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greatstormcat · 1 day

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Club 141 AU - Part 4

Poly 141 x f!reader

Series Masterlist

This is a fictional depication of BDSM and proper vetting of new partners is essential for everyone. This is a work of fiction and liberties are being taken for the narrative. This (long awaited) part covers CNC/Consenual Not Consent. There is nothing wrong with this as long as it is in the real world context of a carefully negotiated dynamic with correct safeguards. Never let anyone push you to perform something you are not in wholehearted agreement with, and know your limits. Practice RACK: Risk Aware Consensual Kink.

TW: MDNI 18+, BDSM themes, CNC, degradation, forced blowjob, gunplay, bondage, mentions of blood, blindfold/hooding, p in v, rough sex, anal, double penetration, single safeword, no check-ins, aftercare and a hot tub

“You want to hunt me,” you repeat back to Price. It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact. The man has just spent several minutes explaining to you how over the last few months you’ve settled into your role as the group’s sub perfectly. They were comfortable with you, and you quickly pointed out you were just as comfortable with each of them. You’d indulged in a variety of scenes with them, both individually and in groups, and it was easy to find a flow with the group.

“We want to hunt you,” Price echoes, leaning back in his throne-like armchair, the sounds of the club a distant murmur as you sit opposite him in the private room once again. His eyes watch you sharply, making you feel as though a microscope was pointed at you while you were pinned to a glass slide. Some days you felt he could read your very thoughts with his crytalline stare.

“Only if you’re ready,” Ghost rumbles, ever the one watching for everyone’s safety. He stood, arms crossed over his broad chest and leaning his hip against the back of Price’s leather chair. His gleaming skull mask fixed firmly in place as always, shining as though he took pains to polish the thing. Never once had you seen him without it.

Swallowing thickly, you pause to think, knowing full well that if you rush to agree one of them, if not both, will put the brakes on proceedings. They care that much about you, their precious and beloved submissive.

“How would this work?” you ask, receiving the instant reward of both men relaxing from their previous tense states.

“Good girl,” Ghost mumbles softly but it carries to you and a thrill skitters down your spine in response.

“If you agree,” Price begins, putting emphasis on the first word, “I have a friend who owns a few hundred acres of private land not far from here. There’s a cabinby a lake, with a hot tub.”

“Sounds romantic,” you say with a small smile.

“I suppose it does,” he agrees, leaning forward slightly. “Kyle explained we were in the military together, yes?”

“He did, that’s why they call you Captain,” you reply.

“That’s right,” Price smiles. “We still have some equipment, and a lot of experience in tracking people who don’t want to be caught.” A light enters his eyes as he speaks, an intensity you’ve come to know well, often when he has you by the throat and is promising you all manners of pleasure and pain.

“I understand,” you say, aware he has paused to check you are taking this in. Your breathing quickens as you hang on his every word.

“We would take you to a point in the woods near there and set you free, your goal being to get back to the cabin without being captured,” Price continues, his voice noticeably deepening. Ghost shifts slightly, making an obvious adjustment to make room for the stiffening of his cock as he listens and watches your reaction.

“What happens if I am captured?” you ask, feeding him the words you know he wants to hear. The leather of the armchair creaks as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees so he is closer to you. Your eyes watch his lips as he speaks, a memory of the taste of cigar smoke and scotch on them makes you salivate.

“What we always did. A captured enemy gets tortured,” he whispers softly, “until they break.”

A while later you sit at the club’s bar, perched on one of the elegant stools as Johnny and Kyle work the bar and you try to work through Price’s proposition in your head.

“Did they explain the whole thing to you?” Kyle asks as he places a cocktail on the marble top before you. You quickly take a sip to calm your jangling nerves.

“Oh yes, in lurid detail,” you answer, feigning shock and he laughs.

“Is the idea that bad?” he chuckles, his dark eyes warm with humour. “I thought you were a tough bird? Is the thought of us four stalking you through the dark so horrendous?”

You clench your thighs as he speaks, his honeyed voice dripping down your spine and pooling in your pelvis.

“No, not horrendous,” you reply, hoping he didn’t notice you shifting. One look up at him tells you he very clearly did see it, and your face warms with embarrassment.

“So it seems,” he drawls, leaning over the bar towards you. “So you gonna think it over? Give us a proper answer?”

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, just as Johnny walks over and looks between the two of you.

“You’re nae influencing her, are ya?” he chuckles, draping his arm over Kyle’s shoulder.

“No, just making sure she understands what’s at stake here,” Kyle grins and stands up, leaning against the other man. The pair look at you, grinning wickedly like a pair of devils trying to seduce you into some sinful act, despite looking as beautiful as angels in the soft light of the club.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” you laugh, feeling your face warming.

“What a way to go, eh?” Johnny winks back at you.

On Price’s insistence you take a few days to make your decision, and take the chance to talk it through with him, making sure you understand exactly what this will entail. The more you learn, and the more you read up, the more you want to experience this with them. Once you agree, you book a few days off work and they make the arrangements to rent the cabin and drive you up there. Its a warm summer day as you pull up at the cabin beside the lake, a few small outbuildings nearby and the promised hot tub positioned beside the small building on the lake side. Dense woodland surrounds everything. It all looks wonderfully romantic and cozy, especially considering the men you are staying here with, which jars against the activity you have planned for the evening.

The sun is just beginning to set a few hours later, you wiggle your toes in your hiking boots and pull on the tops of the socks peeking over the tops of them, the cool air pricking your skin. Price had warned you not to wear anything you were fond of, explaining clothes were unlikely to survive this scene, so you’d opted for an old sports bra and second favourite knickers, plus a plain white tee-shirt and some loose gym shorts. You hoped that as plain and simple as the look was, it was still appealing.

“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Price asks you, and you try not to look at him but he grasps your chin and turns your face towards him, forcing eye contact. The dark fatigues he is wearing make him look larger than normal, and the look in his eye tells you exactly how he is feeling about the idea of hunting you. Fear and arousal mix in your gut already, and you haven’t even seen the others or started yet.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you say firmly, knowing anything less will be questioned. You want to do this.

“Just like we went over at the club there will be no checking in during this scene once it starts. You have one safe word and that ends everything, understood?” His voice is firm, unwavering.

“I understand,” you confirm with what you hope is equal conviction. You glance around, the other three are nowhere to be seen, but they are watching you from somewhere close by.

“Okay, you get a ten minute head start and then we come after you,” he says, taking a step back. “The cabin is that way.”

You hesitate for a moment, uncertain on what to do, but he doesn’t seem inclined to speak further. Instead he turns his back on you and walks towards the car he had brought you out here in, not looking back.

With a quiet huff you take off at a trot in the direction Price had indicated, the fading light hampered by the dense coverage from the tree canopy above and adding to the gloom. Watching where you go, you try to count the seconds to the ten minute mark, trying to gauge when the hunt will begin. Your heart beats loudly, almost drowning out the idyllic sound of birds singing in the evening air.

Any more thoughts end abruptly when the sound of a gun firing behind you tears through the air. Small birds and animals startle around you, and you freeze much like a frightened deer. However, when the sound of sharp whistles and excited yelling begins behind you, your muscles burst back into life.

They have guns, why do they have guns, you repeat to yourself over and over as you scramble forward. Panic seeping icy fingers into you, slowing you when it should be spurring you on, to get away from them. The fear thaws when it reaches that small part of your brain that understands this is a game though, it pulses red hot and whispers to you to let them catch you, to see what will happen when you fall.

You start to run out of breath just as you make it to the edge of the lake through the trees. The lights from the cabin glow warmly in the distance, and you pick up the pace feeling more confident now you can see your goal. A smile begins to creep across your face, the big, bad soldiers were clearly rusty after all these years. They hadn’t even got close to you, in fact, the head start was probably too much.

The light has faded enough now that the trunks of the trees are nothing but dark shadows under the canopy of leaves. It’s almost peaceful, no others sounds over the rustling of leaves and your own footsteps. You slow down, considering waiting for the guys to catch up so the game isn’t wasted, when a tall figure detaches from the shadows ahead of you.

A red mask covers the top part of his face, a Mohawk standing up above, and despite the obvious signs of it being Johnny, you feel terror. He’s wearing combat gear, some kind of rifle held in his hands and pointing at your feet. This isn’t your friend, your Dominant, this is a man trained to kill and you can see it in the way he carries himself as he steps forward. You spin on the spot and go to run back the way you came, but stop dead in your tracks.

The Grim Reaper is waiting for you, tall and dressed in black with a hood up around his skull face. He strides towards, an arm raised to grab you, but your body takes over and you dart to the side into the trees once more.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you whisper to yourself as you run through the low undergrowth, clumsy and undignified. Plunging madly through the woods now, a tiny part of your mind wondering how they caught up with you without you hearing them. This makes you realise exactly what you’re up against, these are trained soldiers. You truly are fucked.

As you run, a shadow separates from a tall shrub ahead of you and sprints towards you, low and deadly. You try to turn but arms wrap around your waist, swinging you around and throwing you off balance completely. You hit the ground face down, breath knocked from your lungs just as a heavy body lands on your back. Instinctively your wail in dismay, the man on your back grabbing your throat and squeezing at the same moment, his hips grinding viciously against your backside so you feel his hard length.

“You lose,” Kyle's voice growls into your ear as a canvas sack is pulled over your head, your arms wrenched roughly behind you back and held firmly in a gloved hand. “Up.”

He drags you to your feet, cold metal presses against your neck under the edge of the hood, and there’s a sharp click. A sound you’ve heard in movies enough times to recognise it, a gun. A bubbling whine of terror creeps up your throat, and escapes into the darkness of the hood. The answering growl twists the fear and turns it into something else, something hot and sharp that spikes into your gut. Arousal.

“Walk,” he sneers, and you rely on him to guide you through the undergrowth.

You stumble blindly, disorientation adding an extra level to your confusion, as you are half march, half drag you somewhere. The change in flooring and slam of a door lets you know you are inside a building, but it's impossible to know where you are. The sound of heavy boots on a rough floor echo around you, and you are dumped unceremoniously in a chair with thin arm-rests. You flinch at the loud noise of tape being pulled from a roll, and your wrists and ankles are secured to the chair.

The hood is pulled away, bright light blinding you from a lamp shining directly in your face, but this is a short lived issue as a blindfold swiftly covers your eyes. Fingers twist in your hair and yank your head back, pulling a cry from your lips, but this is quickly muffled by the cock that is shoved into your mouth. After a second of confusion, heat floods your chest and you lean into the intrusion, mouth watering around the salty skin.

“Fuck, look at her go!”

“Greedy bitch, she’s gagging for it. Have you not been fed, love?” one of them taunts you.

While insults and jibes are tossed at you, whoever has hold of you by the hair continues to forcefully fuck your face, their hips grinding his cock further and further into your throat until you feel the edge of you gag reflex tightening. You focus on breathing steadily through your nose, feeling drool seeping around the thick shaft and onto your chest. Before long your thin tee is sticking to you, no doubt showing your bra underneath.

“Fuck, lemme in on that.” The Scottish lilt identifies Johnny easily. It’s all the warning you get before your head is roughly grabbed and turned to the other side, a few seconds to breathe freely are given before another cock slams into your mouth as you gasp for air.

“Oh fuck, yeah that’s good,” the new comer grunts, twisting your hair to add sharp pain to the mix. You whimper, and his rhythm falters slightly at the sound buzzing your throat around the head of his dick. “Ughh…” he grunts, and he shifts his weight momentarily before the cold press of metal returns, this time against your temple. A tremble runs down your spine and ends with a clenching of your pussy, a half whimper, half moan leaves you and his hiss is audible at your reactions.

“Shit, you like that you nasty slut?” Johnny’s thrust become harsher, his grip on your head tight and almost painful as the gun presses into your skin. Drool runs around his shaft, leaking down your chin, and his huffs of breath shorten.

“Ya gonna swallow every drop,” he mutters. “Don’t waste any of what I give ya.” His breaths become moans, more and more desperate as he chases his high and before much longer he comes. You're forced to swallow or choke, and you suck down the thick strings of cum.

“Enough, get her out of the chair and strip her,” Ghost’s gravely voice orders, and quickly both gun and dick are gone, leaving you coughing and gasping.

The tape binding you to the chair snaps, a cold blade touching your skin as it is cut and a taste of freedom hits you. Despite the blindfold you try to bolt from the chair, determined to play your part in this fully and try to escape.

“Fucking bitch! Get her down,” Price barks in anger.

“No!” you scream as you feel a heavy body tackle you down. Under the oppressive weight you kick and struggle, gasping for breath through the pressure of whichever one of them holds you down.

“Stupid cunt, you’ll get what’s coming to ya now,” Johnny’s voice hisses. Hands pull you boots and socks off, your shorts quickly following despite your wild kicks. You feel one foot connect with one of them, a triumphant smile crossing your lips at the muffled grunt this causes, but strong hands catch your ankles, pulling them wide and pinning them to the floor. Your exposed pussy pulses, wet and hot in the cold air, and the sound of a zip cuts through the air.

“She fucking kicked me, I go first,” Kyle complains, and someone huffs a short laugh in answer. Again you try to fight, kick and struggle, but each limb is pinned to the rough floor and you only scrape yourself against the wood planks. Kyle kneels between your thighs, his body covering you and then his cock spears into you, stretching you wide.

“Stop!” you whine, the wrongness of the word on your tongue making your pussy clench tighter. He doesn’t hesitate, ignoring your plea and goes right to a pounding, punishing rhythm, curling over you so his grunts and groans play out beside your ear.

