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murdockparker · 27 days

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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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illyrian-dreamer · 8 months

Text

Our Girl – Part 4

Azriel x Cassian x fem reader angst

Summary: Deeming you unfit for a mission, the Inner Circle have betrayed your trust and shattered your life’s mission to avenge you sister. And the two males you love most were at the centre of it all.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: Smut [18+, minors DNI]

You stared at the gold invitation, cursive writing announcing Cresseida to be wed in a months time. And there was your name printed, Y/N and partners. You had scoffed when you first saw it – maybe in another life.

You were chewing your lip, lost in thought on whether to attend or not. You knew at the least, Rhys and Feyre would attend the wedding – that meant seeing them. And word would surely spread of your work at Spring Court once you got to chatting to other guests – that would reveal your location.

“Whats bothering you, young spark?” Finbark asked from the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables as a pot of stew boiled behind him. He looked up briefly, spotting the invitation in your hand. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of not attending?”

“I don't want to risk what I have here.”

“Y/N, everything you’ve worked for is already yours. Your home here, your work, even your privacy, no one can take that away from you now, not even a High Lord or Lady.”

“I know, you’re right. It’s just… I've so enjoyed my little bubble away from everything that happened. Seeing them… they made me feel so small Fin, so helpless. I don't know if I can stand going through that again.”

“So much has happened since then. Look at all you’ve done, all you’ve accomplished. Thousands of fae, gods, even the entire damn court is mending thanks to you. You were never small, and you have proven that to yourself over and over again.”

A wobbly smile jerked at your lips, tears pricking in your eyes. He wiped his hands, leaving the vegetables to come cup your face, brushing away your tears.

“You cannot lock yourself in Spring Court forever, sweetheart. Don't punish yourself for their mistakes, expand your horizons, celebrate with friends that are equally yours as they are theirs. And celebrate yourself, you deserve that even more.”

You reached for your uncle’s rippled hand, holding it tight. “Thank you, Finbark. You mean the world to me.”

“And you me, young spark.”

So it was decided. You would attend the wedding, without any partners.

————

“Where are we going?” you called from Podie, Tamlin a few paces ahead on his own horse. He was leading you through a trail you weren't familiar with.

“For the umpteenth time Y/N, it’s a surprise.” He called back without turning his head.

You let out an audible sigh, to which Tamlin chuckled. You did your best not to admire his ass as he straddled a horse – it helped neither of you how handsome Tamlin looked in his riding clothes. You pressed your heels to Podie, coming to trot beside him.

“You should know I hate surprises,” you sang.

“Even the good kind? What a shame,” Tamlin responded, clearly not letting up on where he was taking you. You poked your tongue out, earning another chuckle.

It had been several months since your first dinner with Tamlin, and you had fallen into a comfortable pattern with the High Lord. You enjoyed a regular drink or meal together when your work crossed paths, and he had even consulted you on advice for his court, which flattered you. His company was a consistent pleasure, and you treasured the friendship you had formed – the Gods knew you needed it.

You managed to bite your tongue for another twenty minutes, and just as you were about to pester him again, Tamlin spoke. “It’s just up this trail.”

Pulling the reins of his horse, Tamlin led you down a steep path, hidden much by overhanging trees and bushes, only to reveal a clearing.

No, not a clearing – a field, blossoming with rows of carefully planted pink flowers. And as you got closer, the size of the field was revealed, bordered by a low wooden fence. It was… a farm?

You drew in an audible breath as the scent of the flowers hit you. You widened your eyes at Tamlin, who was grinning at your shock. You dismounted Podie quickly, rushing to brace the fence as you took in the site with awe.

“Wild Gernaium?” you choked, your eyes still wide.

“The healing flower,” Tamlin nodded. “It took a while to learn how to farm them, months in fact, but Spring has Prythians best botanists.”

“And here I thought they could only grow in the wild,” you shook your head with disbelief. “Tamlin, these are so rare, how on earth you were able to farm this many?”

“Spring Court is a land that gives back, the soil here is rich of nutrients and the weather forgiving. It is of course only something we were able to do, thanks to your mission work to help recover the land. This is your accomplishment as much as it is theirs.”

Tears pricked in your eyes then. The amount of fae that could be helped with this crop – it was an overwhelming thought.

“And they are for you, of course.”

You gaped at the High Lord, who laughed again.

“For me?”

“Of course, for your work. Whatever you need – farmers to pick the flowers, a factory full of workers to grind and bottle the pigment – say the word and it’s yours.”

“Tamlin, I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Please, don’t. It’s not a thanks I deserve, I’m just… trying to look out for my people. Just as you do.”

“Well… you’ve done a Gods damned good job,” you said with raised brows, blowing out a loose breath at the extend of the farm.

Tamlin threw his head back and laughed, and you grinned at his happiness. You reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Nice work, High Lord.”

Tamlin squeezed your hand back. “It wouldn't be without you.”

He pulled on your hand then, leading you through the flowers as you admired the plants up close. He explained that a factory could be built at the farms edge, attached with a pressing mill and grinders. Your heart fluttered with excitement, your work could extend past manual labour, you could now offer medicine and healing. There was a force brewing inside you, something unstoppable and good, something that lay dormant for centuries, finally unleashed and free.

You still held Tamlin’s hand as he lead you through the field, making your way to a lush hill that overlooked the farm. You sat together, Tamlin listening contently as you excitedly spoke through your ideas on how to harvest the medicine, noting that your small growing team of mission workers could also help to distribute throughout the court.

“How many aid workers have you recruited now?” Tamlin asked.

“Seven, and we’re currently inducting Nyvya in the east. She’s a trained healer, so will be delighted to hear of the Gernaium.”

“That’s wonderful,” he smiled.

“It is,” you said warmly, and it occurred to you that you owed Tamlin a truth. An idea you were planning to run by him at a much later time. But with the offer of the Gernaium, the access to this kind of healing, that changed things. “It is,” you repeated almost flatly, chewing at your lip as your eyes fell distant, dancing with thought.

Tamlin caught the movement, and he frowned slightly as he shifted from his lounging position. “What is it?”

Your heart rose in anticipation – you felt sheepish. So you stared at him, deciding on whether it was in fact the right time.

“You can say it – whatever it is,” he said gently, taking your hand. Your silence lead him to start guessing. “Are you leaving Spring?”

“No, no I–”

“Because you are free to come and go as you please. I know my past behaviour speaks for itself, but I would hate to think that you feel trapped or–”

You grabbed his shoulders then, squeezing the muscle underneath. “Tamlin, gods I know that.”

The action seemed to stun him, and his lips pressed into a thin line. You felt a slight twang of guilt for drawing out such a distinct shame in him.

You took a deep breath, pulling your hands to your lap. “With the mission work expanding, along with my team, we have been able to help fae at the borders, some from Summer, even a few from Autumn.”

Tamlin nodded assuringly, a sign for you to continue. He didn't startle over the technicality of Spring members helping foreign fae – that was a good sign.

“And it felt good to help them Tam, they were isolated, and just as vulnerable as some of those in Spring.”

“Of course,” he said softly.

You had to take a deep breath, and your eyes found the horizon beyond the rolling hills around you.

“You know,” you spoke softly. “My ambitions to help and protect others, it has always existed beyond court borders.”

You could see Tamlin shift, before giving a slow nod.

“After talking with my team, we believe our mission work could gain traction in other courts, should they be willing. We could share knowledge, resources too if it was agreed, and provide aid across Prythian without being conformed to borders.”

You forced your eyes to Tamlin then, grimacing at what you might find written on his face. But it was just as neutral, his eyes soft, his jaw chiselled and handsome and – damn him.

“This is not the way I wanted to propose this to you Tamlin, please know. Especially after your generosity with the Gernaium, I understand completely if you have grown them purely to aid your own subjects. But that doesn't stop the need for mission work across Prythian. I plan to gain the support from as many High Lords and Ladies as possible, and I would be honoured if that started with you.”

Tamlin eyed you with those sharp green eyes, the kind of look that made you shift under the weight of it. And after an insufferable silence, he spoke.

“You are incredible.”

You blinked in shock, Tamlin’s lips pulling at your reaction.

“Truly,” he smiled, grabbing your hand to kiss it. “I have never met anyone who was to see a need as great as this, and think to grow it beyond borders. Magic anchors a High Lord or Lady to their Court, it makes us territorial and protective, violent even. But you, this,” he said waving his hand to you, before sighing, contemplating how to say what he felt in words. “You are what this world needs.”

Your eyes welled before two fat tears rolled down your cheeks. “Tamlin,” you chocked, unable to think of anything else to say.

He shifted closer, brushing the tears away with his thumb as he cupped your face. “You have my support Y/N. Thank you for teaching me to be better.”

Emotion surged through you, as if flushing you from years of doubt and hate, replaced now with inspiration, kindness and good, honest love. And then your lips were on his.

Taken aback, Tamlin caught himself on one strong arm as you held his face and kissed him. You pulled away, worried to have overstepped your boundaries. But then a strong hand laced around your waist, his other propping himself up as he leaned in, closing his mouth over yours, a sharp breath drawn as his nose brushed against your. Friendship, understanding, a blossoming love – how quickly Tamlin had welcomed you to a world capable of healing, of growth.

Every fibre in your limbs begged to be closer to him, to bask in the vulnerability he had shown you, and you him. In only half a year, you had grown together, healed together, and learned to love one another. You did, you loved him, for whatever he was to you – a dear friend, a High Lord, it didn't matter. It was equal, and genuine, and you craved it in every way.

Fuelled in by dizzy passion, you quickly straddled his lap, pulling at his broad shoulders to bring him further into you, letting him encompass your senses.

Tamlin’s own hands slid across your back, moving up to your neck, gripping at the roots of your hair, the other grasped at the flesh where your thighs met your hips.

He seemed to realise where this was heading, pulling away with a sharp breath through his nose. “Y/N–”

You shook your head, dismissing him immediately with another kiss, your tongue begging for entrance to his mouth. “Tamlin.” His name was a plea.

“Are you cer–?”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish his question, peppering kissed in between words. “I’ve–never–been–more–certain.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, and goosebumps pricked at your skin as you felt it vibrate through to you. Your excitement peaked, it had been so long since you had shared yourself with another, and your core fluttered with anticipation as every fragment of you seemed to chant yes, yes, yes.

Which is exactly what you moaned as Tamlin entered you, your skirts pulled high, his riding pants pulled low. You placed a flat palm on his chest, your eyes clenched shut as you stretched around his girth, your walls already throbbing as you slowly slid down. Tamlin let out a stifled growl, one laced with satisfaction and a lot of restraint.

Strong arms hugged you then, and you began to writhe together, moving gently and sensually as you ground against each other. Chasing release was far beyond you, there was so much pleasure to be had in sharing your bodies, relishing in the trust you both had found in one another.

Tamlin did his best to keep a leash if his instincts, his beast form begging to be released and he grunted and growled when you moved your hips in a certain way, nipping at your neck and ear as claws now ran down your back. You ran your fingers through his hair, using it to guide his face to yours as you kissed him and fucked him how you pleased. His own hands moved to grip at your ass to do the same.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his deep voice breaking, strained with pleasure.

“Tamlin, gods, you feel–”

“So. Good,” he gritted, finishing your sentence. You leaned back, head thrown back as your hands found balance on his thighs as you rode him in the warm spring air.

Pleasure found both of you again and again in that afternoon. You climaxed on his lap, and not twenty minutes later he was pushing into you again, your bare thighs spread on the lush green grass as he moved above you. You clung together, a writhing, sweaty mix of passion and pleasure until the sun began to set over the rolling hills.

Tamlin reached for you, his fingers lacing with yours as you ate the last of the berries he had packed. He kissed your forehead before turning you to rest against his chest, not wanting you to miss the view.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured into your hair.

Stroking his arms that were tightly wrapped at your waist, you swallowed, debating on what to say. But no, Tamlin deserved the truth, you must always choose truth. You sighed , saddened by what was churning through your head after such incredible sex.

“I’m thinking we need to discuss what this afternoon means.”

You loved him, you did, but Tamlin was bound to his court, and your life called beyond it. It wouldn't work, no matter how much you cared for each other.

Tamlin knew this too. “What if,” he spoke softly, brushing your hair away from your neck so he could place a gentle kiss on it. “What if we enjoy this moment for what it is, just for today.”

You smiled, kissing his hands. “Tomorrow then.”

“Plenty of problems await,” he joked, and you laughed before settling further into him. You smiled cockily as you felt him harden against you. Tomorrow indeed.

————

One month later

Peering from the carriage window, your heart thundered in your ears, drowning out the clap of horses hooves as guests arrived at the summer estate, music floating gently from within.

Dawned in all colours, you watched guests gasp in awe at the beauty of the building. This was one of many of Tarquin’s estates - one you had never visited. It was an open, grecian style home, golden columns holding the impressive entrance carved with shimmering vines. Fae flocked in groups, sparkling wine already in their hands as they made their way to the gardens, no doubt where the service was being held.

“Are you alright?” Tamlin asked, the velvet of his deep green suit brushing against your bare arm.

“Uneasy to say the least,” you said thickly, your tongue stiff with nerves. “And you?”

Tamlin looked beyond the window, eyeing each of the guests. “One step at a time,” was his response as he squeezed your knee.

————

The curtesy wine offered to you at the entrance was gone within the first few moments of arriving. You wouldn't make a fool of yourself here, but a little wine to take the edge off couldn't hurt.

