemed fit.

On the day of your arrival you learned she didn’t intend to give you even one season and, with no previous notice to you or him, you were introduced to Anthony Bridgerton as his bride.

Violet Bridgerton had grown tired of her son’s refusal to marry and after pressing him about the matter he admitted he was looking for a wife this season; she didn’t trust him to choose well and when Daphne wrote to her mother about you, she decided it was the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. And so, with your mother’s blessing, Lord Bridgerton was given your hand in marriage.

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony was shocked, to say the least.

“You heard me, son, this is Lady (y/l/n) and she is to be your bride”

You couldn’t think, move or do anything but stand there staring at the man you were supposed to marry. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish and Daphne had to guide you to take a seat because she feared you might faint. Anthony then excused himself and fled to his study with Simon hot on his heels.

“I’m deeply sorry for throwing this at you with no warning, your mother warned that if you were told before you got here you might have refused to come at all” Violet apologized taking a seat in front of you and taking one of your hands between hers.

“Anthony is a wonderful man and I’m certain you will learn to like him, maybe even love him” continued Daphne.

Meanwhile, in Anthony’s office, a similar conversation was being held.

“What excuse do you have now to reject her?” Asked Simon

“I don’t know her, that’s enough to not want this marriage”

“You said you didn’t wish to love the person you had to marry, so I don’t see the big deal in not knowing her” Simon served himself and Anthony a drink as he spoke.

“Even with that being true, I also said she had to be smart and at least interesting to talk to” he took a small sip of his drink “and also that it wouldn’t hurt if she happened to be beautiful”

“And isn’t she?” Simon raised a brow behind his cup before continuing “She is incredibly smart, kind and she also attended the best finishing school available in the London area, which means she is as proper as a lady can be”

“Well yes, but-”

“Your only problem with her is that your mother forced her upon you”

“My only problem is that I saw in her face she had no idea she was betrothed to me, it is not fair for her to be forced to a short and loveless marriage like ours will be” Anthony finished his drink and slammed the cup on his desk, he knew there was no way out of this.

“She, as any lady in the country, knows that her duty is to marry well” Simon placed his cup softly besides Anthony’s “You’re the most desirable bachelor this season, there’s no better man for her if we look at status, money, and age”

Anthony limited himself to roll his eyes and remained silent, he knew Simon was right but it still stung that because of him you were now forced to be married to a man you didn’t love.

“Well, she’ll be a young widow so she’ll eventually have a chance at finding love”

A knock on the door interrupted Simon’s answer and he was thankful because he was quite frankly tired of Anthony’s certainty that he would die young, he understood that Edmund’s death had been hard for him but it was still tiresome to hear him speak like that constantly.

“Yes?” Called Anthony from his desk, prompting Gregory to enter.

“Mother requests both your presences in the dining hall for supper, now”

The rest of the day was uneventful, Anthony refused to speak to you and you were too shocked to utter a single word to anyone. After supper you excused yourself and went to bed early, when you had laid down Daphne entered your room and gave you a letter from your mother before saying good night and wishing you sweet dreams. You sat up and decided to read the letter before bed, maybe it would bring you some comfort.

“My dearest daughter,

If you’ve received this letter it means that you know about your engagement to lord Bridgerton, we couldn’t find a way to tell you because we feared you might refuse to travel to London if you knew. I hope you understand that all I’m trying to do is securing your future, the viscount is a kind man and you’ll be safe with him. I sincerely wish for you to be happy by his side, and maybe even learn to love him.

I know your father is looking down at you proudly and I’m certain he’ll bless your union with happiness, you were his sunshine and he’ll always take care of you no matter where he is, as will I.

Love,

Your mother who loves you”

You couldn’t help but feel angry at your mother for lying to you like that as if you were a child with no control over your own emotions. It would’ve been nice to know about your fate before you got here, it would have saved you from daydreaming about balls and love matches that you now knew were never going to be possible. Still, you were grateful that they had chosen Anthony, they might as well had promised you to an ugly old man. So you fell asleep that night disappointed on the false expectations you were allowed to have, but grateful for having secured the best bachelor in the season without even trying; it might not have been a love match but at least it was a good one.

-this time jump is brought to you by Roma, my golden retriever-

“If we are to be married no matter what, shouldn’t you spare me the pain of courting her?” Anthony was straightening his tie as he spoke to his mother.

“Courting, in this case, isn’t meant to convince her to marry you, it’s so society can see your intentions are respectable” she took over his hands and settled the bow tie once and for all “this ball is the perfect opportunity for everyone to see you both as a couple”

“And you act as if you weren’t already attending for Eloise” Benedict entered the room also dressed for the ball.

“Chaperoning, not dancing” clarified Anthony.

“It’s only one dance, my lord, it will be over before we know it” you had entered the room without anyone noticing and Anthony was a little taken back by your beauty, but recovered quickly enough.

“The dance might be, but the ball will be unending” with that he left the room to go and rush Eloise, they were going to be late.

You frowned a little looking at his retreating form, he hadn’t said anything about the way you looked, not one single compliment for his future wife. Benedict must have noticed your disappointment because he swiftly stepped in to make you feel better.

“You look positively stunning (y/n)” he kissed your hand with a small wink “My brother sure is a lucky man”

“That he is” called Daphne from the door “Here you go darling” he placed a tiara on your head, “I told you it would look wonderful with your dress, now let’s go” she patted your back softly “Simon’s waiting for us in the carriage”

“We’ll see you at the ball, my dear” called Violet seeing her daughter to the door.

The ball was beautiful and you felt overwhelmed by the number of people in the room. Simon and Daphne guided you through the room and you felt everyone’s stares on you, you hadn’t presented before the queen because you were already in courtship with Lord Bridgerton so everyone was seeing you for the very first time.

Daphne had begun to feel tired and Simon had left to fetch her some lemonade while she found somewhere to sit down for a while, leaving you unchaperoned and praying no one would approach you while they were gone.

“Excuse me, miss?” So much for prayers.

“Yes?” Yo faked a smile as best as you could looking at the old man in front of you.

“I see you have so much space in your dancing card, perhaps I could book myself the next dance?” Your card was in fact empty because your darling fiancé had yet to appear.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible Mr. Wyatt, since she’s dancing with me,” said Anthony who had gotten to you just in time.

“Perhaps the next one, then?” Persisted Mr. Wyatt.

“That would be my dance” this time it was Benedict who saved you “Would you look at that? Her card is full, maybe you could try on the next ball” You hadn’t even noticed them scribbling all the Bridgerton’s names on your dancing card until it was full, but it now was and you were thankful for it.

“Thank you so much, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I had had to dance with that man” you thanked Benedict.

“What are brothers for if not to protect future sisters-in-law from dancing with horrid men?” He joked back, making you giggle.

“Well then, let’s have our dance and get this over with” Anthony broke you from your fit of giggles.

“Remember you two, you have to look madly in love” at his brother's comment Anthony only managed to huff some curse words under his breath, dragging you to the dance floor by the wrist.

Once on the dance floor, you both got in position, and when the waltz started you began gliding through the dance floor gracefully.

“For someone who says he doesn’t like balls, you are an exceptional dancer,” you said in a playful tone.

“Mother made us take classes when we were little, any respectable man should be a decent dancer”

“They paid off, it’s a pleasure dancing with you” he didn’t respond to anything so you continued “Are there other talents you are hiding from me, Lord Bridgerton?”

“Not that I’m aware off, miss (y/l/n)” his answer was short and it was clear he didn’t care for conversation.

It had been like this since the two of you had been introduced, any attempt you made to get to know him better was quickly shut down by him. It was as if he wanted to remain a stranger to you, but you were to be married and you at least wanted to know a little about him besides his name and his clear lack of humor.

When the dance ended you left the dance floor and met with Colin by the beverages table.

“Why so sad, love?” The pet name caught you off guard but you assumed it had something to do with the alcohol you could smell on his breath.

“It’s nothing, Colin” you attempted to smile as you served yourself a small glass of lemonade “Have you seen my cousin?” You asked before he continued asking questions.

“He is by those tables with Daphne, a ball is no place for a pregnant lady” Colin pointed to the other corner of the room.

You thanked him and walked to where he had pointed, you were ready to leave, and also what Colin said was true, being in this ball was very stressful for Daphne so the earlier you left the better. Soon you spotted your cousin, his wife, and, to your horror, Anthony.

“Cousin! What are you doing here? I thought you’d be dancing with Benedict” said Simon.

“I was thirsty so I went to get some lemonade, here” you handed a glass to Daphne “I brought you some”

“How nice of you, thank you” she took a small sip “shouldn’t you be having fun? It’s your first ball dear”

“I think I’m quite tired already” you turned to look at Simon “Perhaps we could leave, cousin?”

“If you wish” he looked you up and down, making sure you were alright “Why don’t you and Anthony promenade around the room while I send for the carriage? Just to end the night right, at least in the eyes of the people”

You simply nodded and watched the way Anthony rolled his eyes as he offered you his arm. His plain rejection of you always hurt you, you knew he didn’t love you but never did you expect him to despise you. You walked by his side with a soft smile planted on your face but on the inside, you were hurting because with each day you saw your future clearer, and what the future held for you was being married to a man who could not stand you and would never love you. But then he lead you to your carriage and kissed your cheek when you were out of everyone's view, maybe he didn't find you so bad after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hi! I hope you enjoyed reading this, if you like it let me know i love the feedback. I’m kind of in love with Anthony atm so that’s why this is the second story I’ve written of him. Thanks for reading! :)

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #my writing

[is-the-primate-vid-cute]

There’s a staff member at my school who keeps saying she wants a pet monkey, and I’m nervous she’ll actually go through with it. From what I can tell she’s mostly joking, and meaning it in more of a sense that “it would be cool to have a pet monkey”. What should I do in the case that she’s actually serious? Another time she said “someday I’m going to own one” which makes me more nervous…

These are difficult situations, but the most important thing to remember is that it is not your responsibility. Yes, if we can convince people not to have primates as pets we absolutely want to, but ultimately people make the choices that they do and if she were to follow through with getting a pet monkey it would not be in any way your fault for not convincing her otherwise. This is especially true as you are 16 and she is an adult in a position of power. That being said, theres nothing wrong with wanting to help! Just make sure that you protect your nerves, and prioritize not stressing yourself out over something you ultimately have no control over. What you can try however:

1. Research legality in your state or area. It's illegal in many areas to own certain species, or there may be other barriers that may discourage or make it harder for a potential primate owner. At the very least this may give you a better idea of what you're dealing with, and can help you more effectively be aware of local activism you can engage in. If you are worried about people owning primates as pets, being aware and contacting local lawmakers to express your opinion can be an avenue you can look into!

2. Open ended questions. This is another method that may soothe your worries a bit. If you get a chance to talk to this person it may be tempting to jump straight to trying to convince her, but that will probably come across as abrasive and will alienate her rather than changing her mind. A good approach is to ask questions, things like "So what do you like about monkeys?" "What is your favourite monkey?" can allow you to have open discussions that will be ultimately more productive. Most people know very little about monkeys, and when you don't know much about them it is super easy to think they could make good pets. Listening to her and offering some facts about them can help open this dialogue.

3. Conversations. If for example, she were to say "my favourite monkey is the squirrel monkey! They look so cute and cuddly" that tells you where she's coming from and you can share some strategic facts. From there you might say that you like squirrel monkeys too, and that you think its neat that they live in large groups, the largest groups being hundreds of members strong. If you are able to talk to her about monkeys like a shared interest, the more you can gauge how serious she is and how much she knows. She might even tell you that she's not serious about ever having one as a pet, in which case theres not much cause for worry.

You can refer her to educational resources and social media accounts too. Unfortunately, the pervasiveness of pet primate social accounts is such that many people get misled, but you can show her accounts and websites you like. This may get her learning more, and channeling monkey enthusiasm into a more healthy outlet for both her and monkeys. Ultimately the only person you can control is yourself, and don't drive yourself crazy trying to convince someone who isn't receptive, but hopefully this can at least help you feel better about the situation.

You could even drop our blog name or other resources in a conversation and maybe she will seek out some more information on her own!

#mod J #primates are not pets

[ickle-ronniekins]

forever, i choose you

desc: he’s always been everyone’s second choice, in every aspect of his life. george weasley just wants to be someone’s first.

word count: 3.9k

pairing: george weasley x muggle!reader

warning(s): idk you might cry, i sure did but what else is new. loneliness/discussion of sexual content/idk

A/N: i still have no motivation to write and/or read. and it’s the absolute worst. but i wrote the bulk of this story back in december/the beginning of january, and i figured maybe i’d try and write the ending and publish it and see if it’ll spark any inspiration in me. i’m real, real, real sorry if i haven’t gotten to your fics to read (i’ve got them all saved!) i just don’t know what’s wrong with me atm and it’s THE WORST. also it might evoke more emotion if you listen to this while reading this lil fic. thank you, to all of you, for your support and patience, always.

disclaimer: i do not give consent for my work to be posted on ANY other platform.

Seven-year-old George Weasley watched with wide eyes and a goofy grin as his father twirled his mother in the family space of their normally bustling and loud home. But tonight, the Burrow was quiet. Everyone was already sound asleep, his five brothers and his younger sister. George should be too, but he just couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much he tried. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his sheets and kept groaning, and it wasn’t long before his twin brother Fred threw a few pillows at his face, and eventually, George decided to get up and go for a stroll.

He hid strategically on the staircase so his parents wouldn’t see that he was still wide awake at nearly midnight, and he watched as they swayed lightly to the music emitting from somewhere in the house. It was light as a feather, the music, a small piano tune that echoed through the lower level, its sounds traveling effortlessly up the stairs of the home. Mr. Weasley dipped his wife and Mrs. Weasley giggled like some of the young girls George had seen in the village, kind of a nervous giggle, and he watched her blush. He saw his mother placed her head gently on Mr. Weasley’s chest and they both closed their eyes, and George wondered if they were happy to have a moment of peace without their seven children running around causing mayhem.

He wondered if they danced like this every evening, after everyone had already gone to bed.

George noticed a weird sort of feeling in his chest; he wondered why his heart was hurting. Was it because there was something wrong? But then he realized that wasn’t the case, for the aching in his heart came from his pure desire to find exactly what his mum and dad had -- a love like none other, with seven children, a home with multiple stories, and more treacle tarts than one needs.

He vowed in that moment, as he watched his parents from the staircase and tapped his foot quietly in rhythm with the music, that he’d find love like that one day.

He wanted someone to choose him first, just like his parents chose one another.

He brought his hand to his chest, as if to calm his rapidly beating heart, for the sheer idea of finding a love like theirs filled him with such excitement that he was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Seven-year-old George Weasley laid in bed, ignoring the soft snores from his twin across the room, his eyes wide with wonder as he dreamt of the woman he’d dance with one day.

Twelve-year-old George Weasley wasn’t ready to date. He was only twelve years old! He much preferred to dream.

He knew when he looked at the girl across from him that she wasn’t the one, lovely as she was. He adjusted his Gryffindor tie and cleared his throat and focused on the Potions assignment in front of him. It wasn’t exactly a date, was it? He was in a Potions lesson with his classmates, and Snape. But when the cute blackhaired Hufflepuff approached him and asked if he’d like to work together on the next of Snape’s ridiculous concoctions, Fred poked his brother in the ribs and winked, as if to say, If you don’t partner up with her, you’re a right prat.

