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newtabfics · 10 months

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Returned: Rauru x Fem!Reader NSFT Series. Part 4

Summary: Rauru is somehow revived in modern Hyrule and his instincts have gone insane as he realizes he's lost his mate.

Triggers for mild dubcon elements as well as just nsft stuff.

Part 1

The moon glowed overhead, Thadd squinted as he saw a horse with two figures atop it. Sighing in relief, he realized not only was it Y/N’s horse but Y/N was astride it. Behind her though was a strange creature.

He balked and looked at her as she approached. “Y/N, you’re back. It’s so late.”

She smiled sheepishly as the creature behind her gripped her hips firmly. “Sorry about startling ya if I did.”

“You’re not scary,” He chuckled, earning a pouted glare as he glanced at Rauru. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Tired. Met him along the way and he’s going to be staying with me.”

“Congrats! …I think?” He looked at the creature warily.

“I’m fine,” She assured him before dismounting, nodding to the Zonai to do so as well. “Are you really gonna stay up all night again?”

“It’s for our safety! There could be a monster running up at any moment. I might not be able to hunt Lynels for sport like that hero, but I can at least hold the frontline until–Gah!” he choked when he chopped down against the center of his head, wincing and rubbing at the spot. “What was that for?”

“I’m not saying it isn’t admirable. What I am saying is that it’s dumb. How can you hold the front if you can barely hold against a woman half your size,” she teased. He sheepishly looked away as she took hold of her mare’s reigns. “If you happen to see them, could you tell Link and Zelda that I’m back and home?”

“Will do,” he grumbled, rubbing still as she led Rauru into the village. “Ah, Y/N…is he…good?”

“I wouldn’t bring him if he wasn’t,” She assured him, continuing on her way.

Rauru kept his jaw clenched tight, hoping to suppress his instincts. It was bad enough he couldn’t wait until they were home, opting to pounce her right near the gate of Fort Hateno. He smirked, catching the reddened bite mark on the back of her neck as they walked to her home. It was a cozy little place near the edge of town. It was just below the pasture of the village and the horse practically pranced over to her stall before Y/N could remove her gear.

“Head on in. I gotta get her settled before anything else.”

“Alright.”

He studied her for a moment as she worked. She clearly knew what she was doing so he went inside to inspect his mate’s home.

It was comfortable and warm. Not just because of the late summer warmth but because of the appearance. There were scattered books and papers across the living area, almost a trail of papers going up the stairs to the loft room. Other than that it was fairly clean. There appeared to be wilting flowers, though in her defense she’d been out and having met him.

The trip was around six days, so the petal breaking off when his claw barely lifted it made perfect sense. He only wondered if she was overwhelmed by something and began to clean up her scattered papers. He wasn’t sure of her study habits so he instead opted for gathering it all and placing it on the desk for her to go through later on.

As he did this though, he noticed her scent seemed to linger at the desk and made note of the unmade bed. He wondered how many nights she’d put herself to sleep trying to crack whatever code she needed to.

Looking at the studies though, it was very apparent that these were sketches and notes about the ruins around Hyrule, more specifically Zonai ruins.

He blinked as he saw the ancient ruins that were in the southernmost area of Hyrule, Faron. He blinked as he studied the material, even seeing an old ritual outfit he’d seen once before on a Hylian model.

“Interesting,” He hummed, smiling softly as he set it down. He wondered how much he could tell her to help her so she might sleep in her bed at night.

Glancing at the stairs, he decided to check out her sleeping area only to freeze when the door opened.

Y/N was brushing off her hands on her pants and smiled as she began to unbuckle her gear. He was proud of her for wearing the gear to begin with but it didn’t change his worry for her wellbeing.

Watching her shed the armor and roll her shoulder to readjust to the lack of weight made him step forward and gently rub it. He smiled at her content sigh of pleasure from his touch, though it had admittedly gone straight to his cock.

“Really? We just had sex not three hours ago,” She joked, looking up at him.

“How’d you know?”

“You’re pressing against me again, Rauru,” She snickered, making him flush as he realized he indeed was doing just that. He smiled and kissed her head. “Were you really jealous of Thadd?”

He tensed. “I wasn’t. I was just prepared in case he tried anything.”

“Don’t be going after Thadd. He’s a sweet man who tries his best.”

“At falling asleep on duty?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Hateno is a peaceful little place. There are those monsters that occasionally pop up but honestly? We don’t need a guard.”

“Even so, it’s clear he has his own paranoia to work on.”

“Ironic coming from you,” She snickered. He blinked at that. “No one is going to steal me. Besides, I’m not entirely yours yet. Gotta work for it.”