Tarquin stood proudly, wearing a fine turquoise suit detailed with gold thread, shaking hands as he welcomed guests.

“Y/N,” he beamed, taking your hands and kissing each of your cheeks. “I’m honoured you came.”

“The pleasure is mine, Tarquin. Thank you for having me.”

“Nonsense, both Creseida and I might have forced you here if you had not come willingly.”

You laughed freely. “How is she?”

“A wreck of nerves,” he chuckled.

“I’m sure she looks beautiful,” you laughed lightly back.

“She does, just as you do,” he winked, raising your hands he still held to take in your dress. A silken, soft blue dress fell of your body, its back open as material gathered just before your rear. The dressmaker had done an incredible job, fitting style and colour alike. You had politely declined her suggestions of a sage green, a Spring Court signature. It was kind, but you were courtless for over a year now, and proud of it. Instead, you had asked for sky blue – as no one ruled the skies.

Blushing, you let out another soft laugh. “You are too kind, High Lord.”

Tarquins eyes flashed behind you, catching Tamlin as he spoke with some familiars a few paces away. “Have you…?” he questioned, trailing off.

You smiled knowingly. “I’ve come alone. Tamlin and I shared a carriage, journeying from the same court. You remember of my work there?”

“Remember? Sweetheart, there is talk of your mission throughout my court. There are guests here who are very keen to meet you. And we will need to formally discuss your work, and give a proper thanks to the aid you have provided at the border.”

You were smiling wide now, shaking your head with gratitude. “I would like that too, but perhaps not here.”

Tarquin grinned. “No, perhaps not. Welcome, sweet Y/N, please enjoy the festivities, and accomodation.”

You smiled politely as Tamlin approached, exchanging a firm handshake before raising his brows at you. “Shall we head in?”

Nodding tightly, you let Tamlin guide you with a hand at the small of your back. At the very least, the warmth of his skin against yours was a small comfort.

The estate was even more impressive the further you ventured, white marble and golden staircases twisting this way and that, leading to corridors of rooms, each door carved to perfection. These were the guest accomodations, and included your own for the evening.

But the jewel of the home was its view, where a perfectly groomed garden now catered to almost a thousand fae, overlooking the crystal blue Adriatic, the waves beneath crashing the cliff quieted by the string quartet. It was an overwhelming beautiful home, and you were glad to be lost in a sea of guests.

A golden arch was set at the end of a the aisle, a High Priestess exchanging words with a groom you did not recognise. But you smiled – you were happy for Creseida.

“An impressive turnout,” Tamlin muttered, sipping his wine as his green eyes turned sharp, scanning the crowd. You ignored the glances being cast your way, whether it was from your attendance with Tamlin, or Tamlin’s presence alone, you didn't care. What did these fools know of either of your stories to judge.

And you tried not to look, to not let your heart beat fast as you scoured for a rare set of wings amongst the finery of the wedding, telling yourself you wouldn’t turn your heel and run at the site of any siphons or shadows or night. But you were thankful to not find any.

That was, until you felt them. Muscles jerking, goosebumps pricked your skin as your power began to tingle sharply, spreading across your body like a rash. Shit – you hadn't anticipated to lose your lid in such a way, your power had been so forgiving this past year.

A small gap parted in the crowd of guests at the stairs of the estate, and the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court were revealed. Arms loop, night curling around them in the fashion that impressed and threatened all at once. Rhysand shook hands with a nearby male, Feyre kissing the cheeks of a curtsying female.

It shocked you, how quickly your spy instincts found you. As if in one of your many life-threatening missions, your senses narrowed, the noise in your brain focusing to immediate details – taking in only what you needed to survive, just as Azriel and Cassian had trained you. Your vision barrelled to the couple who still greeted others some distance away. Scanning behind them, you anticipated the remainder of your old family, and of course, your exes.

Yet no one followed. Not even Mor. It seemed the High Lord and Lady had attended alone. It was strange – had things turned bad at the Court, that even the Morrigan had forgone a wedding?

Rhysand wore a handsome smile as he guided Feyre down the stairs to the garden, guests parting even further, bowing as they strode through. They were getting closer, and you ignored the clench of your heart as their scent filled your nose, before mixing with others. It was the smell of home.

No. it wasn't home. Not anymore, and not for a good while now. You hated that instinct, to curl into it, to let it welcome you, claiming you still.

You glanced behind, conscious that they would find you standing with Tamlin. But he was no where to be seen, and you thanked him silently for the courtesy of having stepped away.

Rhysand and Feyre glided closer and closer, exchanging nods and accepting bows. And then they halted, violet eyes scanning before locking to yours, grey eyes shortly followed. And Rhys’s smile, the one that he used in the face of the public, it softened, his eyebrows twitching upwards almost unnoticeably.

Feyre’s hand gripping at his arm tighter, and you could hear her heart fasten from where you stood. You almost resented how in-tune you were to them, these micro-behaviours.

Glancing between them both, you followed the order of those next to you, lowering yourself to a polite curtsy.

They couldn't reach you, not without drawing attention, not without the watchful eyes of hundreds of guests. So with a nod from Rhys, and a soft smile from Feyre, they continued on, finding their seats in the queues.

————

Cresseida was the most beautiful bride you had ever seen. Golden vines were cuffed along her arms, as a silk gown as white as her hair trailed behind her as she walked the aisle, Tarquin proudly at her side.

You smiled through your tears as she was married. You were happy for her– you were happy –you were… An unmarketable emotion filled you as you couldn’t help the run of tears that continued to pour, even after the ceremony ended.

————

“And is it true that you were able to help the children at the border?” questioned one of Tarquin’s emissaries as she leaned in, raising her voice over the music.

The party was in full swing, food had been served and hundreds of fae drank and danced, celebrating Creseida’s courtship, each of them eager to get even a glimpse at the bride and groom.

“Yes, we were lucky to have an experienced healer join the mission, and she was already aiding some of the fae in Spring.”

The female smiled, and squeezed your arm. “On behalf of my court, we are grateful.”

“Not at all,” you smiled back. “Your authorities were notified, and from what I heard your own healers were already on their way. We were simply closer to that area, and had supplies to spare.”

It had been hours, and your company was still in high demand as endless Summer Court members were eager to meet you. Tarquin, it seemed, had been spreading you just as much praise as Tamlin. You had danced with many, exchanging jokes and stories, enjoying the festivities with some familiar faces and many new ones.

It was a struggle to keep your eyes from averting, your instinct to find Rhys and Feyre in the crowd was loud and stubborn. Old habits, you supposed.

Tamlin approached you then, having made himself scarce from your company for most of the evening, something you both had agreed to do. But you were comforted by his presence as he easily slid into the conversation, slipping a glass of fae wine into your hand without even asking. You smiled, giving his shoulder a thankful squeeze.

There was an itchy, uneasy feeling that tugged at you, and you knew you were under watchful eyes. You found them, surrounded by their own acquaintances, and while Rhys masked his curiosity perfectly, Feyre’s stare bored into you from across the dance floor.

Taking a large sip of wine, you let it warm you as you squared your shoulders. You would not cower, you would not shy away. And now was a better time than any.

So you strode directly to them, Feyre’s stare softening as Rhys pardoned himself from his conversation. Then, they were walking towards you to.

You stopped a few paces shy from each other. Staring. It was…. awkward.

But then Rhysand smiled. Warm and genuine and familiar. You hoped he didn't hear your silent curse to him.

“You look well,” he said.

You nodded, acknowledging the half-compliment, sensing their relief. No, you weren't that broken withered girl you were when you left.

“How is Nyx?” The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them. You would have been more annoyed at yourself, but your care for that child was pure, and you knew they would never withhold him as currency.

“He’s well, growing every day,” Feyre replied. “And walking all on his own.”

Your smile, be it small, was sincere.

“He still… asks about you,” she added.

Pain sliced through your heart then, and you weren't quick enough to hide it in your face. “Don’t,” you whispered, your voice strained. Gods, that didn't take long.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said quickly, hands reaching out before she quickly drew them back in. “I didn't mean–“ she cut herself short, shaking her head. “I’m sorry.”

You cast your eyes to the side, blinking away the sting of tears. “It’s alright.”

Rhysand watched you intently. “Perhaps we can all use some fresh air? I spotted a terrace, free from other guests.”

The choice was yours, you knew that. You had things you wanted to say, and you were sure they did to. You nodded, following their lead as you quickly cast a look backwards, Tamlin offering you a tight nod as you left the room.

————

“So, mission work in Spring?” Rhys asked, wine swirling in his hand as he leaned casually against a column, warm summer breeze surrounding the three of you as the party continued faintly below.

You nodded, your arms crossed at your chest.

“It’s very impressive,” Feyre added from where she sat, offering a genuine smile.

You didn't respond, unsure of how much detail to reveal. Rhysand caught on, sighing slightly.

“We didn't bring you here to interrogate you for detail, It’s only that your work and whereabouts is quickly becoming widespread knowledge. We thought it was best to acknowledge that we know it too.”

“And what of Cassian and Azriel?”

“We have held true to our bargain on that.” You believed him.

There was an award silence, unasked questions looming.

“Are you safe there?” Feyre asked quietly.

“Very much so.”

“And Tamlin is–”

“A friend,” you said quickly.

“– respectful to you, was what I was going to ask,” Feyre said with a knowing look.

You sighed then, running a hand through your hair. “I didn't do it to hurt you,” you said, with a straight face. You owed her no allegiance, but, you were done hurting others, and her concern did no one any good.

“I know,” Feyre acknowledged, with the grace of a High Lady, of someone who knew that the past was the past. She shook her head then, before adding. “We worry for you, that is all.”

“He’s changed.” You were shocked at how quickly those words left your mouth.

It was Rhys who threw you a condescending look. You hated how small it made you feel.

“Look, I appreciate your warning, but Tamlin has shown strides of growth, he has acknowledged his mistakes and is working endlessly to undo them. When was the last time you looked within yourselves?”

Rhys flashed his eyes at you with warning, bringing an arm to comfort his wife. “Careful,” he said plainly, but a flash of darkness passed through those violet eyes.

Damn him. And damn Feyre too. “You didn’t so much as try to stop them,” you breathed, your eyes welling with tears as you focused on her. Gods damn it – you thought you were past this, past them. But it was as if a year away meant nothing, you were just as hurt as that night you left the Night Court. Feyre watched with a pain expression as your lip wobbled. “And you didn't so much as try to apologise,” you whispered, your voice moments away from breaking.

Feyre’s eyes now glistened with the same tears. “You shut us out,” she countered, and you could see how much your own choices had wounded her.

“What choice did I have?” you asked, brushing away a stray tear. “You think I want to be this way? You think I wanted to cast myself out? You broke my trust and lied to me, alienating me from this family. And I was supposed to come to you for an apology?”

Feyre gulped guiltily, looking at the floor. Rhys watched you intensely, a concerned frown on his face.

“You’re right,” Feyre said quietly, grey eyes now finding yours. “But you must know Y/N, I am sorry. I’ve been sorry since the day it happened. I thought it wise for Azriel and Cassian to want to protect you, but I realised very quickly how it was that kind of thinking that trapped me within warded walls, and that had me fleeing my home all those years ago.”

You nodded, casting your eyes upwards to not let the tears stain your face yet again. “We can't keep doing this.”

“What’s that?” Rhys asked gently.

“This,” you gulped, waving your hands between you. “These sorry confessions and apologies, it hurts us all.”

“Alright,” Rhys said neutrally. “But you acknowledge our apology?’

“Yes.”

“Do you forgive us?”

Your lips pressed tight as you grimaced.

“That would be a no,” Rhys said sadly, his smile broken. Feyre couldn't force one if she wanted to.

“I want us to move forward,” you offered instead. “There is no use in resentment. It may be that we’ll continue to cross paths, and it is important to me that you know I will not respond illy.”

“Of course,” Feyre nodded, smiling.

A sharp pain throbbed at your temples then, the kind that came about when you had to keep your emotions and powers under tight strain. It was instinct to rub at your temples.

“Can I heal that for you?” Rhys was now standing in front of you, his smile remained but his eyes – heavy, saddened.

You blinked up at him before flicking your eyes to Feyre who waited eagerly for you to respond. Was this a test? Could it be, after all that had happened, you could consider them just…friends? You searched within yourself for the right answer, but nothing came about. It was just too soon.

But there was no harm in letting Rhys work some of his magic. “Alright,” you replied, and you heard Feyre loose a breath.

Rhysand’s hands cupped the side of your face, his fingers pressing to your temples as the familiar feeling of him slipping into your mind sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in you, something impossible to kill that was comforted by his touch. He was, after all, your High Lord of decades. He had been your home, your family, and maybe there was some part of that would always remain. It upset you how much you had to resist the urge to wrap your arms around his waist, to pull Feyre in too, to sob of how much you missed home, your family, how much you ached while you were apart.

It was over as quickly as it began, Rhys slipping from your mind, leaving no trace of a headache behind. You hadn't clocked that you had closed your eyes, your lip quivering as your cheeks were now wet with tears. Rhys kept his hands on your face, brushing them away.

“Y/N–,” he said softly, his face pained. You knew what he would say – come home, even if you hate us, come home. But you wouldn't give him a chance.

“T-thank you,” you stammered, pulling away from Rhysand’s hold and fleeing the terrace, leaving the two to their shock.

————

You were brushing away hot, fast tears as you fled the wedding, racing towards your guest room.

Gods, what was wrong with you today? You hated feeling like this – an unstable, blubbering mess. Nothing had changed in a year, not really. You were still the same, broken and alone. It hurt just as much to see your family now.