And so George did what he thought was gentlemanly and he said yes. He could tell by the rose pink colour that flooded her cheeks that she was smitten with him, and that she’d asked him to be her partner because she was smitten. And he had to admit, she really was quite cute and very, very kind.. and rather smart for her age as well. And he knew that she’d make some man very, very happy someday. It just wouldn’t be him.

He did what was asked of him. He measured out the correct amount of powdered Griffin claw. He made sure he and his partner had enough salamander blood for their strengthening solution. And he smiled back at his partner, though his heart and his mind were still with the girl he’d dance with one day.

The Hufflepuff tried her hardest to capture his heart, but it belonged to someone he had yet to meet.

She wasn’t the one that felt like home.

-- -

Sixteen-year-old George Weasley didn’t understand why all of his classmates wanted to snog people and move onto someone else without so much as a blink.

So many people were pairing off and lasting less than a week before moving onto someone new. George rattled his brain for answers, he searched the eyes of his classmates for explanations, but he couldn’t understand why people would want to hop from one person to another. Didn’t they want to find love, a love that’s long lasting and pushes boundaries and moves mountains and weathers the storms it meets?

But perhaps, he worried, maybe that’s where he was going wrong.

Maybe, in order to find what he truly yearned for, he needed to be reckless and love without really loving.

Maybe he needed to search less, in order to find her.

And so he decided, with much persuasion from Fred, that he’d ask that pretty brunette Ravenclaw to the Yule Ball, and he’d dance and drink firewhisky and maybe he’d even kiss her, if the courage he tried to summon stayed with him throughout the night.

And maybe if he did all those things, he’d forget about the one his heart desperately craved.

And for a little while, he really did forget. Perhaps he could get on board with this “love the one you’re with” mentality. Maybe he could just be in the moment without worrying about everyone else. Maybe he could kiss girls without feeling anything, maybe he could date casually, maybe he could be like everyone else his age and not think about weddings and marriage and having children.

“Georgieee,” the Ravenclaw slurred on the dance floor. She tugged on his tie and pulled him close. He could smell the firewhisky on her breath and his heart began to pound when she pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. “Dance with meeee.”

No, this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted more than this. He’d always wanted more than this.

George begrudgingly agreed and caught Fred’s eye from across the dance floor. The elder twin threaded his brows together and pushed the air with his hands, as if encouraging his younger brother to go for it. The Ravenclaw dazedly draped her arms across George’s shoulders and he sheepishly looked down toward his feet, but didn’t wrap his arms around her.

“George Weasleeeeyyyy,” she slurred again, hiccoughing in between giggles, “I said dance with meeeeeee.”

He tried to fight it, tried not to think of what he always did, but he couldn’t help it.

This girl was not the one. He could tell, because there was no love in the way she said his name. There was no true feeling in the surplus of kisses she kept pressing to his jawline, and there was no warmth radiating from her -- not the kind that mattered, anyway.

He knew, as he placed his hands gently on her waist and swayed with her to the music, that this was not what love felt like. This is not what home felt like.

He danced anyway, even though it was not the kind of dancing he’d seen his parents do all those years ago, and he allowed himself to think about what the rest of his classmates weren’t -- the person he’d hold in his arms, who’d be the mother to his children, who’s kisses would send him spiraling, who’s embraces would become all too familiar in a way that would comfort him in the darkest of times.

He allowed himself again, to dream of true love.

-- -

Seventeen-year-old George Weasley was sick and tired of waiting for the one.

It sounded kind of dramatic in his own head, seeing as he was only seventeen, but he’d known now for ten years exactly what he was looking for, and ten years seemed like a lifetime.

It didn’t help that nearly all of his friends had gotten over their casual dating scene and were now all enthralled with their significant others. He felt so painfully lonely, though he’d never admit it to a soul. He could hardly admit it to himself.

One evening, he shot up from the couch and out of the common room in a fit of fury, for if he had to see Fred and Angelina snogging in the corner for one more minute, he was quite certain he was going to explode from disgust. He was happy for his brother, of course he was, but he didn’t need to see it. Not as often as that.

He found Ron sitting in the Great Hall with Ginny, Harry, and Hermione and plopped beside them all before engaging in exciting rounds of exploding snap. But as the night grew darker and he grew more tired, George noticed the undeniable chemistry between his sister and Harry and his brother and Hermione. Though they all hadn’t admitted to one another how they felt, George had found it obvious, and he politely excused himself before he tugged his jacket rather angrily around his shoulders before he walked out into the winter storm, just to feel the cold air numb his skin.

He walked out of the castle, over toward the owlery, through the treacherous amounts of snow. Anything to distract George from everyone who’d apparently been hit by Cupid’s bloody arrow.

Ever since he was born, it had always been Fred and George. What about George and Fred? Was it because Fred was older? And why were people always lumping them together? Just because they’re twins? George loathed that. They were individuals too. He was always second, in everything.

In getting hand-me-downs from his older brothers. In being referred to with his twin. In lessons when the professors would call out their names for attendance, because F came before G in the alphabet. And even when it came to love; all the girls always seemed to flock to Fred instead, because he was more exciting. More boisterous. Less shy.

The cold, winter air bit violently at his exposed skin, and he reckoned it hurt less than watching everyone around him find someone that chose them, all while he was still waiting for the right person to choose him.

George Weasley didn’t want to be someone’s second choice.

He wanted to be someone’s first.

-- -

Twenty-year-old George Weasley didn’t know how exactly he ended up here.

He didn’t know how he ended up in a relationship three years deep, without having said “I love you” once and actually meaning it.

George thought he might’ve found her, his person, during his seventh year. She was beautiful and kind and everything he thought he’d hoped and dreamt of. Her soft touch, her yearning eyes, the way she curled up next to him in the dormitories late at night and held onto him as she slept -- it was everything, and it seemed to be perfect.

He thought that maybe, perhaps, she was it. But even so, he found himself waiting, still, for that feeling… the one on the staircase he’d felt so long ago.

But the pain of realizing that she wasn’t who he’d been searching for was more heartbreaking than the pain of him asking her to leave.

He’d been looking at her through rose coloured lenses and had been ignoring the truth that was right in front of him.

He should’ve left years ago, when that Gryffindor girl began to make backhanded jokes about the shop, and his dreams of becoming a business entrepreneur, claiming that she was only joking around.

He should’ve left when that girl showed up late to the grand opening of their shop, nearly a year into their relationship.

He should’ve left when he held her in his arms, and still didn’t feel comfortable beside her.

His heart ached for it, what he’d felt on the staircase at the mere age of seven. And perhaps he’d become so desperate for it, that he took something disguised as true love.

But the truth was that he knew, deep in his soul, that this Gryffindor girl wasn’t the one. He’d just chosen, outright, to ignore it. Perhaps if he could forget that idea that “the one” would smack him square in the face with an overwhelming sensation of knowing, he could have learned to love her, even when he hadn’t had that smack in the face moment when he’d met her all those years ago.

But it hadn’t happened, had it? He hadn’t grown to love her. Not truly, anyway. And she hadn’t grown to love him. Not in the way he wanted to be loved, at least.

Because it was more than just heated kisses and lazy days in bed and all things physical that he wanted.

It was about love. Pure, blinding, unadulterated love.

He stood frozen solid in the middle of his tiny flat and watched as that Gryffindor girl grabbed her coat off of the hanger and raised her hand slightly before slipping silently into the dimly lit hallway for the very last time. And George poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat near the window, looking up at the stars, expecting to feel sad at her departure, but in fact, he didn’t feel sad at all.

He felt hopeful.

He hadn’t found the one yet, but he knew she was out there, getting to him as fast as she possibly could.

Though his brothers had urged him to come to the pub and meet someone else, George didn’t fancy the idea of doing that. He was over that entire scene, just as he was in school when everyone was pairing off and moving on immediately. He didn’t want something fleeting, and he didn’t want something meaningless.

He wanted something true.

-- -

Twenty-three-year old George Weasley was certain that he was never going to find that feeling ever again, for as long as he lived.

While all of his friends were out at the pubs, meeting people and fooling around as if feelings weren’t involved, George was walking aimlessly through the streets to work. He was constantly dealing with the haze above his head, waiting for it to lift. He was turning down girls left and right and ignoring his brothers’ insistence on dating casually again.

He didn’t want to waste any more of his time on people who weren’t going to reach out and trace circles onto his chest in the middle of the night, or who weren’t going to dance around the kitchen in his clothes while cooking dinner, or who weren’t going to look at him with eyes so tender, it would render him useless for days to come.

He’d been waiting sixteen years to find his person, the one who would choose him everyday over everyone else, and in hindsight it didn’t quite seem like a long time. But as he cried silently to himself every few nights in bed, feeling the empty space next to him and yearning for the one who was meant to be there, sixteen years felt like a lifetime.

He thought for a long while, that maybe she was in another country, or maybe she was an auror or something, fighting her way through the monsters of the wizarding world.

He’d thought for a bit that perhaps he just hadn’t met her yet.

But as the days dragged on and he found himself lost in crowds, searching face after face, looking for hers, he truly felt as though all hope was lost.

And so George paced back and forth in the kitchen of his flat, biting at his nails and pouring himself hefty glasses of wine, keen on ignoring everyone’s attempts at getting him to come out.

Maybe this was what he deserved.

Maybe because he wasn’t out there, sleeping with people whose names he wouldn’t remember come morning like everyone else, he was just going to be alone.

Maybe there really wasn’t someone out there for him. Maybe not everyone finds true love. Maybe his parents had just gotten lucky.

The dull ache in George’s heart grew stronger, and for the upteenth night in a row, he laid in bed and gripped the covers and cried himself to sleep, his tears sliding down his cheeks the same way the evening rain slid down the window terrace.

-- -

Twenty-four-year old George Weasley stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he felt it.

That feeling. The one from the staircase as he watched his parents dance, all those years ago.

Heart pounding, chest rising, hands freezing.

It hit him square in the chest without warning, nearly knocking him over though his feet were rooted into the ground at the spot, smack dab in the middle of that cafe in the middle of London.

Someone was playing a slow, soft piano tune coming from the other end. People were filtering in and out, asking the man in front of them what exactly he was staring at and why he wasn’t moving. But George Weasley stood where he was, not taking his eyes off of you.

You were reading furiously, flipping through pages of a book gripped tightly in your hands, as though you couldn’t devour the plot fast enough. George watched with admiration as a gentle smile tugged at your lips, as your eyes scanned the words quickly, as you tapped your foot on the ground, in rhythm with that slow piano.

He watched with dazed eyes and parted lips as you finished the end of your book. You dabbed your eyes with a tissue and clutched the book tightly to your chest, overwhelmed, clearly, by the end of the plot. George’s heart soared so high at your passion that he found himself struggling to hold back the I love you that was pressing behind his lips.

You immediately took a long sip of your tea and placed your finished book back into your bag, only to pull out another and immediately immerse yourself in the next story. George laughed to himself, stunned that you were so intent on falling into someone else’s storyline, if only for a little while, that you hadn’t dared take a break from one book to the next. You merely jumped right in.

He wondered if his overwhelming feelings called out to you like a signal of sorts, because just as he was working up the courage to walk over to you, you looked up. You searched the room for a moment before meeting his gaze and suddenly, the world around you both stopped.

George found himself wanting to know everything about you. He itched to devour up any and all information you’d be so kind to provide to him -- your name, your favorite color, your birthday. He wanted to know what book you’d just been reading, and what about it had moved you so much to the point of tears. He wanted to know everything, but deep in his soul, he also knew that he’d have years to learn it all.

In fact, he’d have the rest of forever.

Your eyes went soft and George began to feel the steady pounding of his heart increase, and to his amazement, he noticed a gentle smile tug at the edges of your lips.

And he smiled back.

He’d been right all along. That feeling of finding the one would smack him square in the face. He wondered, as he peered at you now, biting down on your bottom lip and looking toward the ground, why he’d ever doubted himself in the first place. And he wondered when you looked back up at him once again and raised a hand to say hello, if you’d been smacked in the face with that feeling too, just like he had.

He resisted the urge to pour his heart out to you, right here and right now. He’d have time.

Perhaps today was just about having today, and recognizing that you were everything he’d been looking for since that evening on the staircase.

He’d tell you this one day.

-- -

“And what does… Lumox mean again?”

George laughed and squeezed your hands. “You mean, Lumos?”

You bit your lip in embarrassment and laughed, too. “Yes! Lumos. That’s the one that produces light, right?”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. You two were seated inside a bustling restaurant in Diagon Alley, and he wondered if people passing by realized just how cozy you two looked together. “You’re more brilliant than most witches I know.”

You cocked your head to the side with an air of confidence and batted your eyelashes at him. “What can I say, Georgie? I may have been born a… Mugglie… but maybe I was meant to be a witch.”

George had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He couldn’t get over how painfully adorable you were as you attempted to pronounce these wizarding words and learn spells and charms and things as he taught you all things about the wizarding world. You took his wand and pointed it at your wine glass, pretending to transfigure it. You couldn’t, of course, since you weren’t a magical being. But George didn’t mind. He could watch you pretend all day long.

In all his years of studying magic, he’d never felt anything quite like this.

BONUS, just because i hate feeling sad asf:

Thirty-two-year old George Weasley rocked his redheaded daughter back and forth in his arms, until he was certain that she was sound asleep again -- her mouth open wide as she began to snore softly when he placed her back into her crib.

He peered up at the clock on the wall and blinked a few times before 4:32 a.m. came into focus. Exhausted, he made his way back into his room before sliding into bed.

And there it was again. That feeling.

You turned over in bed to face him, squinting in the darkness as your eyes adjusted to the scene unfolding before you. Groggily, you reached out and traced your fingers across his jawline. His heart nearly stopped. “Is she alright?” you asked sleepily.

George grinned softly and leant forward before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He whispered, “She’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

Though your eyes were already shut, you reached out again and took his hand in yours before bringing your lips gently to his fingers. “Okay.. I love you.. G’night..”

But you were asleep again before George could respond, so instead he pulled you closely to him and began to gently trace circles on your bare shoulders. He breathed in the smell of your shampoo, and listened intently for the beating of your heart that had fallen into sync with his.

Tears pushed at the edges of his eyes, but he slowed his breathing and reminded himself, again, that there was no longer an empty space beside him in bed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ever given up hope, but perhaps giving up hope was what made finding you so much sweeter.

If only he could tell seven-year-old George what he’d find when the time was right.

And in the darkness, as the rain pattered on the rooftop of his house and he felt your embrace tighten around his body, he whispered into the silence, “I love you, too.”

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#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #george weasley imagines #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

[elidereads]

You Came For Me (NSFW Elriel Fanfic)

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Summary: The night after Azriel rescues Elain from Hybern Elain goes to his tent to make sure he's okay.

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: NSFW

Notes: This is my first fanfic. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated it. 🖤

AO3

She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she shivered remembering the things she was trying to forget, the feelings she wanted to scrub away. She couldn’t make herself trust that she was safe. She tried to focus on Nesta’s steady breathing and failed. Sounds that had once assured her of her safety now felt meaningless. Nesta had always been her safe haven, the only person who wouldn’t fail her or leave her. But the last time they had slept in this tent Elain learned that she was not safe. The cauldron could find her anywhere.

Not that it was Nesta’s fault, really she only had her own stupidity to blame. Her heart and mind warred with themselves, trying to decide what feeling made her cringe more, fear or shame. If she had allowed herself to see what everyone else saw, that Graysen now detested her, then she could not have been so easily lured. But last night she hadn’t wanted to accept that his affection could be anything but true. Even now a part of her brain defended him, reminding her that Graysen had been the one to lead her to the cauldron, is was the cauldron acting alone. She felt an internal embarrassment for continuing to defend Graysen to herself, that she allowed her stupid heart to create some hope that wasn’t there. She was pathetic.