He smirked and rutted roughly against her. “I will happily work for it,” He teased.

She turned and kissed him, cupping him over the clothing. “There’s no need to really hold back now, Your Highness.”

Y/N only felt his length twitch under the clothing before he was on her, laying her out on her dining room table. She giggled when he frantically ripped off her clothing. He stopped, eyes scanning over her and making her skin flush. “What?”

“I want to protect you,” he said gently before moving her legs up and kneeling down. Y/N gulped as she watched him. “I want to protect my mate…I don’t want to fail again.”

Before she could respond, he buried his face into her, making her arch up and moan as she gripped his hair. His tongue was burying itself inside her, as if asking the gods between her legs for forgiveness. He hummed and gripped her thighs, holding her in place.

Y/N whined and gripped his hair tightly, lifting him up as best as she could with the awkward position. His pupils were blown wide as he looked at her almost pitifully. He looked like a starving man being told he can’t eat in her eyes.

“I can protect myself. You don’t need to worry over me, Rauru,” She assured him.

He eyed her as he crawled over her, stripping his pants away. She gulped as she looked at the thing resting on her stomach and twitching. It was hot and hard and throbbing with the need to breed her specifically. The Zonai rutted against her as his lips found her neck.

“I’m going to.”

She smiled, knowing her history lessons, and cupped the back of his head. “Then let me worry over you.”

He hummed and nipped gently in response, as if unhearing of it until she tugged his hair. “I’m worried you’re going to become an animal on me. Actually, I’m turned on by it. So show me your animal side, Rauru.”

He snarled and pushed into her slowly, relishing in the way she simply accepted him inside her, unlike the first time when her body resisted him the slightest. Now, she was taking him, moaning lowly as he stood over her, watching their bodies connect.

Rauru moved slowly, gripping her knees to keep her spread wide as her slick began to cover his shaft with every movement.

Her whine made him shiver, and before she could finish saying “Rauru, please go fast–” he was pumping wildly into her, making her choke and moan loudly. His hips slammed into her aggressively, as if trying to break her more as he pinned her knees to her chest.

The Zonai relished the way she squeezed and soaked him, even squirting as she mewled in pleasure. Her body shook and whined until she was practically howling his name.

“I’ve barely done a thing. Maybe you just love it that much. Love how I break you open and ruin you for anyone else.”

“I-I do!” Y/N whined, shaking on the table as the Zonai continued his attack on her. “I love how it f-feels! Please, more! More, Ra-Rauru!”

He snarled and pulled out, flipping her over so she was bent over the table. With a quick slap to her rear, he was buried into her again and gripping her hips as he thrust.

She only regretted the table when she saw the bruises in her hips the following morning.

xx FINALE

#rauru x fem!reader #returned series #part 4 of 5 #part 4 #rauru totk smut

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ask-de-writer · 22 days

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I WOULD LIKE TO THANK

@wind-the-mama-cat for READING, LIKING

and REBLOGGING

SEE STORY, Part 4 of 5, World of Sea

#@wind-the-mama-cat #SEE STORY #Part 4 of 5 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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cha-melodius · 2 years

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3, 18, and 19 for the weird questions for writers asks!

Finally back for more of these! Heads up this set of answers got long, lol.

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

My writing ritual is cursed because half the time it's just me squeezing in tiny bits of writing at work when I have some time. The other half, I settle in on my couch with a lap blanket and some tunes for an actual writing session That half's not so cursed.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

I tried to think of a passage/scene that actually changed significantly in the writing/editing. Now that I plan things out pretty extensively, I rarely make big changes to plot points during the writing, but I did in chapter 8 of A Good Man Is Hard To Find, in which Loki breaks into the safe at the Russian Embassy and has to wait around for the thief they're trying to catch. Here's part of the passage in question:

If this was a movie, he’d probably finish right as the thief was making his approach, giving him only moments to hide before being discovered. As it is, though, he waits for long enough that he starts to doubt this plan. He waits long enough to get bored, which is exceedingly dangerous, because when he gets bored he sometimes makes questionable choices. At least the files he’s stolen provide a modicum of interesting reading material, but most of them seem to just be shipping manifests and invoices. No doubt there is valuable intel buried in all the numbers, but he certainly can't spot it. He snaps a few photos of the more interesting files, because it feels like something he should do in his shiny new role as a field agent, though it may come to nothing.