To hell with this wedding. You craved a sleep tonic and to be rid of this night. That was when Tamlin fell into side-step with you.

“Are you hurt?” he asked simply, muttering the words to avoid drawing attention as you passed through the crowd.

“No,” you managed to say, and you could have kissed him for playing into the nonchalance. He seemed to respect privacy, even when there was little to be found.

“I’ll walk you to your rooms.”

“No, Tam, I’m fine, you should–”

“Nonsense,” he replied, and you knew you wouldn't shake him. So you walked to your room, sniffing through your tears as you tried to calm the current brewing at your fingertips, Tamlin by your side.

You reached your quarters, a private corner in a long corridor or rooms. The door was carved in unique artwork, familiar somehow, as if beckoning you to enter from within.

“If you’re sure you’re alright,” he said with an unconvinced look.

“I will be, Tam, thank you.”

You gave his hand a quick squeeze, before turning the handle to the door.

And made it two paces in, before shadows filled your vision.

————

You swore as strong hands held your shoulders, blue siphons a blur as shadows cast around you. You fought on instinct, but it was impossible to shake Azriel’s grip.

“What in Mothers name–?!” you cursed again.

“You’re safe,” Azriel spoke with relief. Despite yourself, your skin ignited at the husk of his voice.

“Get your damn hands off me,” you gritted, taking in the room as the smog of shadows finally cleared.

Cassian was between you and the door, where Tamlin still stood, completely stunned. The General’s hands quickly curled into fists.

No one moved, each of you just as shocked to see the other. They had come for you, yes, but you were certain Tamlin was an unpleasant surprise.

“Fuck,” you ground out, almost rolling your eyes as you knew the strife that now awaited your friend.

Azriel moved you behind him, as if you needed to be shielded, protected. “What are you doing here, traitor?”

“Let her go at once,” Tamlin growled, stepping into the room.

You stepped out from behind Azriel, your mind reeling at the sight of the two Illyrians in you room. You hated them, but something in you churned - a yearning. It was easy to stamp down as a rage took over.

“What are you doing here?” you countered.

Azriel gave you a piercing look, running his eyes down your body. There was love in that look, but a sternness too.

“Answer me,” you ground out.

Cassian was still facing Tamlin, his siphons so bright they radiated heat. “Did you hurt her?” he growled at Tamlin, a shaking rage consuming him.

“You hunted me? Like a mare?” your voice was ice cold, colder than any of these males could ever hope to perfect. Your trust, betrayed, again.

That voice snared their attention. Cassian casting a look back at you, desperate, like he wanted to give you all of his time, to never stop drinking in the sight of you.

You prowled closer, fingers twitching as your power grew so strong zapping could be heard. “Rhys’s promise to me, the bargain. You broke it,” you spat.

“Y/N.” Cassian said your name, begging you. His pain cut through to you, your power dampening as a sick, sick part of you folded at his plea. Go to him, that part of you begged.

The room was filled with a sharp coldness and breeze as Rhys and Feyre winnowed into your quarters, Feyre’s face one of shock, Rhys’s one of fury.

“What in Gods name are you doing here?” he growled at his brothers.

“You left us no choice,” Azriel seethed back at Rhys, his wing stopping you as you silently moved to join Tamlin.

You glared at him. “Try that again,” you growled.

Azriel’s eyes were dark, predatory, but his brows pulled with a softness only reserved for you. “I do not trust him.”

“And I do not trust you,” you spat back.

“The promise,” Rhys growled, glaring between his brothers.

“Y/N, we had no idea they had come,” Feyre spoke with a desperation that you had to believe her.

“Leave. Now.” Rhys ordered, but the males ignored him, his power underwhelming in another court.

Cassian’s brow pulled, his face truly broken as he spoke to you. “You left us. And joined him?”

You snapped at the accusation. “I joined no one, because I belong to no one. I pursued a life beyond you, and I am a free female. Free to roam wherever I please, and fuck whoever I want.”

You words landed their mark, because both Azriel and Cassian recoiled.

And then Cassian’s face turned grave, as he slowly faced Tamlin again. “You-you touched her?”

You cursed yourself for the pointed insult – you should have known it would put Tamlin in the firing line. To his defense, Tamlin held a high chin.

“She is a free female. Nor you or I can rob her of that.”

Azriel snarled, and Cassian was on Tamlin in an instant.

“Stop that! Get off him! You will not hurt him!” you cried, broken at the thought of Tamlin being hurt because of you.

But before you could throw yourself at Cassian, night magic filled the space, pulling the males apart, commanding the room to its master. And you were surprised to see Feyre walking towards them, her palms outstretched, night pouring from her as her eyes now glowed with silver.

“Sensless violence ends now, I don’t care about the circumstance.”

What did she mean by that?

“Leave,” Cassian snarled at Tamlin, but Tamlin held his ground.

“He is welcomed to stay so long as Y/N sees fit,” Feyre spoke coldly, forcing Cassian’s eyes back to her. Now that, was a High Lady. “I can not believe you two–“

“You weren't invited?” you interjected, untrusting of your exes as you scowled between them.

Rhys shook his head from across the room. “We went as far to hide the papers.”

You gulped as you stared up at Azriel. “Pray tell, how you found me, then?”

Azriel wore no remorse as he said “Amren – she possessed an invite and–”

Exasperated sounds from each of you filled the room. Amren, of course. She was the only one to know to play games above Rhys and Feyre’s head, and cunning enough to pull it off.

“And what is your plan, then?” you added coldly. “Drag me back to the Night Court, kicking and screaming?”

“No, of course not,” Cassian responded softly, stepping towards you, stopping as you retreated back. “We had to know that you were safe.”

You stared at him, the sorrow in his voice, the bags under his eyes and the way his shoulders sagged. He was broken.

“You were not well when you left, Y/N. It’s been killing us not knowing how you are faring now,” Azriel added, his eyes soft, looking just as worn as his brother. You knew he sang silently to his shadows as they coiled in on themself, they would be begging to reach you.

“Please, don't be angry,” Cassian begged, his eyes welling. “We’ll go, we’ll go now, it’s just–”

“We love you. We- we need you,” Azriel interjected, his own brow clenched with pain.

Each of their words were a dagger to your heart, piercing it’s way through the walls you had built.

“Stop that,” you whispered, your hand pressing against your chest to ease the pain. Were these your feelings, or theirs?

“It’s true,” Cassian continued. “You’re our girl. We'll do better, Y/N, we promise. Please.”

It was painful to hear, and you faltered slightly as your body jerked in pain. Something was breaking within you, crumpling around something else, something buried deep.

“Please Y/N, come home.”

Your knees gave out as you let out an anguished cry, your heart tearing and swelling to the point where you thought you just might die.

“Y/N!” Tamlin called in panic, but Azriel and Cassian were already at your sides, holding you, asking where it hurt.

Palms braced on the floor, you tried to breath through laboured breaths as you finally felt what was concealed for so long. It was unmistakable, a tether of sun-lit rope, tying you to the males at either side of you. You felt it all – their fear, the instincts to take you far from this place, their overwhelming, unconditional love.

And you hated it.

“No,” you gasped, your hand finding your heart as you tried to calm its pounding.

Azriel glanced at Cassian, who gave a single nod in confirmation. Feyre gasped from where she stood.

“What is it?” Tamlin panicked. “What’s going on?”

“No!” you repeated, standing quickly and backing away from the two males. It couldn't be – you were free, you had left…

They watched you with saddened eyes at the horror that beheld you.

“The Mother is cruel,” Rhys tutted, lowering his head in sympathy.

“What in the gods-forsaken realms is going on?” Tamlin yelled.

“No, no, no, no! Please, no!” You clutched at the roots of your hair, your mind reeling as you begged to no one. You were bound to them, whether you liked it or not. An enslavement of kinds.

“It snapped,” Feyre answered to Tamlin without ever turning his way.

It was too much to bare – their instincts, your newly ignited ones, their love, your hate. Your brain scrambled for sense, fighting itself over and over as you shook at your knees.

A final ‘no’ pushed past your lips before your body gave out, the world tipping and your vision darkening as strong hands caught you.

You succumbed to the gods damned mating bond.

-------

Part 5>>>

AN: Helllllllllo my lovelies! I am so so bloody excited to share this part with you! It was a rollercoaster to write, hope you held on tight for this angst-train! Always, always, ALWAYS want to hear your thoughts and feelings on where this story is heading, so please drop a comment anytime. And thank you endlessly for your support with this fic - it means the world. MWA!!

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spacerockfloater · 17 days

Text

The way people switched on Tamlin the moment Rhys was introduced is diabolical.

“Tamlin never really loved Feyre, it was all a trick from the start”: It is stated that Tamlin was disgusted by the idea of forcing someone to fall in love with him and considered it slavery, but ended up being so in love with her that he ultimately lets her go and choses her freedom and safety over that of his own people. Rhys confirms that Tamlin loved Feyre too much. And he loved her truly. Not because he had to. Tamlin treated Feyre with dignity when she was engaged to him. He introduced her as his lady, to be respected and cherished by all. And she really was loved his people, too. Rhysand uses her as his lap dog to scare Hewn City and parades her as his whore.

“Tamlin never did anything for Feyre, he just used her”: He improved her and her family’s life in every aspect and offered her everything he had.

“Tamlin had sex with someone else in Calanmai”: Out of duty and responsibility because he didn’t want to force Feyre, who still wasn’t sure about her feelings, into it. All of the High Lords perform the Calanmai. Lucien says so. How convenient that this is never brought up with Rhysand. He surely does perform it as well. All the theories in here, “Lucien doesn’t know what he’s talking about/ This is a SC ritual only/ He probably just passes the duty on to someone else” are just a way for people to villainise Tam and glorify Rhys again. All of them inaccurate. The Calanmai is canonically performed by every High Lord. There’s no evidence that proves otherwise. As the son of one High Lord and the ambassador of another, Lucien would know. He is 500 years old. It’s just more convenient for SJM to never bring this up again because it raises the question of “Who was Rhysand fucking all these years?” and it makes her favourite character look bad. And once he is engaged to her, Tamlin flat out refuses to do it. Let’s be real for a second.

“Tamlin didn’t help Feyre under the mountain”: He literally could not. He was bound by a curse. He was forced to be Amarantha’s consort and a consort cannot oppose you. His powers were bound. Alis warns Feyre that Tamlin will not be able to help her. Stop acting as if he didn’t want to help her. He decapitated Amarantha the moment he got his autonomy back. Claiming that there’s no proof that Tamlin was under the influence of a spell when he literally didn’t break the curse and Amarantha’s magic didn’t allow him to use his powers is crazy. And even if he tried, he could never provide actual help. We see this when he begs Amarantha for Feyre’s life. Him showing he cares about her would only make Amarantha more jealous and vicious towards Feyre.

“Tamlin made out with Feyre instead of helping her”: He couldn’t help her run away. No one could do that. She would never make it, Amarantha would find her. In fact, Tamlin specifically could not help her in any way. He could only assure her he still wants and loves her. And she wanted that just as much. Rhys abused her physically, mentally, verbally, drugged her and much worse. And he enjoyed all of it. If he didn’t want to raise suspicions, he wouldn’t have placed a bet in her favour. Rhys is a masochist, SJM just decided to mellow him down in the next book so that we’d all like him over Tamlin.

“Tamlin ignored Feyre’s wishes and only wanted her to be his bride, he didn’t let her be High Lady”: Both Tamlin and Feyre were bad communicators going though trauma and Tam had a whole court to care for. Tamlin was unaware of how Feyre felt because she barely spoke up once. Rhys knew because he literally lived inside her head and had all the time in the world to focus his attention on her since his court suffered zero consequences during Amarantha’s reign. And Tamlin simply told her the truth: there’s no such thing as High Lady. Even her current title is given to her by Rhys, the magic of Prythian has not actually chosen her to be High Lady. The title and its power are decorative. And she said she didn’t want that anyway.

“Tamlin locks Feyre up and uses his magic to harm her”: He locks her in his humongous palace to keep her safe, after she just came back from the dead and his worst enemy is kidnapping her every month, while he runs off to protect his borders. Rhysand lock Feyre in a fucking bubble. Tamlin loses control of his magic. He doesn’t want to harm her. That’s not abuse. Abuse is intentional. Feyre and Rhysand lock Lucien and Nesta up. They lock the people of the Hewn City up in a cave. Feyre loses control of her magic and harms Lucien’s mother. Double standards I guess.

“Tamlin is a bad and conservative ruler”: Tamlin is such a beloved ruler that his sentries literally begged to die for him. Feyre had to fuck with their minds to finally turn them against him. They were his friends. He was so progressive that the lords fled his court once he became their ruler because he wouldn’t put up with their bullshit like his father did. He loved all of his people. He is against slavery. The Tithe was just tax collection. Rhysand practically rules over just one city, while ignoring Hewn City and Illyria. He treats 2/3 of his realm like shit and everyone except the residents of Velaris hates him. He collects tax, too, but we conveniently never see this. He ranks the members of his inner circle (my 1st, my 2nd etc.) and reminds them every moment that they are his slaves first and anything else second, while Tamlin treats them equally and even gives Lucien an official title by naming him Ambassador.

“Tamlin conspired with Hybern”: He was a double agent and his short lived alliance, two weeks all in all, not only didn’t harm a single soul, but ultimately saved all of Prythian as he was the only one who brought valuable information to that meeting. He dragged Beron to battle. Rhysand’s alliance with Amarantha harmed thousands and only helped save one city, Velaris.