“Don’t fight, it’s too late for that now,” Kyle’s voice drips into your ear, and that part of your brain that grips to the reality that this isn’t real purrs back to life, quelling the panic slightly.

“Blind fold off, I want to see her face properly,” you hear Price bark, a note of authority in his voice you’ve not heard before and the rawness of the situation hits you. They are stripped back of all their civility, almost their humanity as they work you over, and you understand the itch that this is scratching for them. The blindfold is pulled away and you blink rapidly, trying to focus on the dark shapes around you. Ghost pins your hands above your head, while Price and Johnny restrain a leg each.

Kyle fucks you mercilessly, the rough fabric of his combat trousers rubbing at your skin and adding more friction, his public bone hitting your clit.

“Such a tight little cunt,” Kyle groans, his hands shifting and pushing up underneath your top and sports bra to squeeze your tits. The brutal swing of his hips doesn’t falter, your body tight as you pull against the hands holding you down and clenching around his thick dick.

The orgasm comes almost out of nowhere, quickly building and releasing within you and slicing through you. It makes you archly sharply off the ground, and Kyle barks hoarsely as he is dragged over the edge with you, burying his load deep inside you with unsteady thrusts.

“Thought you’d last longer than that mate,” Johnny teases as Kyle sits back, breathing heavily.

“Fuck you,” he bites back. “You shot your load quick enough.”

“Can’t blame me with a toy like this,” Johnny answers sinfully.

“Shut up you two,” Ghost interrupts, and you glance up as he releases your wrists and stands. Your legs are shaking, as much as you want to try moving again you don’t think you can. As he stands up and begins to unbuckle his belt, you groan softly. He peels off his vest and shirt, before getting down on the ground beside you, laying on his back. Price and Johnny grip your arms and pull your unresisting body over his, face down.

Sweat slicks your skin as you are pushed down onto Ghost’s chest, and with your legs held apart he sheathes his cock inside your pussy with a single, hard thrust that has you arching your back. The rasping of breath from behind his mask tells you how much the feel of your cunt affects him, hot and pulsing around his cock already.

“Get comfortable, you’ve got more to come yet,” he chuckles darkly, and you notice he is looking over your shoulder. Think fingers press at your exposed asshole, cold liquid smearing across the puckered hold.

"No! Don't, please," you plead weakly, unable to move as Ghost hold you against his chest.

“Shut up,” you hear Price snap close behind you, just before shoving a thick digit inside your arse and working it in and out a few times. Suddenly, the intrusion is removed and you relax slightly.

Before you recover, the head of a meaty, slicked up cock presses against your asshole and pushes inside. It’s like every single nerve fibre between your neck and knees has come to life, and you let out a desperate keen at the pleasure. The fullness of almost being stretched to breaking is intense, and the choppy, rough thrusts of Price working into your backside send your mind blank. You’re no stranger to anal but having them both inside you at once is a whole new sensation.

Without any pause they both begin to pump into you, deep grunts and curses the only sound you can hear. You can’t tell if you’re being ripped apart or fucked better than you’ve ever felt in your life. All you can do is try to remember to breathe as you grip onto Ghost biceps, fingernails cutting into his skin and drawing tiny trickles of blood. Your cries build and crescendo into frenzied noises, your sensitive nerves alive and running with liquid lightning as the two men push you further and further.

The orgasm that rips through you steals your hearing and vision, your brain turns to pure nothingness for a few seconds and you forget to breathe as hot ecstasy tears through every cell of your body. Your exhausted muscles spasm, gripping and milking Price and Ghost’s cocks, pushing them over the edge so they both come, filling you with thick, sticky ropes of spend inside you. Twitching and spasming you fall limp between them, unable to move or speak.

“Right, red,” Ghost announces softly, just audible over the ringing in your ears. Price carefully pulls out of you, a whimper slipping from your lips as he does and a shock of sensitivity shooting through you. Ghost does the same but lays still, cradling you against his chest, his wide palm smoothing up and down your skin slowly. “It’s over now, you did well.”

You burrow into him, pushing your sweat streaked face against his neck with I deep exhale, his arms pulling you tightly against him and his deep voice vibrates through his chest and into you as he talks you down. Your heart rate slows down and breathing evens out, floating in a fog inside your own head.

“That was insane,” Kyle says quietly as he crouches beside you, mask removed now, and touches your shoulder. You peer at him hazily through your lashes, a hint of smile on your lips. He puts a backpack down beside you and Ghost and opens it, pulling out bottles of sports drink, a small first aid kit and finally a tightly wrapped blanket which he opens and drops over you gently.

Slowly and carefully Ghost gets you up and gets you to drink, then gets you up. Blinking, you look around and take in your surroundings finally. It’s a small garage, the one you’d seen beside the cabin earlier in the day. Once they’re happy you are okay then clean you up and walk you out of the garage, wrapped in the soft blanket.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Price asks again, for maybe the fifth time, and you smile groggily and nod.

“I’m fine, just a bit shaky,” you tell him again, the pride and bliss burning inside of you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. “I want to get into the hot tub, can we?”

“Right now you can have anything you want, hen,” Johnny answers without a thought and trots ahead to get the cover off the tub.

“Absolutely, anything,” Price grins, satisfied with your reply now.

It’s crowded in the hot tub with so many large bodies in it, and you get jostled around as each of them tries to be the one beside you. In the end, you find yourself sitting on someone’s lap, thick thighs and strong arms cradling you against a broad chest in the warm, bubbling water. Your head lolls against his shoulder peacefully but after a moment you blink open your eyes tiredly, the pleasant buzzing of the water massaging your aching limbs.

You look up into Ghost’s unmasked face, and you grin.

“Hi, Ghost,” you say, feeling a little foolish afterwards, but his smile settles your nerves.

“Call me Simon,” he grins back, a scar making it slightly crooked. “You’ve more than earned it now.”

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sftykth · 1 day

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milk and cookies ⟢ anakin skywalker ii.

banner made by me!

╭ summary: your doll like face will be the end of anakin skywalker he was sure of it. however he must stay away from his disturbing thoughts as he was only your sugar daddy, and you two had agreed on a deal, no physical contact. Though for how long can you both resist the temptation?

╭ pairing: y/n x anakin skywalker

╭ genre: college au!, gap age (y/n is 20, anakin is 42), sugar daddy

╭ a/n: here’s part two of the series:) let me know what you think! any ideas of what you may wanna see, my requests are always open:)

part i

You huffed at the lack of notifications on your phone.

It has been officially two weeks since the last time you had spoken to Mr Skywalker. There was no messages, no calls, absolutely nothing. Your tendencies to please people made you overthink the worst, did he not like you? Were you not pretty enough for him. Shaking your head, you knew that could not have been the case. Though you could not shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You debated if you should reach out first, it was a Friday night and you were incredibly bored.

Reaching for your phone, you chewed on your lip as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Thoughts racing your head, thinking of what you could say to him. Keeping it simple and short would be best, you thought.

May 2024

[Dollface] hey how are you?

[Sky] Hello, dollface. I'm alright why are you texting me this late at night. No plans for the youngsters hm?

[Dollface] uhh nopee. i wanted to ask you something..

[Sky] Go on. Don't be shy now.

[Dollface] um well you hadn't messaged me at all, did you decide i wasn't up for the role or something..

You slightly cringed at your desperation, but something about him just made you so needy for his attention. You wanted it, no you needed it.

[Sky] I do remember we both agreed to the deal, no?

[Dollface] well yeah.. but its been two weeks i just thought

[Sky] There has been no reason for me to do so. My next event is not until next Saturday which I will send more details over near the date.

[Dollface] oh i see yeah that makes sense haha sorry i will leave you be now.

[Read]

You felt something wet hit your cheek, you didn't even realize you were crying. The cold attitude was something you didn't expect to receive, though you should have knew better. You were always so senstive to people's feelings towards you, always wanting them to like you, doing anything in your power to please them.

Wiping the tears that had managed to escape, you threw your phone to side as you laid down on your bed. You didn't understand him, some moments he seemed to be kind and then other times he seemed so harsh and cold. You wrapped your arms around you, craving warmth as you mind couldn't stop creating thoughts upon thoughts of why he was so mean. Falling asleep that night was near impossible.

One week had passed since you reached out to Mr Skywalker, or your sugar daddy you could say. It felt like a painfully slow week, barely managing to attend your classes not really having much motivation. The nerves on attending the event had kept you up most nights, wondering how will it plan out. Your head perked up at the ding coming from your phone, rushing to your desk you saw the name which made you feel so many emotions at once.

[Sky] Good evening, Dollface. I hope I'm not interrupting you, I just wanted to let you know the details of the event tomorrow.

[Dollface] hey! no no i wasn't doing much. and yes of course

[Sky] Good. Luckily, the event is a local one so travel will not be far. We are promoting a new product so many important figures will be there, so formal outwear is a must for this case. Most importantly, do not be late.

[Dollface] yes i understand Mr Skywalker, what is the address of this place?

[Sky] No need. My driver and I will pick you up at eight o'clock sharp.

A relieved sigh left my lips, having some form of knowledge on the event slightly eased my nerves or perhaps it was the fact I got to speak to him. You shake your head, you shouldn't be feeling this way towards a man who only is there to pay you essentially.

Now you had a major task up your sleeve, try and find something fancy enough. Oh God. You thought, this is going to be difficult seen as your wardrobe was made up of tiny skirts and dresses. You had always preferred clothes that revealed your figure, not really finding the problem in lengths. Though you were determined not to disappoint the man, and rushed to find something that will be acceptable enough.

Twenty minutes. That is how long you had before Mr Skywalker picks you up. You had managed to find a dress that you had long tucked away, a dress you mother had gifted you on your eighteen birthday, saying how you were finally a lady and should dress like one. You remember rolling your eyes at her, never understanding why she found your style to be such a big deal.

Glancing up at the mirror, a big smile crossed your face. The long black gown hugged your figure in every right place, a flower pattern embroidered in the material, paired with some black heels. It was quite see through which did cause a slight doubt in your head but you pushed it away, it surely wouldn't be that much of a problem. Typically, you would have your hair straightened but for tonight you had put it in nice curls, your make up enhancing your docile features even more.

You could only hope he also thought you looked pretty. Cursing yourself for once again thinking about him so much but at this point you could not stop your little mind.

A knock was heard from the downstairs, it must be him. You quickly rushed downstairs, not faring to be a second late. Opening the door it felt like your breath was knocked out of you. There he stood towering over you, his dark blonde curls perfectly styled. A giddy feeling had crept in at the fact you were unintentionally matching, him in a full black suit.

He raised his eyebrow once his eyes had landed on you. Giving you a look over, "You look different." Was all he said before turning around and walking to the car parked in front of us. Your lip quivered, what did he even mean by that. Glancing down at yourself, you thought you looked pretty okay, yes it was very far from your usual style. Approaching the car you tried your hardest not to let out a sob, you didn't want to cry in front of him, he wouldn't understand your sensitive side, you thought.

The atmosphere inside the car was thick, you tightened your arms around yourself. Not a single word had been spoken between you, you felt so uncomfortable. So much so you almost were tempted to stop the car and run as far away from him as possible.

A shake to your shoulder made you jump from your thoughts, arrived already? "We are here. Now remember we are here as a couple so try to be on your best behavior." he says before leaving the car. Getting out the car the slight breeze hit your legs, you should have brought a jacket with you.

You felt someones hand touch yours, you jolted at the touch as you saw he had intertwined your hands together. Your doe like eyes peered up at him, forgetting for a minute at the reason behind such intimate action. He only gave you a tight smile before leading the way towards the building, you could only hope your poor heart won't give up on you.

Entering the massive hall you were surrounded by what you could only assume other rich people. Instantly, a lady had come offering drinks you both had declined her. You were not prepared to get drunk in front of all these people, knowing your self your ass would act out. You were a very emotional drunk.

"Here comes Mr Windu, he is my main opponent at the minute. Always challenging my role, that idiot.." he rambled on, you listened quietly finding it slightly cute at the tiny frown that appeared on his face.

"Just don't say anything got it." you nodded in response, you were unsure what type of man Mr Windu was, you had heard of his role in the state wanting to take Mr Skywalker's position from what you heard on the radio.

"Well well, what do we have here. Mr Skywalker it is a pleasure to see you. Have come all prepared as per usual." the older man grinned as his eyes never left Mr Skywalkers's. You gulped at the intense eye contact between the two. Only for Windu's eyes to glance down at me, your eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights.

His dark eyes looked you up and down, "Oh and what a delight do we have here. I don't think I have seen you here before. Last I seen it was the beautiful Mrs Amidala"

A twinge of pain crossed your chest for a second, you almost forgot about his wife, or ex wife you could say.

"There is no longer a Mrs, Mr windu. If you have forgotten I had divorced my wife long time ago" Mr Skywalker's voice was strained, you could tell he did not want to be speaking about his ex wife with the man right now.

"And this is my new Lady, if you could excuse us now," he tried to walk away but was stopped by the grip Windu had on my wrist,.

"Now now, there is no reason for such a rush leave. I only wanted to learn the name of this gorgeous being, Skywalker. Does she not speak for herself, hm." he questioned as his hold never left my wrist. You winced at the harsh hold, "It's Y/n" you whimpered in response.

Dropping your arm he smirked, "It was nice meeting you Y/n, and of course you too Mr Skywalker." Watching him walk away, a huge sigh left your body you didn't even realize you were holding your breath.

Turning your head sideways, Mr Skywalker was already staring at you. Blushing at the long stare he was giving you, you looked down at your shoes biting your lip. You felt a gentle tug at your chin, raising you to look at him. Glancing at his eyes, you could see concern?