This almost set up a pretty significant side plot involving Odin. Loki was going to find a shipping invoice mentioning Odin's company, and when the thief showed up he'd crumple up the paper and shove it in his pocket, but never mention it to anyone. The crumpled up paper would be shoved in a desk and forgotten about for a while before it was rediscovered, perhaps by Mobius. It felt like kind of a dramatic thing to have Loki do, to discover some clue early on and steal this evidence without telling anyone, then later it would turn out to be significant in some way. Plus it would play on the question of whether he feels more loyalty to his family, who he's estranged from, or the CIA, who mostly treated him like shit at this point (excepting Mobius, of course). In the end, though, it was way too much and distracted from the main plot. It was way simpler to keep Odin's company on the up and up, at least in this universe, since there was already so much else going on in the story.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

My writing journey started probably 25 years ago, when I wrote my first fanfics. I don't really remember why I started then; it was still the early days of fandom on the internet, and I think I probably came across some fic posted online and thought why not write some myself? After the show (Xena) ended, though, I never really felt the need to write fic in my subsequent fandoms. Then, about 4 years ago, I started daydreaming a story involving a rarepair and eventually was like... I should write this down, lol. Not to share it with others, really—we're talking a five fics in the tag rarepair here, lol, I had no illusions that many people would read it—but so that I could just get it out of my head and not have to try to remember it. After that I wrote occasionally, but not really in any serious way, and it wasn't really what I would call a hobby.

The funniest part, to me, is that I always thought I didn't like AUs. I wanted to read or write canon setting or bust. But when I finally discovered AUs, it was like opening a whole new world of inspiration. I obviously still write canon setting fics, but AUs have become my bread and butter, and have been my most fulfilling stories to write. Where am I going? I don't know, actually. Right now, nowhere too different. I have a lot of fics to write (and to everyone waiting on a fic or a chapter from me who might be reading this, I'm sorry for the delay, things have been nuts, but they're coming!), and that drive to write is still there. We'll see where it takes me!

And now that I've written a novel about this, lol... thanks for asking!

Weird Writer Asks » My Ask Box

#part 4 of 5 #writer asks #writing #about my writing #about me #lokius #what makes a good man #asks and answers

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magdaclaire · 2 years

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the other end of the line

parts one, two, and three. and once again. heavy discussion of character death.

"Don't go."

She had hardly picked up the phone before the sound of Missouri's voice cracks her right in half, Missouri Moseley closer to begging than Ellen's ever heard her and she doesn't even know what for yet. They're at a hotel right now. She has no idea where Missouri got this number, but she's willing to bet she plucked it straight from the universe itself.

"Baby, I don't-" she starts, confused, but finds herself interrupted.

"Those Winchester boys, Ellen. I know those boys are convincing, but you can't go with them, Ellen Joleen. You and Joanna Beth stay at home and I'll come visit next week, okay?" It's the repetition that gets her more than anything else, hearing her name crack across the speaker more than once making her feel off kilter. Something's wrong. She'd had the dread-cold feeling she usually gets before Missouri calls for days now, so she had assumed by this point that it was just good old fashioned anxiety. Now, she's thinking it might be something bigger.

"Miz, what's this about?" she asks, sitting down on the floor by the landline, curling up with the telephone cradled in her lap. The line of her shoulders is so tense it's rigid against the the frame of the bed she's leaning against,

"Can't you just listen to me, El? Just this once?"

"Not a damn chance, you know I need more than that,"

"I saw something again. I can't- I can't do this, Ellen." Ellen frowns, fingers tapping against the hard casing of the telephone. She took apart one of these when she was in her twenties, curious of what a phone would look like if you cracked it right open. Wires, mostly. If you were wondering. Metal. Shiny bits. She's not so good with machines. Jo gets that all from her Daddy. Ellen taps her fingers on the casing of the telephone.

"Can't do what, Miz? We're just talking. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours. Tell me what you saw," she wants to give Missouri a little nudge, would if they were sitting beside each other, and it's like the ache to touch her never has anywhere to go. It just lives inside of her like the original Alien movie, dangerous and waiting to claw its way out. That's how she felt when she was a kid, really. Now, she's getting to old to be shaking everybody up with what she wants or likes, and she's settled into who she is, really. Except that feeling.

"You and Jo can't go, Ellen. It's not safe," Missouri says, and Ellen snaps back into the conversation like she's been slapped. It's all she can take not to make her next words to Missouri sharp, so she consciously softens her tone.

"It's the end of the world, Missouri Rose," she says, smiling despite herself, "pretty sure nothing's safe out here anymore."

"Ellen," Missouri says her name again and this time it's out as a sob and Ellen wants nothing more than to comfort her, to hold her hands and wrap an arm around her, than to hold her like she's always wanted to. She wraps her fingers around the phone chord and tries to kill the yearning in her to find something to say to her oldest friend, anything for comfort. She's never been much good for it when it comes to comforting Missouri about things Ellen just isn't willing to change.