“Tamlin is responsible for turning Nesta and Elain into Fae”: No, that was Ianthe, who got the info from Feyre. Tamlin was fooled by her, just as Feyre obviously was, or she wouldn’t have trusted her. Tamlin was disgusted by that act.

“Tamlin is less powerful than Rhysand”: Rhysand himself says that a battle between them would turn mountains to dust. Tamlin killed Rhysand’s dad, the previous High Lord of the Night Court, in one blow. He is just as powerful as Rhysand. SJM again just wants us to believe otherwise. And he is smarter, too. He was the only one not to trust Amarantha. And he was a good spy for Prythian against Hybern.

All of these takes are cold as fuck. SJM was testing the waters with ACOTAR and she made sure the main love interest, Tamlin, was insanely likeable, so that the book could be a satisfactory standalone story in case she couldn’t land a trilogy deal. She didn’t know it would be such a big hit. But once she realised she could turn this into a franchise, she had to figure out a new story to tell. She may claim otherwise, but there’s just too many plothotes to convince me. And in order to make her new main love interest seem like the best choice, she had to character assassinate the old one. There was no other way. ACOTAR Rhys was too much of an evil monster to be loved by the majority of the audience. But Tamlin was introduced to us as such a heroic and passionate man that is literally impossible to turn him into someone despised by all. Feyre’s relationship with Rhysand reads too much like cheating on Tamlin. That’s why anyone with basic analytical skills is able to realise the flaws of the narration.

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midnightfictionlibrary · 9 months

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Better Man - Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Content : angst, fluff, friends to lovers, jealousy, sexual tension

Word Count : 2.4k

Summary : Anthony must rectify his rakish ways and wed, but he has a lot to think over if he doesn’t want to lose his dearest friend forever.

A/N : I’ve been reading/watching Bridgerton again, so I had to write for my lovely Anthony. As always, pls like and reblog if you enjoy!

Anthony raised his glass to his lips as he watched the rest of the “eligible young ladies” at the ball circle him, grateful for your presence at his side.

“My, my. It is almost as if you are a vulture's prey.” You tease, fixing a delicate button on the wrist of your perfectly crisp, white glove.

Anthony snorts at your comment. “Please, my lady. Vultures are much more interesting than the ladies circling my person.” He pauses, looking down at you fiddling with your button. He reaches out gently, “If I may,” he mutters quietly, reaching out to fix the offender. An electric jolt passes through you, and you have to keep your eyes on your glove to resist the urge to pull away quickly. You did not wish him to know how you felt about him.

“Thank you, my lord.” You respond, nodding your head politely and giving him a small smile. He regards you for a moment before bowing and offering you his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

“I suppose.” You say, taking on a teasing tone again. Anthony outright smiles at this, leading you to the ballroom floor. It always came easy to dance with you, Anthony realized. It was as if you both could read each other’s next movements perfectly. After all, you had been friends since you were wee babes, crawling through the Bridgertons’ lush garden. You regard him slightly before saying “Have you found a suitable wife yet, Anthony?”

Anthony’s dark eyes settle on yours, and he has to keep from swallowing thickly. Something about the way you settled all of your attention on him had always made him nervous, always making his heart beat a bit too fast. “No.” he says quietly. “None of them are suitable. This is not to be a love match, strictly business, but I cannot imagine any of the women here as my life partner.” He looks down at you again, unable to read the look on your face for the first time in what felt like quite a while.

“Well.” You say. “On my front I do not have any prospects. No one seems to wish to marry me.”

“Why would that be?” Anthony questions, too quickly, he thinks.

“It may have something to do with the fact that we seem to be attached at the hip at every ball we happen to grace with our presence.”

We. Anthony wants to shiver at that word, thinking about you being attached to him was too good to be true. You were much too good for a rake such as himself. His eyebrows knit together and he tilts his head slightly. “Should I leave you here amongst all these people on the ballroom floor?” Now he took on a teasing tone, secretly satisfied that he can pull an eyeroll or annoyed look from your otherwise prim and proper stature.

You do roll your eyes, shaking your head at him slightly. “You leave me on this dancefloor by myself and I have no doubts even the most boring high society lady here would turn their nose up at you.” You pretend to sniff, as if your feelings were hurt. “And to think, I was under the impression you were my dearest friend.”

Anthony dips you slightly as the song draws to a close. The vanilla perfume wafting from your exposed neck and up to him. It’s intoxicating to him and he rights the two of you quickly, clearing his throat as he steps back. “I thank you rather kindly for the dance, my lady.” You nod to him, watching as he walks away with a broad step.

You furrow your brows, wondering why his attitude had changed suddenly, when you are approached by Lord Nikolai Andros, who asks you for a dance. You smile at him graciously, pleasantly surprised that he had approached you, and you would be able to dance with someone other than Anthony for once.

Dancing with Anthony just made your feelings all the stronger, and you did not know how much longer you could endure being his dearest friend. You curtsy to Lord Andros, following gracefully as he spins you across the ballroom. You wondered idly why he so suddenly expressed an interest to dance with you, but it was exciting to dance with someone else. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel guilty, as if your dance card was to be filled by Anthony Bridgerton and Anthony Bridgerton alone.

From across the ballroom, Anthony had his hands clenched at his sides, watching Andros spin you across the ballroom. You were much too good for Andros, and if he was a rake, Andros was a bigger one, known for not being particularly faithful to his late wife.

Benedict slides up next to Anthony, following his gaze. “I say, is that Andros?”

“Yes.” Anthony replies, voice clipped and tight.

“Hm.” Benedict huffs, “She seems to be rather enjoying herself, wouldn’t you say, brother?”

“It would appear so, yes, Benedict.” Anthony replies, trying to keep his voice from sounding too strained.

Benedict smirked. “Yourself, however..” clamping his mouth shut with an innocent shrug when Anthony gives him a look suggesting he could kill. However, Benedict continues on, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “You love her.”

Anthony opens his mouth, then closes it again, his perfect jaw set in anger, denial, or perhaps both. He shakes his head at Benedict, as if to say not here. He knows he has to be a better man for you, but the thought is too painful to bear at the moment, while you spin across the floor in another man’s arms.

Benedict raises his hands slightly as he backs away from his brother, nodding his head in your direction again, where you were curtsying to Andros. Anthony feels heat rise in his chest as Andros maintains eye contact with you, and before he can comprehend what he’s doing, he strides back over to you.

“My lady, would you like to promenade with some of the other young men and women in the garden? They have taken to admiring the rose bushes.” Anthony doesn’t wait for an answer before he gently grasps your elbow and steers you towards the open doors to the garden. Both of you pretend not to feel the butterflies that appear when the two of you touch.

“Anthony, whatever are you doing?” You half whisper. “You did not even acknowledge Lord Andros.”

Anthony leans in and whispers, almost harsh with you. “You cannot court that man.”

You stop walking, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “I do not believe you are the authority on that matter, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Do not use my title because you are vexed at me, little bird.” Anthony says, his childhood nickname for you slipping from his lips effortlessly. You narrow your eyes at him, and he knows that this is you demanding an explanation. He licks his lips and glances around at the other ball guests milling about. None of them seem any the wiser of the tiff the two of you were beginning to have.

“I will stand here for as long as I possibly can. This overprotective nature is not unlike you, but you have never outright sought me out to tell me to not court a gentleman.”

Anthony sighs, starting to become frustrated. “He..is of the rakish variety.”

You snort.

Anthony’s perplexed eyes meet yours and you shrug. “And you are not, Anthony?”

“He is worse. He had many a mistress while his wife was ill in their marriage bed.”

You grimace and Anthony nods almost smugly. “See. You are much too good for a man like that.”

“If I am much too good, why am I yet to be wed?”

“I…” Anthony starts, faltering over his words. He had no answer.

You step closer to him, your voice low. “I will tell you the reason. It is because of you.”

Anthony swallows, looking down at you. You are much closer to him than he usually allowed himself to be, and your intoxicating scent and god, the way the light in your eyes trapped him made him more than nervous. “Me?” he questions.

“Yes, Anthony. You. Every person in the ton believes me to belong to you. They pity me. Oh poor girl,” You start to mock, affecting your tone “that Lord Bridgerton is just stringing her along.” Your nostrils flare. “However, here you are, deciding to marry, using me as a pawn to get these most delightful young ladies to leave you alone.” You feel tears starting to sting your eyes, the hurt of not being the object of Anthony’s affections threatening to spill over. “I am not willing to be your pawn any longer, Anthony.”

Anthony watches your face, devastated as he realizes that you feel the same longing for him as he feels for you. “Little bird, I-”

You hold up a hand. “No. I do not wish to hear what you have to say to me any longer. It is time I retire, anyhow. Goodnight, Lord Bridgerton.” You say, turning on your heel quickly, just as hot tears begin to flow down your cheeks. Rushing out to your carriage, you ignore your mother, choosing to spend the ride home in heartbreaking silence. Your mother says nothing, just clasps your hand gently, which makes you cry all the more.

The next morning, Anthony is pacing in his study, wondering if he should call on you. Would you even want to see him? Should he just leave you be? Would it be better to give up everything the two of you shared so he did not cause you such pain again?

Before Anthony can make up his mind, you walk through the door to his study. His back is turned to you, and you can hear him audibly sigh.

“Benedict, I truly do not have the mind to-” He stops as he turns around, mouth dry. There you stood, a beautiful pale purple dress accentuating the very air of loveliness that seemed to follow you wherever you went.

“Hello, Anthony.” You say quietly, watching as he fumbles, setting his bourbon glass down shakily and coming around the front of his desk.

“You have given up calling me Lord Bridgerton, then?” He asks, his voice sounding strangely strained.

“Yes. I apologize for being cross with you yesterday evening. I just..” You pause, and Anthony takes this as his opportunity to come toward you. He comes close, looking down at you with his beautiful dark eyes.

“What is it?” He asks, afraid of what your answer may be. He was expecting you to tell him that you never wished to see him again, and he would have to accept that and let go of you. He desperately prayed that you did not come to lock him out of your life forever.

“I have fallen in love with you, Anthony. I know how you feel about love, because of your father. But I cannot sit by idly while you look for a wife that is not me. I am going to court Lord Andros, and you will have to accept that, because I cannot allow you to look over me, when all I have wanted for as long as I can remember is the reciprocation of my feelings from you.”

Anthony stood there, shocked beyond belief. You did feel the same way about him. He was not making up the pained look you had on your face at the ball the previous night. He felt as if someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart, and he could hear his ears ringing. He did not know what to say.

“I will take my leave from you.” You say, turning and making your way back to the large oak study door.

Suddenly, Anthony snaps out of his stupor. “No!” He almost yells, quickly moving to place his hand on the door, barring you from opening it. This is the closest the two of you have been in quite a while. Your bodice touching his chest, his nose almost touching yours. You inhale sharply, gazing up at him. “Let me explain my wretched behavior darling, but please do not take your leave of me.” Anthony pleads, his voice dripping with desperation. Taken aback, you give him a tiny nod, still mesmerized by the proximity in which the two of you stood.

Anthony glances at the door, then to your face, and then he gently brings his hands up to cradle your face. Your eyes widen, and his brows furrow.

“I…”He bites his bottom lip, his eyes flicking to your lips before sighing. “I long for you. I long for your attention. I cannot sleep without thinking of you. I cannot read a book or discuss politics without thinking of what you may say or how you may react. I long for your company when I awake in the morning and long after I have gone to bed. My soul desperately aches for you as if you are a piece missing from it. Seeing you with Andros solidified this feeling for me even more. Watching another man take your hand in his…I could have sobbed at the sight of it. You haunt every part of my being and I cannot deny it any longer.”

“Anthony…” You breathe out, eyes roaming his beautiful face.

“I love you. I love you, I love you.” He says, bringing his face closer to yours each time he says it. “I am terrified of love, my little bird, but I love you so deeply that if you will have me, I will spend the rest of my days cherishing you.” He breathes out, as if he had been holding in a breath, and he leans his forehead against yours gently.

You reach up, using a finger to smooth the furrow in his brow. “I love you most ardently, Anthony Bridgerton.”

Anthony is so relieved, he leans in and captures your lips in his without thinking clearly. Worried he may have made a mistake kissing you before you were to be wed, he tries to pull away.

You grab his lapel and keep him close, smiling into his lips.

“Marry me.” He breathes out, running a finger along your bottom lip after you’ve pulled back from him.

“The answer has always been yes.” You whisper back, gazing at him lovingly. Anthony grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead, cherishing the feeling of having you in his arms. He cannot wait for you to be by his side for the years to come. He hums contentedly, hugging you as he should have done so very long ago.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #best friends to lovers #jealousy #longing #love confessions

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bambikisss · 11 months

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Django :: J.Yunho

-> Cop! Yunho x Criminal! Reader

-> Django: ATEEZ

-> After the bounty on you is raised, Yunho is sent out to go looking for you. What happens when he actually does find you outside of a club?

-> Warnings: Use of nicknames (Slut, princess, baby), degradation, spanking, use of handcuffs, car sex, from the back, ROUGH, oral (both reciving), Outlaw Yunho (deserves his own warnings at this point)

A/N: I have returned! I've been excited for ATEEZ's outlaw release, so I immediately thought of cop Yunho with Django. Plus, I just saw a video of Yunho getting mad and I immediately knew I had to write something about him. You are also nicknamed Django in this as well

Not proofread | Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

"Officer Yunho! Hey!" The busy police office doesn't stop Wooyoung from calling him as he enters the office, sighing as he asks what he wants. He had just came back from booking a criminal who punched him in the jaw, so he wasn't in the mood for whatever Wooyoung wanted to gossip about.