Everyone in her village had grown up hearing terrifying stories of the Fae above the wall. She had always believed them to have godlike strength. Nothing could, or would, break them. Often she envied them. She was always the meekest of her sisters. Everyone assumed she lacked an opinion on anything, just doing whatever her sisters, mostly Nesta, wanted. In reality she lacked confidence in herself, she always told herself that letting her sisters lead made them happy, why should she push back. But she could imagine herself gaining everyone’s respect by becoming Fae or revealing some secret magic. Now, that secret dream made her feel even more pathetic. She had become Fae and had gained no one’s respect. She was still told what to do more often than she was asked her opinion. The lack of any transformation into the strong female she had imagined she truly was only added to her shame. No, even as Fae she was pathetic and boring. Perhaps Graysen had tired of her before her transformation, he just now had an easy excuse to end their engagement.

How many times did she need to suffer embarrassment in front of these people she barely knew? Starting with Graysen making the very public proclamation that he did not want her. Then, she made herself a further fool by wandering off and getting herself captured. In some ways it would’ve been easier if she had died in captivity. Then she could have been spared everyone’s pity that was so palpable she could almost see it hovering over them as they looked at her. But no, because of her stupidity she had to be rescued forcing Feyre and Azriel to risk their lives to save her.

Azriel.

Although now she thought very courageously about her death she had to acknowledge that that had been a very real fear just a few hours ago. She would swear she felt the world shift when she saw Azriel appear in the tent in Hybern’s camp. She had never felt relief like that. His presence had a way of making her feel like the person she imagined herself to be, certain, fearless. He looked at her as if he knew her. Well maybe not her, not the her that everyone saw, but the her she wanted to be, the heroine in her daydreams.

She exhaled loudly and rolled over, trying again to fall asleep. Mother, she was pathetic, creating some romantic scenario in her head where Azriel was the one person who saw her. He was probably the angriest with her. He suffered the most injuries attempting to rescue her. Would he resent the fact that he was injured before the battles had even begun? All because Elain couldn’t let go of her fiancé. What if Azriel’s injuries hindered him in the battle? What if because of Elain’s rescue he couldn’t fight as well and he …

Elain sat up quickly.

No she couldn’t think this way. She would have to speak to him, ensure he was fully healed before he could be allowed to fight. Surely the others had thought of this but if they hadn’t, she wouldn’t allow that to happen, couldn’t allow it. If there was a time for Elain to speak up it would be now. Well not now, not in the middle of the night with everyone sleeping, but now in there proverbial sense. Would he be angry with her if she was the reason he couldn’t fight? It didn’t matter. She was sure he was angry with her anyways.

Maybe that was why she couldn’t sleep.

She slowly pulled back her blankets and set her feet on the ground. Keeping her eyes on Nesta the whole time, making sure she didn’t stir. She pulled a blanket off her bed and wrapped it around herself as she moved towards the entrance of her tent. A part of her brain was warning this was a very bad idea. If she was worried about everyone being mad at her then she should definitely not make it worse by wandering the camp at night. Again. But another part of her brain, likely the sleep deprived part, was urging her on. Telling her a conversation with Azriel was the only way she would be able to calm down and get any sleep. She slowly pulled back the tent flaps and, with one more glance at Nesta, Elain slipped out.

She was almost positive Azriel’s tent was to the left of theirs and Cassian’s to the right. Too soon she and began to doubt herself. Was he sharing a tent with Cassian? Or Mor? Possibly even both. This was a bad idea. She couldn’t even knock and announce herself because how did you knock on a tent. She would just need to go right in.

She began to turn back to her own tent suddenly Azriel was there at the opening, catching her off guard and leaving her standing there speechless, like an idiot.

“Elain?” Azriel seemed to exhale her name after a few seconds of silence.

“How did you know I was here?” A perfectly appropriate greeting.

“My shadows. They patrol while I sleep. They told me you were outside my tent but I didn’t … are you okay?” Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he ran his gaze over her, looking for a source of harm.

“Yes. I’m okay. I just … I wanted to see you. To apologize.” Azriel gave her a look of surprise as a wind whipped through the camp causing Elain to pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“Come in. Please.” Azriel quickly opened the tent further and stepped to the side so that Elain could get out of the cold.

At first his tent seemed smaller than hers, but she saw that was due to the amount of things he had inside. Not that he was messy, but he had a desk covered in neat piles of paperwork. Armor on a dummy in the corner and an impressive display of knives lied out on a small table top. A fire burned near the middle of the tent, immediately warming Elain as the tent flaps closed.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked again.

Elain turned away from his things scattered throughout the tent to look at him. “Yes. I promise you I am okay. I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to … I hope I didn’t wake you. Were you asleep?”

“No I wasn’t asleep. I was reading.” He motioned to his desk of papers and Elain caught him wince as he lifted his arm.

“Please sit down. I’m sorry I made you get up. Are you okay?” Everything came out in a rush. Gods. What was she thinking coming here and bothering him in the middle of the night. She touched his arm, gently guided him to a chair and sitting herself down across from him.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” She noticed how he slowly lowered himself into the chair.

“You’re not okay you’re hurt.” Elain reached to touch his bandage before catching herself, leaving her hand hovering between them. “Is there anything I can get you? Maybe some tea?”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Please. I would like to help.”

Azriel paused, ready to repeat his no, before seeing that accepting the tea from Elain would help her more than himself.

“Some tea would be great. Thank you.”

Elain busied herself bringing water to a boil over the fire and, after Azriel’s shadows brought her the dried tea leaves, making a pot for the two of them.

“Cups?”

“Over there. There are drawers under the table with the knives. They should be in there.”

“Thank you.” She located the cups as the tea steeped in the pot. As she poured the tea she realized how calm her body not felt. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here. She suddenly felt exhausted and very ready to sleep.

“Here.” She set Azriel’s cup on the table in front of him. She blew on her own and began to take a sip before thinking better of it and setting it down. Finally, with nothing else to busy herself with, she looked at Azriel. He was already looking at her.

She wasn’t sure where to start.

“I’m sorry.” She decided to lead with the phrase she couldn’t stop repeating. “My foolishness put Feyre and you in danger. I will never forget myself for that.”

Azriel closed his eyes, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “You have nothing to apologize for. It isn’t your fault the Cauldron tricked you.”

“If I hadn’t been such a fool about Graysen it wouldn’t have been able to trick me so easily.”

Azriel shook his head. “It is not foolish to believe the best about the person you love.”

Elain grimaced. “I don’t love him.”

“You don’t?” He responded, slightly tilting his head to the side.

“Well,” she blushed. “Perhaps a part of me does but no … not anymore. I see the situation for how it is. How everyone else sees it.”

Something in that statement made Azriel pause. He looked away from her, as if considering something. “Does it matter how everyone sees it?”

“A few weeks, even days ago I would have said no. It only matters what we, or I, felt but …” She gestured in a direction that she believed was south. “Before today I thought everyone was wrong and didn’t understand what we had. Now it appears I was the only one wrong. When the majority of the people in your life disagree with you, at some point you have to admit it’s probably you who’s wrong. Don’t you?”

Azriel didn’t say anything from a few seconds, continuing to stare at something on the ground, before responding. “That logic makes sense.”

They lapsed into a brief silence where Elain attempted to drink her tea again. This time only slightly burning her tongue before turning back to her next question for Azriel.

“How bad are your injuries?”

“They are fine.”

“I could see you grimacing as you sat down. Please Azriel, be honest with me.”

He raised his head when she said his name and met her eyes. “They are bad, but I have had worse. Rhys, however, has already implied that he doesn’t want me in the battle if it starts tomorrow.”

Elain started to apologize again but he waved her off.

“It’s fine. I don’t plan to listen to him. I will be fine.”

That caused her to gasp. “You cannot fight tomorrow. Not if it’s not safe.”

He offered her a grim smile. “I don’t think battles are ever considered safe.”

Elain did not return the smile. “You know what I mean. You are already injured from rescuing me. You’re already vulnerable. If you were to hurt yourself more, I couldn’t…” She trailed off, not being sure what it was she “couldn’t”.

“I will be fine. I have seen many battles and survived.”

She felt her anger grow, both with herself and his casualness. “You shouldn’t have rescued me. You are more valuable than me. Your life means more than mine.”

His grim smile quickly changed to something close to a glare. “My life means nothing compared to yours.”

Instinctually she reached out to touch his arm, wanting to offer him comfort in any way she could. “How could you say…” But when her arm touched his she was too overwhelmed with images to speak.

They reminded her of the dreams she had been having. Ever since she was Made every night she dreamed like she never had before. Dreams that were as vivid as Feyre’s paintings. Sometimes that how they started. She would be looking at one of Feyre’s paintings and not realize she was dream until it came to life or pulled her into it. Some of the dreams were filled with light, the warmth of the sun, the feeling of a new day. Some filled with shadows and whispers, hidden objects that she could never find clearly.

Surprisingly the dreams of the sun were the ones that preceded her worse days. Days filled with anxiety and unease that made her long to go back to sleep but also made her afraid to. These are the days she spent her time in the garden. Dedicating complete focus to her plants and flowers, working through meal times and until the night was so dark she could no longer see the roots. It wasn’t until day turned to night that her heart stopped racing.

But now she was sure she was not asleep. She could feel Azriel’s arm and hear the crackling of the fire in his tent. Smell a combination of musk and sweat that she noticed whenever he was close. But what she saw was out of place with the war time tent.

Golden, barely-there sunlight coming in through the windows. Another fire in a different hearth. Windows left open, light grey curtains blowing in the breeze. A garden could be glimpsed through the windows full of red roses. A soft moan that sounded vaguely familiar. Was it her own? She looked around to see white sheets were gripped in her hands. She felt a heat climbing through her body starting at her core. She felt something between her legs. She moved her gaze down her body. Heavy breathing moved her peaked breasts up and down as she tried to find air. Scarred hands on her hips. A head of dark hair between her legs. Another moan. She couldn’t help but move her hips in time with his tongue.

Her dreams had never felt this real.

“Elain?” She heard someone call her name, but she wasn’t sure who. She could still feel a tongue moving between her legs, bringing her to the edge of something she had never felt before. Her body began to shake at the feeling, getting closer and closer to a feeling that wasn’t familiar with but was desperate for.

Then her body was truly being shaken.

“Elain!’

Her eyes fluttered. Had she closed them? She tried to focus on why she was shaking.

“Elain? Are you okay?” The scarred hands were no longer on her hips but on her arms. Holding her firmly, shaking her gently. Azriel’s head was no longer between her legs but looking her earnestly in the eyes.

“I … yes. I think. I’m okay.”

“Did you have another vision?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Have you been having many?”

“I’m not sure. I have dreams every night, but I’m not sure if they are visions. They aren’t like this.” She motioned to the air as Azriel lowered his hands.

“What was this one of?”

She hesitated.

“Even if it doesn’t make sense it may be important, for the war.”

“It was of us.” She couldn’t help but answer.

Azriel gave a brief pause, concentrating on keeping his face neutral. “Who do you mean by ‘us’? You and me?”

Elain nodded.

“What were we doing?”

A description of the images flowed out of her. “We were in a house, I’m not sure where. It was peaceful and beautiful. There was a garden outside. We were in bed.” She could feel a blush creeping up her chest to her cheeks. Why did she answer his question. She could have deflected. She must not be fully awake.

Azriel’s cheeks began to blush as he sat up straighter. “Oh. And what were we doing in bed?”

Was it a repercussion of the visions that they had to be spoken whether she willed it or not?

“We … your head was between my legs and you were…”

Azriel stood up suddenly, effectively cutting her off. “I got it Elain. Thank you.” He quickly walked over to the fire and angled himself away from her.

After a few moments of taut silence Elain braced herself and stood. “I don’t know why I said all that. I’m sorry I’ve made things uncomfortable for you. I will go now. I’m glad you’re okay.”

But before she could make it more than a few steps Azriel was behind her. Placing his hand gently on her arm, quickly dropping it as she turned around to face him.

“It’s okay. I know what it’s like being a seer. Some visions must be spoken.”

Elain raised her eyebrows. “Are you a …”

“No.” Azriel cut her off. “But my mother is, I know what it’s like.”

“Did all of her visions come true?” Elain asked, pink staining her cheeks again.

“I cannot remember if all of them did, but I believe most. Although, not often in the way she suspected.”

“Oh.” Elain breathed. The air filling with tension and words left unsaid, until Elain had to say something.

“I would not be upset, if this one came true.” She surprised herself speaking so boldly, but she supposed the vision of the possible future gave her courage that her feelings would be reciprocated.

“Elain.” Azriel repeated her name in a rough tone she hadn’t heard him speak before.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

His scarred hands were on either side of her cheek, pulling her towards him.

Her hands found his shoulder blades, pulling him to her.

A few touches they had shared before. His hand on her elbow. Her hand on his shoulder. Their fingers brushing. Always they had been gentle, reverent even.

This time their lips clashed. A different kind of reverence, as if their bodies were made to worship one another’s.

The line between sin and sanctification had never been so thin.

With Graysen Elain had been always been demure, unsure of herself. She had rarely felt much pleasure of her own and had the vague impression that he didn’t expect her to have any.

With Azriel she felt uninhibited, she could be herself with him. Elain Archeron, the naive, mortal girl and Elain Archeron, the high fae, the seer. Either way Azriel knew her and accepted her. It drove her confidence now.

Her hands moved to his chest, broad and firm. She had been held against it many times when he winnowed her, but she would never forget how it felt earlier today when he rescued her from Hybern’s camp. Now she allowed herself to give into the temptation she had felt so many times before and ran her hands over it. Unbuttoning the top of his tunic.

His tongue ran across the seam of her lips, urging her to open them for him. She did so eagerly and when their tongues met they both exhaled quiet moans. His hands moved down her hips, over her ass, gently squeezing before moving further down to the backs of her thighs. He bent slightly to get a hold of them and life her up. Pulling her closer to himself, so that their bodies were perfectly aligned. Her hands moved from his chest to circle his neck, one hand threading through his hair.

She felt his pause. His uncertainty in what she wanted next. She pulled his mouth away from his only far enough to speak. “Take me to bed.” Azriel emitted a louder groan before moving his mouth back to hers as if to claim her. After a few steps he was gently lowering her to the bed before positioning himself on his elbows above her, ensuring no weight was put on her. But she didn’t want to be treated so gently. She wasn’t afraid of the weight of him, of this. She pulled his neck down towards her as she lifted her hips up to his. Her body responding on it’s own.

Azriel shifted to one elbow so that he could move a hand to her cheek, gently, down to her neck. His hand circled her neck and he squeezed, lightly. Now it was Elain’s turn the moan, the idea of being at his mercy making her come undone. He squeezed harder before releasing and moving his hand down her body, pushing down her loose nightgown until her breasts were exposed. He broke their kiss to look at them.

“Gods.” He muttered before moving his mouth to her neck. Kissing and nipping until he reached her breasts. She arched her back, begging him to take them into his mouth. He looked up at her as his mouth hovered over her right nipple. His breath causing it to tighten, nearing pain. He kept eye contact as his tongue darted out. Barely licking the peak. Elain trembled and moaned his name.

“Azriel.”

It was his undoing. His mouth covering her nipple, a hand moving to the other. He sucked and bit until she couldn’t stop writhing beneath him, then he moved to her other breast and repeated his worshipping. She felt ready to explode from the feeling on her breasts alone, not to mention the hard length she could feel through his pants when she rubbed against every time his teeth closed around her nipple and she couldn’t help but rub against him.