Bill always told her that her stubbornness would bite her in the ass. He was talking about their daughter, but he'd be glad to know he's right about this too.

"Baby, how am I supposed to leave those boys alone? Let them run into Hell's half acre without any backup? Mary's boys?"

"Goddamn it! We already lost Mary. We already lost Bill. Why do I have to-" Missouri cuts herself off with a heaved sob, pulled away from the receiver where Ellen can hear it, but only barely. Ellen puts away her own emotions on the matter and focuses on Missouri. It's what she's always been best at, focusing on other people.

"I know, Miz. I'm sorry. How bad is it this time?" she asks, that coaxing voice coming back to her right naturally,

"Oh, Elly, it's bad," Missouri says, thick like she can't swallow around the weight of the future on her tongue, and Ellen would kiss her to take that weight out of her mouth. She'd kiss her for just about any reason. She always thought she and Missouri would always have more time, that they would never run out. The sand is looking thin in its stream through the hourglass.

"What can I do?" she asks, action oriented. Lingering on what never happened has never fixed things for anyone. She can only handle now what will. Missouri gives her an unhinged sort of laugh, laughter like she doesn't mean to be laughing at all. Laughter like mourning.

"Short of staying away from those boys all together? I don't know, Ellen. I don't know, and I'm scared." She doesn't know that Missouri has ever told her that straight out, bled her fear over the line so openly that the word was willing to be defined. Ellen's heart wrenches.

"Oh, baby. You gonna have somebody with you when we get off the phone? I don't want you to be alone," she admits, her voice so gentle she feels like it almost does that task of wrapping Missouri in a blanket like she wants to, but Missouri makes a disapproving noise on the other side of the line.

"Ellen Joleen, I know you are not trying to console me through your own death right now,"

"Well, if there's any way I can be prepared, it might as well be this," she says, the joke falling flat as she thinks about every way that she can't be. She and Jo left the Roadhouse months ago. None of the hunters they left keys with are guaranteed to have survived this long.

"She won't be safe either, El," Missouri says, and Ellen knows she's talking about Jo. Her baby. Ellen lets a hot breath out through her teeth.

"I can ask her to stay away, hell, I can even tell her that she might die. But you know how she is. It's like danger itself leads her around by her nose, just like her Daddy, my girl," she says, missing Jo before either of them are even gone, and her baby is only gone to get some takeout. Jo's so much like Bill it hurts to look at her sometimes. Even if she never loved Bill like anybody told her she was supposed to, she still loved him right, she thinks. She loved him as well as either of them ever could have managed. He was her best friend.

"I don't know how you even could make it out. I'm sorry, Ellen,"

"It's okay, Miz. You called and told me. That's all you had to do,"

"I want to do more. I want to help. I feel so- so goddamn helpless! In this house with my visions and you dying bloody on the other side of the country, Ellen, I can't do this without you. How am I supposed to do this?"

"You do not get to stop after I go, you understand me, Missouri Rose? I go and you keep on. Just like I did when Bill passed, just like we did when Mary went. I know this is the most it's ever been. But we always knew this would happen, didn't we? Talked about it when Bill died, didn't we?" she asks, rhetorical and borderline unkind, knowing damn well that Missouri is losing something different by losing her than she did when she lost Bill. Ellen had lost her co-parent, her best friend, the only man she had ever invited into her bed. Missouri will be losing her confidante, the person she calls when the fog in her mind grows too thick, the person at the other end of the line. Ellen doesn't know what she would do if she lost Missouri either.

"This is so much worse than never having known you," Missouri says, a sob breaking through the last of her words. Ellen holds back a sob of her own. Whether she dies today, tomorrow, next week, this is goodbye, isn't it?

"Is it really, baby?" she asks, her barest hint of flirtation always just so easy with Missouri, even when she's holding back tears of her own, forehead against the bed frame. Missouri gives that strangled laugh again.

"No! It isn't. And that's what's so godawful about it, isn't it? Because losing you is about to be the worst thing that's ever happened to me, I think. Ellen, I don't know how to say goodbye to you," Missouri says. Ellen hates that cracked sound to her voice, that quality she takes on when she's so hurt and unsure.

"Then don't say goodbye. How about, I'll see you one day? Eventually, because you better not be following me too soon or we'll have something to talk about before we get to more pleasant conversation."

"El, as much death as I've seen, I don't know that I've ever seen an afterlife," Missouri says, unsure, so damn unsure.

"Believe anyway," she requests, quiet and strange, but sure of herself. Sure enough for both of them.

"What?" Missouri asks. Ellen gets it. It's not like she's ever been much of a woman of faith. For once, just for once, she just wants to believe in something. For herself. For Jo. For Missouri.