Before Wooyoung could show Yunho the meme he found, the police captain enters the room, passing around a wanted poster that was freshly printed. "Alright everyone, all hands on deck! We finally got a good picture to put on the wanted poster of the robber who has been making rounds around the city. She needs to be captured as soon as possible! The citizens of this city are constantly complaining about us not finding her."

Yunho nods at the captain's words, remembering the old lady earlier who was lecturing him while he was putting someone in his backseat. His eyes look over the wanted poster, noticing the now high bounty on you.

WANTED: Y/N AKA Django.

10 thousand dollar bounty! He can't help but scoff, knowing no one would turn someone else in for such a low bounty. He has often told his captain that they needed to raise the amount to actually make the citizens care, but his words were brushed off. His words were always brushed off, despite being one of the top cops who brought in the criminals. As he was preparing to go out on patrol to avoid doing any office work, the captain stopped him, handing him a stack of the wanted posters, giving him the silent look to go put them up all around the city. Yunho didn't even try to object, sighing as he accepting the papers before leaving the office, not wanting anyone else to add to his work load.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "No, ma'am, I cannot arrest him for parking here. This parking spot is not yours as it's public parking." Yunho couldn't help but sigh as he tried to hold back his anger at the woman's yelling, wanting nothing more than to yell back at her. But, he couldn't do that, not when he had this job to help people, even if they were centimeters from his face yelling about something as small as a parking spot.

Once he was finally back in his car, he drove a good bit away so he could be alone for a bit. Even though it was a good bit past midnight, the calls were still rampant. In moments like theses, it often made him wonder why he chose this job. He tossed his head back to rest against the headrest, taking a deep breath to help calm himself before he his phone began to ring, vibrating the many wanted posters of the criminal he still hadn't posted around the city. He answered the phone, returning to his natural position as he listened to Wooyoung.

"I'm currently working on the program for our bodycams, so I'm just calling to let you know that they'll be done for a while. I suggest you get some sleep while you can." Yunho thanked him before hanging up, smiling at the idea of finally being able to be asleep. He'd have to thank Wooyoung later for giving him a heads up.

As he returned to his upright position, he noticed someone walking out of a club, the woman walking right past the cop car. He couldn't help but admire the woman, his eyes moving over her beautiful short dress and heels.

Maybe he could do something else besides sleeping for the time being.

"Excuse me!" he got out of his car, jogging to catch up with the woman. He hoped he wasn't scaring her as he knew how some people felt about the police suddenly approaching them, but he hoped his charms could keep her from feeling so scared. He jogged in front of the woman, smiling as she met his eyes. "Sorry for bothering you, miss, but I-"

Oh. My. God.

Yunho paused as he made eye contact with the woman, his mind going back to the many wanted pictures that sat in the passenger seat of his car. He watched as a slow smile crept onto your lips, realizing that you're Y/N.

He just caught Django.

"You're under arrest, Y/N. Or, could I say Django." You tilted your head as you watched him roughly grab his handcuffs from his belt, the metal glimmering in the moonlight as he roughly grabbed your arm. You mentally cursed yourself for not realizing the car you walked in front of was a cop car, let alone the man you stopped to talk to was a cop. You tried to move from his strong hands, but he only pulled you closer to him, handcuffing your hands behind your back before he moved closer to you, pressing his chest to your back as he said into your ear "finally caught you, bitch." You would usually beat someone up for calling you a bitch, but to hear Yunho say it with a deep voice, filled with anger made your body warm up and your panties dampen. You wouldn't lie; he was hot and if he wasn't pushing you to get into his car, you would've given yourself to him to have his way with you. You were dying to know what was underneath the tight cop clothes that only showed off his muscles, mentally moaning at his roughness as he shoved you into the backseat before slamming the door shut.

Yunho couldn't believe he had been the one to catch you, smirking as he thought about what he could do with that lousy prize money- while it wasn't a lot, it was could be enough for a trip somewhere, maybe even a cruise.

He quickly got into the front seat before he began driving, thinking about what to do with you now that he had you handcuffed in his backseat. He knew that if he brought you back to the precinct, he wouldn't get the credit he deserved, plus you had escaped before so he couldn't bring you there. He bit his lip before pulling over into a empty alleyway, deciding to call his captain to tell him the great news. He looked back at you in the rearview mirror, gasping lightly as he noticed your legs now spread, giving him a perfect view of your now wet lace panties as your head rested back against the headrest. The image of you like that made his mouth water and pants tighten, cursing softly as he ripped his eyes from you. He waited at the tone for his captain to answer before he cursed as his voicemail began to speak. The one time he actually wanted this man to answer the phone, he wasn't. Yunho sighed before cursing softly, remembering that his body cams were off.

Why would he wait for the other police to punish you when he could? You gasped as the backseat door was ripped open, Yunho's hand moving to roughly pull you from the backseat to your knees in front of him, your knees now resting against the wet alleyway ground as he looked down at you with angry eyes. "What the fuck are you-"

"Shut up, slut. I suggest you do as I say or I'll make sure you'll spend the rest of your life behind bars." You jumped at his rough voice, watching as he began to unbuckle his pants, pushing them down his thick thighs to show you his large cock, hard and standing at attention against his stomach. Your mouth couldn't help but water, leaning forward to get a taste before hissing as his hand moved to grip your hair, roughly pulling your hair back so you could see his face, his tongue poking his cheek as his eyes darkened. "No. Good girls get to taste this cock. I don't think I should even let you look at it, let alone taste it." You were about to speak, your words cut off my his hand moving from your hair to roughly grip your cheeks, growling as he heard you whimper at his rough movements. It only made his cock harder, twitching in front of you, making you moan.

"You want this cock, you're going to earn it. Tonight, you belong to me- you are mine. You will answer to me or I will stop and drop you off in the jail in an instant." You nodded at his rough voice, mentally moaning when you hear him chuckling before moving forward, pushing only the head of his cock into your mouth, tossing his head back as your tongue moved around to gather the precum eagerly. Yunho closed his eyes at the feeling of your warm tongue moving over the slit of his cock before he decided he had enough, tossing his head forward to watch as he pushed the rest of his cock into your mouth, going down your throat in a slow pace. He watched as your eyes watered due to his large size, his hips moving in a slow pace as he clicked his tongue, shaking head in disappointment before removing his cock from your mouth.

"You want me to take care of that wet pussy you were showing me earlier, right slut?" you nodded at his question, gasping as his hands forcefully opened your mouth before he roughly pushed his cock back down your throat. "Then hurry up and pleasure me. Show me what you're good for, slut."

You nodded, your fingers digging into your wrist as you began to move your head along his cock, moaning around his long, thick length. You met his eyes while you did so, making Yunho moan as you moaned around him again, making him toss his head back against the wall. You moved faster as he cursed softly, praising you in between his moans.

"There we go, slut, now you're showing me what you're good for, fuck!" His voice raised as his hips began to move, dragging his length all the way out of your mouth before slamming back down your throat, making you choke around his length at his hard pace. You couldn't help but moan at rough he was being with you, squeezing your own legs to offer yourself some pleasure as he continued to fuck your throat at a fast pace. You soon felt his cock twitch, letting you know that he was going to cum. Yunho showed no sign of slowing down, though, moving even faster before roughly stopping his hips against your face as his cum filled your throat, choking out a moan before he slowly pulling out of your mouth as you cough, a mixture of drool and cum dripping down your mouth as you did so.

Yunho smirked before his thumb moved across your skin, gathering the mixture before shoving it back into your mouth, humming as your tongue moved around it to gather the mixture. He felt his cock harden immediately, hooking his thumb into the side of your mouth before helping you stand, ushering you to get back into the car. You carefully crawled in, gasping as you felt his hand meet your ass roughly, surely going to leave a mark as the car door slammed closed behind him. You rested your head against the seat as you felt his hands move around your body, pushing up your already short dress up your waist before kissing around your ass and lower back, whispering praises as he did so.

"I think you earned a bit of a surprise, don't you, princess?" He asked against your lower back, his hands moving to pull down your panties in a slow pace. You nodded, your brain too fuzzy from him face fucking you to think clearly. Yunho smirked at your state before letting his fingers move along your wetness, chuckling as he listened to you mewl at the teasing feeling. "What if my other officers were on duty tonight and caught you walking in front of their car wearing this slutty little dress instead of me, huh? Would you let them get a taste of this pretty pussy like this, princess?" He chuckled as you let out an almost drunk sounding "no, only you!"

"Fuck, yes that feels so good!" You moaned loudly as his finger suddenly plunged into your wet heat, his tongue soon following while he tasted you, making you moan loudly. It seemed like everything about Yunho was big- his cock, his muscles, even his tongue and fingers were big as he ate you out, his fingers moving in you at a rapid pace. He groaned as he felt his cock twitch underneath himself, letting his fingers move from you to lubricate himself before pumping himself, moaning loudly into your wet cut. The sounds and noises you were making for him made him move his own hand faster along his cock, plunging his tongue deeper into you to capture more of your wetness. You tasted so fucking sweet to him, making him want more of you.

It almost made him mad that his bodycam was off- he wanted to be able to watch the footage back of him having you like this.

"C-cum, I'm going to-" Your whimpers were cut off with a noise of disappointment as Yunho immediately removed his tongue from your wet cunt at your words, making you whine louder before yelping as his hand laid another spank to your ass. Before you could ask what the fuck he was doing edging you like this, you gasped at the feeling of his cock slowly pushing it's way into your cunt. Yunho swore it felt better than heaven; the way it wrapped deliciously around his long, thick cock made him toss his head forward with a loud moan, spanking you again. "That's such a nice pussy, baby. Too bad I'm going to ruin it"

That was the only warning you got before he began to pound into you, rocking your body as his hips roughly met the plush of your ass. He grunted as his hands held onto your handcuffed hands for balance, driving his hard cock into you at a fast pace. He tossed his head back as you moaned loudly, the feeling your orgsam soon washing over you as you toss your own head back, coating his cock in your warm cum. You laid against the seat limp as all of your energy left your body, trying to catch your breath as you felt him slowly pull out of you with a wet pop. You winced at the wet sound, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep against the leather seats.

"Don't think I'm done with you, slut. This is your punishment."

You gasped as you felt Yunho pick you up, sitting himself down before having you hover over his hard cock. You whimpered as he slowly sunk you back down onto it, moaning as you noticed the bulge forming in your stomach from how big he was. Once you were fully seated on his cock, Yunho noticed how tried you were, clicking his tongue before slapping your ass, grunting out "you better get to riding slut or that jail is going to be where you're laying your head for the night" "It's hard to ride you with my hands behind my back" You moaned out harshly, letting your head rest back against the front seat as you tried to catch your breath. Yunho chuckled, before leaning forward to kiss your neck, leaving marks along your neck before pulling back from you, holding up the handcuffs that were around your wrists. "There. Now ride me."

You nodded at his demanding voice, placing your hands on his shoulders before bouncing along his cock at a fast pace, moaning loudly at the feeling of his cock grazing your G-spot. Yunho moaned before smashing his lips against yours, gripping your hips to help you move along his cock at a fast pace as the sound filled the car. He let his tongue move to meet yours as you moved faster, panting into the kiss at the feeling of him going so deep into you.

"Fuck, Y/N baby, if you keep riding me like this I'm gonna fill you up with my cum." he couldn't help but laugh breathlessly as he tossed his head forward to let his lips hover over yours as you bounced his hands gripping your breasts now to for leverage as he fucks up into you, saying "and if you make me cum hard enough, I'll let you fucking go. Yeah baby, ride me hard like that and I'll let you go free"

You let his words provide sudden motivation to you as you begin to ride him again, meeting his rough thrusts as you bounce, gripping his hair as you pressed your foreheads against each other, moaning loudly as the wet sounds become louder int he car, the car moving with the force of you two.

"That's it, Y/N, I'm going to cum! You better cum with me, let me fill you up with my fucking cum!" Yunho tossed his head back as he slammed your down on his cock, an almost animalistic moan leaving his mouth as he cums, roughly kissing you as you squeeze around him, both your cums now coating your thighs and his cock. You both panted into the kiss before he carefully helped you to lay back against the leather seat, slowly pulling out of you as your legs shook.

You let your eyes close as you heard the car door close before the car turn on, being too tired to do anything as you slowly fell asleep. You soon woke up to the sound of Yunho on the phone, fully dressed in his police uniform as he spoke to who you figured to be his captain. You fixed your dress as you felt a surge of nervousness fill your body, reaching for the car door, feeling surprised as the car door opens, showing you it was unlocked. As you slipped out from the backseat, you realized Yunho had brought you back to where he had originally found you. You turned to him as he held out his card, his number written on it before he said to whoever he was on the phone with "Did I find Django? Y/N? No, I didn't."

You caught him smirking at you as you accepted the card, smiling back at him as you exited the car, the last thing you hear him say before you close the door being "yes I will go patrol and look for her." You carefully closed the door as he drove away, looking down at the card he gave you with his number on it.

Call me, Django ;)

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez smau #atz #ateez imagines #atz yunho #ateez yunho #yunho smut #jeong yunho #jeong yunho smut #ateez smut #ateez au #ateez smut reactions #ateez yunho smut #ateez yunho x reader

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thesirencult · 5 months

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Pick A Card : Soul Connection

An intuitive reading about a soul meant to find yours. In epic tales there is a literally mechanism called "recognition". The hero and his counterpart recognize eachother even after years of estrangement. Like Penelope and Odysseus. A love so deep not even multiple lifetimes can erase. A soul kindred to yours you would recognize in a sea of people.