"Are you alright dollface? He should not have dared to put his hands on you like that. No man should. Are you hurt?" his questions made your head dizzy. The unexpected concern for you made you feel something inside. Giving him a slight node, "I'm okay Mr Skywalker, thank you. I just didn't expect it is all."

"Please use Anakin, dollface. It is easier to say and I feel so old when people use my last name so often." he chuckled, reaching for your hand again he held tit so gently this time, giving it a small squeeze as he led the way towards the bar.

You couldn't help but grin at the affection he was suddenly giving you, the cold attitude from earlier fully wiped away. It almost gave you a whiplash. "Would you like something to drink, dollface?" he asked as he ordered himself a whiskey. "Maybe just a coke, please."

"Not a drinker huh?" he questioned, taking a seat to your left on the high stools. "Not really, I just hate how I get when I get drunk. So rather just not cause a scene." you gave him a nervous laugh, playing with the ends of your hair to distract yourself from the piercing eyes that belonged to such a handsome man.

"Oh? And what would that be, dollface?" he raised his eyebrow, eyes never leaving me. The use of the nickname made you gush inside, loving how it sounded coming from him. You debated whether you should answer him but the affections side he shown you made you feel comfortable enough for some reason.

"I-I just get very emotional.. I'm just sensitive when it comes to things I guess. Or well more so than others, my mother always told me I need to grow out of it. But that is the thing its just who I am. I can't change something like that" you rambled on, in that moment it felt almost right.

He hums, "You shouldn't feel like you need to change for anyone, dollface. I'm being serious you know, you need to embrace yourself for who you are whichever way that is." The way he spoke to you was so soft and nothing like before, you almost didn't recognize the man facing you.

"Thank you, Anakin I really do appreciate that." you gave him a big smile in return. His hand reached out and brushed a piece of hair from my face, tucking it behind your ear, you didn't even notice the gap that began to close as his face neared yours.

"Now what do we have here." A stern voice spoke out.

let me know what you guys think!:) and what you may wanna see in future series 👀 also let me know if you wanna be in the tag list!

tag list:

@cl0esblogg @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack

#anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfiction #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagines #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker #darth vader #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker drabble #anakin skywalker masterlist #star wars

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scoonsalicious · 1 day

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6.3 Bucky

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lily McIntyre, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language.

Word Count: 500

Previously On...: Lily tricked Bucky into going on a picnic date; they made plans for a "friend date" for later that evening.

A/N: Sorry this is late- I tried something new with the texts, but it took too long, so I don't know if I'll do it again, lol. Reminder: My break is starting today, so there will be no new updates until Thursday, May 23rd. I'm hoping to get a ton of writing done, but I won't leave you hanging for content, I promise!

If you ever feel so inclined to support my work, hop on over to buy me a coffee; it's much appreciated! <3

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

He was really hoping his plans with Lily would take his mind off of his fuckup with Major. He must have thought about calling her about seventy five thousand times, but each time he picked up his phone to dial her number, he saw her shrug in his mind’s eye when he asked if he could call her later. Lily may have been wrong about the reasoning, but what if she had been right about the gist of it– If Major really wanted him to call her, wouldn’t she have said so? It was driving Bucky crazy.

So, he agreed to a night out with Lily as a distraction. After their impromptu picnic, he’d walked her back to her car and they’d set back off to the Compound, where Bucky napped and took a shower. He was just deciding what to wear to dinner in a few hours when a text came through on his phone. He almost did a double take when he saw it was from Major.

Sugar: Can we talk?

Bucky’s heart sped up at the sight of her words. She wanted to talk. This was good, right?

Bucky bit his lip. Lily would understand if he had to cancel, right? He’d explained to her how much he liked Major, how upset he was when he thought he’d blown it with her. She’d get why it was so important for him to meet with Major tonight. They could do a raincheck on their friend-date.

Okay, she was putting the ball in his court. Bucky wracked his brain, trying to come up with an idea that would be spontaneous, but also romantic, so he could show her that he was serious about her, about making this thing between them work. An idea struck him suddenly, and though it wasn’t very original of him, all things considered, it was perfect. Absolutely perfect. He was just going to need a few hours to get everything ready. Glancing at his phone, he realized he needed to get in gear; he didn’t have a lot of time, and there were things to do.

>> DROPPED A PIN

>> Meet me here at 7:30pm.

A few hours later, Bucky was doing his final set up preparations. He checked his phone– Major should be arriving any minute, and if he said he didn’t have butterflies in his stomach, he’d be lying. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone buzzed with an incoming text, but it was just from Lily.

Shit. In his haste to get everything prepared for Major, Bucky had completely forgotten he’d made dinner plans with Lily. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was a long moment before the three dots appeared on his screen, indicating Lily was typing.

Bucky smiled at his phone, not sure why he had been so nervous about telling Lily he was dating Major in the first place.

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

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tangents-within-tangents · 3 days

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Thoughts on Echo as amputee/disability representation

First and foremost, I am not disabled or an amputee and I don’t claim to speak for those communities. What little I do know mostly comes from this youtube channel (@oakwyrm), this post, and other research I’ve done for my writing (and like one amputee I kinda knew in passing). By all means correct me and add to the conversation, I just have some thoughts I want to share because I haven’t really seen this discussed anywhere

Overview

So Echo is interesting. He is a triple amputee which is pretty rare in media. His disabilities come from extremely traumatic circumstances: injured in a near-death experience, imprisoned and dehumanized as an experiment with no autonomy over what happened to his body.

There are a few moments in the shows where Echo is treated… questionably. Like this bit where Rex uses him as an example of the Separatists' evils to convince the locals to fight back:

To be fair, yeah Echo’s treatment does prove that the Techno Union is not neutral like they claim. The modifications that everyone is gasping in horror at here obviously weren’t made with comfort and accessibility in mind, nor with Echo’s consent. But you still just want to be sure that “They took away his freedom, his humanity, they tried to turn him into a machine” is about using him as a living computer, not the fact that he is missing limbs.

The Batch is also pretty insensitive toward him and his trauma imo, which is weird considering they've supposedly also faced discrimination for their mutations

Disabled people do have to deal with stuff like this in this day and age so I guess it can speak to those experiences. I think especially him being mistaken as a droid (and Hunter going along with it (bruh)) might resonate with some people.

Aside from that stuff, Echo isn't really treated any differently as a character/person which is really good (as low of a bar as that is).

We get this moment in CW where Echo contemplates that yeah things are gonna be different now

While also (imo at least) showing that he is still the same person regardless, evidenced by the fact that he just echoed Rex :,) I also think it's significant that he joins the Bad Batch on his own terms and we're given a really emotional scene to specifically show that he's not just like 'lumped in with the other misfits' but that it is his choice to go where he feels his place is.

A lot of people, myself included, are disappointed that TBB didn't have more time to explore Echo's PTSD, but I think the one panic attack scene we did get is really good. Even thought it's minor it at least is an appropriate reaction from a guy who was medically tortured (which is more than I've come to expect from Star Wars shows lol)

And it's really sweet to see Omega showing Echo some empathy and consideration.

It would have been nice to see more of his adjustment period, and other side effects like chronic pain and maintenance, but there’s a lot of daily life stuff the show never had time for (i.e. we don’t know if he removed his prosthetics to sleep, but we also never saw him sleep anyway). His disabilities might take on a background role (much like the character himself sadly) but for the most part they aren’t invisible or erased, nor do they define his character and arc.

Physical Appearance

Okay this one is bit dicey, bc on the one hand, yes complaints that Echo’s paleness (caused by burns from the explosion or chemical burns from the cryo-chamber) is whitewashing are totally valid. But I also think you can draw comparisons to real life conditions that affect pigmentation/complexion (like you know burns). So while I understand why a lot of fanart will depict him with his original skin tone and with hair, consider that there are real people who have to live with temporary or permanent changes to their appearance, and the idea of “fixing" him by making him look more like his old self can be problematic.

It's also interesting to note that Echo could act as a reversal of the 'disabled/disfigured = evil' trope. He's pale and bald and wears black and red, which is so often visually associated with villains, but we all know Echo is the bestest boy™

The Headpiece

Echo’s headpiece is interesting because within the show we don’t actually ever learn much about it (idk if there is more info in books or whatever bc i don’t have them so?). He didn’t have it in CW so we know it didn’t come from the Techno Union and therefore Echo probably had more choice with it. We don’t know its exact purpose but it’s most likely related to his scomping abilities. When he is hacking with his scomp in CW, before he has his headpiece, it’s clearly very mentally straining:

We don’t see him struggling like this in TBB once he does have it (though that could be bc he got more used to it over time). There doesn't seem to be much of an impact when he removes his headpiece in s3 ep14-15, except that he gets stuck in the ports every time he uses his scomp which is not something we’ve seen before:

There might not be an exact real-world equivalent, but the headpiece is some kind of accessibility aid. It means that someone specifically designed a device to help him adapt to the changes the Techno Union made, as well as a helmet that integrates it. It’s removable and visually very present, much like a cochlear implant would be. (A lot of people actually headcanon it to act partially as a hearing aid, since it makes sense that Echo’s hearing would have been damaged in the explosion, but there’s isn't really any indication of this in canon.) The headpiece is never really acknowledged in the show, but I think that's a good thing. It's something he needs/wants and it just exists, completely normalized, and that's pretty cool 👍

Legs

Sigh... So from the very first episode of TBB I was really disappointed that the animation team or whoever completely visually erased Echo’s prosthetic legs (I think we all were, honestly, if fanart is anything to go by). It’s one thing when he’s in armor because he would probably want to protect his prosthetics, but we literally see him in his blacks and there is no indication whatsoever that he lost his legs even though it was not left up for debate at all in CW:

Like ??????!?

This is just really strange to me! Idk what went on behind the scenes with this decision but I don’t really see why it would be that much harder to animate or anything since it’s 3D and they've done it before. We do see some pretty sophisticated cybernetic technology in Star Wars canon that mimics real limbs:

But Luke’s fancy hand is technically 20ish years from now, so Anakin and Maul are more of a representation of what level we could expect here

So yeah, for no apparent reason, his leg amputation is effectively, visually and narratively nonexistent. Which is not great 👎

Arm!

The scomp on the other hand (uh lol!) is the complete opposite and I kinda love it!

At first I, like many others, thought it was a bit odd that they didn’t give Echo a prosthetic arm. Losing hands is basically a Star Wars tradition at this point, so robotic arms/hands are well established within the worldbuilding:

We aren’t necessarily given a canon reason for why Echo doesn't get a cybernetic arm (again unless it's in some lore book I haven’t read, sorry). General fanon explanations I’ve seen are that he either couldn’t because the Techno Union wired the scomp too far into his nervous system, and/or the resources to give him one were deemed too expensive for a clone (what about his legs tho?), or that he chose not to, usually because he thought the scomping was useful.

Regardless, I actually really love this choice (and it's the whole reason I made this post), because here's the thing: There’s a lot of problematic tropes out there that either erase/cure disabilities or compensate them with perks (like how pretty much any blind character is actually not blind by some sort of magic power). With amputees that is done with robotic arms. The character is still an amputee or course, and there is still value in that representation, if this story from Mark Hamill that makes me tear up is anything to go by:

but for the most part these characters function like anyone else, just with a limb that looks a little different. It’s no more than a video game skin, an able-bodied actor with a green screen glove. It “cures” the disability, or it actually makes the character even stronger than usual:

It usually makes sense within the world of the story, but the reason it’s not so great in my opinion is that in the real world we just do not have technology anywhere close to that yet. Prosthetics can more or less replace any mobility from lost legs, but not for all the complexities of a hand (and even if they could the average person wouldn’t be able to afford it).

I think it's actually really super cool that Echo’s scomp bypasses the canonically-established amputee erasure and functions much like a stump would irl. He integrates it into his movements and everyday life and it’s (as far as I know) a lot closer to an everyday amputee’s experience.

It doesn’t define his character, it doesn’t hold him back, he lives a full life, the other’s don’t treat him any differently, and he’s still a total karking badass

The only additional thing is that he sometimes uses it as a weapon (which given his story, I think it’s cool to see him taking back autonomy in a way, and we only see that like twice)

And also the scomping, which could be seen as the 'added/compensating superpower' trope. But narratively it's no different than if he was plugging in with a hacking gadget of some kind (he didn't necessarily "need" to lose his arm for it) and it’s not like Echo is completely defined by this skill. Personally, I think it's well worth the positives of him actually having a visible and realistically impactful amputation.

I see a lot of posts or comments out there that say stuff like “how come Echo doesn’t get a hand?” or fanworks that do give him one and I just think it’s a bit of a shame. If he did get a robotic hand, it just would have disappeared the same way his legs and Anakin’s arm did (aside from that one time he got yoinked by a magnet). When Echo did “get a hand” in the last two episodes there were comments like “yay he finally got a hand! but it doesn’t even work” but I was actually so relieved that it didn’t! Bc for one thing that wouldn’t make any sense, he grabbed it off a droid, it wasn’t designed to implement with his scomp, that would be really complicated. But more importantly because it again refused to erase/cure his disability! It functioned like a real-world cosmetic prosthetic (useless beyond appearance) which is exactly what he needed it for, so that he could blend in better with his disguise.

And he continually took it off throughout the episode and ditched it at the end. He only used it for the necessity of a stealth mission, he doesn’t feel the need to visually “fit in” in his daily life.

And, last but very much not least, he made a dad joke and from my intel that is very accurate representation!

TLDR: Echo’s scomp is actually really cool from an amputee representation perspective, especially within Star Wars, and I think that deserves some appreciation

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comradekatara · 2 days

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Hi! Sorry if this has been asked before/you’ve answered this before, but I’m curious what you think of how Sokka acts just… overall.