"For me," she says, "for whenever you come after me. Believe in an after. Okay? We all know Dean Winchester went to hell. What's there to say there isn't a Heaven for you and me too?" she asks, her eyes closed as she imagines it. She thinks Heaven is a bedroom with Mary and Missouri in it, when she's so young she doesn't know what she's feeling yet but she doesn't think it's wrong either, she thinks Heaven could just be Missouri Moseley. Missouri snorts.

"For you and me, Ellen Joleen? If I didn't know any better, I might think you were sweet on me," Missouri says, almost back to her typical routine of flirting with Ellen until she moves away from anything that might make Missouri actually feel something. Ellen digs her heels in instead of taking the out.

"I wasted enough time in this life pretending I wasn't. I don't wanna pretend in the next one too." Of course now is when she finally feels brave. Halfway beneath her tombstone and you'll find her with a rifle in hand, ready load up against God.

"Ellen-" Missouri starts, but there's a card slid into the door scanner, and an entrance made before Ellen can hear anything else.

"Mom?" Joanna Beth asks, opening the hotel room door with a bag of burgers. Ellen waves from her place between the beds.

"Jo's back, Miz. Come find me, okay? I'll see you one day," she says, her emotions curled back inside of herself now that her and Bill's daughter is in the room. There's nothing here she needs to see. Missouri sniffles on the other end of the line.

"I'll see you one day."

#part 4 of 5 #ellenmissouri #ellen harvelle #missouri moseley #spn #mine #character death #jo harvelle #features briefly #lots of discussion of death in this series / fic #im pretty sure when it goes on ao3 it's all gonna be one fic

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kelenia · 3 months

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Legacy

#hi I’m not dead #I’ve just been gone for. forever #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo part 5 #jojo part 4 #jojo part 6 #golden wind #stone ocean #diamond is unbreakable #jolyne cujoh #giorno giovanna #josuke higashikata #jotaro kujo #dio brando #joseph joestar #my art

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laynore-x · 7 months

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This is what rohan finds on his home security cameras every weekend at 1:00 a.m.

(extra but outside koichi's house)

#jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jjba fanart #jojos #my art #diamond is unbreakable #josuke higashikata #okuyasu nijimura #josuyasu #josuyasu duo #koichi hirose #rohan kishibe #rohan´s dog #jjba part 4 #jjba part 5 #Fun fact: if you look at the jackets of josuke and okuyasu you'll see that they've their symbols on their back #and together it says “josuyasu” in Japanese.#jobros

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janedoe297-art · 7 months

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HELLO???? I'm OBSESSED with their reunion scene 😭💘

((this is also availabe as a print!!))

#and at the end of act 2???#after all that suffering #this???#I'm gonna need 4-5 business days to recover #bg3spoilers #baldursgate3spoilers #dame aylin #night song #isobel thorm #isobel bg3 #bg3 #augh #i want to be isobal so bad ngl #not the crazy dad part but #you know #you still reading the tags?? mwah kiss on the forehead #janedoe297 art

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cozylittleartblog · 1 year

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i now understand how certain people felt when harpy eda was revealed 😳

prints here

#toh #the owl house #toh fanart #lilith clawthorne #hooty #toh finale #watching and dreaming #captioned #WOW. WOOO OW. GOODNESS. MA'AM. QPR PLEASE??? PLEASE??? WOW #i both literally am her and i want to kiss her. Wow!#she is the ideal woman. her particularly early 20th century fashion sense. she's a big nerd. she appreciates history. she's aroace. she's a #bird lady who can fly. she has curly hair. Oh Jeez It Does Not Get Better Than That #sorry anyway i cant believe i won twice in a row with ladies (queen and lilith) who are specifically tailored to me and no one else /j #digital art #illustration #a small victory against my art block even though this took like 4 or 5 days to chip through. but i did it #there are some parts i feel a little clueless about so #critiques welcome #lilith please pick me up and fly my gay ass off into the sunset please im beg

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chloesimaginationthings · 1 year

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The Dios

#myart #chloesimagination #jojo bizarre adventure #jjba fanart #jjba #jodio joestar #giorno giovanna #dio brando #diego brando #jojolands #golden wind #stardust crusaders #steel ball run #JoJo part 9 #JoJo part 5 #jojo part 3 #jojo part 7 #I had to draw all 4 of these dudes #there’s enough of them now to confidently start a band

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murdockparker · 1 month

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Roses and Regrets - Part 1

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Freshly out of mourning, Lady Barlow, née (Y/L/N), makes her re-debut in society. If only she could simply ignore a certain viscount...

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none. enemies to lovers!!