"I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

disclaimer : a tarot reading should never be used in place of professional counselling. Your reading cannot offer legal, medical, business, or financial advice nor does any portion of your reading herein purport to. You should not rely on a tarot reading to make any decision that would affect your legal, financial, or medical condition. If your inquiry involves the law, finance, or medicine, then you should seek the advice of a licensed or qualified legal, financial, or medical professional. Also, tarot reading cannot replace qualified mental health care. A tarot reading can only facilitate how you cope spiritually with a given situation.

PILE 1

The soul meant to find yours is a gentle one. Themes that come up here remind me of couples like Queen Victoria and Albert. I t will be love at first sight. Whatever your genders are, the "supposed" feminine will be the dominant one.

Your person will take the backseat as you run things. You may come from a wealthier background or simply seem "high value". Lady and the trump vibes.

This person will fight for those who didn't get the same opportunities to grow. They cheer for the underdog. This person will love your firey nature and how "bossy" you are. One thing you have to be careful with in this relationship is to keep things balanced as sometimes they might feel like you do not respect them or you don't spend enough time with them.

They could be an INFJ. Sympathetic, compassionate and protective. Practical and detail oriented, this is the safe place you need to come back to after your long trips towards the stars.

PILE 2

The love of your life will be able to see you. The real you. They won't overlook the greyness in your face. "You're Losing Me" by Taylor Swift is a song that can talk about your past.

No one stopped hurting you even though they knew they wouldn't be able to bring you back. They didn't care.

This person is everything that you deserve. They will help you heal. No sad songs with this one. Your happily ever after. This person is a soldier. They would die for love.

Your people pleasing tendencies won't go unnoticed with this one. They care about YOU, not what you can do about THEM.

Give them a chance when they come around. Sweet energy. Safe. Boy-Girl-They next door energy. A sweetheart with a great smile and a kind glint in their eyes. My heart feels warm writing about them. Hallmark movies ain't got nothing on them. Their love is simple and "perfect". No questions and worries. Your safe place.

Your energy reminds me of those wedding photos you see on Instagram of couples in small American towns posing with their golden retriever and smiling at each other. Don't let your past wounds f*ck this up. Sincerely, from one people pleaser to another. If you picked this pile we would have been besties in real life. Lots of love and hugs your way.

P.S. They will always choose you. You are not the first, but the ONLY choice.

PILE 3

Your whole life you have felt alone and isolated. Like life is a party you have not been invited. I wouldn't say you are a "pick me", you are far from that. You just feel like there is no one there for you to keep your hands warm. You have always longed for someone that will look behind the mirror and realize there is someone is behind it. You struggle with finding your inner voice.

The catch here is that you have the ability to choose anyone behind the mirror. You have the ability to show who you truly are. Be wild and crazy. Unstoppable. You didn't come here to do pretty and quiet. You are here to awake others and break the glass.

The person meant for you, your other half is very different from you. They are way more hedonistic and may find solace is the material realm. They will do everything to make you feel wanted and beautiful. This person will see you for who you truly are and they won't feel intimidated. Your "black cat energy" won't drive them away. They have some skeletons in the closet themselves. Disturbing and compelling, this one would make a great "50 Shades Of Grey" type of movie. lol. They could listen a lot to the Weeknd or they used to live a very "rough" lifestyle in the past. Love at first sight. Intense. You slap them and they will kiss you. They will buffle you. "Why doe sthis mfer stick around somehow?".

In all honesty, in this lifetime, your other half will be overbearing. They won't back down until they take you down with them. Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem come to mind in Jamon Jamon. This person may also come from money or have a lot of money and they want you to be their dark princess/prince. It will feel like taking a panther or feral cat and trying to domesticate it. Good try. You are still dangerous though, but they don't mind a few scratches.

#astrology #tarot reading #tarot #pick a pile #pick a card #pac reading #level up journey #pick a photo #pick a picture #soulmate

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thisblogisaboutabook · 4 months

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******Mad at Azriel headcanons******

Reader is Azriel’s pregnant mate that he committed an (almost) unforgivable act of betrayal against - if only he knew what the act was.

- This male. The Spymaster of the Night Court, the most observant male in Prythian, cannot figure out why his mate is upset with him.

- He betrayed you. Committing a completely unforgivable act.

- “Baby?” He stalks up behind you, carefully wrapping his arms around your waist, peppering your neck with soft kisses.

- A little kick nudges his hand away from your perfectly rounded belly.

- Not you too little one… Az thinks to himself.

- You huff. “I’m in the middle of something, Az.”

- You can’t see his face behind you but you know those brows are furrowed, trying to click the pieces together.

- Which makes you roll your eyes further back into your head.

- “Is there anything I can help with?”

- Oh no, there it is, he thinks to himself. The scoff. “I don’t need your help. Thanks.” He’s in deep shit.

- He stalks away. Knowing better than to sit idly, he begins tidying up around your home. Completely puzzled.

- His shadows swirl in agitation as if saying, “how have you not figured this out??”

- They’re definitely on your side

- A knock on the front door sounds before the door barges open and a boisterous “Honey!!! I’m here!!” fills the room.

- Mor enters holding a giant box of pastries… from your favorite bakery.

- “Shit.” He mouths as Mor gives him a taunting smirk.

- His shadows swirl in exasperation as if saying, “we told you, you were forgetting something!”

- “Mor!!!!” You shout. Running (waddling, but Az would never say that out loud) into her arms.

- Once Mor leaves, Azriel spends the rest of the evening begging every square inch of your body for forgiveness.

- He of course spends extra time kissing your belly, he’d never intentionally deprive his mate or their tiny little love of the sugar they were craving.

- When you wake up the next morning a fresh box of the pastries sits on your night stand along with a copy of the newest Sellyn Drake novel that you’d been dying to get your hands on.

- You guess you can forgive him… this time. 🥰

———————

I wrote this very quickly so I apologize for any potential typos! I have been hard at work on the next installments of “Cowboy Like Me” and “Ballad of the High Lady of Spring” and wanted to give you all something in the meantime!

Btw, this can be read as a headcanon companion to Ivy (Covered in You) and Solstice Tree Farm ❄️

#azriel x reader #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel headcanons #pregnant #pregnant mate #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #Azriel x reader headcanons #azriel x pregnant mate #acotar headcanon #morrigan #shadowsinger x reader

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artethyst · 16 days

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~ Leaves In A Sky Full Of Stars ~

Eris Vanserra x Rhysand’s Sister!OC/Reader

“You know, I am High Lord.” Eris murmured against your exposed neck, “I could so easily decline the invitation-“

“No,” you grinned, moving his wandering hands to cup the ever so slight bump that rested above your womb- one that had turned Eris feral when it had finally made its hardly noticeable appearance days before. “We cannot keep it from them forever.”

“I can do as I please,” he retorted as you sighed, watching him in the large mirror you both were stood in front of.

“So can I.” You smirked. “You made me High Lady, remember? I have just as much power as you.”

“How could I ever forget…” He mumbled with a lazed smirk as you drank in the sight of him- dressed in fine maroon layers laced with gold, his crown perched lazily upon his auburn curls. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder, his veined hand splayed protectively over your growing babe.

“It is only one evening, I am sure even you can tolerate that,” you mused, straightening your vermillion skirts and joining your much smaller and softer hands over his. “No matter how you feel on the matter, Rhysand will still be their uncle.”

“No need to remind me,” Eris grimaced, his feelings for his brother-in-law still very much apparent after all those years.

The two males coming to some sort of unspoken agreement they would remain civil for the sake of the most treasured female in their lives.

“Is Big Bad Wolf of Autumn afraid of my older brother?” You began to laugh as he nuzzled his head against your collar as one of his hounds might. “Worried he might castrate you for impregnating his little sister?”

It was Eris’ turn to smirk then.

“Bunny, if that is what will bother him, I can assure him I have done far worse.”

You rolled your eyes, a light blush on your cheeks at the insinuation of his words, softening when he spun you around to force you to face him properly.

With his slender hand angling your chin, amber irises burning an impassioned fire through your own, there was nothing that could escape him.

Not even the small pout that had come to rest on your full lips. The ones he had to fight himself not to lose himself in right there and then.

“You know I only jest my Love, I will behave how you ask of me. Anything you desire-“

“I-It is not that,” you breathed, eyes brimming with tears you could only blame on the growing flame in your stomach. “It is just…”

“Tell me,” Eris’ usually composed face flickered with concern, his sharp brows pulling together in worry, his senses ever so more heightened since news of your newfound state broke. “Whatever is wrong I will resolve-“

“I miss my home,” your voice was shaky as you refused to meet your Mate’s eye, unable to bear the hurt that flickered across his face. “I…I miss my family, and…And times like these just remind me that my child will not be raised the same way.”

Eris did not know how to respond.

He would have liked to think he had made you feel comfortable in Autumn- that his home was just as much yours than anyone’s.

That if you ever wanted to leave, you would tell him- not that you ever had to. He never stopped you from visiting, hell, would always accompany you- begrudgingly, whenever you wished for him to

He would never be like that sorry bastard Tamlin and have you locked away.

Were his worst fears finally coming true? Had you realised what he had known all along? That he did not deserve you? That you should have never accepted the bond-

“Are…Are you not happy here?” He could not hide the disappointment in his tone. “If you wish to leave-“

“No, Eris,” your tears began to fall at the sight of him- so vulnerable, thinking that he could never be enough for you. “That is not what I mean I…I never wish to be apart from you again, you…You are my true home.” You felt worse when he began to comfort you, sending waves of love down the bond as he gently thumbed circles into your lower back, his gestures more delicate than ever since your pregnancy.

“Whatever you want, Bunny, I will ensure you have it,” his words were sincere and you couldn’t help but break into small sobs, knowing just how far he would go- the things he would sacrifice for you.

It might have terrified you once, but now you understood why. You understood because you would do the same for him.

“I just…I just wish things were different,” you knew he had been trying, that your brother had too, but tensions were still rife amongst the courts. With loyalist Advisors Eris had yet to wheedle out and men like Keir who respected your husband than his own High Lord, politics were never simple. “O-Our child will not be brought up with same customs, attend school with their cousins-“

“If that is what you wish who is to deny you, High-Lady?” You couldn’t help but laugh through your tears, melting into your husband’s arms as though his muscled chest was the only salvation from the rest of Prythian.

“No I…I-I want them to know of their heritage- this heritage. To be part of their own Court’s customs…Be like their father,” Eris couldn’t help the way his own heart tightened at that, having to remind himself if not by anyone else, you were proud of him. “I just…I just wish we could have both…”

“Who says we cannot, hmmm?” He wiped away your tears, thumb lingering beneath your glittering eye, the ones it had only taken him one look in to be hooked on for the rest of his breathing days. “I shall see to it we spend a quarter of our year in Velaris. We will have a family residence where our children will be able to live freely in such a place that is theirs too to call home.”

You noticed the way he had said children.

Plural.

He was hoping for more.

“B-But what about you? Your duties-”

“My Love, why do you think I have delegates? And what else is Lucien useful for if not performing tasks that are below me?” You scoffed at that as he chuckled, tucking a stray curl lovingly behind your ear.

And no matter how unsettled he felt in Night- the stares that would follow him, the distrust certain members of yours- now his by proxy, family still scathingly looked upon him with, he would stomach it.

He would compromise anything- everything to ensure your happiness.

“Is residing in my old apartment no longer good enough for you?” You let out, trying to lighten the mood. Chin coming to rest at his sternum, reminiscing of the times when the only way to see him was to sneak him through the wards of your private quarters.

“My darling, I would buy every property in that wretched place if it would bring back your smile.”

You poked him in the ribs as he groaned.

“You just wish to show off your riches and have us live in a grander estate than my brother’s…On his own land.”

“You know me too well, My Love.”

And so that night, when you broke the news, with happy tears from Feyre and Cassian, drunken squeals from Mor and crushing embraces from Azriel and even Nesta, Rhysand did not have the heart to slight Eris.

And in return, neither did your Mate.

A warm smile on his hardened face as you tried to explain to a babbling Nyx- who couldn’t understand a thing, that he was to have a cousin. Watching you flourish with a new glow, surrounded by your family- surrounded by love in your childhood home.

Your home which you had opened to him.

#fanfic #acotar #acotar fic #acotar x oc #acotar x reader #eris acotar #eris vandaddy #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x oc #eris vanserra x reader #eris x oc #eris x reader

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waynes-multiverse · 19 days

Note

Can I put in the request for Ben to “support the fine arts?” 🤣

A/N: Hahaha you may! Hope you have fun with this! Based on this drabble and this little ask 😝

Pairing: Soldier Boy x F!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSFW, smut (oral m), degrading, dirty talk, weird jealousy on both side, SB being a manipulative asshole

Word Count: 2.5k

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles Masterlist

He Comes In Colors

The chatter in the classroom quiets down as your teacher, Mrs. Fournier, enters. You and your friends finish your sentences in hush and take your seats in front of your respective easels, not wanting to upset the strict, older lady again.

But instead of her usual cantankerous and bitter features, she sports an unusually bright smile and pinkly flushed cheeks today, still giggling like a schoolgirl over a crush and looking in the direction of the hallway as she walks to her desk.