To me, he’s always read as being someone who’s emotionally repressed, and doesn’t quite know how to deal with his emotions and blames himself for a lot, and micromanages as a way to try and overcompensate for things in his past that have been out of his control. (And he’s definitely a prodigy. I don’t think that, especially after the massacre, the southern water tribe would have many scrolls to read on, so it’s my personal hc to believe he taught himself physics lmao. But even without that, definitely a prodigy.) Who is, unfortunately, doomed by the narrative. But he’s still a loving guy, and very protective over his family.

But I’d love to see how someone else sees it! He’s one of my favorites ever lmao.

sorry for leaving this ask to fester in my inbox for over a month (hastily shoves away the asks i’ve been sitting on for multiple years) but at the time I had received a bunch of asks about sokka’s tormented psyche in quick succession, and I was trying to get through those first before approaching this broader, more open-ended question. I mean, obviously you could always just peruse my sokka tag, because at this point I’ve clocked so many hours analyzing him that it’s actually quite dire, and I’m pretty sure that you already have. but if I was to distill “sokka’s whole deal” into a few key sentences, I would first emphasize that his survivor’s guilt/martyr complex really underscores who he is and how he operates in any given situation in a crucial way.

I don’t think any of what you said in this ask is remotely incorrect, for the record, but focalizing the formative traumas that defined him: his mother’s sacrifice, and his father then passing that mantle onto him (in fairness, not deliberately on hakoda’s part, but when kya sets such a blatant precedent for what it means to “protect your sister,” it’s hard not to internalize that logic). he feels personally responsible and implicated in every single thing that could go wrong, because unlike katara, who (very understandably) gets angry when bad things happen and are done to her, sokka gets guilty. he was never able to process his grief in a remotely healthy way, so he has internalized that his singular role above all else is to die so that others may live, without ever actually acknowledging that this mentality is a byproduct of his trauma (because, like you said, he is absurdly repressed), and he feels guilty every time he is unable to prevent anything bad that happens to anyone he cares about, whether it’s remotely his fault or not.

he wants control over every situation because he feels responsible and thus guilty no matter what happens. not only is control the one thing he has, but he’s even more controlling when leaving his tribe because unlike with his grandmother, whom he trusts, he does not trust 99% of people on the planet, and is constantly wary of any ulterior motives they may have (which is why it’s a very good thing that all his friends are so sincere it’s almost concerning), or just their sheer stupidity leading them (and him by association) into trouble (in fact I think sokka would far rather ally with a two faced bitch than with an idiot, because at least you can reason with a two faced bitch). as katara rightfully points out (frequently), sokka is a paranoid cynic, but it’s hard not to be a paranoid cynic when the last time you had any shred of hope whatsoever is when you thought the southern raiders were retreating from your village and then you went home to find your mother’s charred corpse in the living room.

moreover, his trauma at the hands of imperialist violence has informed so much of who he is to the point that he genuinely feels that he isn’t, because that’s how throughly he has been dehumanized by the fire nation’s colonial project. it’s not just that he feels worthless, it’s that he feels unpersoned. due to assuming the mantle of protector before he was old enough to form a coherent sense of self, that role became his entire sense of self, and now he feels that he is nothing more than a shield with which he can protect katara (and others, but mainly katara), and can’t detach himself from that role even though it’s unhelpful and unhealthy, because (in his mind, at least) it is truly all he has.

so in summary, he’s a paranoid, miserable, depressed misanthrope who is repressing a fuck ton of grief and trauma to simply get through the day, including the fact that he feels it is his duty to die for his people and his loved ones—especially katara, to the point that he has an unhealthy codependent attachment towards her because he stakes his entire identity to her existence—and has no sense of self beyond his role as provider, protector, and (inevitable) martyr. obviously that’s just what his deal is psychologically, which is different from his personality (cue the, here I was thinking he’s just a fun, silly guy!) but you will also never get anywhere in understanding sokka if you think that he somehow has less trauma than katara, rather than the fact that unlike katara, who is able to process her emotions in an open and healthier way, sokka simply ignores it. but he also does a pretty bad job of hiding it most of the time, because he literally acts like a trapped prey animal in basically every situation once you look past the sarcasm and witticisms that provide his favorite tried and true coping/deflection mechanism. you just have to care enough to look past the surface, which most people don’t, including himself.

#luriuan #asks #sokka #analysis #obviously I have so much more to say but I’m pretty sure I’ll never stop stuffing the sokka + analysis tags with my thoughts so … tbc ..#cptsd fish…. swimming in circles #hes just a nice silly guy who kills people sometimes don’t worry about it

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ming-sik · 3 days

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Please please PLEASE I need to know your thoughts on the characters that got shafted by both the narrative and fanfics. Sylvester. Magdalena. Florencia. Charlotte. Kinda sorta Hannelore (poor girl gets reduced to cutesy cheerleader for Myne to fawn over or smth in fics).

fool that you are, you have unsealed pandora's box and happened upon a topic i have a lot of thoughts about. i haven't read much aob fanfic so this is going to be mostly complaints i have with canon.

the main complication in my thoughts towards charlotte and hannelore is that there's a difference between rozemyne the character and the narrative of ascendance of a bookworm. rozemyne as a character has a LOT of internalized misogyny which compounds with an attraction to women and a disconnection to being a girl herself into the unique maelstrom of her more or less viewing other female characters through how good they are at being a cute girl/how much they like her. this means that while she's very complimentary towards charlotte and hannelore, she's also completely uninterested in them outside of their 1) being cute, 2) liking her, and 3) liking books. when her and wilfried's engagement is first announced she's shocked that charlotte is upset because rozemyne said she would support her because it just didn't occur to her that charlotte might want to aim for the archducal seat. rozemyne puts in a ton of legwork to rescue wilfried and put him back on the path to success, but she doesn't even consider trying to find a solution that allows charlotte the archducal seat without wilfried being ruined. i get that she doesn't want him in the temple initially, but after he improves you really think she would at least try to see if having him serve as the high bishop was an option especially at the dozen or so points in the story where everyone is despairing over the lack of manpower. charlotte is florencia's daughter so she wouldn't jeopardize florencia's position, she's better suited to the role, has no stain on her record, the leisegangs don't actively hate her, and, most importantly, she's the only one who actively shows interest in being the aub! and rozemyne not only doesn't try to help her achieve her dream, she doesn't even take enough of an interest in charlotte to notice it, let alone anything else about her except that she's a cute little sister. in fact, she actively diminishes charlotte's accomplishments and likes feeling superior to her.

the thing is that i have not yet started criticizing the story. rozemyne is allowed to be a deeply flawed character who is sometimes actively cruel to likable characters, but my problem lies with the fact that this cruelty doesn't go anywhere. i genuinely don't think aob realizes that rozemyne is mistreating charlotte or that as it currently stands the ehrenfest archducal family spent like the entire royal academy arc following step by step instructions for Georgine 2. having charlotte just grudgingly accept this because she admires rozemyne and doesn't think she has another option until the engagement gets canceled is, i guess, accurate to ascendance of a bookworm's setting where systemic misogyny means that only evil female characters get pissed off if they're screwed over, but that's... bad, both narratively and if you want your stories to treat women like people. i want charlotte to snap! in my rewrite i would give her and sylvester a running conflict where charlotte's mirroring georgine shows that sylvester still doesn't understand why georgine is the way she is and forces him to either reexamine his sexism or deal with the fact that this time he can't wholly blame the monster he created on veronica. i want them to fight! and i want her and rozemyne to fight, i want charlotte to challenge rozemyne's view of her and force rozemyne to choose between reexamining the way she treats cute girls or losing her adoring little sister. the fact that neither of these conflicts happen mean that charlotte as a character really just doesn't get to do anything. they do not let her cook a single time. she's sitting on the bench with the mountain of really interesting character conflicts and story conflicts she could have had as the first sympathetic major female character who is actually trying to become the aub(which i would have additional machinations for in my extensive "what if aob was communist" AU but that's not relevant right now), and instead everyone's like "let's check in on how wilfried's doing, does anyone wanna see wilfried continue to be bad at a job he doesn't even want".

hannelore gets basically the same treatment from rozemyne, and similarly my problem is basically that hannelore has no problem with this. her being a cute petite shy girl despite being from the ditter duchy is at best an interesting starting point for a character, but aob has decided to explore systemic misogyny in feudalism by reducing the majority of its female characters to props who really only exist in relation to their male family members(or rozemyne), which, again, i find boring! i just think it's very convenient how despite rozemyne saying over and over how aggressive dunkelfelger women are, the only active dunkelfelgerian female character for the majority of the story is really meek and quiet. genuinely i would almost entirely write out lestilaut and give the majority of his stuff to hannelore since he's mainly acting on what he thinks hannelore wants anyway. in my mind hannelore's first major character action is to challenge rozemyne to ditter for the ownership of schwartz and weiss, rozemyne takes her lightly because she's a cute girl, and then nearly gets crushed until she pulls out the lord of evil strats before collapsing, after which point hannelore freaks out and it's revealed that she's not an antagonist, she just thought the shumils were cute and wanted to be their owner, at which point rozemyne invites her to join the library committee. in general dunkelfelger having less of a sharp gender divide than ehrenfest because both men and women are expected to be muscleheads is like the most gimme way to actually show cultural differences between duchies and actually iterate on yurgenschmidt's society allegedly prioritizing skill and mana over gender(and this keeps almost being implemented only for aob to never really go anywhere with it). rozemyne keeps trying to fit hannelore into the box of a cute feminine girl by her standards which provides friction between them because hannelore IS a cute feminine girl by dunkelfelger standards. she doesn't have to actively fight with rozemyne over this the way i want charlotte to, but i really wish she had more of a presence in the story and also EVERYONE in dunkelfelger thinking that rozemyne loves ditter and the only reason she has to refuse is because of her physical weakness would be so much funnier if the primary source of misunderstanding is that she keeps not realizing she's agreeing to play ditter until it's too late because she's blinded by hannelore's cuteness. everyone else is like "rozemyne you have to stop accepting her challenges rozemyne you're going to lose trade rights to rinsham" and rozemyne is like "i didn't realize a 'summer tea party' was a dunkelfelger womens' euphemism for ditter :(". this is the only rewrite that i think wouldn't require a total overhaul of aob's structure and that fits with the series' overall comedic tone.

florencia has the unfortunate problem that she exists entirely in relation to sylvester and elvira, which means that when the two of them have their interesting edges sanded away her stocks crash through the floor. florencia serves as the bridge between sylvester and the world outside of the eye of veronica's storm, she is simultaneously the only person he fully trusts and someone who felt the full force of veronica's abuse, so you really think that'd go somewhere and that his arc would involve him realizing there's aspects of her that up until now he hasn't been forced to deal with and her arc would exist. instead mostly she's just written as either elvira's bestie or sylvester's handler, to the point that when aob goes all in on child marriage during brunhilde's proposal florencia isn't even in the room. the end of the stick she gets is so short it can only be seen by a microscope. i don't even really understand how you could hate her aside from i guess wanting wilfried's neglect to be her fault? which it isn't! it's, for the most part, sylvester's.

and oh boy sylvester. his squandered potential is unmatched and i will never not be mad about it. what they did to my man is a crime and if it isn't it should be.

like okay firstly i re-read the brother sylvester segment recently and i was NOT imagining it, there's no way in hell sylvester was always meant to only be against pedophilia because he's a wife guy. during his introduction when myne asks if he's going to the orphanage to look for flowers he is specifically upset that someone her age is thinking about that, and counters it by saying that he's skilled enough to find girls in the noble's quarters. the second part is relevant because it means that it's not the wife guy thing, which leaves only the first thing. firstly, his reaction being disgust implies that this is a moral issue for him, and his citing her age specifically makes it clear that's his sticking point, which rules out it being that it's sex outside of wedlock or that he finds temple girls unclean(in fact it also implies that he only wants girls with equal or greater social status to him who can therefore say no). the reason this is interesting to me is that this is very weird in noble society. ferdinand actually spells this out at one point when benno is similarly disgusted by rozemyne being implied to be his lover, where he says that it's a normal age gap in noble society and that it must not be among commoners, which benno doesn't contest, implying that this is true, and it appears to be! from the pairings we see, it seems that overall, commoner marriages are almost all unrelated adults, which makes sense, because most people do that unless systemic forces incentivize them to do something else, and implies that aob is commenting on the fact that pedophilia/incest in historical political marriages were not naturalistic, but instead something that was mandated by the specific way the system of hereditary feudalism works where marriage is a tool to connect political pieces and therefore you can't afford to be picky about how well those pieces match and in fact the power gaps that come with that are often actively useful to prevent bonds from being broken. that's what i meant when i said awhile ago that i was willing to see where aob was taking things! which made it all the more interesting when sylvester showed up and seemed to be showing that this was going to be a conflict that was explored in more detail.

to go all the way back to foundations, my reading of the prior gen archducal family is that sylvester as a character is the way he is primarily due to the fact that the aggressive favoritism veronica raised him with shielded him from a lot of the abuse their system mandates at the cost of harshening the abuse on everyone outside of him, which puts him in a really paradoxical position. on the one hand, he's fervently idealistic and puts almost no importance on his archducal status, so he's basically never intentionally cruel, but he's also ignorant to a lot of issues and is incredibly bad at reading people specifically because nobody whose life he can ruin is able to chew him out for doing that. he understands noble euphemisms, but the level of emotional concealment that everyone under him has to preserve combined with the fact that veronica actively disincentivized him from learning how to read people means that he doesn't realize when he's hurting people, and almost nobody can tell him. sylvester's quiet "sorry for not noticing" when rozemyne tells him that his attempt to cement her position by spreading printing as fast as possible was actually making things worse is probably the most direct the story gets about this.