A/N: I didn't expect this lil requested fic to turn into such an event, let alone a multi-part story! so, you're welcome or I'm sorry?

next part

She was perfectly happy.

Well, supposedly right now she wasn’t.

Her husband, Lord Barlow, had passed away ten months ago, leaving her with an empty estate, a shiny title and more money than she knew what to do with. Lord Barlow was an old viscount, desperate for an heir and willing to do anything to get one.

In came Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Young, beautiful and well-bred, she was the perfect choice for any man of the ton. If only her father hadn’t a penchant for gambling. Perhaps she’d be married to a man more suited for her rather than the oaf of a dustbin she was forced to be with. She was no fool in believing in a love match for herself, rare and far between as they were, no, but she did have half a mind to imagine a kinder man as her husband. A man who perhaps cared even a little bit for her wellbeing.

No matter.

A dead man cannot care for her wellbeing either.

“Lady Barlow,” a maid knocked, entering the ornate drawing room.

“Yes?” (Y/N) did not look up from her reading—the newest edition of Whistledown had just been delivered. While she herself was never one to gossip terribly, it was quite fun to keep up with the circus of the season.

“Do you plan on attending the Danbury ball this eve?”

“I do not see the point,” she scoffed playfully, “after all, Meg, I am but a widow in mourning.”

“Perhaps her ladyship should reconsider?” Meg asked gently, placing a new pot of tea next to her lady. “I rather think it has been a socially acceptable amount of time since your husband’s passing.”

“If I am not to enjoy the perks of being a widow,” (Y/N) sighed, finally looking up at her favorite lady’s maid, “whatever is the point?”

“Perks that Viscount Barlow has graciously allowed you to use during your time of mourning—”

“The current viscount is all but twelve,” (Y/N) reminded. “He has no use for this estate in Mayfair until he himself becomes an adult, in which, I am sure he and his mother will come to make use of it. I believe if my maths are correct, that leaves me all of six years or so to use this home.”

“Forgive me my lady, but should you not be looking for a new husband, then?”

(Y/N) smiled at Meg. She enjoyed their friendship, her maid being only a handful of years older than herself, it made for a likely pair. “No one wishes to marry a widow,” she said simply, “widows are damaged goods. Every sensible man of the ton will be wanting a pretty little virgin instead.”

“My lady!”

“What?” She barked a laugh. “You know it to be true.”

“Regardless,” Meg said, clearing her throat. “Lord Barlow passed nearly a year ago, the period of mourning is rightfully over. You are expected to rejoin society.”

“Dreadful.”

“It is expected,” Meg repeated.

“It does not make it any less dreadful,” (Y/N) said. “Very well. Pull a dress and prepare a bath, it seems the ton gets to see my dreary face once again.”

—

Anthony Bridgerton was a man scorned.

Particularly by his own mother in this very instance. How foolish he had been to share his intentions of marriage this season with her—for now she spread the news like a wildfire. Every desperate mama and her equally desperate daughter came flocking to him like bees to honey.

It was only now, in the dark corner of the ballroom, that he found a respite.

“Looking a bit green, Lord Bridgerton,” a voice beside him called out.

“I am not—” Anthony had huffed a reply before even knowing whom he was speaking to. “Lady Barlow.”

“I am shocked you can recall my name,” (Y/N) laughed over her champagne flute. “Considering how many new ones you’ve had thrown at you this eve.”

“You are out of mourning.”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an observation,” Anthony corrected.

“What gave it away? My bright dress? No tear stains left on my cheeks?”

“You are here, out and about,” Anthony said. “And, forgive me for not playing along with your delusions, but I do not think you cried much at all for Lord Barlow’s passing.”

“How dare you assume such a thing,” (Y/N) faux gasped. She had intended on pressing a hand to her chest. Intended, anyway. Somehow she forgot all about the champagne currently residing it her grasp. “Damn… this was a new dress too.”

“Good God,” he laughed. “First you are spilling all over yourself like a child and now you are cursing—tell me, do all married ladies act like you?”

“I am a widow,” (Y/N) had found a cloth and begun dabbing up the spill. It had only dribbled at most, but still, it was a new dress. “I rather think I can act the way I please.”

“Like a drunkard?”

“Like a free woman,” she said, fighting every childish urge to stick her tongue out at the viscount. “I am only here to show my face, prove I am still alive and I shall go about my merry way.”

“Lady Danbury is a widow,” Anthony noted. “Yet she still mingles with society.”

“I am not Lady Danbury.”

“You are not.”

“Do you not have young misses to go and woo?” (Y/N)’s eyes hardened. “Take your pick from the litter, Lord Bridgerton, any of them would be pleased to spend such valuable time with you.”

“Are you insinuating you are not?”