Bashfully, she clears her throat and fights to regain her composure. “Class, we have a change of plans. I know we were supposed to devote our attention to the intricacies of nature today, but an opportunity presented itself we simply cannot pass up on. We have a very special guest this beautiful afternoon, who so graciously volunteered to be our model for this class.”

Your chest tightens slightly at her words, encumbered with a dark forewarning that settles in your gut. And as you catch a flicker of an all too familiar sage green kimono by the door, the bad omen in your belly only grows.

He wouldn’t dare, you think. Would he?

But you don’t have to answer your own question. Deep down you already know.

Of course, he would.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet our model for today – the one and only Soldier Boy,” Mrs. Fournier introduces, and you watch with parted lips as your stupid boyfriend strides into the classroom with an even stupider grin.

Mrs. Fournier claps with vivid adoration, expecting the class to follow her lead, but you can’t bring yourself to give him more than an annoyed slow clap. You shoot him a glare, and the smirk directed at you tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. He aims to get on your nerves. He wants you to be mad.

Now, you’re sure you’ve done something in the last couple of days to upset him, and this is his way to enact his revenge instead of talking to you like an emotionally intelligent human being. Because Ben’s a fucking petty child, and this is how he deals with his feelings.

Ben offers his most charming red-carpet smile. “Pleasure to be here and support the fine arts, Mrs.–”

“Fournier,” your teacher provides all too helpfully.

“Ah, like fornicate. I can remember that,” Ben quips with a flirtatious smirk, while you suppress the sudden urge to stab him with the sharp end of your paintbrush.

You half expect the French woman to be appalled by the dirty joke. But to your big surprise, your over-sixty teacher only giggles in response like a high school freshman when the quarterback winks at her in the hallway.

“It is such an honor to have you here in my classroom, Soldier Boy,” Mrs. Fournier raves with a blush haunting her cheeks. “You have been my favorite superhero ever since I was a little girl.”

“Oh, so only ten years, huh?” Ben flirts shamelessly, all the while sending you little glances that let you know that this is your punishment.

Do you have a clue yet what you did? Nope! And you suppose you will never find out. You just have to get through this.

“Well, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Soldier Boy devilishly rubs his palms together as he struts into the middle of the room, and with one flawless swing, he drops the robe and stands before you (and your classmates) in all his god-given glory. And boy, did God give – not only with two hands but probably with six or seven.

Mrs. Fournier gasps unabashedly with a palm on her weak heart and goddamn drool in your mouth, causing your frown only to deepen.

“Marvelous! Simply marvelous,” she rhapsodizes and is close to fainting. Of course, your boyfriend enjoys all this attention greatly. “It’s like staring at the statue of David!”

“Oh, please…” you mutter with a miffed scoff and roll your eyes back, but that only earns you a scolding glare from your teacher. You know then that showing your displeasure with the situation will only secure you a failing grade.

Ben then props his foot up on a little stool right in front of you, his cock hanging heavy and long between his muscular bow legs. And no, it’s not inflated to its full size but still as impressive and formidable as a lion king during a safari.

His gaze only sweeps across you before it lingers on your friend Alexander. There’s a cocky and yet threatening glint in your boyfriend’s eyes as he assesses the male next to you.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” Soldier Boy prompts daringly. Only your boyfriend could talk about his dick like that and not even feel an ounce of shame. “Don’t worry, squirt. I’m sure yours is just fine,” he adds, but you know he doesn’t mean it.

And then, suddenly, it dawns on you – why he has decided to infiltrate your art class.

Two nights ago, you went out with Alexander and a few other friends from class for drinks and didn’t invite Ben. Mostly because Ben is obnoxious when he meets new people and is a little too “old-school values” for your hipster friends. It would take ages alone to even explain all their different sexualities and pronouns to your last-century boyfriend. You just wanted one night for yourself, and you knew now that hurt his feelings.

You even felt a tiny bit bad and guilty but by far not enough to accept this current shit show he was delivering.

“Oh my, I don’t want to be too forward but may I–” Your teacher doesn’t finish her sentence, but her reaching hand is suggestion enough.

Soldier Boy chuckles amusedly. “Oh, you may,” he says but smirks at you as you gape at him in utter indignation. “What kind of hero would I be, if I said no? After all, this body belongs to every American citizen.”

And as Mrs. Fournier’s greedy palm stretches for your boyfriend’s perky buttcheek, something inside you snaps. You jump up from your seat, all wild and fuming, before you realize everyone is staring at you with wide eyes and confused brows. No one knows you’re dating him, so your upset seems completely unwarranted to everyone else in the room. Only Ben’s lips rise triumphantly.

“Be-… Soldier Boy,” you correct yourself and clear your throat, forcing a tight-lipped smile on your face. “A word, please?”

“Y/N, we’re in the middle of a class. Show our guest some respect,” your teacher demands chidingly.

But Ben soothes her anger with another charming smile. “Oh, absolutely no problem, beautiful,” he says and causes Mrs. Fournier to blush once more. “Y/N here is clearly an adoring fan, and I always have time for my fans.”

“Yes, I’m a huge fan. I’ve never met a real celebrity before. My grandma will be so thrilled when I tell her all about it,” you lie as dryly as possible. Honestly, you’re so pissed you can’t get yourself to act remotely convincing.

“We’ll be right back,” Ben excuses with a tight smile.

He quickly throws his robe back on and grabs your upper arm, ushering you outside. You want to stop in the hallway, but he drags you further and shoves you into a supply closet, closing the door a little too roughly.

“You know the rules: no fucking drama in public. It’s not good for my image,” he reminds you sternly, and you try not to scoff.

“How dare you say that after waltzing into my goddamn class? Ben, my education is serious. You don’t mess with that,” you point out angrily and fold your arms over your tits. “I don’t have time for your petty revenge.”

“Yeah, you never have fucking time,” he huffs scornfully.

“Is this because I didn’t invite you for drinks with my friends?” You cock an eyebrow, shooting him a knowing look.

“No, this is because you went out with that fucking empty nutsack in there,” he bites and points an angry finger at you. “And by the way, you’d be fucking lucky to show me off. I’m a fucking catch! Have you seen how those bitches fawned over me in there?”

“Who? Mrs. Fournier? That old hag hasn’t seen any action since the French Revolution. She’d fawn over a fucking trash bag,” you retort and watch Ben purse his lips dejectedly. You smirk a little at your win.

But you don’t want to antagonize him more. You can tell that you hurt his fragile ego with your rejection, and while he fucking annoys you and drives you incredibly mad sometimes, you’re still deeply in love with the idiot in front of you. He does have his sweet moments every once in a while. He comes in many colors, a whole palette of different shades.

“Look, uhm, I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to, okay? I don’t want you to be jealous. You have no reason to be, alright? I love you, asshole,” you tell him with a small smile.

“Fine, maybe I was a little jealous,” he admits after a beat. “But not of that scrawny twinkie in there.”

“Alright, maybe I was a little jealous, too,” you remark to make him feel better. “But not of that old French whore in there.” Ben snorts at that, chuckling. “So, do you forgive me and get the fuck outta my class now?”

Ben muses slyly and then grins. “I don’t think that apology was good enough.” Your brow draws into a deep frown at his words. Whatever has gotten into his mind now can’t be good. “They do say an apology is only worthy if it’s said on someone’s knees.”

You glare at him, your hands balling into furious fists by your side. “You gotta be kidding me…” you mutter and hiss through your teeth, “Ben, I’m not fucking blowing you in the supply closet of my school!”

Ben only shrugs carelessly. “Alright, guess I’ll have to ask Mrs. French Whore and see if she takes me up on my offer.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you grit.

“Oh, we both know I would, but I do prefer your beautiful and warm mouth, doll,” Ben smirks, letting each word roll off his tongue as his thumb pad reaches out and seductively traces your pink lips.

Instinctively, you suck his thumb into your mouth and massage it with your tongue, only widening his brash smile. As your eyes flicker down, you notice his rock-hard cock push through the fabric of the kimono and salute you. Your legs grow wobbly at the sight, your knees giving in with the urge to bend.

“Down,” he mouths, and you oblige without another protest, sinking to your knees in front of him.

You part your lips and stick your tongue out, ready to welcome his swollen tip. He fists his length and jerks his palm up and down a few times. He likes it to be as big as possible. He loves to see you struggle as you desperately try to fit all of him inside your tiny mouth.

His free hand lifts your chin, forces your eyes to find his as he guides his cock to your waiting mouth. He plops it on your tongue, heavy and thick, and lets it rest there for a second, gauging your reaction with a knowing smirk. You seal your lips around his weeping tip without question, your tongue swirling around it and dipping into the slit. You lick the salty precum with moans of pleasure, your hums sending vibrations up and down his length as your head begins to bob.

With each swallow you get closer to his pelvic bone, but Ben’s impatient and fists his hand into your hair. He roughly tugs and pulls you all the way down till your nose disappears in the little tuft of hair and tears stream down your cheeks as you cough for air.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby girl. Choke on my cock, you little slut,” he growls. His hips rock and find a rhythm as he thrusts inside you, hitting the back of your throat each time. “Fuck, that’ll teach you a lesson, won’t it? Who do you fucking belong to?”

He pulls you off his spit-drenched cock for the sole reason of replying. You look up at him as he expectantly meets your gaze with an arched eyebrow.

“You, daddy,” you reply on command.

He smirks in satisfaction and praises you, “There’s my good girl.” He tightens his grip on your hair and pushes back inside you. “Gonna send you back in with my cum all over you. Show those little pricks they can’t fucking touch what’s mine.”

As his hips gain speed, you hollow your cheeks and suck harder, feeling him swell on your tongue. Your jaw begins to ache, barely fitting his girth while his massive length drills relentlessly into your throat. Drool dribbles out from the sides of your mouth and mixes with your tears. Your mascara is nonexistent at this point and smeared all over your face.

And you know damn well, as soon as you walk back into class, everyone will know what you did.

“Such a good little whore for me,” Ben groans and pistons deeper once more, squeezing his eyes shut. You know it’s his telltale sign that he's close. “You’re such a fucking mess. Shit, gonna blow…”

He grunts as his hips stutter and his cock throbs in your mouth. He shoots hot ropes of cum down your throat, pulling out in the midst to paint your face with the rest. God knows he would never miss an opportunity to mark you. And when he’s done with his piece of sublime artwork, he smirks down at you, all self-satisfied and proud.

But then a bit of sweetness returns as he holds out his hands and helps you back on your feet. He gently tucks and brushes your hair back into place before snatching a roll of paper towels from the rack of art supplies behind you. He thoroughly cleans your face, removing any evidence of his deed, and kisses your hairline like you’re his most prized possession when he’s finished.

“There, all done, doll.” Ben’s smile makes you blush as he cups your cheeks. “No one will be the fucking wiser.”

As the two of you saunter back inside, no one seems to suspect anything. You get back to your original seat, while Ben invents some silly excuse to get out of his naked commitment.

But then Alexander tilts his head at you with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes, his finger pointing at his own cheek. “Y/N, uhm, I think you have something there. Oh, uhm, is that…”

He doesn’t finish as your eyes widen and your cheeks redden in embarrassment. Your shocked gaze darts to your boyfriend as he lingers by the door. With one last cunning smirk, he winks at you and heads out.

Yes, your boyfriend surely comes in many colors – and most of them are dark.

And yes, you bet your ass Ben was crushing hard on Mrs. Fournier 😂 Hope you enjoyed this!

PUT YOUR DIRTY THOUGHTS HERE

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33

#dirty drabbles #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy x femaler reader #soldier boy reader insert #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys amazon #the boys x reader #the boys smut #jensen ackles

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readychilledwine · 7 months

Text

Fours Company - Part 1

Everything is below the cut because this is just pretty much going to turn into porn. -Minors DNI

Summary - After hearing about Lyria and Azriel's agreement and arrangement with Feyre and Rhys, Nesta and Cassian are desperate for a taste.

Warnings - its long.. Smut. Fingering. Choking. Dom/sub dynamics. Fxf briefly, mxfxfxm dynamics play. Cassian is a switch. Subspace. Voyeurism. Degradation and praise. Free use mentioned.

A/N - I plead the 5th. Part 2 will be up soon. Also, peep "Slow Hand" link in my masterlist to learn about our dearest Lyria Vanserra.

Word count- Over 4k

Update:

Part 2

Lyria stretched her sore fingers, silently praising the Mother that her appointments were all finished for the day, and that she had opted to take a night off.

She loved Velaris, truly she did, and she was beyond thankful and blessed Rhysand had brought her here after her father had publicly disowned her Under the Mountain.

He had purchased her that very night to protect her, bringing her into the small sanctuary his chambers would become for the two of them down there. She cannot freely touch you anymore. You are safe here, he had held her against his chest, allowing her to cry and be angry.

She had nothing to repay him with, but a gift that the Cauldron, Mother, and love of research had bestowed on her. And the second night she spent in Rhysand's chambers, she had spent it working every ounce of tension the High Lord held out of his body. It became their routine. She'd play the part of his eye candy, never to be marked or touched by another, and she'd repay him by ensuring he was at least out of physical pain and discomfort.

Maybe that was why she was suddenly the most popular massage therapist in the city. Who wouldn't want to pay for the time of the female the High Lord and Lady, along with their Inner Circle, all go to and rave about so loudly in public? She loved Velaris, she reminded herself again, and Gods did she love money and all the expensive things that came with it.