so sylvester is a good guy! although he's irresponsible and ignorant, when it's actually revealed that he's hurting people he always tries to rectify it, and is clearly willing to sacrifice for the good of other people... but he's also the archduke, which means that regardless of his intentions, he's in control of a lot of peoples' lives, and no mistake he makes is victimless. the way their society works means that his obliviousness has a body count, including his sister.

his relationship with georgine had so much potential. georgine had her life ripped away from her after being severely abused in service of a future she's been cut off due to the existence of a completely innocent and goodhearted kid and is then forced to watch him grow up in bliss, wrecking the lives of everyone around him in the process. this is veronica's fault, obviously, but it wouldn't have felt that way. we unfortunately don't really get to see her perspective on the training she tried to give him(was she really trying to prepare him? was she trying to drag him down to her level? was it both?), but the thing is that they are both entirely justified in hating each other. sylvester was the recipient of an enormous amount of privilege that he wasn't even aware of and that came at the expense of everyone around him. simultaneously, they're not inherently bad people. there's every chance that if they were born in a different world or even as commoners, they would've been completely normal siblings. and yet they weren't, so they aren't. the first time we hear about georgine from his perspective sylvester actually says that he understands that georgine got screwed over when she was married into ahrensbach, but either that also got retconned or he didn't really understand the weight of it because for the rest of the series he just treats her like a flat antagonist. (which i think is because it was added in the LN, so maybe it just wasn't canon in the webnovel?)

i already mentioned him a lot in charlotte's section but yeah mostly i just want to give the man an actual character arc instead of having him just slowly flatten into "goofy wife guy". have his disconnect with noble society go somewhere! instead of having him realize that despite his intentions to raise his kids in the safety bubble he was raised in, the cycle of abuse is inescapable so long as the nobility persists, and instead of deciding "aw dang i guess the cycle of abuse is just inescapable then" have him question if we should have nobles! i genuinely don't get why people say aob isn't preachy. it is, it's just very conservative so its preaching is "the divine right of kings is fine but we should add capitalism" which is the default for medieval fantasy. which is bad. like is it so crazy to have his reaction to learning that there's no inherent difference between nobles and commoners through rozemyne's mere existence followed by the revelation that even orphans can become literate and skilled enough to match nobles be deciding that this distinction is perhaps completely arbitrary? when rozemyne is explaining how widespread lower class literacy revolutionized the world to ferdinand and she's like "oh but here everyone relies on nobles for mana and nobles can just use it to preach about how awesome they are" i thought that was going to be subverted because as a commoner with mana who understands that the devouring means that mana is not inherent to nobles she should know that's as false as the intelligence argument. but then it just wasn't. i will stop that for now though as i'm currently lying to you about not sneaking in an additional rant about how i would make aob communist.

back on topic, as soon as rozemyne joins noble society, aob panics and starts introducing a bunch of reasons why child marriage is actually totally ethical(i guess freida explaining why being a mistress is actually her best case scenario was supposed to be like "oh phew what a relief" and not "well that's horrifying") but because sylvester(and benno who actually gets the exact same thing done to him) has already expressed disgust at this despite having prior experience with it, suddenly it's that sylvester is just a wacky silly weirdo who only wants to be married to florencia because he just loves her that much. although he is obviously in complete agony when he says that if she and wilfried can't put up with each other she'll have to marry him, why is apparently not worth going into. in fact, it'll never be worth going into again! rozemyne will continue being kinda grossed out by huge age gaps and a lot of other characters seem kinda reluctant to marry kids, but this also never goes anywhere and now that sylvester is just a Wife Guy she agrees with everyone saying that he should just take a second wife. fermyne is its own thing(SEPARATE RANT), sylvester only seems to really care about their potential relationship insomuch as it affects their reputations and by p5vol12 he's been reduced to cutesy teasing them about rumors of their love. really though the nail in the coffin on this front was brunhilde's proposal. firstly, sylvester doesn't even really do anything during it! brunhilde initiates it and rozemyne is the primary opponent(with her objections all knocked down easily and treated as ridiculous), sylvester just kind of sits there outside of being upset at the implication that he'd abuse brunhilde, and then he agrees to it and that's that. tbc i do find this morally abhorrent not least because brunhilde turns to the camera and more or less goes "you might have some objections, but let me explain why marrying a teenager is actually a great idea", but then to add insult to injury it's also narratively really weak.

and while i do think that his final scene with georgine where he's begging her to explain why she hates him when he never did anything to her and she's got "the best life a woman can have" is really impactful and i think better than him already knowing why she hates him, it's actually really weird when outside of that he hasn't had any kind of character arc and his realizations that he's been perpetuating a lot of the harm that veronica and noble society have normalized for him are shut down(mainly by ferdinand which ideally would've GONE SOMEWHERE). and then it's dropped again to go back to the boring action climax, pursued by deus ex machina. it really needed to be a turning point in sylvester's arc where he's forced to accept that georgine does not want to reconcile with him and his never needing to understand her motivations is a big part of why. if he's supposed to be a tragic character he can fail to improve, and keep convincing himself that georgine is just a simplistic force of evil who hates him for no reason, but if he is going to improve he needs to figure out why she hates him by putting effort in himself and being willing to accept that he's not a kid being bullied by his big sister anymore, he's an adult who's responsible for his own actions, a lot of which made the situation worse.

to tie things back into charlotte, the lost potential between charlotte and sylvester is staggering because HE'S DOING IT AGAIN!!!! he's doing EXACTLY what veronica did with opposite intentions, in his attempt to keep wilfried from being abused the way he was by making his future secure he ends up neglecting and exposing charlotte to veronica's abuse and then continuing to neglect her. through his inability to understand what his childhood abuse was actually caused by, he ends up abusing and neglecting all of his children, but especially charlotte. this isn't even really explored through wilfried outside of people being frustrated that sylvester is busting his ass trying to keep the incompetent wilfried as the future aub because it's the best way he can see to keep him from suffering despite it actually harming him more which IS interesting but not the way it's implemented, and rozemyne's specific situation means that she generally interacts with him like he's a boss she's on relatively friendly terms with and doesn't view him as or need him to be a parent(which also shields her from basically all of this). but despite charlotte having unquestionably the most fraught relationship with him, aob again just has her put up with this. sylvester is one of the most well fleshed-out and sympathetic abusive characters i've ever seen so it's really frustrating that charlotte, his most affected victim, just gets shoved to the side because if we had to deal with the fact that despite his good intentions sylvester spent the vast majority of the story leaving her out in the rain to focus on his golden children then he'd have to be a textually morally complex character.

although to try and speculate on why things ended up this way, a lot of this is explained by the fact that afaik aob's webnovel was solely from rozemyne's perspective with a lot of the short stories so basically everyone except rozemyne and ferdinand had all their character development patched in for the LN which is probably why nobody except them has any semblance of an arc so because rozemyne as a protagonist is so disinterested in other people, you kinda can't give characters really detailed arcs onscreen because she either zones out or stubbornly tries to keep fitting people into her boxes. it'd be different if the original story had other POVs and therefore characters could do things that she doesn't care about or that it would be weird for her to be present for(like sylvester and charlotte definitely need to clash on their own; it'd mess with the tone a lot if rozemyne had to be sitting awkwardly on the sidelines so the audience could witness it). it is possible to give characters detailed arcs that the unreliable narrator doesn't pick up on and stories with deep worlds tend to have a lot of characters doing things when the narrator isn't looking, but it's REALLY hard to have entire character arcs that the narrator doesn't pick up on work because you run the risk of either not making it so the reader can actually see that's what's happening or you make it so obvious that the unreliable narrator has to be cartoonishly wrong to avoid just being a narrator accurately describing things. i'm told there's a hannelore spinoff which might be more interesting but this series has torched so much of my goodwill towards it that after the main story wraps up i'm putting my foot down and listening to this excellent advice:

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keepingthepeaceinouterspace · 7 months

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#The irony of me being in charge of change management for our reorg #While also being maybe the most upset about my role change #Like yes I have cried about it 4 times in the past week. Yes I am trying to be a team player.#But also yes I am thinking about poking around for new roles because I just #I understand why they thought I would be good in this role #But the reason I declined it 2yrs ago was because I would find it super draining #And I'm remembering exactly why I thought that #Im already exhausted going into the office three days a week like truly #The options to survive in this role feel like I take my boss up on being mostly remote #(which I am only accepting as an option if it can apply to my whole team because #I hate the special treatment)#Or I break up with my bf because I literally cannot come home and have to talk to anyone. I need silence. And to go to bed at a reasonable #So those options suck and I hope things get better #But it's also too early for me to go to my VP (who I think actually is not going to talk to me!)#And tell her I hate this role and this manager #So maybe I'm catastrophizing or maybe I'm going to get my raise and still walk out the door #I just feel like it's shit that they didn't talk to my boss about this move and when she sent them my feedback of me essentially saying #Please don't move me to this role they did anyway.#But they fucked it up because apparently I'm the only one that cares about how things fit together #But!!! The work that involves that in the capacity that I like and am good at is not that!!!#I don't want to talk to a bunch of other teams!!!#Anyways my boss said that the bucket of work I like will be lunch and learns and shit #And I had to push back hard on that because lunch and learns????#I want to do org effectiveness work. Not talk to people generally about what we could be doing #But won't because no one has time to implement new shit #Like if it doesn't come from the VP down and have everyone attached it is USELESS #ugh ok I'm going to go get my free taco lunch and try to focus on what needs to get done short term #This has been a rant #Carolyn has a job

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shadowedvales · 1 month

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so… in the additional media of stranger things (specifically the comics i’m mentioning), it was initially brenner’s idea/plan to kill off the other test subjects because they weren’t performing as well as eleven was. it was his best solution because that way, all the resources, time, and money could instead be placed only to her. and i just…. sure henry is a fine character and the massacre makes a lot of sense to me, but i think i am once again gonna change up my canon to actually fit this potential narrative instead.

i genuinely think the comic canon of the lab and brenner is far more intriguing than the show. everything with 9/9.5, ricky, and francine. eleven being the only one who grew up completely in the lab. those other kids were either volunteers, well into their teens, or had some semblance of a home life. eleven was the only one practically moulded from the womb. and they all had such a range of interesting powers. i firmly stand with the idea that jane is the only one who can contact the void.

brenner’s entire point of view on the lab subjects changed the second he found out terry was pregnant. he discovered he could steal this baby and make her his own. there would be no convincing the child because it’s all she would have ever known. because of this, i would not put it past a man like brenner to kill the other subjects for the sake of the “greater good” in this case, eleven.

eleven’s gifts just continue thriving beyond his wildest expectations. brenner would never dare assume that having moulded her from the womb, she would still be able to grow into her own person, her own mind, and one day be able to see him for exactly who he was.

back before season four aired, it was obvious there were other test subjects because jane was 011. so there were at least ten kids before her. but i always liked the idea/assumed that she was the last experiment because she was the most successful. that they didn’t need anyone after her because she was fulfilling everything they set out for her to do. with flying colours.

i just think the whole rainbow room idea, pitting the kids against each other thing… been there, done that. boring and predictable. i think at this point my portrayal of her time in hawkins lab really stems from the complete isolation she endured. where having the rainbow room, although eleven was obviously the most isolated out of the kids, brings that sense of community and sister/brotherhood. albeit extremely warped and toxic. knowing that she wasn’t alone in that experience just. doesn’t sit well with me. i think it’s important to note that she was alone, physically and mentally. which is why kali is also so important to her growth. i thought a lot of the flashbacks of her time in the lab during season four was really boring, repetitive, and just very predictable. although peter becoming vecna was a surprise to me, and was a nice little twist, the idea of her having an ally on the inside was really interesting.

maybe they did get as far as they do in canon, peter ballad was telling the truth about everything, about some of the workers there being prisoners like him, and he really wanted to get her out and to safety. but before they can escape through the pipes, they’re caught. peter is shot on the spot, and eleven is put into the isolation room for a few days as punishment. in this timeline, henry would be vecna, but henry would not be peter ballad.

when eleven turned seven, and was already showing extreme promise, where the other children were average at best, brenner had the eight children killed. kali had already escaped. this was the main cause for peter to gain eleven’s trust and try to get her out. because if brenner could murder his “children” in cold blood, there’s no way eleven was safe even in spite of her power.

when eleven is allowed out of the isolation room, her testing becomes more rigorous in attempt to distance and make her forget about what she attempted to do with peter. brenner begins gaslighting her, saying that there was never a peter, that she must have been dreaming. eleven does ask “papa” about “mama”, given peter told her of the day terry broke in the lab, but brenner is convincing enough to make eleven believe it was all in her head. say she is around eight years old, meaning the same timeline of season fours canon flashbacks.

i still do wanna keep the henry creel canon, and keep him as 001. brenner didn’t have him killed alongside the other test subjects, because who knows, one day he could become an even better asset than 011. brenner definitely wants to be able to control henry, but keeps the chip in him because, for the moment, doesn’t know how. killing him would be too big of a loss.

when eleven is ten years old, henry’s concealed powers break free and he manages to get the chip out himself, and unleashes hell onto hawkins lab. he almost kills brenner by snapping his bones, but eleven manages to stop him. her extreme abilities are unleashed, and she sends henry to the upside down. she does fall into a coma due to the extremity of the situation, but she does not forget what happened. brenner believes she’s the perfect weapon as she stepped in to save him without a second thought, was able to defeat henry, and opened a door to something he never thought possible. eleven is rewarded for her efforts. although she remembers the entire battle / confrontation, her memories regarding the portal are very hazy.

brenner decides not to focus on the portal straight away, instead gets her training harder and harder to see what else she can accomplish. also loved the idea of brenner sending her into the void to “look for him” so that will definitely be kept.

by the time she escapes and season one begins, her knowledge of the upside down is basically what we see in canon. because she passed out the moment after she sent henry away, she was once again gaslighted into believing she merely threw him through the glass and killed him. for two years she believed this, until making contact with the demogorgan, and those memories return completely.

due to her saving brenner’s life, (it was pure instinct. she happened to be there. saw her “papa” hurt and knew she had to make him better.) brenner constantly thanks her. but in a very condescending way. tells her: “you saved me so i can continue saving you.” aka, harness your abilities and see what else i can achieve from you. despite the fact that she saved his life, these words and phrases make her feel indebted to him. that she owes him something further.

i don't realistically see her thriving with her speech improvement until she's well into her twenties at least. her slowed development, sensory and social deprivation causes a serious delay in language. surrounded by other children she would have overheard conversations, some would have spoken to her. her conveniently forgetting her upbringing pre the battle with henry just isn't good enough for me anymore. it makes more sense for her to have been raised alone.

it also helps indicate why she gravitated towards the boys when they found her in the woods. they would have been the first people her age she ever remembered seeing. as far as she knew, during the lab there was no one like her. everyone was much older, they were adults-- although she stayed with benny, i'm not sure if she would have stuck around very long. where she followed the boys home without thought.

also it's important to note that after time, jane does understand that peter ballad was a real person, and was truly the first person (aside from terry) who wanted the best for her. when she remembers him, knows that brenner was lying, she deals with immense guilt regarding his death. he was shot right in front of her eyes, because he was trying to help her. this is another catalyst as to why after season two, jane never refers to brenner as papa. she does not give him that sort of credit.