“I rather thought it was a statement, yes,” (Y/N) said.

Anthony’s eyes went only a fraction wider, nostrils flaring. “Well, if that is what you wish—”

“It is not a mean of wishing,” she laughed, “but really a necessity.”

“Good evening, Lady Barlow,” Anthony sneered, smoke practically coming out of his ears. If (Y/N) had half a mind she’d call for the authorities to put that fire out, instead, she simply finished her drink and smiled wistfully at the dancing ballroom, feeling fulfilled.

—

Dearest Gentle Reader,

The season is in full swing thanks to the mark of Lady Agatha Danbury’s ball, a notable and traditional first event of the London scene. Eligible young ladies now on the Marriage Mart were enjoying their first taste at what fine society has to offer, however taxing or daunting it may be.

Our resident Capital ‘R’ Rake, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is finally deciding on a wife, surely making him the finest catch of the season. Matchmaking mamas and their young ladies alike were seen flocking to him like petulant children asking their parents for pin money, thanks to his own mother, Lady Bridgerton’s declaration of such an idea last night. The viscount seemingly had enough of the attention, taking like a wallflower and hiding away in the back of the ballroom near the end of the evening.

His company? None other than Lady Barlow, evidently out of mourning as of last night. While the this Author is under good authority that the match between Lady Barlow and the late Lord Barlow was not a love match, given their fourty or fifty year age difference, it has taken the new dowager viscountess longer than most anticipated for her to get back into the season. A woman as young as Lady Barlow would be eager to find another husband to support her, but something tells me that she is quite enjoying her time as a widow and will not easily give that up.

While this Author has very little idea of the actual nature of the relationship between Lord Bridgerton and Lady Barlow, it is only to be assumed that it is simply not a favorable one. The two were seen making a scene by the refreshment table, a scene that went unnoticed by many prying eyes of the ton, leaving Lord Bridgerton storming away and Lady Barlow with the winning hand.

Good show, Lady Barlow.

Lady Whistledown Society Papers

—

“Brother! You are in Whistledown!” Eloise sang to no one in particular.

“I have no care that I am in that gossip rag,” Anthony ground out, rustling his newspaper. “I can only imagine it is just another advertisement of my search for a wife this season.”

“Er, yes, however—”

“However?” Anthony’s attention immediately shot up to his sister, newspaper be damned.

“Who is Lady Barlow?” Eloise asked.

“No one of importance,” Anthony could feel his temperature rising.

“Lady Barlow?” Benedict laughed. “Is that who you were talking to last night dear Brother? Is she not still in mourning?”

“No.”

“No it is not who you were talking to, or no she is not still in mourning?” Benedict gave his brother an amusing glance.

“Oh, according to Whistledown—”

“Sister—”

“Eloise, you may not recall Lady Barlow, given you only just came out this season,” Benedict began, deciding that this conversation was very much worth his time this morning. “But she used to go by Miss (Y/L/N) before her marriage to the late viscount.”

“(Y/L/N)…” Eloise looked to the ceiling, finding nothing in particular. “Oh! Is she not the woman who—”

“I am taking my leave,” Anthony said abruptly, newspaper all but forgotten.

“Escaping, Brother?” Benedict asked.

“I have calls to make,” Anthony sneered, ignoring the pleased face his brother was making. “Excuse me.”

“It seems Lady Barlow is a touchy subject,” Eloise noted as her eldest brother left the drawing room. Benedict snorted. “What?”

“You do not even know the half of it, dear Sister.”

Anthony Bridgerton, did not in fact, have any calls to make. He had no impressionable interactions last night to warrant such a visit to anyone—the Queen was still in need of naming her diamond, after all—but he had no desire to stay and be berated by his family this morning. He truly had no plan, no thought in his head on where he was going, he just simply was.

Apparently he was going to the park.

It was still early in the day, few people graced the park at such an hour. The few who did, however, were too busy reading the latest Whistledown to even notice him. Anthony saw a handful of post boys running opposite of his direction on his way here, it was only natural they scoped out this location. He knew it was going to be a problem the minute they finished reading—if Lady Whistledown truly wrote about him, which he had no reason to believe his sister was lying about, all eyes would be on him.

“Might as well enjoy the peace and quiet for now,” Anthony exhaled. He took a quick glance at his watch—half past eight. Hardly could he recall a time he took a turn about the park on his own, usually he was in the company of his family or holed away in his study worrying about expenses and the like, never did he take a moment to actually enjoy the grand weather such as the kind today. Determined to enjoy it, he sat down on a favorable bench and watched the birds swim across the pond.

“Unbelievable.”

He turned his head, only to find Lady Barlow dressed in a rather pleasantly pink dress and matching hat, a look of distaste on her face.