“Take off your clothes.” She managed between breaths. She knew she was shaking too much to manage removing them herself, not to mention she wasn’t sure how to remove them from his wings.

He removed his mouth from her breast and lifted his head up so that he could look down on her and meet her eyes. He paused, as if he wanted to capture the moment like he was afraid that when he moved to take off her clothes she would suddenly disappear. She gently placed her hand on his cheek, hoping to offer reassurance through her touch. He lowered his head to place a gentle kiss on her lips but raising himself to stand at the end of the bed.

He made quick work of his clothes and she pushed her own night gown the rest of the way off her body. The soft blues of her gown melting into the dark greys of his clothes at the end of the bed. She barely had an opportunity to take in his hard length, standing straight at attention.

Then he was on her again. Without the barrier of clothes every inch of their skin is touching. Elain had never felt so alive. Like her skinning is on fire and freezing at the same time. Every inch of her taut and screaming for more of Azriel. In any way. In all ways.

He leaned forward to leave another kiss on her lips before moving down her body, leaving a trail of kisses between her breasts, her stomach, above her sex. When he was between her legs he looked up at her. “Is this what you saw in your vision?” He didn’t wait for her reply before his mouth was on her. He wasted no time kissing her legs, her thighs. Suddenly his lips and his tongue were between her legs, her sex, exploring her, feasting on all her. “Gods Elain.” Azriel moaned into her, causing her to write more. “What do I taste like?” She had to ask, had always been curious. Her question caused Azriel to moan again, she felt the vibrations in her core. His tongue dove into her, as if he was trying to distinguish her taste. “Sugar.” She laughed gently at his general assessment. Something, anything, sweet. She wondered how he would taste.

His tongue was unrelenting. Licking her up and down. Moving between her folds. Pushing into her. There wasn’t a spot of skin between her legs that his tongue didn’t touch. Over and over. Her hands moved to his hair, gripping it hard enough that she was sure he must be in pain. But he didn’t relented. She couldn’t help as her hips began moving on his mouth, riding his tongue. He brought one of his hands to her ass, helping to lift herself onto him. She didn’t spare a thought for the fact that they were only in a tent, did not stifle her shouts with the fear of being overheard. She became overwhelmed with the feeling that she was about the explode. Her body barreled towards some kind of release, but there was some a part of her mind that seemed to hesitate, fearing there was something she wasn’t doing right, that her sounds were too loud or her writhing too much.

As if sensing her hesitation Azriel moved his hand from her ass to her clit, rubbing it while his tongue moved inside her.

She saw stars.

Her hips bucking into him as he helped her ride out her orgasm. He continued to lick and suck her until she had all but stopped moving. Once he saw that she was exhausted he left one chaste kiss on her before moving back up her body until they were eye to eye. They held their eye contact until Elain lifted herself up to kiss him on the mouth, tasting herself as she did. “You’re right, like sugar.” She offered, surprised that her own voice was deeper and scratchier than usual. Hopefully that wasn’t an indication of how much she had been screaming.

Her declaration pulled another groan from Azriel as he moved to kiss her more deeply. After a few tangles with their tongues she pulled away, bringing her palm to rest on his cheek. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Never?” He asked with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

She laughed softly. “No. Never.”

He kissed her again, at first gently, before she was lifting herself to deepen the kiss. To take more of him in. She wasn’t done devouring him, having him. Tension began to find it’s way back into her body, her veins. The satiated bliss she felt just moments ago being replaced with the need for more. One hand remained on the back of Azriel’s neck, gently holding his mouth to hers while her other moved down his body. Over the planes of his broad chest, down to his solid stomach, further down until she could feel course hairs and then her hand found what she had been looking for, had been so curious about. The touch of her hand caused Azriel to hiss.

“Are you okay?” She began to feel embarrassed that her inexperience had somehow hurt him. She and Graysen had had sex yes, but there was no extra touching aside from what was needed. She had been content with what it was, but the orgasm Azriel had already given shattered all illusions of satisfaction she had had with Graysen. She now knew how much she had been missing.

Azriel moved his hips so that his hard length was again touching her hand. “With you I am always okay.”

Her lips turned up in a smile as she kissed him again, capturing his moans with her mouth and she touched his length with her fingers, her hands. Running them up and down him. Marveling at how hard he was, with skin smooth as silk. She wrapped her hand around as much of him as she could and squeezed, pulling another moan out of Azriel. He bucked into her hand once, twice. “Fuck Elain. Fuck.” He moved his mouth to her neck and bit down on the skin between her neck and shoulder, causing her to gasp as the pain and squeeze him harder.

Suddenly he was pulling her hand away from him. “If you keep doing that I’m going to explode.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” She went to move her hand back to him, but he caught her wrist.

“It just depends on what you want.” Azriel didn’t make it a question, not wanting to push her in any direction she didn’t want to go. He wanted to be sure it was completely her decision, her call.

“I want this. I want you.” She had felt that draw towards him, that longing, ever since he first showed up at her father’s estate. Cassian had been the Illyrian who had caused her paused, caused her palms to sweat and her legs to tremble with fear at his presence. But upon seeing Azriel in the doorway she had felt a calm wash over her and had somehow known that if Azriel was with Cassian, then she had nothing to fear.

“Have you ever?”

“Yes. With �� yes I have.” She didn’t want to ruin this by speaking Graysen’s name. She didn’t want any thoughts of him in her mind ever, much less in this moment.

Azriel nodded, understanding, before lowering himself, lining himself up with her.

“Stop me if it hurts.” She nodded but he before he moved he looked her in the eyes and repeated himself. “Ask me to stop.”

“You won’t hurt me in any way I don’t want you to.”

He kissed her as he pushed into her, slowly, only a inch but still causing her to gasp. He pulled out slightly before pushing in further. Her gasps mingling with his moans. On the next push her eyes fluttered close, a pain mixing with the pleasure. He moved his left hand to where they were joined, his right staying by her head where is elbow was propped. He moved his thumb between her legs, above where they were joined, he rubbed her until she began moving on him, arching into him, wanting more.

Then he gave her more.

He pulled out nearly all of the way before sheathing himself inside her fully. Pushing her legs wider to accompany his hips. Her hips arching up further to meet his as she let out a loud moan. When he had allowed himself to picture this with Elain he had imagined going slowly. It was an image he had tried to stop himself from thinking but one what often came to him in the time between waking and dreams, when he didn’t have full control of his consciousness. But now that he was inside her, her perfect tightness surrounding him, all rational thoughts were gone and every instinct he had took over. He kept himself from unleashing completely, but only barely.

He squeezed her breast as he moved inside her. She pulled his hair. The sounds coming from her mouth were better than anything he could have imagined. No matter how much he wanted this to last all night he knew he would not last much longer. He raised one of her legs slightly, so that he could push deeper into to her and also be closer to her. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck. Grazing his teeth down to her pulse point, he bit down, claiming her in all the ways he knew how.

The sudden pain of his bite mixing with the wild pleasure she felt every time he reached a spot deeper inside her pushed her over the edge. She clenched around him, bucking wildly to ride out that final explosion of pleasure, moaning her first coherent words.

“Azriel.”

The feeling of her coming around him, the sound of her moaning his name, brought Azriel over his own the edge. He spilled himself inside her, glad for her clenching walls milking him till he was thoroughly spent.

He stayed on top of her after, catching his breath. Hearing her labored breathing in his ear, feeling her breaths gently moving his hair. He gently kissed her cheek, ending their passionate fucking with something so sweet she struggled to catch her breath.

Then he moved, pulling himself out her. She groaned at the absence of him. He got up and walked over to his wash basin. Dipping a cloth into the water before returning to her and gently wiping her between her legs. After he was finished he tossed the cloth back towards the bin. It landed on the floor near by and he didn’t bother picking it up. Instead he turned back towards her, taking her in as she lay bare in his bed, starting at her toes and ending with her eyes, as if committing her to memory. Then he brought his hand to his face, as if wiping at the shadow of hair covering his jaw. Finally he sighed, seeming to reach some internal decision, and picked up her nightgown from the floor and holding it out to her.

She frowned as she took it from him, hoping that he would lie down next to her instead.

But he caught her disappointment, as he seemed to catch all of the emotions written on her face.

“I don’t want you to leave. Never that. But if Nesta wake and you aren’t there, there would be hell to pay.”

She smiled at that truth. “Do you think I can get in without waking her?”

“I will put you in your bed with my shadows. She will never know.”

Elain pulled on her nightgown and picked up the blanket she had wrapped herself in to come to his tent before turning to face him.

For a moment they both looked at each other. Trying to read each other.

Finally Azriel broke the silence.

“Was that like your vision?”

She blushed. “Yes. Well. It was similar but we weren’t in this tent, we were somewhere else and I didn’t see us do everything.”

He offered one of his rare smiles. “Good. So we don’t have to be worried this was the last time.”

“No.” She agreed, returning his smile. “We certainly don’t need to worry about that.”

#elriel #elriel fanfic #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #azriel #acotar #fanfic #elain archeron #elide reads #elriel smut #a court of thorns and roses

[courtlyharlequin]

Breathing Room

Warnings: fluff, no plot just brainrot,  lowkey horn knee, feral and angry Taku coming from nine o’clock because I squeezed too much of her favorite tropes into this

Summary: Humans are strange. Their hobbies and customs are bewildering, but nothing Jade couldn’t handle as he was quick to adapt. Sometimes, he might even partake in said activities. Case in point with hiking. And you, knowing Jade for a decent amount of time as his significant other, came to terms with the fact that he would decline a request to participate in something that didn’t pique his interest. So when you proposed that he play the pocky game with you, you were certain that he would decline. But he didn’t.

A/N: Happy birthday to the Jade simp, @takuyakistall​~! I’m so sorry that this was posted late but you’re already wary of that and thank you for supporting me through such a tough time. Ahhh life just doesn’t want me to simp for my hair wife! I tell you this a lot but I’ll say it again: I’m quite attached to you since you were my first tumblr friend. I didn’t have any in real life or online friends who like twst before meeting you so you mean a lot to me as my first. You always make me laugh whether it be bullying you or rotting over our mains together. Even when we get serious, I still love talking to you. You’re that amazing.  I hope you have an amazing day, one just as amazing as you are. Eat lots of cake and pocky. I love you ♡

“Jade,” you said, tugging at his sleeves.

He sighed through his strained smile as he set down a glass he was polishing. He tucked his hair behind his ear and dusted off his slacks as if he was brushing away invisible crumbs off the garment. It was an ungodly hour. He was working overtime for Mostro Lounge. Today was unusually busy. As vice prefect, Jade took it upon himself to bite off more than he could chew. And he could chew a lot actually. He was a moray eel with two sets of jaws and an immense appetite. In his human form, he only had one set of jaws yet the appetite remained.

The lounge was deserted. Students shuffled to the mirror chambers and headed to their respective dorms to retire for the night. Jade, on the other hand, was sitting on a barstool with an array of glasses and creased brows. You sat by his side, doing your assignments and engaging him in idle chatter here and there. He had promised to help you with your alchemy homework, but alas his duties called for him. In a way. You didn’t mind per se since he helped you understand the material within minutes during his short-lived breaks.

They were about three minutes long and Jade only took two breaks ever since his shift started. You weren’t an expert at reading people like he was, but even you could tell he could use some rest or a pick-me-up at least. Perhaps the latter. Jade was stubborn. He wasn’t going to head to his bedroom until he was done.

“Yes, (y/n)?”

You reached into your book bag and pulled out a small box of biscuits– pocky to be exact. You held it in front of his gaze. He cocked his head.

“Let’s play the pocky game.”

“Maybe later. We can play after I finish. Or tomorrow. It’s late so you should return to your living quarters and get some rest,” Jade said as he turned his attention to his task.

“Please? Think of it as a break. Your last one was about three hours ago.”

“Well, if you put it like that then I shall indulge you, my dear.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as he spun the barstool to make direct eye contact with you. You avoided his gaze as you opened the box, selecting a random stick of pocky and holding it in front of him. He took it and examined it with a perplexed expression.

“What is this?”

“Pocky.”

“Which is?”

“It’s like a cookie biscuit thing with a chocolate covering,” you said, getting yourself your own stick.

“I see. So this ‘pocky’ edible.”

“Yes,” you nodded, biting the pocky.

He mirrored your actions. You watched him chew it thoroughly. His eyes wandered around the ceiling of the lounge. You held your breath as he closed his eyes and exhaled.

“It’s delectable.”

Your shoulders relaxed and he chuckled under his breath. It would have been disappointing if Jade didn’t like pocky. That would mean you couldn’t persuade him to play the pocky game. You looked into his eyes lovingly while he nibbled on the remainder of the stick.

“And what is ‘the pocky game’?” Jade mused.

You took out another biscuit. His brows arched as you waited for him to swallow the last bit of his current pocky stick.

“The objective of the game is to be the last to hold onto the stick as we each take a bite and move closer to the center. Whoever is the last to pull away wins. You take one end and I’ll take the other. I’ll let you have the chocolate end because it’s your first time playing.”

“My, my how kind of you. I almost thought you were the headmaster. All you needed was to comment on your kindness.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpanned.

He brought his hand to chin. He feigned curiosity.

“Though… if you wanted to kiss me you could have just said, (y/n),” Jade gave you a toothy grin, ones he shot at the poor unfortunate freshmen souls that tried to escape the conditions of Octavinelle’s yearly exam contracts before chasing them down the hallways with his brother.

“I-I.. It would be more fun?”

“I jest, my pearl. There’s no shame in wanting to engage in intimacy. I shall indulge you. Though, I have a feeling that I will win every round– seeing as you get flustered even when I embrace you without warning fufu~”

There was not a shred of innocence in his voice. Jade knew where this was going. He was going to do everything in his power to win. He was good at that sort of thing, small ministrations that drove you wild.

When he found out that you were sensitive to neck kisses, chaste or not, he greeted you every morning outside of your first period threshold with a peck on the side of your neck. The first time he did that, you were reduced to a puddle of empty thoughts, a spasm of spiraling emotions and heated cheeks. The following incidents featured your hand instinctively shooting to the spot he kissed, cheeks still hot and bothered. When you had adapted to his rhythm, he kissed your neck in the halls, during lunch, and when he walked you back to your dorm. They were spontaneous and sporadic. They ceased when winter began and you wore a scarf around your neck all day, every day. Of course, that was months ago. The routine faded as your relationship developed. Jade had his share of teasing and came to understand that setting your nerves on fire on a daily basis despite your protests wasn’t exactly healthy. He also came to understand how people might get the wrong idea from neck kisses. He teased you for hours on end for being so lewd, but digressed when you were on the verge of tears due to embarrassment. That didn’t stop his other methods of teasing, but at least you were free from public surprise neck kisses.

Jade loved to tease. He was good at it too. He knew you and your ticks like the back of his hand. You were certainly going to lose this game, but it was better not to let your true feelings show and give him the upper hand.

You inserted the biscuit between Jade’s lips and took a deep breath before taking your end. It was more so a hybrid of a deep breath and a yawn. It was late after all.

Jade’s eyes widened and the stick broke in half. Your eyes widened as well.

“You’re supposed to hold onto the stick for a long as you can, silly.”

He closed his eyes: “Yes, my bad. Shall we try again?”

“One to zero,” you said as you slipped a biscuit into his lips.

“Did that count?”

“Of course it does.”

He pouted as you inhaled and exhaled deeply before taking your end of the pocky. It snapped immediately.

“Jade,” you whined, drawing out the last syllable of his name.