#study‚ in my dreams it's all real and my heart has so much to reveal.#THINKING THOUGHTS. i have had this concept in mind for a while but i THINK i’ve fleshed it out properly now.#will write this up properly one day (never).#although henry offering eleven a place at his side wouldn’t be canon #he would definitely still look at her as an enemy for basically stopping his revenge.#AND the whole speech between he and jane never sat right with me.#saying brenner made him what he was / that it wasnt his fault etc. Like. No? henry was a sociopath. he killed his family.#brenner didn’t do anything to make him who he is. so jane always saw him for exactly what he was #and there’s absolutely no sympathy there.#and then regarding my season four canon as her regaining her powers by remembering the massacre/the fight. i am changing that to her #regaining her powers by simply confronting her past. understanding what she went through. finding ways to cope with it physically and #mentally. getting coping mechanisms from her therapist. seeking help. not needing to know WHY this happened to her (because there is not.#and will never be a reason.) but finding ways to accept it and move on. how to move on from eleven and become janessa ives.#also just because in this case henry doesn’t massacre a bunch of kids? It doesn’t make him any less evil. in this instance i am following #the idea that some of the workers were prisoners there in hawkins lab. and henry killed a bunch of the workers. so would definitely have #killed some innocent people.#just because i am separating peter from henry. does NOT mean i am excusing anything from henry/vecna.#in this case they are two completely different people. although i highkey wanna use jcb as peter because he just did the role SO WELL and #was SO BELIEVABLE i’m not sure about it yet. because i don’t want anyone to get the impression that i’m making excuses for henry.#BUT YES.#this be the new canon. <3 #idc brenner is such a good fuckin villain he’s disgusting but so intriguing.

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crescendo-system · 2 years

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Gonna be honest, I get why Simply Plural has an 'age' field technically, but being asked for an Age, as well as System Role and System Relationship(???? Whatever the fuck that means) that could theoretically be publicly seen really strikes us as kindaaaaaaa not a good idea tbh?

Plus the fact you can answer super personal stuff like that but can't customize a field for something Actually Interesting and Not Invasive, like favorite music or hobbies, seems like super weird priorities. That's probably just us though 🤷‍♀️

#ramblingonandon #sys.txt #kirika.txt #man the shrug emoji but kirika would be good and im totally not biased. why? bc her sleeves would be good for emphasizing the shape #also this is a thought we've collectively had for Ages but I felt like saying something about it #we just leave the system fields blank and put generic 'kid/teen/adult' in the age field tbh djfjdjfjdjf #none of us understand what system relationship means though....#bc like role is its own category #is it like. asking if you're ok with the system as a whole? if you're friends w someone in the system or know other alters?#does it want to know if the system collectively hates your guts if youre a persecutor or something???? what does it all mean #(not using examples from experience but fsr thats always where our brain goes when trying to sort this one out lol)#kirika.doc

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argeriant18 · 1 year

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Is it just me or does Rinne just have a punchable/slappable face?

#thoughts #hahahaha #argeraint #games #enstars #ensemble stars #rinne amagi #crazy:b #like i get it he does have good looks and i would understand if i actually fell for him #BUT i feel like the urge to punch his face would outweigh the love hahahaha #he has now joined the rank of weirdos that i would probably befriend and probably become a bad influence to me hahahaha #also maybe he just makes me think of one of my friends who is also very tall and seems very punchable hahaha #i also feel like if i was really there i'd play cards with him i'd probably lose but i would probably not care #i would also freaking make him as like my role model for some reason but i probably don't know why hahaha

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joycrispy · 9 months

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Awhile ago @ouidamforeman made this post:

This shot through my brain like a chain of firecrackers, so, without derailing the original post, I have some THOUGHTS to add about why this concept is not only hilarious (because it is), but also...

It. It kind of fucks. Severely.

And in a delightfully Pratchett-y way, I'd dare to suggest.

I'll explain:

As inferred above, both Crowley AND Aziraphale have canonical Biblical counterparts. Not by name, no, but by function.

Crowley, of course, is the serpent of Eden.

(note on the serpent of Eden: In Genesis 3:1-15, at least, the serpent is not identified as anything other than a serpent, albeit one that can talk. Later, it will be variously interpreted as a traitorous agent of Hell, as a demon, as a guise of Satan himself, etc. In Good Omens --as a slinky ginger who walks funny)

Lesser known, at least so far as I can tell, is the flaming sword. It, too, appears in Genesis 3, in the very last line:

"So he drove out the man; and placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword which turned every way, to keep the way of the tree of life." --Genesis 3:24, KJV

Thanks to translation ambiguity, there is some debate concerning the nature of the flaming sword --is it a divine weapon given unto one of the Cherubim (if so, why only one)? Or is it an independent entity, which takes the form of a sword (as other angelic beings take the form of wheels and such)? For our purposes, I don't think the distinction matters. The guard at the gate of Eden, whether an angel wielding the sword or an angel who IS the sword, is Aziraphale.

(note on the flaming sword: in some traditions --Eastern Orthodox, for example-- it is held that upon Christ's death and resurrection, the flaming sword gave up it's post and vanished from Eden for good. By these sensibilities, the removal of the sword signifies the redemption and salvation of man.

...Put a pin in that. We're coming back to it.)

So, we have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword, introduced at the beginning and the end (ha) of the very same chapter of Genesis.

But here's the important bit, the bit that's not immediately obvious, the bit that nonetheless encapsulates one of the central themes, if not THE central theme, of Good Omens:

The Sword was never intended to guard Eden while Adam and Eve were still in it.

Do you understand?

The Sword's function was never to protect them. It doesn't even appear until after they've already fallen. No... it was to usher Adam and Eve from the garden, and then keep them out. It was a threat. It was a punishment.

The flaming sword was given to be used against them.

So. Again. We have our pair. The Serpent and the Sword: the inception and the consequence of original sin, personified. They are the one-two punch that launches mankind from paradise, after Hell lures it to destruction and Heaven condemns it for being destroyed. Which is to say that despite being, supposedly, hereditary enemies on two different sides of a celestial cold war, they are actually unified by one purpose, one pivotal role to play in the Divine Plan: completely fucking humanity over.

That's how it's supposed to go. It is written.

...But, in Good Omens, they're not just the Serpent and the Sword.

They're Crowley and Aziraphale.

(author begins to go insane from emotion under the cut)

In Good Omens, humanity is handed it's salvation (pin!) scarcely half an hour after losing it. Instead of looming over God's empty garden, the sword protects a very sad, very scared and very pregnant girl. And no, not because a blameless martyr suffered and died for the privilege, either.

It was just that she'd had such a bad day. And there were vicious animals out there. And Aziraphale worried she would be cold.

...I need to impress upon you how much this is NOT just a matter of being careless with company property. With this one act of kindness, Aziraphale is undermining the whole entire POINT of the expulsion from Eden. God Herself confronts him about it, and he lies. To God.

And the Serpent--

(Crowley, that is, who wonders what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway; who thinks that maybe he did a GOOD thing when he tempted Eve with the apple; who objects that God is over-reacting to a first offense; who knows what it is to fall but not what it is to be comforted after the fact...)

--just goes ahead and falls in love with him about it.

As for Crowley --I barely need to explain him, right? People have been making the 'didn't the serpent actually do us a solid?' argument for centuries. But if I'm going to quote one of them, it may as well be the one Neil Gaiman wrote ficlet about:

"If the account given in Genesis is really true, ought we not, after all, to thank this serpent? He was the first schoolmaster, the first advocate of learning, the first enemy of ignorance, the first to whisper in human ears the sacred word liberty, the creator of ambition, the author of modesty, of inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of progress and of civilization." --Robert G. Ingersoll

The first to ask questions.

Even beyond flattering literary interpretation, we know that Crowley is, so often, discreetly running damage control on the machinations of Heaven and Hell. When he can get away with it. Occasionally, when he can't (1827).

And Aziraphale loves him for it, too. Loves him back.

And so this romance plays out over millennia, where they fall in love with each other but also the world, because of each other and because of the world. But it begins in Eden. Where, instead of acting as the first Earthly example of Divine/Diabolical collusion and callousness--

(other examples --the flood; the bet with Satan; the back channels; the exchange of Holy Water and Hellfire; and on and on...)

--they refuse. Without even necessarily knowing they're doing it, they just refuse. Refuse to trivialize human life, and refuse to hate each other.

To write a story about the Serpent and the Sword falling in love is to write a story about transgression.

Not just in the sense that they are a demon and an angel, and it's ~forbidden. That's part of it, yeah, but the greater part of it is that they are THIS demon and angel, in particular. From The Real Bible's Book of Genesis, in the chapter where man falls.

It's the sort of thing you write and laugh. And then you look at it. And you think. And then you frown, and you sit up a little straighter. And you think.

And then you keep writing.

And what emerges hits you like a goddamn truck.

(...A lot of Pratchett reads that way. I believe Gaiman when he says Pratchett would have been happy with the romance, by the way. I really really do).

It's a story about transgression, about love as transgression. They break the rules by loving each other, by loving creation, and by rejecting the hatred and hypocrisy that would have triangulated them as a unified blow against humanity, before humanity had even really got started. And yeah, hell, it's a queer romance too, just to really drive the point home (oh, that!!! THAT!!!)

...I could spend a long time wildly gesturing at this and never be satisfied. Instead of watching me do that (I'll spare you), please look at this gif:

I love this shot so much.

Look at Eve and Crowley moving, at the same time in the same direction, towards their respective wielders of the flaming sword. Adam reaches out and takes her hand; Aziraphale reaches out and covers him with a wing.

You know what a shot like that establishes? Likeness. Commonality. Kinship.

"Our side" was never just Crowley and Aziraphale. Crowley says as much at the end of season 1 ("--all of us against all of them."). From the beginning, "our side" was Crowley, Aziraphale, and every single human being. Lately that's around 8 billion, but once upon a time it was just two other people. Another couple. The primeval mother and father.

But Adam and Eve die, eventually. Humanity grows without them. It's Crowley and Aziraphale who remain, and who protect it. Who...oversee it's upbringing.

Godfathers. Sort of.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #I have no idea if I've made a coherent point here but I'm tired of this being in my drafts; RAW FEELINGS IT IS #it's about being sent to destroy and instead staying to love and protect and nurture I'M CRAZY I'M CRAZY RAAAAAAAGGHHHH #gnu terry pratchett

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bucketofpaint · 5 months

Text

Danny is Damian's clone.

He's well aware of it. He wasn't just any clone. He was the very first. That was the difference between Danny and other clones. He was made before the League started using brainwashing and stuff into their cloning process.

When Danny was fresh out of the tube, the League had sat him down and explained his the purpose of his existence, gave him some intense training, and immediately tossed him out into the world.

But the thing was, he just didn't care. He had absolutely no loyalty to his creators, and he had no desire to kill/kidnap his original. So he just started walking. The next thing he knew, he was at some orphanage in Illinois.

And then the rest was history. He got adopted by a pair of enthusiastic scientists and their red-head daughter, got his own name, and he could finally start living his own life.

Danny had put the past behind him and had barely even thought about it at all for a long time. That was unill his original showed up at his school.

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

Damien was annoyed. He was stuck at some random Illinois town (supposed to be the most haunted place in the world, which was a bunch of ludicrous.) On a transfer program. He tried convincing Father how illogical it would be, but Father had told him it would be good for him to meet new people.

___

Danny was annoyed.

"I don't understand what the big deal about him is anyways," Danny complained.

"He started being the ceo of Wayne Enterprise when he was a teenager." Sam countered.

"Ok, so, nepotism."

Sam rolled her eyes. "I still don't understand why you're so against him."

"One, billionaire. Two, Tucker is way cooler than Tim Drake.

Sam's eyes soften. " Tucker is just gone for a few weeks."