“I didn’t take you as the park-going type, Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded, folding her hands. She had been carrying a small red book in one of them. “Especially at such an early hour, too.”

“Lady Barlow,” he nearly sneered. “Can a man not enjoy the park?”

“Oh surely a man can,” (Y/N) agreed. “But you? You are no man.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It seems to me that you’re sitting in my spot,” she ignored his quip, readjusting her stance in annoyance. “This is where I come to read.”

“Can you not read elsewhere?” Anthony asked. “There is an entire park at your disposal.”

“No,” she hummed. “Afraid not.”

“No?” He laughed. “Surely out of the entire park you can find a suitable spot to read your—let me guess—romantically inclined fodder?”

“Poetry,” she corrected, “and no, I cannot simply read elsewhere. The shade is just right under this tree and I rather like overlooking the pond between my chapters.”

“Shame I got here first, then,” Anthony clicked.

“You…!” (Y/N) scoffed, fighting every urge in her body to stomp her foot. “You are an impossible man, surely you know that?”

“I thought you said I was no man?” Anthony’s brow quirked. “Or perhaps I misheard?”

She scowled. “You are not amusing.”

“On the contrary,” Anthony leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms and taking his claim. “I find myself very amusing.”

A duck quacked from the pond, either laughing at the viscount or agreeing with him—it was hard to tell.

“You leave me no choice,” (Y/N) said sternly, taking a seat on the other end of the bench—feeling worlds apart from the man on the far side. In actuality, it couldn’t have been more than two feet, three at most.

“Truly?” Anthony laughed humorlessly. “You cannot be serious.”

“Hush,” (Y/N) said, opening her book in earnest. “I am trying to read.”

While there had been no guns drawn, this was a duel, in every sense of the word. Both parties sitting still as statues, Anthony’s gaze trained on the pond, (Y/N)’s on her book. Occasionally, she’d flip her page to the next, huffing every time Anthony still did not get up and move on.

Stubborn. Both of them.

“Will you be quiet?” Anthony said, growing exasperated. “I cannot think when you are breathing so loud—”

“You wish for me not to breathe?” She shut her book. “I never anticipated you’d wish me dead—”

“Please,” Anthony said. “You know that is not what I mean at all.”

“I never know with you. You, Anthony Bridgerton, are an enigma and I hope I never have the pleasure of truly understanding you,” (Y/N) said, fingers whiting from her grip on her book.

“So you admit it would be pleasurable?”

She wanted to wipe that grin off of his face, how, she was unsure. Idly, she thought about how a good smack to his cheek would feel. Painful in the moment but oh-so wonderful after, cathartic, probably. “I am not getting up.”

“Neither am I.”

“I am willing to die on this bench,” (Y/N) spat.

“Funnily enough,” Anthony’s voice dropped, “so am I.”

“How are you to find your viscountess on this bench?” She asked, angling her body towards the torturous man. “Surely you do not expect her to just walk past?”

“I am sure I can manage,” Anthony said calmly. “Many young ladies will walk this way when they see me sitting here."

“Even with another woman sitting beside you?”

“I rather think they’ll find you easy to ignore, I know I do.”

“Ha! You are truly something else, Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) sat straighter. “Insulting a polite woman in public?”

“You are the furthest thing from polite,” Anthony leaned in. “Rude, ostentatious, quite full of herself—”

“Might I offer you a mirror?” The grip on her book tightened, cover bending from the force. “Or are you afraid you’ll see horns?”

“Oh, do they match yours?” He nearly sang.

“Funny,” she clicked, finally setting her book down, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “You should run a comedy act at the circus, seeing as you are a right clown.”

Anthony stood up, whether by the force of his breath or sheer spite he will never know. “You are the most ridiculous woman I have ever met.”

(Y/N) met his height, now standing as well. “And you are the most irritating man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“I am going to walk this way,” Anthony said, forcefully pointing to his right, eyes not leaving hers. She did have the most remarkable eyes.

“And I will walk this way,” she pointed to her left, less force in her action but seething all the same. “Have the day you deserve, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Why you little…!”

She had already turned and stomped away, a fuming smudge of pink against the greenery of the park, growing further away with every step.

“What a wretched woman,” he mumbled, looking down at his watch again—nine on-the-dot. In the corner of his eye, something bright red caught his attention. Her book. She had left it behind.

Perhaps he would burn it.

Perhaps he would just put it in his pocket and carry about his day.

In the pocket it went. For now.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #enemies to lovers #multi-part fic #reader insert #whoops i didn't expect this request to turn into a multiple part thing but here we are #unsure of how many parts but probably no more than 4-5?#idk

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