“Apologies, my dear. It seems to be instinctive for me to bite the stick.”

“You can bite. It’s just that the pocky keeps breaking in half whenever you bite it. Maybe try to be more gentle?”

“Two to zero.”

“You’re so cruel, (y/n).”

You giggled as you handed him the stick. He pursed his lips and held the stick out for you to take a bite from your end. You closed our eyes and opened your mouth to take a deep breath once more and the stick snapped before you knew it.

You looked up at Jade to see the pocky awkwardly sticking out of his hand which was covering his face. Mostro Lounge’s dim lights made it difficult to make out many details, but you were positive that Jade Leech was profusely blushing.

“Jade?”

“C-Could you not do that*?”

“Do what?”

What could have possibly reduced him to such an adorable state? He’s usually so composed. He was never this flustered. Out of all the times you tried to get him to break, he was resilient. And here you were, not having any idea as to what you did to make him blush.

“O-Open your mouth.”

“Pardon?”

A yawn escaped from your lips. Jade spun the bar stool around and stared at the glasses with sudden interest.

“Could you not do that?”

“Yawn?”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He mumbled something under his breath.  

“Jade?”

“(y/n), you should have just asked for a kiss.”

The eel stood up curtly from his seat. He towered over you and his eyes glowed in the dark lighting. He pulled out a pocky stick from the box in your petite hands and slipped it in between your lips. There was a small pause before he came crashing down. If he hadn’t been holding your shoulders so firmly, you might’ve fell over from the force that he exerted. He came barreling towards your lips. You weren’t sure if he had even bit the pocky. You felt it snap, but when you parted your mouth to allow his tongue to entangle with yours, you could not find a single trace of the biscuit. The flavor lingered in his mouth, but the pocky itself was nonexistent. Did he swallow it whole?

He did not leave your mind to wander too far from him. He kissed you hungrily and nipped at your lips. His sharp teeth grazed your flesh and you mewled into the kiss. You could hear him growl faintly as he held onto your waist. You wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss. He tiled your head for a better angle. You pushed him away. You needed to catch your breath.  A string of saliva fell from your lips.

“Jade,” you gasped as he nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck.

“It would be in your best interest if you don’t do that again, especially during mating season. I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself next time. I might break you in half, dearest.”

Your cheeks flushed as you nodded absentmindedly. Mating season?

He bit your neck.You yelped and wriggled out of his embrace.

“Jade!” you hissed, clutching your neck.

“Consider that a small price to pay,” he chuckled.

You huffed.

“I win this time,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah…”

He packed the glasses onto a shelf.

“You’re free to go now. I’ve finished here so you don’t have to keep me company anymore. Would you like me to escort you?”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, trying to stifle a yawn.

“Goodnight, (y/n).”

“Goodnight, Jade. See you tomorrow.”

Though you had agreed not to yawn, it escaped your lips. Luckily, your back was facing Jade as you exited the lounge so he didn’t see you yawn, but rather heard you yawn. You heard a distant bang on the counter as well as a faint “dammit” from a voice you knew all too well.

It took every fiber in your body to restrain yourself from turning around. You knew all too well that if you turned around, he would’ve rushed towards you and snapped you in half just like a pocky stick. It was best to give him a little breathing room even if you were hot and bothered yourself.

*Note: To initiate the mating process, moray eels open their mouths very wide at each other to signal the start of it. This trait carries over to when (y/n) yawns as Jade took it as a sign for his eel-y instincts.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines #twisted wonderland oneshot #twst oneshot #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech #jade leech x reader

[titilationexpress]

StarscreamxReader-Sweet Dreams are made of Screams Ch.1

First ever lemon. Please give your input. Reposting from my Ao3.

You haven’t been able to sleep properly for weeks now. And frankly, you’re wondering if you ever will again in your lifetime.

Yet what caused you to have such a problem with something that once came to you so easily? Ok, maybe not easily. No, scratch that. It was never easy. You had to take some sleeping pills every night to even get a few hours in. Still, how did it happen?

Well, the trouble had started back not long ago. In fact, from what you could recall, it hadn’t even been a full month before your ‘problem’ started. See, you were a fairly average individual. You had your quirks, your habits, the little things that make each person an individual. One particular interest you had though was quite specific, and even more, came from a decade long before you were born.

Transformers.

Oh yes, your beginnings were humble when you first started with the franchise, and you looked with wide, awe-filled eyes. Your starting place was where you first discovered it, the one show that will remain in your heart forever. From that, you got into the characters, the story, the lore of what started as a toyline for young boys (though it was clear now that both sexes had a love for it), all of it. And from there, you went on to past and future generations from your starting point, and now, you were a certified Transformers fan! Hell, one of your favorite sites ever is TFWiki.

With this entrance into the fandom, you took to devouring everything that you could: the cartoons and animes, the books, the movies, fanfiction, fanart, fan comics, doujinshi, anything and everything that you could get your hands on, you did. And not long after, you began contributing yourself, drawing, writing, whatever you could to make your stand and have your place in the community. At first, it worked well enough, you weren’t exactly prolific, yet you were doing well enough. You managed to get a few requests for certain things to be drawn/written, believe it or not, but still, you weren’t overly big.

And then came your discovery of the Reader genre.

What is the Reader genre? Why, as far as you were concerned, only one of the greatest genres ever to be conceived! Well, to be more accurate, the form of writing wasn’t anything new, remembering the ‘Choose Your Adventure’ books. It seemed said genre now spread everywhere, you being very aware of the numerous games and dating sims that ranged from well done and engaging to outright ridiculous and stupid (but those were fun in their unique way). And since you didn’t have any knowledge or time to do that, you settled for writing them yourself. Your first piece was a simple Optimus x Reader with the standard plot and standard outcome, which was a declaration of love and a resulting kiss with the Autobot Leader. You were NOT expecting the overflow of response that it had gotten. You were quite shocked, but at the same time, overjoyed. Soon, you decided to try your luck with another one, this one being of Bumblebee, the scenario being mostly the same, albeit with a bit more cutesy fluff, as in your mind, Bumblebee was always the little guy. This one was just as successful, and you beamed, having finally found your calling.

Since then, you were getting requests left and right for more and more choices, all spanning different universes. From the animated cartoons to the comics, different universes, everything that spanned from the most well-known incarnations to the more obscure. It was through these that you managed to get even more into the Transformers multiverse as a whole and even discovered some truly overlooked gems. You opened yourself up to the people and declared that you would write whatever they requested, but you had some taboos that you wouldn’t touch. But any scenario, character, and universe, all of that was fair game.

You had originally begun working on more mundane, typical stories with expected outcomes (but sweet ones nonetheless), yet over time, the requests and your imagination began getting more creative and crazy. Soon, you were delving into several different areas that you had never touched. Elves, goblins, mermaids, vampires, forbidden love, love triangles, all of these were laid at your feet. And while it took a bit to find your rhythm, all of this having come on you so fast, you eventually got it and soon, you had a wide collection of X Reader stories, ranging from G1 to Prime and IDW’s run.

You mainly did Autobots, for you had to admit that writing for them, while they were still complex characters, came somewhat easier for you. True, each of them had their faults and quirks (both from canon and headcanons people had come up with), yet they were still the good guys, and even those with more questionable morality still came out as heroes in the end. But then one day came where you were asked to write about a Decepticon. This threw you for a loop, as, while the thought had intrigued you, you had been writing for good guys for some time, so a total shift in direction was somewhat off-putting and scary. Possibilities of it being too saccharine or sweet, or getting the characters wrong or out of character scared you a bit, yet still, you wanted to test the waters and see if you could do it. And if you could, this would open up so much more for you.

And judging from the input, you had just struck gold yet again.

Soon, not only were you flooded with requests for Autobots, but now their foes were also available, and, as you found out, people had just as much an attraction for the darkness as they did for the light. Again, the same scenarios were implemented, yet now, they had something of a darker edge to them, which allowed you to explore some subjects you couldn’t touch with the Autobots without toning it back somewhat. In a way, the Decepticons provided you with more freedom. Ironic, seeing as Megatron’s motto was “Peace through Tyranny.”

That said, you went through the list of available characters throughout the generations, and so far, those had been garnering quite a following as well, your Autobot and Decepticon stories neck and neck in popularity. Everything seemed to be going well for you.

Then that one question came.

‘Hey, where’s Starscream?’

Then another.

‘Could you write one about Starscream?’’

Then another.

‘Hey, hate to bother you, yet I think that Starscream could use some love here.’

More and more questions and requests for the particular Decepticon filled your messages, and frankly, you were at a loss on what to do. Truth be told, you and Starscream had something of a complicated history. When you had gotten into Transformers, you had heard of the character, yet at first, you never saw why he had gained such a large fanbase. True, he wasn’t a bad character, yet he wasn’t your favorite. But over time, as you wrote more and more for the Decepticons, as well as read X Reader stories from other people, you slowly began to, as one would say, gain an interest in the winged robot. And soon, you found yourself enamored by the smug jerk as well.

But this only made you reluctant to write for him.

True, when you started writing for the Decepticons, you were allowed to experiment with some more intimate and extreme situations, yet with Starscream...it was different. It was hard to explain, yet whenever you got a request to write for him, your brain seemed to seize up. Thoughts came to your head that you had tried to banish, thoughts that came every time you saw the Seeker’s name. You had no idea what was going on or why this was so difficult, yet it seemed the Silver Snake had taken to making your fingers not touch the keyboard.

You had no idea at all. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

And since you had gotten the slew of requests, your sleep problems began. The moment you shut your eyes, the scenario began all over again.

…

You needed no introduction to where you were or what you were seeing, it all quite familiar to you now. Around you were towering walls of a silvery mauve color, the only available light from above sparse and leaving several areas coated in darkness. This place was all too familiar, for you had seen it many times in your watching and reading of Transformers.

You were in Decepticon headquarters.

Your dreams had been filled with the base of the enemy faction of the Autobots, and at first, it had shocked you as to why you were here at all. But over time, night after night, you came here, and soon, you grew accustomed to the sight of it. You took on the form of your Transformers persona/OC or remained in your regular, human form, whatever pleased you as if you had some control over this environment. Yet as you grew more familiar (you were never sure if you’d be comfortable), you began to explore the place, finding that, to your surprise, there was no one here. No signs of any sort of life aboard the ship, and while it took a good while, you traveled everywhere you could think of, and still, nothing. No Megatron, no other Decepticons, no one but you had been aboard.

At least, that was what you believed when you first had this dream. Then, you heard it. The voice. His voice.

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

Singing, serenading, just loud enough for you to hear, yet low enough for you to know it was far away. It always started this way.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man,”

Your ears/audio receptors registered the voice as it echoed throughout the ship. When the dreams had begun, you knew immediately who was singing, and then you were more surprised at how it sounded. Sure, it had its infamous high pitch, yet it wasn’t bad to listen to. Daresay, it was rather enjoyable in its own way.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten bad little girls like you.”

The first few times you had this dream, it would almost always startle you, yet it led you to look down the other balls and corridors of the ship. The results were always the same though: no one was aboard. No one but you...and him.

“Beware, better have a care,”

The song changed each and every time you entered the dream, tonight being a track you heard on a video game you played not too long ago (Bioshock 2 you believed). Yet the songs always had the same effect on you.

“I’m going to follow you everywhere.”

Despite your trepidation, you wanted...needed to follow it.

“I crawl through the ceiling and the wall and call on bad little girls like you.”

Walking, then running, you traversed the winding path before you, taking several left and right turns, having no sense of direction but that voice. A voice that, despite its infamous sound, held power to it, a siren’s song in a way. Ironic, you thought. Still, you followed, for you had reached your limit. You knew what would happen if you didn’t find him.

“I’ll torture you and hunt you,”

And never leave.

I’ve got you where I want you,”

And never let you escape this dream.

“A victim of my dark and dirty plot.”

And he knew it too. He knew he had power over you. And you hated it.

“And at the slightest whim, I’ll tear you limb from limb,”

Or…

“In other words, I’ll put you on the spot.”

Did you?

“Oooh, I’m the Boogie Man,”

You were close. So dangerously close.

“The terrible, horrible Boogie Man.”

Just a turn around the corner.

“I come in the middle of the night and frighten…”

He paused, you stopping in your tracks at what you saw. There he was. Situated behind violet bars of energy in a cell, the Decepticon stood there with his arms folded and looking upon you with satisfied, hungry red eyes.

“...bad little girls like you.”

It was him.

Starscream.

Your favorite incarnation of Starscream, those ruby orbs boring into your own eyes/optics. You stepped back from the cell, eyes/optics wide at what was before you. Sure, if you were to go by dream logic, some part of you always knew that it was ‘him’ that awaited you at the end of this journey, but still, to actually see him, standing there so casually when it looked like he was locked up, it chilled you. As if he had absolutely nothing to worry about.

“My, my, so you finally found me,” he said, his voice perfectly matching the incarnation that stood before you. “Or rather, I found you. Whichever way it goes, it doesn’t matter,” he smirked. “For I already know the outcome.”

You blinked a few times, still trying to see if who was before you had truly been there. “St…” you began nervously. “Starscream?”

The Decepticon chuckled and stepped out of the shadows, allowing you to fully see him. “In the mesh,” he said. “And I see that introductions won’t need to be made either, will they, Y/N?” your eyes/optics went wide. “That’s right, pet, I know everything. This IS your mind after all.”

“Wh-What?” you stammered. “I don’t understand.”

Starscream’s grin only grew wider. “You will soon. You will understand EVERYTHING.”

Just what was he talking about? From the looks of it, he seemed to be enjoying your tension and trepidation, very amused. Your mind went into fan mode, recalling every fact you had known of Starscream and his various incarnations, which then led to you going on the defensive. “You…” albeit, it took you a try or two. “You’re the one that’s been doing this to me. Giving me these...these weird dreams.” the Decepticon didn’t answer, yet it was clear that he already knew that the secret was out (even if it wasn’t much of one). “You’re also the one that’s not letting me have one decent night’s sleep without being trapped here!”

“Or me serenading you?” he added in. “How do you like it? I don’t do it often, yet if I wish, I can stretch out my vocal components if I want.”

Your cheeks grew hot. Damn, this bastard was already making you too wound up, and you had only gotten a few words in! “Well...I’m here now,” you said, trying to sound confident, and, ironically enough, trying to channel Megatron’s dominating aura. “So, what do you want?”

This didn’t phase him in the slightest. Despite him being the one locked up, you were the one who felt like his prisoner. “I think you already know that dear Y/N,” he said. “But to put it simply, I’m feeling left out.”

You were confused. “Left out?” You asked. “Left out of…” you paused. Indeed, you knew well what he was talking about. “My...my reader inserts.”

Starscream nodded. “Quite an extensive library you’ve built up over time.” He told you. “Though your choices could be much better.” he scoffed. “Of course goody-good Prime would be on the list, along with the rest of the Auto-dolts.” Then he grimaced. “Yet there are those that actually want to FRAG Megatron? Ugh! No taste at all!” He then looked back at you. “You’ve written for everyone, from either faction, of every series,” he then pouted. “But none for me. Truly, Y/N, I’m hurt.”

You felt quite awkward. True, while you were known online for your stories, it was your username and persona they were seeing. They weren’t someone that was right around the corner that could walk in and see you writing these things. While you loved doing it, the thought of your family or friends discovering you wrote in this genre was a thought you dared not entertain, as you swore that you’d die from embarrassment. Thus, you were very careful whenever you did it, your room completely locked tight so you could focus without fear of someone barging in. The only times you left during your writing periods were for bathroom breaks and/or to eat/drink something. It was a big secret...and thinking about it now, it was a secret no more to the most infamous backstabber in all of Transformers. You had been found out.