Danny's cheeks felt warm. "I never said anything about that. I just want Tucker to find a cooler role model, is all.

Sam gave him an all-knowing look. "Well, if you say so. I'm going to get in line."

Sam, all ways waited last to get in the lunch line. Claiming she didn't want to hold up line when the lunch ladies had to get the vegetarian option. Which was fine, but now that Tucker was doing the dumb transfer student program, all he could do was eat his mediocre lunch and mindlessly play on his phone.

Untill someone grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the cafeteria into the hallway. Danny turned around to face the person. He froze at the sight of his own face. Or well, a glaring rich kid version.

"Oh, it's you." Danny said nonchalant, even though he was screaming inside.

"You're not going to play dumb, clone?"

"No, why would I, The resemblance is uncanny.

"What are you doing here?" His original demanded

"You dragged me here."

His original scowled. "You know what I mean, clone. I won't hesitate to end you."

"Just trying to go to school, honest."

Original glared at him, scanning him with his eyes. The grip on Danny's arm loosened. " I'll be watching you, clone."

" Whatever you say, template."

Danny walked back to the cafeteria, blocking out the yells of rage behind him.

___

It was about a week of Damian watching his clone, and he was confused. At first, he thought the league sent the clone to trade places with him before he went back to Gotham, but now he wasn't sure. The Clone seemed to fit in the community to well to have show up recently, but that didn't disprove the theory entirely. It could be a long-term plan from the League. They could be responsible for putting the transfer program in place in the first place.

The other theory was that the clone escaped and made a life for himself, but that didn't explain how he got past his programming.

After the last period, Damian found his clone and pulled him aside.

"What do you want?" His clone asked, irritated.

"You're different then other clones, explain."

"I don't know. I didn't really stick around very long to find out."

"What about your programming?"

"I didn't have any?"

Damian thought about it before giving a small nod. "You don't seem to be a threat, but I'll still keep my eye on you, clone."

"I've got a name, you know." He held out his hand. "Danny Fenton, nice to make your acquaintance."

Damian heistently shook his hand. "Damian Wayne."

That started their unsaid agreement. You don't mess with me, I don’t mess with you. They interacted with each other sometimes, but not very offen. They were impartial to one another, and both sides weren't very keen on getting to know each other. And that was their relationship till the day Damian was leaving.

Damian was waiting for the bus when Danny approached him.

"What do you want, Daniel?"

"I told not to call me that, but uh, here." Danny handed a piece of paper to him. "It's my phone number if you ever need help from the League or anything."

Damian slipped the paper into his pocket. "Give me your phone." Danny handed over his phone, and Damian started typing.

"What are you doing?" Danny asked.

"I'm putting my number in. If you ever require assistance."

Danny smiled, "Thanks."

____

A few months later.

Tim was peeking over a corner.

"What are you doing?" Dick asked.

Tim didn't say anything and just waved him over. He walked over and stared in aw at what he saw. Damian was slouched on the couch, his hair messy, playing on his phone.

A few minutes later, Jason joined.

"Am I hallucinating?" Tim whispered.

"Nah, I don't think so... unless we're all hallucinating." Jason whispered back.

"Do you think he has brain damage or been possessed or something?" Tim asked.

Dick shook his head. "That seems unlikely."

"This is so trippy. I've never seen him wear anything that casually like ever.

"What are you imbeciles doing?"

"We're watching Damian."

All three of them froze and turned to look at a glaring Damian.

Damian walked past them and went right up to the second Damian.

"Daniel, what are you doing here?"

The causal Damian 'Daniel' pulled out a letter. "Your pops invited me, and I didn’t want to risk the chance of batman showing up at my front door."

Damian scoffed, "Of course, Father found out."

Alfred walked in. "Master Daniel, I'll be taking you to Master Bruce."

The double got up and went to Alfred.

"Cookie, Master Daniel?"

"Sure, and call me danny."

#dp x dc #dc x dp #danny is a clone

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sunniques · 25 days

Text

— 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 ?

➺ PAIRING: lee heeseung x female reader

➺ GENRE: stepbrother au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: the story of how your stepbrother’s girlfriend realizes her boyfriend has never really been hers.

➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infidelity, possessiveness, heeseung can lift reader, cucking kink, voyeurism, masturbation (f), oral sex (f), fingering, face sitting, unprotected sex, creampies

➺ WC: 4.6k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read.

A lot of people find your relationship with your stepbrother cute. How could they not? He’s always so doting and protective like a real brother would be. In spite of being only slightly older, Heeseung takes on a very important role in your life. He constantly goes out of his way to take care of you, making sure you have anything you could possibly need.

Heeseung’s girlfriend never thought too much about the relationship between you two. It was natural that he took the naive college freshman under his wing and constantly had you by his side. Mina found it endearing, actually. The way he worried about you like a mother hen who wasn’t ready for her young chick to go into the world alone is adorable and a good sign. After dating so many inconsiderate losers, she thinks she’s finally chosen the right guy.

But somewhere along the way, Mina starts to grow tired of it. Time has gone by, and you’re no longer a naive freshman who can’t get around without her boyfriend’s help. Of course family is important, but it’s not like you’re entirely helpless. And yet, that’s exactly the way Heeseung acts. He’s always ready to drop everything when you need him. On several humiliating occasions, he’s even left her half naked on his bed just to go to you because you bought something you couldn’t figure out how to put together, or because you wanted to hang out with him.

It’s hard for Mina to admit that she’s a little jealous. Especially because it all seems so ridiculous. There’s no way her boyfriend actually wants you like that. But as time goes on, she thinks that maybe she’s not all that crazy. Especially with the affectionate way her boyfriend looks at you. Despite all this, Mina doesn’t say anything. At least, not until Heeseung starts to bring you along to what were meant to be dates.

“Babe, why do you keep bringing your stepsister? i thought we were going on a date?” It’s hard for her to not sound bitter and annoyed.

“Her roommate is going to visit her parents, and I don’t want Y/N to be alone.” His tone is kind and gentle like always, but it’s also firm and leaves no room for arguments.

What’s worse is that Mina can’t bring herself to hate or blame you. In a way, she understands why her boyfriend is always so concerned about you. You’re so nice and trusting that it would be way too easy for someone to take advantage of that. There’s also the fact that you’ve been more than willing to let them have some alone time, but Heeseung never lets you leave.

It’s all so strange and frustrating that Mina feels like she has to take matters into her own hands. So she does.

The key to Heeseung letting you go is getting you a boyfriend—or at least getting you to start dating. It’s easy enough to find a guy who’s interested in you. That’s never been a problem for you, and all it takes is her showing your picture to the cute guy in her communications class for her plan to fall into place. As luck would have it, you’re also into meeting the guy and going out with him.

Little did Mina know, setting you up with him would be a mistake that would cost her everything.

On the night you’re meant to meet up with her classmate, Mina excitedly goes to her boyfriend’s apartment. It’s been a long time since she got to be alone with Heeseung, and she was going to make the most of it.

She’s dressed in tiny tank top and a cute little skirt that Heeseung loves—it barely hides the lingerie she’s wearing underneath. Mina quietly lets herself into her boyfriend’s apartment using her spare key. Quietly, she tiptoes to his room only to find the door wide open. What she doesn’t expect is to find you sitting on his the edge of bed while Heeseung kneels in front of you.

Mina feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on her as his pretty hands rub your soft thighs. You look incredible, clad in a cute little dress with your makeup and hair done to perfection. It’s a mistake for Mina to keep watching, but she can’t find her voice at the moment.

“Seungie, what’s wrong?”

God, Mina hates that you call him that. Mostly because she can tell how much Heeseung likes it.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going out to meet some guy?” Heeseung sounds almost venomous, but it’s like you don’t hear it. “Who is he? How’d you meet him?”

You tilt your head, pretty lips pulled down in a confused frown. “Didn’t Mina tell you? She set me up with a guy from her class. He’s really cute!”

A chill goes down Mina’s spine. She can see Heeseung’s back tense when you tell him how your date came to be. The air feels almost murderous as he gently squeezes your thighs.

It kills Heeseung that he was almost too late in stopping you from meeting some strange guy in the pretty little dress you have on. He softly rubs your thighs, eyes simmering with anger and desire he doesn’t care to hide. Not anymore.

“Oh, angel.” Your stepbrother murmurs, hands slowly trailing up to your thighs. “You know you’re my favorite girl, right?”

An unsuspecting smile graces your lips. “Yeah. And you’re my favorite guy.”

Heeseung hums in satisfaction as his fingers ghost the edges of your dress. He watches your eyebrows furrow, but you don’t say anything. As always, you have blind trust in your stepbrother. That’s all the indication he needs to get up and push you down on his bed. Heeseung hovers over you, loving how you’re staring up at him with sparkling, wide eyes. He swoops down to capture your lips in a searing kiss.

Your heart is racing in your chest as Heeseung forces his tongue into your mouth. Despite the initial shock, you quickly melt into the kiss. He swallows your moans, pulling you closer as he deepens the messy kiss. You mewl into his mouth, carding your fingers through his hair with desire you had never realized you had for him.

Meanwhile, Mina can only watch as her boyfriend kisses you with a passion that he clearly never felt for her. It feels like her heart is ripping in half as Heeseung begins to undress you. Tears well up in her eyes when he groans at the sight of the lingerie adorning your body. Mina can see how hard he is from where she’s standing, and the desire in his eyes is very different from the way he looks at her.

“Can’t believe you got all pretty for some other boy.” Heeseung spits as he starts to undress. “Were planning on letting him fuck you?”

You shake your head and go to speak, but you can’t when Heeseung roughly pulls off your lingerie then his own underwear. His cock is thick and big, possibly the biggest you’ve ever seen. It’s twitching and leaking as he looks at you with his dark eyes.

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whine as Heeseung shoves your thighs to your stomach and licks a broad stripe up your wet pussy.

Your stepbrother groans at your sweet taste, thrusting his tongue into your dripping hole. He laps up the juices leaking out of your slit, circling his tongue on your clit for good measure. The noise you let out is downright pornographic and pure music to Heeseung’s ears.

“Seungie!” You keen as you spread your legs and tangle your hands in his messy hair. “I– Fuck!”

Heeseung pulls back with a wet slurp to spread your cunt open with his big hands. “God. You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, angel. Just had to taste it.”

Each one of his words is like a dagger to Mina’s heart and confidence. Wet tears trickle down her face, but she doesn’t say anything as you pull on her boyfriend’s hair. Heeseung only moans and dives back into your slick cunt. He greedily laps up everything that drips out of you, sucking and kissing your clit.

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Hee.” You repeat through a needy mewl, making no attempt to stop him. In fact, you buck your pussy into his mouth as he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“Shh, angel.” Heeseung shushes as he flicks his tongue across your swollen bud. “Just relax and let me eat you out. Been wanting to do this for so long.”

Mina swallows thickly, the hurt slowly being replaced by something else. Her eyes grow bigger when she realizes which feeling is taking over. She shifts slightly, feeling a familiar wetness begin to pool in her panties. Mina feels sick that the sight of her boyfriend cheating on her can turn her on, and she thinks that she should leave right now and never return.

But she stays.

Mina licks her lips and continues to watch. Even she can’t help but think how hot you look, whimpering and writhing as Heeseung pushes your thighs apart so he can bury his face deeper in your pussy. He flicks his tongue, slowly descending until he’s lapping at your hole, slowly fucking the wet muscle in and out. Your eyes roll back as your stepbrother eats your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

The sounds coming from your pussy and the way Heeseung messily eats you out has Mina’s own cunt clenching with need. She can feel her underwear start to stick to her cunt as she watches her boyfriend lap up your arousal like a starved man. Mina bites her lip, feeling sick and twisted for being turned on by your pretty moans.

Heeseung suddenly pulls away, but not before he slaps your thigh playfully. He goes to lay on his back all while wearing a filthy smirk. “Sit on my face.”

You bite your lip as a hot flash of arousal pulses through your body. Both your and Mina’s cunts throb at the suggestion. Heeseung sees your hesitation, but doesn’t back down.

“C’mon, baby. Be a good little stepsister and ride my fucking face.” He growls out with dark eyes.

With your pussy dripping, you crawl over to him and kneel over his face. Mina watches with heated eyes as you slowly lower your cunt on her boyfriend’s face. The heat in her stomach grows when she hears Heeseung groan in satisfaction.

“That’s it. I want your pretty pussy suffocating me.”

With that, your stepbrother grabs your hips and pulls your cunt down onto his face with a groan. Mewling quietly, you rub your cunt all over his mouth. Every time he moans or grunts, it sends little vibrations through your pussy. The delicious feeling has you grinding down on his tongue as you chase that feeling. Heeseung eagerly fucks his wet muscle into your hot cunt, already addicted to your sweet taste.

Mina swallows thickly when he sees Heeseung thrusting into the air as he eats you out. His cock is leaking and throbbing with need. Fuck. How she’d like to go and lick all that up, to have him fuck her mouth as he fucks you with his tongue. Mina rubs her thighs to soothe the growing ache in her pussy as she watches you ride Heeseung’s face.

Your eyes roll back when your stepbrother slaps your ass. A loud squeal spills from your lips as Heeseung keeps fucking his tongue up into your cunt. He grabs your ass and kneads it roughly. With one last groan and flick of his tongue, he sits up and takes you with him. The effortless display of strength turns both women on, one containing her moan while the other cries out as she’s pressed back into the mattress.

“Such a sweet little cunt.” Heeseung moans as he buries his face back into your dripping cunt. “Shit, Y/N. You’re fucking soaked down here.”

“Heeseung!” You cry out as he pries your thighs further apart. Your stepbrother shakes his head to grind his tongue against your sensitive cunt.

“Fuck, you have the hottest little pussy.” Heeseung lifts his head with a groan, lips shiny with your arousal. “Missed eating some good pussy. It’s been so long.”

Mina feels pathetic that her cunt throbs at his degrading words. She bites her lip, hands trailing up her thigh and to her soaked underwear. It’s so filthy and humiliating, but the ache in her pussy is getting to be too much. She slowly rubs circles on her covered cunt as she keeps watching her boyfriend cheat on her.

“Fuck, Seungie.” You mewl desperately. “S-Shouldn’t like having your face buried in my cunt.”

Heeseung smirks into your wetness. He gently circles his tongue on your clit, kissing it tenderly before he gently starts to nip at it with his teeth. Mina shoves her panties aside when you moan out in pleasure. Now she’s furiously rubbing at her bare pussy, wanting to see you cum on her boyfriend’s face.

“But you do, baby. You like me fucking you with my tongue, and I fucking love eating this sweet little pussy.”

Your hips buck up at the words, grinding your cunt against his mouth as you moan for him. Juices drip out of you lewdly, leaking down to your ass and onto Heeseung’s sheets. Your head is swimming with pleasure, and you have to remember that this is all so very wrong.

“You like that?” Heeseung teases you, loving how you’ve turned into putty in his hands. “Answer me, Y/N. Do you like your stepbrother telling you how much he loves tasting your juicy cunt?”

Your back arches when Heeseung sucks your puffy bud into his mouth. “God—yes! Feels so fucking good, Hee! Love having your mouth on my pussy.”

Heeseung growls, the vibrations making your cunt throb as he sucks and licks your swollen clit. Eager to have you cum on his tongue, he slips two fingers into your fluttering hole. Mina follows in suit, unable to take her eyes off the erotic sight of you getting ate out and fingered. Fuck. This was better than any porn she had ever watched. Her hand is dripping with her own arousal, and she can’t even feel disgusted anymore that she’s so turned on by the entire situation.

“Mmmh, shit, Hee.” You whine as the tips of his fingers brush against the gummy spot inside you. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Do it, baby. Cream all over my tongue.” He purrs in delight. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

Heeseung flattens his tongue on your clit while his fingers grind into the spongy spot in your cunt. Your back arches off the bed, orgasm whiting out your thoughts as you cum around his long fingers.

Mina has to cover her mouth as Heeseung moans along with you. By now she’s shoved her fingers into her sopping pussy, the squelching sound is drowned out from the sounds coming from your own pussy. The filthy sight is driving her wild, and she’s so delirious with arousal that she wishes Heeseung would just fuck you already.

“You’re amazing, angel.” Your stepbrother praises with his fingers still buried knuckle deep in your pussy as he softly strokes your velvety walls. “So soft and wet. It makes me want to shove my dick into your tight little hole.”

Heeseung slowly pulls his fingers out of you, and you can only watched with a lidded gaze as he moves his body between your thighs. His cock is twitching and leaking as he grabs the base. He smacks his cock down on your slippery pussy, dragging his drooling tip up and down your slit slowly. Mina has to press her hand into her mouth harder to stifle her filthy moans. The sight of her boyfriend pressing his drooling cockhead into your soaking pussy is so hot she might just cum all over her fingers.

“S-Seungie—fuck. We shouldn’t.” You whimper as he leans forward and braces his arms by your head.

You and Mina both know you don’t really mean your words. It’s clear that you want your stepbrother to split you open on his big cock. That becomes obvious when you don’t try to stop him as he shoves his cock into your pussy until he bottoms out completely, balls pressing against your ass. Shuddering with pleasure, you scratch your nails up his arms as you sink into the bed.

“Pretty pussy was meant to take my cock.” Heeseung growls, already drunk on the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his dick. “Fuck. I know it’s wrong, baby, but I just couldn’t help myself. Your hot little cunt was just begging for my dick. Doesn’t it feel all nice and full having your pussy stuffed with your stepbrother’s big cock?"

Mina starts fucking herself harder when you nod desperately. Your hands go to tangle in his hair as you grind your hips up to meet his thrusts. “Yes! Fuck! Love my stepbrother’s cock stretching me open! Feels so fucking good, Hee!”

Mina knows better than anyone how good you must feel. Although, she imagines you feel must better than she ever did because from the way Heeseung’s fucking you, she can tell he’s doing it with much more enthusiasm and passion. Even his moans are more guttural and full of more pleasure than she’d ever heard. They’re deep as he pulls out until just his tip is spearing you open. Then, he pushes forward, thrusting his cock deep into your fluttering walls.

“That’s it. Tell me how good it feels.” Heeseung leans down, lips brushing against yours. “Don’t be shy, angel. Let me know how much you like this cock fucking you.”

You gasp wantonly and pull him down further to press your lips together. He groans and licks into your mouth easily, tongue slipping past your lips as his cock thrusts deep into your hot, wet cunt. Your hips buck up to meet his, loving how his dick rams into your sweet spot over and over until your sight is painted with pretty little stars.

“Fucking love it, Hee.” You moan between sloppy kisses. “God—I love your cock!”

The coil in Mina’s stomach is close to snapping. By now, her juices are dripping down to her wrist. Luckily, the lewd squelching and sound of skin slapping together drown out any noise she’s making. Heeseung is fucking you so hard and good that she can smell the musky scent of sex from where she’s standing. The erotic aroma turns her on even more, pussy clamping down on her fingers in desperate need of release.

“Tight little pussy feels so good.” Heeseung moans out between the quick pecks he’s giving you. “God, I love you, Y/N. So fucking much.”

Your heart races as Mina’s breaks all over again. It hurts, but somehow that just turns her on even more. She keeps fingering herself as tears pool in her eyes.

With a low moan, your pussy clamps down on Heeseung’s dick tightly as you go to eagerly kiss him. A soft I love you, too goes unnoticed by Mina, but not by your stepbrother. He groans into your mouth, cock throbbing inside you.

“Mmmh.” Heeseung hums against your lips before he trails wet kisses down your neck. “I love my gorgeous girl. That’s why this feels so good. Even your tight little pussy knows how much I love you.”

His gorgeous girl? Mina thinks deliriously, orgasm dangerously close. It’s something he never referred to her as.

You cry out loudly when Heeseung bites your neck and sucks the skin into his mouth. His hips rock against yours, balls smacking against your ass as his pelvis grinds down on your swollen clit.

“Seungie!” You whine in ecstasy. “I’m getting close.”

Your stepbrother doesn’t let up. In fact, his thrusts seem to get faster and rougher. His cock pistons in and out of your cunt, creating sloppy wet sounds as you get even wetter. His eyes are dark as he pulls back to look at you, all pretty squirming and trembling on his cock.

“Cum for me, baby. Cover my cock with your sweet cream so I can fill you up.” Heeseung pants. “Cum on my cock, angel.”

His teeth sink into your neck again, and it pushes you over the edge. Your hot cunt throbs as you squeeze down on his cock. Somehow your pussy only gets tighter and tighter as you get fucked through your orgasm. You tighten your legs around his waist until he can barely pull out, rutting his cock in short shallow thrusts as your climax starts to taper off.

“So fucking tight.” Heeseung hisses by your ear. “Shit, baby. Get ready. I’m about to creampie your cute little pussy. Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

With a strangled grunt, he buries his cock to the hilt and shoots his load deep inside your fluttering walls while your pussy softly milks him for every drop of his hot cum. Mina reaches her own climax when she sees her boyfriend cumming inside you. She has to stifle her moans as she trembles and shakes outside the room that’s filled with the smell and sounds of hot sex.

“You’re taking it so well, angel.” Heeseung kisses your jaw tenderly as his fat tip spurts rope after rope of his thick cum into your clenching heat. “Milking my cock like I knew you would.”

He grinds his hips down, cock pulsing as he finishes stuffing you full of his hot, sticky load. Your stepbrother fucks his cum inside a bit more before reluctantly pulling out. Heeseung’s cock throbs as he watches his seed drip from your messy pussy.

He licks his lips, heated gaze never leaving your body. “Let’s do it again.”

You don’t try to protest as your manhandles into a different position. Mina is still coming down from her high when she realizes her boyfriend is still hard and about to fuck you again. She knows she shouldn’t feel excited or aroused by the fact, but she does. Especially when your face is shoved into one of Heeseung’s pillows just before his big cock rails back into your needy pussy.

Heeseung starts fucking you so hard his headboard slams into the wall repeatedly. The harsh sound pairs well with the plop plop plop sound coming from your cunt.

“God, Y/N. You’re so fucking good for me.” Heeseung groans when you clench down on him.

You moan loudly, bouncing yourself back on his cock. “Fu-Fuck, Seungie. This is wrong. We s-shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know.” Your stepbrother smacks your ass, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “It’s so dirty baby, but I couldn’t help myself. Had to get my dick wet using your pretty little pussy.”

“Mmmh!” You whine out mindlessly, face turned to the side with your ass raised in the air for Heeseung to fuck deeper into your wet hole. “Feels so fucking good!”

“Yeah, it does.” Heeseung’s laugh sounds almost mean as he speeds up his thrusts to fuck his cock harder into your sopping cunt. “Your cute little pussy is the best I’ve ever had.”

His words shouldn’t please you as much as they do, but those lewd words turn you on so much that you can’t stop your cunt from tightening around him as he keeps spearing into you like an animal in heat. They also shouldn’t turn on Heeseung’s girlfriend but that’s exactly what they do. She isn’t angry, only extremely aroused as your ass bounces back on your stepbrother’s pelvis.

“Fuck!” Heeseung groans, fucking his cock right into your g-spot. “You’re so fucking hot, angel.”

You are. So hot that Mina finds herself wishing she could eat Heeseung’s cum out of your pretty cunt. She just knows you taste good, and mixed with her boyfriend she’s sure you must taste even better.

“Seungie, please!” You cry out, dizzy with arousal.

“Shit.” He growls, slipping a hand underneath your hips to rub fast circles on your clit. “Gonna make you cream on my cock again.”

“Heeseung!” You squeal as he picks up his pace, ramming into your squelching pussy as he rubs soft circles into your swollen clit.

Your stepbrother shoves his cock deep into your cunt and grinds, making you squirm and whine as his dick rubs against the spongy spot in your pussy. Your hands twist in the sheets. He flicks and pinches your puffy clit. God, do you look good, and so does Heeseung. Mina is groping one of her tits while the other hand goes to play with her pussy again. Briefly, she thinks she wouldn’t mind having a video of you two fucking so she can watch it over and over again.

“Hee, I’m gonna cum.” You moan against the pillow.

“Do it, baby.” He encourages you, free hand coming down to slap your ass hard. “Cum all over my cock. Want to feel your hot cunt squeeze me.”

It’s not long before your orgasm hits. You’re screaming into your pillow as your cream coats Heeseung’s big cock. Your pussy clamps rhythmically around his dick. Mina can’t see you, but with the way your toes are curling she can tell your eyes are rolling to the back of your head in pure ecstasy.

“Oh, baby. You feel so fucking good.” Heeseung praises you. His hands move to slap your ass again, making you squeal and tighten again. “Fucking work your little pussy on my cock. Fuck. Need to fill you up again.”

“Want you to stuff me full.” You whine back at him, pussy fluttering at the thought of Heeseung’s cum filling your cunt again.

“Yeah?” Your stepbrother laughs, sounding way too delighted. “Want me to creampie your hot little cunt again?”

“Please!” You whine as Heeseung’s fingers slide over your hip to start working soft circles into your clit again. You writhe back on him, feeling yourself get even wetter at the filthy thought of him shooting his hot load inside you.

“Cum inside me, Hee.” You pant, mewling when his fingers rub your clit even faster. “Want it so bad. Want to feel it.”

“Oh, fuck.” Heeseung groans, hips snapping hard against your ass when he feels how tight you’ve gotten. “You ready, baby? Fucking take it. Take your stepbrother’s cum in your needy little cunt.”

You moan loudly when you feel his hot cum filling your pussy, stuffing you so full it drips out around his cock. Heeseung ruts his spent cock into your sloppy pussy as he pinches your clit, watching as your back arches as a fourth orgasm sweeps through you. You lazily fuck your cunt back into him, loving the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and coating your thighs.

Heeseung pulls out of your warm cunt with a low groan. He’s quick to pull you against his chest and lays you down with him. His face is buried in your hair, eyes closed in bliss as you both try to catch your breaths. You feel his smile in your hair as he cuddles you and murmurs sweet praises against your temple.

Through your drooping eyes, you catch sight of Mina. Her eyes widen when you two make eye contact. You can’t hide your smirk when you see that she was masturbating to the sight of Heeseung fucking you raw. Instead of saying anything, you give her a seductive wink. Mina clenches around her fingers because the wink is full of understanding and promises.

It’s clear that Heeseung was never hers, but maybe you wouldn’t mind sharing.

#heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enhypen smut #enha smut #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enha x reader

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murdockparker · 1 month

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Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say.

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed.

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by.

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise.

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?”

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?”

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion.

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.”

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more.

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct.

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.”

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room.

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it.

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process.

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. ��My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze.

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.”

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal.

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display.

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter.

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door.

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon.

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask.

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say.

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish.

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly.

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered.

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck.

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water.

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face.

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out.

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward.

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed.

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above.

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said.

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—”

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother.

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—”

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?”

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain.

Rain.

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting.

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in.

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise.

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…”

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely.

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—”

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified.

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience.

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this.

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him.

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again.

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while.

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter.

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray.

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have.

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #this is a doozy and i am sorry #but only a little bit!!!

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