“Well...so what? Are you going to keep haunting me until I do?” you asked. “You can’t do that!”

Starscream didn’t seem phased by this at all. That damned smirk of his both frustrated and made you excited, a combination that left you very unsure. “Can’t I?” he asked.

You didn’t like his tone. “What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s consider for a moment, Y/N,” he said. “You believe that I’m merely a figment of your imagination, yes? A stubborn thought that is lodged in your subconscious. Am I right?” you shifted a bit, knowing well what he was saying would lead to something else. Something that probably would flip everything on its head. “Well...who’s to say that I am?”

“I...I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. But what I say might just jog your memory.” he then went on. “In your last X Reader, you spoke of multiple versions of the characters, such as Prime and...yes, even Megatron,” Starscream scoffed. “And how it would’ve been peculiar if they met. Then, one of your readers linked you to a page on the TFWiki.” Starscream then chuckled. “Quite an array of knowledge, I must say. Especially for a primitive species such as yourselves. Anyway, said page spoke of what is labeled as the Transformers Multiverse, which, if I may say, is an excuse for you all to toy with and shape us into what YOU want. But back on track, you did a small amount of research on that, then went on about your business.”

“...and what does this have to do with why you’re here?”

Starscream smirked. “Then, after some time, you went and read the entries of me from various series and incarnations. To get a better feel for what you were thinking of writing. What you wanted to write. Only, you never did.” You were about to speak again, but the seeker spoke again before you could. “There was one detail from my earliest incarnation that spoke of a ‘ghost’, an immortal spark that couldn’t be snuffed out. One that could travel through space and time.” He drew closer to the bars. “And then discovered a way to travel through dimensions. Wherein, I found out all about how so many humans have seen my reality behind a television screen.”

What was he talking about? What did any of what he said mean? It was then that it all clicked for you. Sparks were essentially the ‘soul’ of a Transformer, which Starscream’s was indestructible. You read that he made an appearance in Beast Wars, and had made cameos elsewhere. What was before you right now...mere feet away…” Are you.. “ you stammered. “Are you really…”

The Decepticon nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am, Y/N.”

You were left speechless. No. No, this...this was impossible. It...it couldn’t be him! It couldn’t be the REAL Starscream! He was a cartoon, no, a toy! A damn toy! A toy from the eighties that were made to be marketable to young boys (and the girls that were secretly into it) among several other toys that were made be marketable to young boys (and again, the girls that were secretly into it)! There was NO way he was in your mind right now! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t real! He wasn’t-

“You step out into the chilled air, wrapping your arms around yourself as you do.” the Decepticon suddenly began. “He’s there to pick you up. He’s there to pick you up. You’re both terrified and exhilarated, eager to start the night, but also to make it fly by just enough so nothing embarrassing would happen between the two of you.” your jaw dropped when you heard him say that. How did he- “Know that you recently read over your very first entry? The one that started it all?” he then ‘rolled’ his eyes. “The one that clearly displayed that you had little taste at first?”

Of course, you did! That was from your very first X Reader story! It told of Optimus Prime and you, a human, in a relationship. Odd start, you knew, especially given that Transformer x Human relations was sort of controversial, yet overall, it wasn’t a bad one. Still, the fact he knew that…” No.” you said aloud. “It can’t be.”

He smiled. “I am.”

You stepped back until you hit a wall. “S-Starscream.” you stuttered. “You’re him. You’re the...the real one.” he was quite satisfied with your reaction, you clearly flustered yet cautious at the same time. The sensation drove you mad. But then you remember, this was just a dream! You were just making up all this stuff! You were relieved by this revelation...yet at the same time, you were...curious. Just where would this go if you continued? “Well...well, what are you doing here? What do you want?”

“Exactly as I said before, I feel left out,” Starscream told you. “And considering my popularity in this universe, I’d think me being here should tell you something.”

You knew what he wanted. “You want me to write about you.” it was obvious. “I-I know. I mean, I’ve been wanting to. Really, I have. But...but I...I just…” you sighed. If you knew Starscream (and you had at least a decent enough faith you did), you knew that this could potentially earn you his anger. Yet, to your surprise, he didn’t try to order you around. Instead, he seemed like he already knew you were going to say that.

“You can’t,” he said for you. “Understand, I’m the one in YOUR mind. Thus, you could say, I know everything about you. A perk of being something that, in this universe, started out as a drawing on a piece of paper.” you were confused, this seemed to humor Starscream even more. “Oh, come now. Surely you know that concept art exists, right?”

All of this was so insane for you, yet it was then that you felt the urge to speak up and say something for yourself for once. “Well, if you’re here from the...well, YOUR universe, what are you doing here in the first place?”

“Why, this is one of the few places I win!” Starscream exclaimed. “Of course, when I first came here, I was quite perplexed about how I and many others were known as products from a company called ‘Hasbro’. But overtime, I discovered your version of the internet, and, well, as you flesh bags say, the rest is history.” he then continued, not giving you a chance to speak. “And bring that I am an idea in this universe, I can go freely as I wish, peering into minds,” his red eyes looked upon you. “Become one’s permanent muse or vice versa.”

God, you felt weird. You felt so confused and conflicted. You wanted to sink into the wall to get away, but you also wanted to know more about this. You had to know more. You needed to know more. “So…?”

“So, I’ve come to you, as you’re truly in need of some inspiration,” Starscream said. “As well as some changes in your thinking.”

“Like what? Worshiping the ground you walk on?” you ask, feeling a little bolder.

“Oh, you already do.” he said. “If you didn’t desire me, I wouldn’t be here.” he grinned at your shocked expression. “That’s right, Y/N, I know what truly holds you back from writing about me. Your fears, your anxieties, your loves and lusts.” you had no words. “You fear that you may get me wrong if you will. That I won’t be in character. Or you fear that you won’t be able to satisfy the wants of your readers, as I AM so highly anticipated. Or…” he leaned closer to the bars, the only barrier separating you two. “You fear exploring those more intimate pleasures with me. You’re intimidated and unsure. After all, writing for Autobots is easy, yet us Decepticons are more difficult. But it HAS awakened things in you that you wish to explore on either side. Things that you are dying to let out.”

You had no words, he was completely right. Damn him! The smug bastard knew he had you in the palm of his hand...and yet also probably knew that’s what made you so hot and bothered right now! “So...what? Are you here to force me to write those things with you in them?”

“Dear Y/N, I can’t technically make you do anything,” Starscream told you. “Oh yes, I can stay and torment you night after night until either I pass onto another universe or I grow bored of you, but my reason being here is for both our benefits.”

“How?”

“It’s quite simple,” he said. “We shall go through those scenarios in your head.” his ruby red optics bore into yours/your eyes. “Together.” he then reached out from in between the bars and traced a digit around your jawline. “Believe it or not, I want to help you, Y/N.” his voice was smooth and sultry, something you never expected from a voice like his. “But only you can allow me to do so.” he then stepped back from the bars. “This prison of mine is something you’ve constructed from your fears and insecurities. Allow yourself to embrace what you fear…” he then extended his hand again, yet stepped back as well, sinking into the darkness. “Only then, will you truly be free.”

You were at a standstill. You knew what he wanted, and, to your horror, you were wanting to give it to him. Deny it all you want, this was something that had been in your mind ever since you got the first request for the Seeker. You approached the bars, trying to get some sign that he was still there. Surely he hadn’t left you, had he? No, he hadn’t. He was still there, you could feel him. Watching, waiting, and perhaps, knowing what you would do before you did.

Yet would you do it? Would you bite into that forbidden fruit?

Some while after pondering this question, you looked at the cell, the energy bars vanishing. Why fight it when you could already taste the sweet tartness of said fruit in the back of your throat?

#starscream g1 #starscream #tfp #transformers bayverse #transformers animated #transformers cyberverse #transformers x reader #lemon #set up #fanfic #reader #self insert #first part

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - Taking the Cake (Rated G)

Summary: When Aziraphale decides to host Warlock and Adam's 12th birthday down at his shop, he tells Crowley they'll be doing it without magic. That's all well and good until Crowley is called upon to finish decorating the cake... (1551 words)

Read on AO3.

“Ho there! Mmph... angel? Ngk... ” Crowley grunts, stuffing himself through one door of Aziraphale’s bookshop, the other holding stubbornly to its frame. He barely makes it through, lugging copious bags bulging with party gear, his long fingers curled around handles strained thin by the weight.

"In here, dear," Aziraphale replies, giving no indication that he's coming to help. Crowley picks an aisle and starts walking, navigating the narrow expanse between late 18th century classics and Roman philosophy. 

“I got everything on your list," Crowley says when he spots his husband. "Goodie bags, balloons, streamers, poppers… “ He pauses inventorying when he comes up behind Aziraphale, deeply engaged in the creation of a buttercream rosette.

By hand, no less. 

Aziraphale insisted they throw together this entire party like natives, and that meant no magic whatsoever. Crowley couldn’t understand why. Miracling together a party is literally a snap. They'd done it hundreds of times over the years. It's how they hosted their wedding. 

With a snap.

That did, however, create a mountain of paperwork, which led to Gabriel and his henchmen finding out about their shindig and showing up uninvited. Surprisingly, they didn't cause much in the way of trouble. They snickered a little, made a few snide remarks, but they mostly spent their time "observing" from a table in a far corner, mingling with no one as if above it all. 

Crowley tensed when they arrived, but having a few party crashers didn't go too badly... until the karaoke began. 

“Is that the cake then?”

“Yes. I’m almost done.“ Aziraphale pinches his tongue between his teeth, steadying his hand as he adds a peony this time.

"It's gorgeous," Crowley says in awe. "Truly stunning."

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale says, glowing from his husband's praise.

"But... " 

Aziraphale's shoulders instantly go rigid. 

Crowley hates to do this to him. The cake really is a masterpiece of confectionary construction. But it needs to be said. "Warlock and Adam are turning twelve."

"And... ?" 

"Don't you think they might appreciate something a bit more... I don't know.... befitting of a pair of former antichrists? Like a zombie with bleeding eyes? Or a raven with sharp, pointy teeth?"

Aziraphale glares over his shoulder at Crowley as if insanity has finally set in. "Ravens don't have teeth!"

"I know! That's why it would be terrifying! Right up their alleys!"

Aziraphale shakes his head, going back to his peonies. "This is a birthday cake! Not a Halloween cake! Besides, I only know how to make flowers. Anything else would require magic, and you know how I feel about that. Besides, I'm certain they only care about the insides anyway, and it's crammed full of chocolate. I don't think they'll mind a crocus or two."

"Fair enough," Crowley concedes.

The clock in the corner chimes, and Aziraphale sighs. He looks over at it, then double-checks the time on his pocket watch. Crowley checks the time on his watch, too, although he doesn't know what for.

"Three o'clock," Aziraphale observes. "Damn."

"Wot's wrong?"

"I’m afraid I’m running a bit behind.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Crowley asks, piling his sacks on a nearby chair.

“As a matter of fact, I have to pop out for a few," Aziraphale says, handing Crowley the piping bag, "but this cake needs one final touch.”

“And that is?” Crowley holds the bag between his fingers the way he would a dead rat, wary that he might be called upon to construct the same delicate flowers Aziraphale has. Without his magic, Crowley doesn't have anything near Aziraphale's talent with icing. 

Warlock and Adam may just get a gruesome cake after all.  

“I just need it to say 'Happy Birthday Warlock and Adam'.” Aziraphale bustles about, grabbing his coat off the tree and throwing it on. “The handwriting doesn't need to be immaculate, just legible. Could you do that for me?”

“Pfft. No problem," Crowley says, secretly perceiving a problem. "Piece of… “ 

Aziraphale stops on his way out the door to give his husband an exasperated look. Crowley snickers. 

“Well, you know,” Crowley finishes, shooing Aziraphale out the door. "Ta-ta now. Mind how you go."

***

"Damned antique dealers and their damned negotiations! Ignorant bast---" Aziraphale stops short of cursing. It doesn't matter what happened, which was extremely upsetting. There is no need for bad language. He hurries down the crowded sidewalk, going over the details of the past hour-and-thirty in his head. "I was doing them a favor, and look how I'm repaid! I'm late to the party I'm hosting! There's a fine how-do-you-do! Ungrateful humans! See if I stop another Apocalypse for you, in your tacky grey suits and your cheap pointy shoes... "

Aziraphale stomps up to his door, keys in hand, but stops outside when he hears laughter on the other side. He peeks through the dusty glass, and his shoulders sag. 

The party is for the kids. He knows. But he was so looking forward to celebrating with everyone from start to finish. That and he didn't think he'd take this long, so he neglected to relocate his first editions somewhere secure. 

He fears for their safety.

Icing is notoriously difficult to get out of parchment and ligament, even through the use of miracles.

He should have never taken that stupid meeting to begin with. He had a feeling it wouldn't pan out.

Oh well. 

No need wasting any more time on that than already has, he thinks, bucking up and unlocking the door. Time to stop feeling sorry for myself and start celebrating while I still have the chance...

Aziraphale takes a step in, ready to announce his arrival, but stops dead when he hears jazzy scatting in a sonorous voice. 

A voice that doesn’t belong to anyone he knows.

Aziraphale walks in further, scanning those gathered, and makes a minor correction to his original assessment - doesn’t belong to any human that he knows. His eyes blow wide, his cheeks burn red, and his husband's name explodes off his tongue before he even opens his mouth.

"Anthony J. Crowley-Fell!"

Aziraphale doesn't say anything other than his name and Crowley starts apologizing. "I'm sorry, angel!" he says, running across the shop to greet him, but not looking the least bit sorry. 

"I gave you one task!" Aziraphale bellows, snapping his fingers and slamming the door shut, his no-magic edict flying out the window. "Just one little thing! And you couldn't do it!"

"I'm no good at writing!" Crowley defends with the shadows of an infuriating grin on his face. "My hand gets all wobbly! I didn't want to risk ruining any of your lovely flowers!"

Aziraphale, splotchy-faced and buggy-eyed, glowers. "You couldn't write a simple Happy Birthday, so you enchanted the entire cake!? That was your brilliant plan!?"

"I'm a demon! Of course, that was my plan!"

"Crowley!"

"They showed up right after you left! I had no time! I panicked!"

Aziraphale drops his head into his hands, shaking it slowly back and forth. Crowley reaches out to put a comforting hand on his husband's shoulder until he hears him counting backward from one hundred... in Akkadian. Then he creeps his hand to his side and quietly steps off. 

Aziraphale breathes in deep through his nose and out through his mouth, struggling to ground himself. He has no one to blame but himself. That's the painful part. In the back of his mind, he knew something like this might happen. 

He's impressed it isn't worse. 

He should have never left his husband alone.

Next time, he'll hire a sitter.

Aziraphale continues counting, continues breathing, and as he does, he pays more attention to the goings-on around him.

The cake singing is quite unsettling, but the children are gleeful, the adults joyful. Joking, teasing, and enthusiastic conversation fill the spaces in between. 

Much like their wedding reception, except there isn't an archangel in sight. 

And Crowley's magic was instrumental in making that day memorable.

Maybe Aziraphale overreacted with that 'no magic' rule. Crowley's face fell when Aziraphale told him they'd be hosting the boys' birthday at his bookshop sans magic, but he'd recovered quickly. The streamers and balloons Crowley managed to toss on the walls look plenty festive, but they don't compare to what could have been had Aziraphale allowed Crowley to tap into his imagination.

Their guests are having a grand time despite the modest decor, but it could have been so much more. They are an angel and a demon! Between the pair of them, they could have whipped up a true spectacle, if for no other reason than they still owe poor Warlock after last year's fiasco. 

What would have been the harm of calling upon a little divine intervention? 

An alarming thought pops into Aziraphale's brain, and his head snaps up. “They’re going to cut into that, you know. Is that when the enchantment ends?”

“Nope.” Crowley rubs his palms together. “That’s when the fun begins.”

"Uh... "Aziraphale's jaw drops. "Good Lord," he moans, Crowley cackling when Adam runs to fetch the cake cutter. Aziraphale's mind whirls with thoughts of what fun could imply, but there's no time to ask. While Crowley starts laying a drop cloth, Aziraphale puts his coat away and relocates his favorite books into his back room for safekeeping.

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

[jinx-jade]

April Angst and Fluff gift exchange

Fluff-Prompt 17 Wedding

For @m3owww

___________________

Ladybug laughed as she free fell from one of Paris’s taller buildings. The wind blowing cool air into her face as her adrenaline rushed to keep up.

At the last second, the spotted vigilante threw her yoyo. Yanking on it with a flick of her wrist, the string followed the given command and pulled her straight into the air.

Landing safely on the rooftop, Ladybug looked around, after a few moments, she spotted a moving shadow, just barely visible to a trained vigilante.

However, Ladybug knows her chaser better than anyone, and therefore, knows how to find her.

Immediately after they seemed to make eye contact she ran, knowing that her lover would give chase.

The laughter continued to pour out of her as they continued their game of chase.

Once the bug-themed vigilante was sure she had lost her tail, she ducked into the shadows herself, hiding in one of her favorite secluded rooftop areas.

Moments later, Ladybug was tackled to the ground, both the spotted bug, Ladybug, and her chaser, Blackcat, were still hidden in the shadows on the hard-to-reach roof. Blackcat pinning Ladybug to the rooftop.

They were both grinning from ear to ear, breathing heavily as their adrenalin started to slowly go down from their lack of movement.

Blackcat had forgone her usual full face mask in exchange for a domino mask, so for once while being transformed Ladybug could see her grin instead of just ‘knowing’ that her partner was probably wearing the same or similar stupidly lovestruck grin as she was.

For what reason did Blackcat switch out her mask?

Ladybug had no idea, but she was sure it was a temporary change.

However, until the mask is changed back Marinette fully planned to enjoy seeing her lover’s beautiful smile… and maybe pulling her in for extra kisses.

Before Marinette could do anything Cass surged down, capturing the bluenette’s lips with a pleased hum.

“Mhm…” Ladybug gasps at the contact, effectively cutting off her train of thought.

It was a surprise to Marinette that Cass was the one to begin what was probably the first of many kisses, cuddles, and random acts of affection.

Not that she minded in the slightest.

It was simply a surprise since it was herself that usually started the ‘lovers interactions’ as Alfred called it.

All of a sudden Marinette’s train of thought returned, just on a different path than before.

She began to smile too much to properly kiss her girlfriend.

Correction.

Fiancé.

‘Kwami this idea sounded so much more responsible an hour or two ago when Cass had first proposed it,’ Marinette thought to herself.

Cass pulled away from the kiss, nuzzling her head into the crook of Marinette’s neck. She let out a questioning hum as she began playing with the loose ends of Marinette’s hair.

“You think they’re gonna be mad we didn’t invite them to the wedding?” Marinette asked with a giggle.

Cass let out a snort, nodding her head against Marinette’s shoulder.

“I mean, we both wanted this to be quiet, and it will be, but when we get back it’s going to be nothing but chaos,” Marinette claimed, finally sitting up.

She moved them so her own back was against the brick wall with Cass curled up in her lap.

“When the tabloids and press catch wind of Cassandra Cain Wayne, the adoptive daughter of multi-billionaire Bruce Wayne running away to elope with Marinette Wang, multi-billionaire and owner of Miracles design and jewelry house, they’re going to flip out,” Marinette claimed, gently petting the top of her fiancé’s head, Cass letting out a low purr in response.

Cass pulled herself away slightly, just enough to look up at Marinette. She let an innocent look appear on her features causing Marinette to chuckle as she continued running her hands through Cass’s hair.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to cause so much chaos by suggesting we elope, having me portal us out of Gotham and into Paris. No. Never in a million years would a black cat wielder purposefully cause chaos.” Marinette mused out loud, sarcasm dripping in her tone of voice.

Cass shook her head slightly as if to say she didn’t mean to cause the chaos. An innocent expression was still in place but both vigilantes knew neither of them were buying the innocent act.

Her innocent expression changed into a pout causing Marinette to laugh, pulling Cass’s head back to the crook of her neck as she played with Cass’s hair.

It was a good act, she’d give her Fiancé that, but the small shaking of held back laughter ruined the performance.

The couple stayed on the rooftop for another hour, watching the sunrise before heading back to their hotel room to get ready for the big day.

Cass got dressed into her MW original white lace and Swarovski crystal embroidered jumpsuit.

Marinette got dressed in her MW original Black off-shoulder mermaid dress, covered in the same Swarovski crystal embroidery as Cass’s jumpsuit.

True the wedding had been a sudden decision but Marinette had made their dress and jumpsuits months before Cass even suggested the idea of them getting married.

In the larger scheme of things, the outfits would have probably been used for a gala or something of the sort.

Instead, they are being used for a wedding.

Marinette and Cass helped each other get ready, both of them knowing the ‘bad luck’ wouldn’t affect them, so they ignored the tradition of not seeing the ‘bride’ before the wedding.

There was a sharp knock at the couple’s hotel door before the door simply opened, a blond marching into the room.

“Ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous! How long does it take you two to get rea...dy.” Chloe paused for a moment as she took in the couple in front of her.

“You know what, you both look beautiful so I’ll let it slide this once if I’m allowed to take all the pictures I want. I want to be able to brag to the Waynes about being the only one at your wedding.” Chloe states with a smirk as she took out her phone.

Marinette and Cass took about fifteen to twenty more minutes to get ready, Chloe switching between taking pictures, doing make-up, and doing hair.

“You two ready?” Chloe questioned as they entered the city hall.

“Yes,” Marinette answered with a soft smile.

Cass nodded her head, grabbing Marinette’s hand and giving it a quick squeeze as they headed inside.

The engaged couple, Marinette Wang and Cassandra Cain-Wayne entered the city hall with Chloe Bourgeois as their witness. 

Marinette Cain-Wayne and Cassandra Cain-Wayne left the city hall as newlyweds.

They quickly headed back to the hotel, showering to remove the hair products and make-up before changing into comfortable clothes.

They spent the rest of the day huddled together cuddling, watching movies, and eating sweets.

The newlyweds being blissfully unaware of the photos a certain blond sent a clan of bats and birds.

#maribat #@maribat-angst-fluff-april #april angst and fluff exchange

[ink-and-flame]

Kinktober - Intensity Undone

Kinktober Day 3 Prompts: No Prompts

Fandom: Original

Tags: exophilia, angst, hurt/no comfort, relationship arrangements

Pairing:  Orc(M)/Human(F)| Darnok/Lia,

[Authors Note: Since the plans for Darnok and Lia had changed this is completely off script now and no longer following the outline. The way the rest of this goes is going to be as much of a surprise to me as it will be for everyone else. There are only a few more parts of this left for what I am considering book 1 of this overarching story. This is a bridge story that does not fit anywhere in the Kinktober prompt list. I felt it worked better as a stand alone as opposed to trying to cram kink into it or having 2 separate stories be one. ]

Lia had been ignoring her phone and email for days now, as she knew it was Darnok trying to contact her. Double checking her messages to make sure she didn’t miss something important for work, she sent everything to voice mail and ignored the rest. That last moment in the club played over and over in her head. The look of shock in Darnok’s eyes as she mentioned his engagement. Everything after was a blur and she wasn’t sure how she made it home.

Ember had been checking up on her every day, letting Lia know that Darnok was sending her messages trying to get any information he could on Lia. It was bothersome but Lia understood. She didn’t give him a chance to say anything, but she couldn’t. If she had risked it, she might have simply fallen back into his arms with whatever excuse he could come up with. 

A part of her mind argued that she should have let him speak, should answer him, because what if she was wrong. Though that was the part of her that loved him and wanted to be with him. Lia didn’t trust herself, and whatever reason or excuse he had it wouldn’t be enough. At the end of the day she wanted more than what he was willing to offer, and she had to do what was best for herself.

The phone calls and messages continued into the next week, a few times it was Lucien or Zane calling to check on her, making sure she was ok. Thankfully they had managed to keep all of this from spreading outside their little group to avoid any drama or make things more difficult for Lia when she chose to come back to the club. Lucien had urged her, gently, to talk to Darnok and make a clean break if that was what she truly wanted. 

Thankfully for Lia he had no idea where she lived so he couldn’t just randomly show up at her home without notice. Though she wasn’t sure if he remembered where she worked and hoped that he didn’t show up and cause a scene. There was a small part of her that did want to talk to him and she considered what Lucien said as the days kept ticking by. 

Lia was in the back at work on her break when her coworker walked up to her with the strangest expression, she looked nervous.

“Uh, there is a car outside for you. A really expensive car and the driver said he was here to pick you up?”

Lia sighed and rubbed her face. “I’m sorry, I will go out there and tell them to leave.”

Lia only had a few minutes left of her break and didn’t want to waste it on this, but she had no choice. Walking outside she told the driver she was working and that he needed to leave. Regardless of his insistence that she get in. Turning around she headed back in and tried to ignore the situation. The car stayed right where it was for the rest of her shift and she was tempted to sneak out the back and drive home, but she didn’t want to risk being followed. 

“Ok, my shift is over, clearly you aren’t leaving and I am certain that if I try to drive myself home you will follow me. Right?”

“I have been given instructions to pick you up, and where to take you, that is the limit of my instructions. But yes, I would follow you.”

Rubbing her face with a sigh, Lia felt she had no choice. Giving a vague gesture of acquiescence she waited for the door to be opened and reluctantly got into the car. She knew this was Darnok and not some elaborate abduction, though it certainly felt like one. Of course it did not make her any less angry and Lia held that anger close to her chest, she would need it to keep from falling into his arms the moment she saw him. Despite everything, she missed Darnok.

When the car finally stopped Lia took a deep breath in and waited. The door opened and she stepped out. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. She was at the hotel her and Darnok would use on nights they stayed together after being at the club. She wasn’t sure how to feel about this choice, but it did make some measure of sense. 

The driver gave her  a key card and a slip of paper with instructions on it. Rolling her eyes she thanked the driver politely, none of this was really his fault, and headed into the hotel. Making her way past the desk and up to the room she was relieved to find that it was empty. It gave her a moment to prepare herself, take a few calming breaths, and sit down to relieve some tension. 

It wasn’t long before she heard another key card in the door and it opened. In walked Darnok, alone, and looking worried. Lia set her features as close to neutral as she could even though just the sight of him was enough to overwhelm her emotions. 

At first there was silence as Darnok stood somewhat awkwardly just inside the door. He stepped closer and cleared his throat. 

“Lia.”

Stopping him, Lia held up a hand. “Ms. Doran will be fine. If necessary I will allow you to call me by my full first name. Adalia. You have lost the privilege of calling me anything else.”

The startled look on his face followed by one of pain was all that kept Lia from breaking her facade. She did not feel anywhere near as confident as she sounded and knew that she would probably break before he did. 

“Of course Ms. Doran, I understand. Would it be ok if I sat at the table with you?”

Lia nodded and gestured to the chair furthest from her, waiting for Darnok to take a seat. She had not seen him in a bit, but he already looked different. It was hard to place exactly what was different, other than her perception of him, and perhaps that was all it was. 

“I know you are angry with me, upset, hurt, dozens of other things. I would just like an opportunity to explain everything to you. If you will allow it.”

Lia sighed and leveled him with an annoyed expression. “If at any point this starts to sound like excuses. I am shutting it down and leaving.”

“That is more than fair.” Darnok took a deep breath clasping his hands together on the table. 

“I should have told you of my arrangement the moment I started to consider you as my sub, that was entirely my own fault, I own all of that. All of this is my fault and I will never be able to apologize enough.” Dar held up a hand when he saw Lia open her mouth. “Please, just, let me get through this first part or I never will be able to. I will answer every question you have after.”

Lia nodded and gestured for him to continue. Though the word arrangement already had the wheels in her head turning and she was certain some of her initial suspicions about Darnok had actually been true. Maybe they wouldn’t be where they were if she had just asked questions the moment she became suspicious instead of holding it all inside out of fear of losing him.

“I am in an arranged marriage. It had been planned long before I met you, and I have spent much of my adult life trying to get out of it. Well, trying in ways that will not shame either family or get someone killed.” Clearing his throat again Darnok looked down at his hands. “It was obvious to my intended that I didn’t want this, and as a fae, she is indifferent to all of it herself. She does what her parents tell her and that is pretty much that. Though she did notice and eventually we sat down and had a discussion of what is and is not acceptable for our relationship and how we appear in public.” Dar paused and stood up. “I need a drink, do you want anything?”

“Water is fine.” Lia waited as he brought her water from the mini bar and a juice for himself. 

“Our agreement is that in public we appear a normal, happy, loving couple. Whatever it takes to convince the media, our peers, and our families that everything is working out. Privately I am allowed to indulge my sexual desires however I choose but there are rules I have to follow. I can’t be with anyone in our social circle, preferably I keep it out of the city entirely. I can’t fall in love or have feelings for my sexual partners. I cannot be seen publicly with them, and I can’t get anyone pregnant. There are a few smaller rules about visible markings and how I dress, but those are often overlooked.” Darnok took a swig of his juice before continuing.

“I did everything I could to stall the engagement or try to get out of it, but I can’t and my hand has been forced. Both families are pushing for us to be married by the end of next year.” He rubbed his face and looked sadly at Lia. “We have no love for each other, I honestly don’t even think she likes me. Our entire relationship is devoid of intimacy and even the barest shred of warmth. It is entirely a power move and my family was willing to sacrifice me as I am not the oldest son.” Pausing he shrugged. “You can ask questions now if you want. Or just leave, I honestly wouldn’t blame you. It is a fucked up situation that I made worse by not being honest with you.”

Lia sat for a moment, letting everything he said sink in. She toyed with the water bottle a bit as she thought of any questions she could ask. Really he laid it out pretty plainly. There wasn’t a whole lot of mystery, other than the whole arranged marriage part. She wasn’t even aware that was still a thing, but clearly it was. 

“I guess the only question I can think of is just why? Why weren’t you just honest with me from the beginning? It seems like such a simple thing, you could have brought it up that first night, or if not then, after the first month would have been appropriate.”

Darnok nodded, knowing Lia was absolutely right. He should have been honest from the very beginning. It could have avoided all of this. 

“It is a valid question and one I have no acceptable excuse for. The reason I didn’t in the beginning is because of privacy. I had gotten used to the arrangement and rarely had partners that I would do enough sessions with that it would be necessary to disclose it. After that though, I guess the reason was fear. I connected with you in ways I have never connected with anyone, I didn’t want to lose that. I kept telling myself you would move on, or I could just tell you the next month, but I always managed to find a reason to not say anything and it then became an issue of feeling too late.” Darnok looked down at his hands before continuing. “I guess part of me was living in this fantasy world where I could have both. I could keep the families happy, and I could have you which made me happy. I should have known it was impossible and I am so sorry for how much this hurt you.”

It was hard to stay in her seat, not run to him and throw her arms around him. She loved him, Lia knew that she loved him, but that love was poison to her heart. Even if he had been honest from the beginning, she knew she would have fallen in love with him anyway and it would have hurt just as much, but in a different way. 

“At least I understand now. I can’t say I envy your position, and you should be honest with your partners from day one going forward. Privacy or no, this is a cruel thing to do to a person and I would hate for it to happen to anyone else. I am fortunate I got my club membership on my own merits because I like the people I have met there and I don’t want to lose that too. I am sure we will see each other at the club, but I think it would be for the best if you kept your distance for now. Even though I understand your situation, I don’t think I can do any more scenes with you Darnok.”

Lia stood up. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done, but she had to let him go. Mostly for her own sake. He was never going to leave his fiance, he couldn’t, and she loved him too much to be his dirty secret. Maybe others could live with that, but she had grown far too attached and there was nothing to be done about it now. 

“So this is goodbye then?” Darnok asked, looking at her with sorrowful eyes. “You want a clean break, no friendship, no anything?”

“I can’t. I just, Darnok I can’t. Find someone else to be your sex toy. I am a sub, but I am still a person, and I refuse to let myself be used like that.” 

Turning away from him Lia headed towards the door, she could already feel the heat of the tears in her eyes threatening to fall and she did not want to cry again, not now. 

“Please wait!”

“NO! I am leaving and you are going to let me. This is on you. You broke everything Darnok, and you can’t fix this. There is nothing you can do to ever make this ok. Do not contact me again.”

Storming out of the room Lia all but ran to the elevator and stepped inside. She held it together long enough to make it down to the main floor and out the door. Of course she did not have her car, and while she did see the driver she avoided him and just began walking. The hotel wasn’t far from the club, she could see if Ember was there and get a ride back to work that way. As far as she was concerned Darnok no longer existed and she had to restart her life as best she could. 

Thankfully Ember was there, along with some of the others she knew. The walked helped to clear her head and kept her from looking overly disheveled as the tears had time to fall, but the cool air kept her face from going too red or splotchy. Ember called it a night early and headed out with Lia, driving her to her work and then following back to their building. 

Like a good friend Ember stayed with Lia all night, letting her friend rage and cry, doing whatever was needed to get it all out. It was necessary to heal, the wound had to be cleansed before the healing could begin. It was a shitty situation for certain, but Lia was strong and would eventually be able to move on. Until then, she had friends that would help her through all this. 

#Darnok/Lia #orc boyfriend

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. ii: they whose lives do not taste of evil ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.7k

warnings: none that are chapter specific.

rating: m/t

notes: thank you to everyone who has loved on me and supported me after posting the first part of this! it really makes me so warm and fuzzy inside and i cannot express in words how grateful i am. ♡

as always, thank you to my love @starcrier for being my most wonderful beta. ♡♡

Morning light filters through the curtains in the bedroom. The air conditioning had clicked off moons ago, having decided that the room was at its sufficient temperature; now just a few rays of the sun are warming the carpet on her side, cutting across the cream-colored knit blanket at the foot of the bed. Through the windows, she can hear the bustle of New York—churning, grinding, a beast of its own as it laboriously beneath their own feet.

Sometimes, Euphemia thinks that she hates New York—that she misses the countryside in Italy, that she misses bare feet on grass and warm, dark earth and the sticky-wet of pulling fruit straight from the vine. Sometimes, Euphemia thinks that New York is a beast waiting for her, to swallow her up, teeth ripping through pavement and concrete and brick to bite bite bite until it reaches her.

But not today. Today, Euphemia is not thinking about the Beast. She is thinking only about the fact that Santino’s spot beside her is empty, and then she’s reminded that today he will be wandering out into the world under the Table to ask a man who doesn’t want anything to do with Santino to grant him a favor. To grant Santino what he is owed, as he would prefer it framed.

Euphemia sits up in bed. She’s not sure when it is that she finally fell asleep, but if the drag of exhaustion in her mind is any indication, it wasn’t very long ago. She can’t recall if she dreamt, or if she rested even at all—if she had to guess, she’d think she spent the entire night tossing and turning, restless, with the burning itch of John Wick’s threatening presence looming in her future.

She can hear Santino out in the kitchen; the smell of coffee drifts in through the open door. The blonde slips out of bed to wander out, her footfalls quiet on the plush carpet, and she sees him—dressed, polished up, as though he got a perfect eight hours of sleep. An old song hums through the speakers of the sound system on the entertainment stand.

So much for keeping him distracted, Euphemia thinks ruefully.

“Good morning,” Santino greets, pouring a cup of coffee and setting it on the island counter to scoot it in her direction. “You were sleeping so soundly that I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You could have,” Euphie replies, taking the cup in her hands and using it to warm her fingers rather than drinking the coffee. “It wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t feel like I have slept at all.”

“Yes,” he agrees somberly, “you were restless.” His hand reaches up, the pad of his thumb tracing the slope of her jaw. “My little worrier.”

She crinkles her nose at him, finally relenting and taking a sip of her coffee. He’s made it just the way that he knows she likes—strong, rich, cream and no sugar. Santino winds his arms around her and laces his fingers against the small of her back, leaning so that he can get a long, good look at her.

“Well, go on,” he prompts her, eyes glittering playfully. “I know you want to say something to keep me home.”

Euphie’s chest tightens. It’s a little cruel of him; he wants to hear her ask, even though they both know there’s nothing she could say to change his mind. He likes to have her ask just so he can tell her no, and usually, she won’t bite. Not for his ego.

But this is different.

She sets the coffee aside, her hands instead finding his chest, holding on to the lapel of his jacket. She says, “I don’t want you to go, Santi. Please don’t go. We can stay in bed all day, or—what if we went back to Italy? Just for a little while? My mother would like to see you, I know.” Swallowing, Euphie feels her lashes flutter, the desire to let her voice wobble with emotion almost overwhelming. I won’t, she thinks, I won’t cry. “We can do anything you want, but—not this.”

“Sweet Euphie,” Santi sighs, taking her face in his hands. “Così dolce, just for me, aren’t you?” He leans in and kisses her temple; for a split second, she thinks that he might acquiesce, that he might set it aside, even for one day—indulge her, the way that he likes to do. Santino has always wanted her to be selfish with him. When they’d started dating, it took her months to get used to the way he’d buy her anything, cook her anything, give and get her anything, and for a girl who’d had so very little for so long, it had almost been nauseating. She would eat her fill, and Santino would say, more, cara mia? Would you like more? As if he had known that allowing her to indulge herself in the fruits of his world under the Table would curse her to stay, forever.

And here she was. Stuck. Blissfully, dreadfully, wretchedly, sickeningly and wonderfully stuck.

“But no,” he continues, pulling back and tilting her chin up with his fingers. “Business needs to be taken care of before I can relax.”

Euphemia releases a breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding. It’s not an unexpected response, but she won’t kick herself for trying—not considering the circumstances, considering what he is leaving to do. In anything else, she might have been too proud to say please.

Her fiancé plants a kiss on both of her cheeks. “Drink your coffee,” he commands, his voice light as he grabs his phone and tucks it into his pocket, heading for the door. “What time is the engagement party?”

“Seven,” Euphie replies tiredly. She does as he bids like it’s second nature to her now, taking a drink of the coffee. “Be back by five, Santi.”

His hand is on the handle to the door outside. She thinks she might be sick. He says, “Wear the red dress I like.”

“Maybe. If you behave.”

Santino flashes her a grin from the doorway. She wonders if anyone else is comfortable ordering him around, or if she’s just so accustomed to living with an apex predator that she’s become numb to his dangers.

“Yes, cara mia,” he purrs. “Anything you say.”

Except that isn’t true, she thinks, watching him open the door and greet Ares, who has been waiting—lurking, in the hall to the elevator, like the shadows cut across the floor from the chandelier lights. There is a tiny moment where their eyes meet over Santino’s shoulder, and Euphemia hopes that she might see pity; she’s miserable, after all, knowing that Santino is walking into a slaughterhouse.

As ever, Ares is unreadable. There is only the tiny, almost imperceptible quirk of the corner of her mouth, and then door is closed and Euphemia is alone. And there is a tiny, vicious part of her that says, we ought to get used to being alone. We never should have forgotten it in the first place.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Santino is late, and when he shows up, he doesn’t say whether things went well or not.

They must have gone well enough, because he’s alive and in one piece and in a fine enough mood. But that is the problem—his mood is fine. He arrives at his own engagement party in a fine mood, and Euphemia can’t decide what’s more irritating: that he’s late, that he won’t tell her how it went, or that he can’t fake being delighted for a few hours.

“Ah, there’s your man,” Winston says, a smile lifting his expression. The older man had been keeping her company as the hour ticked by and she had to say hello and hi and thank you to every guest attending at Santino’s behest—yet another frustrating detail, Euphemia mentally notes, that he’d bothered all of these folks to show up and didn’t have the decency to arrive on time himself. She’s very certain that Winston did not intend to stay as long as he has, and for that, she feels poorly.

But she’s too irritated to express it properly. “Is that one mine?” Euphie asks lightly, turning her gaze away from Santino striding into the room and getting stopped by guests on his way to her. She twists her untouched champagne flute in her fingers, fixing her gaze back on Winston. “No man of mine would come late to his own party. Not if he wanted to walk out in one piece.”

Winston laughs at her words and gives her hand a pat. “You are a woman after my own heart, Euphemia Volpe.”

“I’ll be accepting applications for the position of my husband shortly, I think.”

She feels Santino’s hand on her waist just before he leans into kiss her cheek; the movement is so quick that she doesn’t have the time to properly avoid his affection, and he almost certainly does that on purpose.

“I am so glad you could come, Winston!” Santino announces, reaching and shaking the older man’s hand. “And that you got to spend some time with my own personal star.” He turns to her now, finally, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Mi dispiace, Euphie, I did try to hurry.”

She tilts her head a little, lifting her chin out of his grasp. “Don’t apologize to me,” Euphemia replies. “Winston is the one you kept waiting.”

Santino grins. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes—or rather, it doesn’t look like the kind of grin that you make when you’re happy. Nothing about him screams happy, future wedded-bliss. Everything looks strained, like someone’s pissed him off and he’s just had to do something about it.

He looks at Winston, dropping his hands. “I’m sorry, truly.”

The man waves his hand, as though it isn’t a big deal—but it is, Euphie knows, at the very least to her; Winston has always treated her kindly, regardless of whose arm she was on-and he puts a hand on Santino’s shoulder. “I only came to say congratulations and see this fine lady, and then I was going to be off. So—congratulations...” His gaze turns to Euphemia. “Miss Volpe.” He kisses both of her cheeks. “Here I have seen you. And I will be on my way.”

Euphie says, “Thank you for coming, Winston. You did not need to wait around for this idiot.”

“I never say no to time with a beautiful lady,” he admonishes, making to leave. “Santino just happens to be here.”

“I will walk you out,” Santino declares. He’s only just arrived, and he smells a little bit like smoke, and he’s carrying with him a strange, frantic energy; but before Euphemia can think to say anything, he’s kissing her—hard, and a little desperate, and she can feel an eerie tremble in his hands before he pulls away and takes her drink out of her hand and swallows the entire thing in one go.

And then he’s off. Walking away with Winston, who looks calm and unbothered by the erratic display (though Winston always looks that way, so it’s no good gauge for Euphemia to tell when something is off). But something is off. As they’re walking, Santino is talking to Winston with a frenetic urgency that translates only in ways she can recognize. To the outside eye, her fiancé is composed, and perhaps a little stressed, his strides collected and tight and his lopsided grin to sharp to be pleasant.

His kiss tastes of ash. She can feel it in her mouth, still, gunpowder and smoke lingering in the palette, but she will not bring herself to think about where it came from.

By the time Santino returns from “walking Winston out”—which probably means talking to Winston about something he doesn’t want Euphie to hear—she has decided to bring it up. She doesn’t know how, yet, but she’s going to do it.

He slides his arms around her as she visits with some of their friends, burying his face into the crook of her neck, like he just can’t stand not to be touching for a second longer. The conversation carries on blithely without her; Euphie reaches up and cradles the side of Santino’s face with her hand, fingers brushing the dark, honeyed curls at his temple. She’s decided to be sweet about it.

“You seem stressed,” she murmurs.

“Not stressed,” Santino replies, speaking the words into her neck. He sways a little, turning her in his arms and pulling her against him so that he can sway her with him. The movements are leisurely in comparison to the energy that he’s carrying; pushing and pulling with the lull of the delicate music playing overhead. It should be a dream, this engagement party. It’s all golden light and warmth billowing from an ornate fireplace, the people that she cares the most about celebrating her and Santino’s love.

Euphemia says, “You smell like smoke.”

It’s not a question, and Santino knows it. He holds one of her hands in his and presses their foreheads together.

“You are so beautiful, Euphie,” he sighs dreamily. He kisses her again—less urgent this time—and she knows what it means: it’s better if she doesn’t ask. She’s going to be a D’Antonio, which means that problems get taken care of for her, and she doesn’t have to worry about following up.

Still, while the warmth of his kiss is distracting and lovely, and the feel of his hands pressing into the base of her spine where the plunging back of the red silk dress he likes the best on her makes her skin break out in delighted goosebumps, she cannot help but think, I should know. I have a right to know what’s going on.

“Santi,” she begins, lower her voice even more, “if something has happened—”

“Nothing has happened,” Santino insists, turning her slowly before drawing her back against him. “Mia piccola volpe, stop fussing. I promised you, didn’t I?”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Yes,” she replies after a minute, “you did.” But if something has happened, she wants to say, and can’t bring herself to because Santino is kissing her again, pleased with her concise and obedient answer; he kisses her again and again, between breaths, funneling all of his frenzied energy into her instead. He gives it to her to hold, but won’t tell her where it’s come from or why it’s there. Just shoves it into her for safekeeping.

People cat-call and holler and whoop and laugh, and he grins against her mouth, lifting her up against him playfully—just far enough off the ground that she loops her arms around his neck to steady herself, unable to focus on how frustrating it is to be worried, and not know why.

“Ti amo,” Santino rumbles against her collarbone, kissing there reverently. “What do you think about leaving, hm? Sneak out of our own engagement party early, so I can take you home and enjoy you properly?”

It sounds too good, to go home. It sounds too good, because just that morning, she was begging him not to leave.

“I don’t know,” she ventures, smoothing her hand absently over the lapel of his suit jacket once he’s set her back down. “I don’t know, Santi, I...”

Her voice trails off. Ares is by the door. Once, the woman had been a comfort to her; now, she’s a reminder of this traitorous thing Santino has done, this thing that sits between them but only he can see and touch and feel, and Euphie just has to suffer the consequences of it one way or another.

“Come on, cara mia,” he coaxes, drawing her eyes back to him, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. “We can do whatever you want.”

There must be something he isn’t telling me, she thinks. Something that’s blown his pupils wide until the black at them is eating away at the gorgeous jade green of his irises. Something dreadful, that he knows she’ll hate. That she’ll fuss about.

The question sits there, just on the tip of her tongue. What about Wick? she wants to ask. But she already knows that he won’t tell her, and she is learning quickly not to ask.

Ignorance is bliss, anyway.

#santino d'antonio x oc #john wick fic #spilled ink #santino d'antonio/oc #f: where there is no temptation there is no glory #c: euphemia volpe #santino d'antonio #i still feel exceptionally shy about this but dkjhfdkf #thank u thank u thank u everyone who has given me love!!!! #x: senza tentazioni senza onore