It had been the massage on Lucien that did her in tonight. Her poor older brother was not even a client or booked, but she had found the knot while stretching his neck trying to help with a headache he'd told her he had for days. She'd asked him to lay down and worked his back, shoulders, and neck until it finally came out. It had taken 2 hours. 2 hours on top of the 15 massages she had already given today.

But she didn't regret it, she didn't regret a single thing as he thanked her and placed a soft kiss on her temple, promising her treats from every court he could manage to get to.

She didn't even regret it now as she rubbed the cream Madja had made into her own skin, eyes fluttering shut as the pain relieving ointment worked its magic as she slid her hands under a heat pack.

She could have slept like that, curled up in her soft bed, hands being warmed and relaxed as she used her magic to create the sounds of a forest in her dimmed room, but a knock on her door pulled her from the sleepy blissful state.

She got up, knowing if it was a knock this late, it was a member of the Inner Circle, and she'd never deny them, no matter how tired or aching her hands were.

Cassian was leaned against the door frame and she moved to welcome him in, immediately noting the casual sweatpants and t-shirt he wore. "Foxling," he said casually, taking a seat on the new couch Azriel had insisted on purchasing.

"General," her tone was questioning. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She didn't miss the twitch in Cassian's lip. Mentally noting it for later when Azriel would get here.

She watched him lean forward, eyes locked on her. "Nesta and I know about the situation with you, Azriel, Rhys, and Feyre." Heat filled Lyria's body as she nodded, immediately feeling a flush hit her face. "We want a similar one."

"You're very blunt tonight, Cassian." Lyria refused to meet his eyes. The discussion of the agreement with Rhys and Feyre had been done with Azriel present as Rhys approached you. "I would be more comfortable with my mate here."

Cassian smirked again as if he had prepared for that answer. "Azriel is currently in discussion with Nesta. I said "similar", little fox, not the same." He watched as she bit her lip. "We know you and Feyre swap. Rhys takes you out, plays with you with no actual sex, then goes home to his pretty little wife and family to fuck her brains out. Azriel takes Fey out, plays with her, and comes back here to rearrange your pretty little body. Nesta and I don't want to swap or to court. We just solely want to fuck you two. Whenever we'd like, wherever we'd like. With or without our mates involved. Do you understand what I'm asking for, doll?"

Her breath stilled in her throat and she nodded. "I would need to talk to Azriel." Cassian stood, coming over to her and backing her into the wall. "I can tell you right now, he's already agreed. He has conditions, just like he had with Rhysand." His arms came up, caging her between him and the wall. "The first of which is I do not get to be daddy, or sir, or show possession of you, and that's fine. The second is you had to offer submission willingly without him pressing you."

She nodded, they were similar rules to the ones he had with Rhysand. "I still need to talk to him before I agree."

"I know, princess," he was ranging pet names with her, she quickly figured out. Trying to see which one his brothers had not taken to ensure he had his own name for her. That one struck, he scent her arousal immediately. Cassian leaned forward, his mouth near the soft shell of her ear. "Don't make me wait too long, Lyria. I'll see you tomorrow for our session."

He pulled away from her, walking out the door with a soft goodnight. Once the door clicked shut, Lyria sunk against the wall, arousal flooding her mind. Her hand quickly found her heart, feeling it beating erratically as she took long deep breaths.

She had not noticed her mate appear until he was in front of her, ripping her leggings down and the tank top from her body.

Azriel quickly sunk two fingers into her soaking wet heat, making her back arch as he rested his forehead against hers. "I got you, babygirl."

He began pulling her apart. Lowering her completely to the floor. His hand found her throat as he pulled his fingers in and out of her the way she liked. "Does the idea of having Cassian inside of you turn you on, Lyria? Hmm?" He smirked as she whined, back arching as shadows began to play with her nipples and hold her hands down. "Or is it knowing Nesta wants to lick this pretty pink cunt until she's drowning that has you pent up?"

Lyria felt heat filling her body again as shock set in. Cassian had not even mentioned the possibility of Nesta touching her. Of gorgeous, gorgeous Nesta with her long hair buried between Lyria's legs. "Oh?" Azriel teased, slowing his fingers down. "Did Cassian not mention Nesta wants you, babygirl? Did he not mention how Nesta has started buying toys to fuck you with?" Azriel felt feral as he watched her writhing on the ground. "I can see it now. Cassian and I sat in chairs with whiskey in hand, watching Nesta dominate you while my shadows hold you down and keep you vulnerable to her every whim and wish. Her making you cum again and again and again until your squirting and begging for a break." He could feel his cock struggling, aching to be freed from his pants.

"Or imagine this for me," his fingers picked up pace again, hitting the spongy part of her walls and making her cry out. "Me with you naked in my lap, only letting you cum when Nesta thinks Cassian is being good enough. Or her forcing him to eat you out while I fuck her and he can only listen."

The deep growl in his voice had her tightening around his fingers. He groaned listening to the wetness of his fingers inside of her. "So delicous, babygirl. Making such a fucking mess on the floor. Should I make you lick it up while I fuck you? Do you want daddy to fuck you?"

Lyria nodded desperately, "Please daddy, Gods please!"

Azriel wasted no time, ripping his own clothing at the seams. He flipped her to her hands and knees and buried himself deep inside on his mate. He pushed her head down to where a small puddle of her slick had pooled on the floor. "Clean it, little whore."

He fucked her brutally. Holding her head down and watching as she licked her arousal and essence up. He immediately looked to find his and her high as quickly as possible after Ness had riled him up, whispering in his ear all the things she wanted to do to Lyria. All the things Azriel would now be stroking his own cock picturing until they came to life.

Lyria was just as desperate. The tension between her and Cassian had built when she was teaching him how to dance. She was attracted to the male, his hands, his thighs. She was attracted to Nesta. Her aura, her body, her quick wit. Her mind snapped back to her mate as that coil began to threaten to pop, but she knew better. She knew better than to cum without his permission. "Daddy, can I cum please?" His hand found her throat again, growling in appreciation for her submission.

"Cum on my cock, babygirl." She soaked him, screaming his name, chanting it over and over like a mantra as she milked him. He fell over the edge quickly after she did, collapsing onto his forearms on top of her.

The room was filled with the sound of their labored breathing and with the scent of sex. She opened the windows using her magic, knowing she'd have to air out her home before clients came tomorrow.

Azriel pulled out of her, falling to his back while pulling her on top of him. "You are under no obligation to say yes, Lyria." He stated as his hands began to run through her hair. He kissed the top of her head. "Your hands have been hurting today, I felt it through the bond."

Lyria nodded, lifting her hand that hadn't tangled itself in Azriel's dark hair. "I might need to take a week off," she admitted softly. "It's just so hard to say no. I've been working with anywhere from 8 to 15 clients a day depending how much time they book."

Azriel hummed, his chest almost vibrating with the deep sound. "Maybe we could go to Dawn for a week. Rhys has a cabin there near a river. Whenever my hands start to bother me, I go there and lay in the river."

"Cold therapy?" Azriel nodded at the question, admiring his mate's intelligence once again. "Do you want to?"

Azriel knew it was a double question. He looked at her, raising a brow. "Of course I'd love to sit naked with you in a river."

She shook her head, smiling. "Do you want to have an arrangement with Nesta and Cassian?"

He had already brought it up to Rhys and Feyre after talking to Nesta. The two of them did not care. They were as eager to share Lyria and Azriel's love and devotion with Cassian and Nesta as they were to take it for themselves. They just wanted a rotation and schedule worked out between the 6 of you to ensure Rhys still got his time with Lyria and Feyre her time with Azriel. An easy task in all honesty. "I am not against the idea. But it is your comfort level, my spark." He kissed her lips before moving to stand up with her and carry her to the bedroom. "Just let Cassian know tomorrow what you decided or if you need more time."

Lyria prepared the room for Cassian, her last client of the day. She switched to the custom table she had made for him and Azriel a few months ago, heating it with her magic before adding on the soft coverings and lighting Cassian's favorite candles that he said reminded her of a rainstorm in the mountains. She created that atmosphere with her powers and then waited.

She had Cassian for 2 hours. He had booked a longer session knowing that this would be his first massage since coming home from a 4 week trip the training camps. She had been working with Madja on a special oil and lotion for massages and was excited to use it for the first time on Cassian, knowing the general was open to anything when she had his muscles bending to her every will.

It was made with a certain herb she and Madja kept quiet from Rhysand due to its taboo nature. It had been shown time and time again by countless healers to aid in stopping inflammation, provide pain relief, and it's a wonderful moisturizer, but for some reason a certain High Lord, her father, refused to see use in allowing easy access and regulation to it despite seeing how it had saved Spring's economic state.

A knock pulled her from her thoughts of Beron's stupidity and went to the door, opening it for Cassian with a smile.

"Hello gorgeous," he smirked at her, "what do you have planned for me today?"

She lead Cassian down the hall. "I was thinking we'd do a deep tissue with hot stone mixed in since it's been awhile. I have you down for 2 hours and if we need longer, that's totally fine since you are my last one for today."

Cassian was thrilled with the idea. Silently thanking the Mother that Lyria always seemed to know what her clients needed. "Sounds good, princess. Azriel said you had a new oil you wanted to use today?"

Lyria nodded and bit her lip. "You can say no," he nodded and raised his brows. "It's made with mirthroot. You won't get high from it, but it has so many benefits to the muscle system regarding swelling, inflammation-"

"Princess, I've been using mirthroot off and on since before you were born. I am perfectly fine with you testing it on me. So would Rhys and Azriel."

He smiled as she squealed and bounced in place. "I'll let you get comfy then! You can pick which side we start on or if you just want to do your back today!" He watched her practically skip from the room with a small smile and shook his head.

He laid on his stomach, covering himself as he got comfortable. He had hoped she'd be willing to focus on his back, but knew from Azriel her hands had been killing her the past 2 or 3 days. Rhys wanted to take Lyria on a little vacation, all three couples, as did Azriel. Rhys was hoping on that vacation he'd be able to convince her to cut herself back to 5 to 8 clients a day with a few days off throughout the week instead of just evenings off. They, as selfishly and selflessly as possible, did not want her to have to stop her little business.

Rhys has spent years trying to find a massage therapist as skilled as she is. He'd have to spent a millenia trying to replace her.

She re-entered the room, dimming the fae lights. "Just your back today then?"

"Yes please."

Lyria knew Cassian was asleep 30 minutes into the massage, he always was. He has told her once it was that special time during the week where he could just focus on himself, on his body, his spirit. It was his self care time, and that had always been a high compliment for her. She worked his shoulders, feeling knots she had previously gotten out trying to form again and sighed as she realized she needed a better angle to get them out.

The professional line between her and all of the Inner Circle had blurred when Azriel and her were officially known as a couple. She was given liberties and consent with their bodies and with them topics of discussion with her. She climbed on Cassian's back, not fully setting her weight into him, to dig as gently as she could into the spot between his wings that was getting tense again.

All three of the males had this problem. It was just worse for Cassian for some reason. It was an area the two of them focused on intensely in their sessions, sometimes to where Cassian told the female she was a tiny torturess and terrorist. "Cassian," she stroked his back lightly to wake him.

"Oh top of me already, princess? Could have at least let me roll over." His deep voice was laced with sleep causing it to be slightly gritty. "It's back, isn't it?"

"Mmmhmm," she confirmed while rubbing his back. "If I get it now, it won't be as bad as if we wait again."

He groaned, wings falling in a little temper tantrum, "Fine. Just, get it over with. My safeword is pineapple."

She laughed as she got started. "Does Nesta make you use your safeword a lot?"

Cassian chuckled below her. "No. Your mate used to though when he, Rhys, and I all used to fuck around." They both tensed at the quiet confession. "I didn't tell you that."

"Oh yes you did." Lyria dug into the knot, rolling her elbow in it. "Tell me Cassian."

He let out a slightly pained moan, "We used to bring a single female back to Rhysand's mom's cabin and take turns with her or fuck her two at a time with the third brother shoved down her throat. If it was just one at a time, while one of us was enjoying the fairer sex, the other two would be enjoying each other."

"Oh?" Lyria was blushing. "And they enjoyed this?"

Cassian would have looked back at her offended if her elbow wasn't currently dug into the sole source of his discomfort the past few weeks. "Lyria, I have never failed to make a female cum at least twice in all my sexual interactions. Of course they enjoyed it." She released the hold in Cassian, rubbing the area gently again to feel where the knot had broken into small pieces. "Azriel used to be rougher than I think he is with you. Especially with Rhys and I because he knew we could take it."

"I've told him to stop holding back," she confessed. "I figured he wanted more."

She mentally cursed herself as her hand made contact with the leathery membrane of Cassian's wing as she reached for the oil. "Lyria," Cassian growled in warning.

"I'm sorry I-" She couldn't respond quickly enough, Cassian had somehow found a way to turn with her on top of him, setting her down directly on his hips and holding her there with his hands. "It was an accident, I swear."

Cassian's eyes were animalistic as he studied her. "I need your answer now."

Her hands had fallen to his chest, her eyes had gone wide. "Lyria. I was told I do not get to come home until you say yes. Give me your answer now so I can argue with you and change your mind if I have to."

The word fell from her mouth with hesitation. "Yes." Cassian's head fell back as he groaned, gripping her hips tighter. "What are the rules?"

"Only that we have to keep the bonds open." Cassian was eager to start playing with Lyria immediately. He began to grind her core against his hard length with a groan. "Azriel already told me if you agreed I could have fun with you today. Nesta just wanted me to tug the bond twice if you agreed so she could come watch."

"I don't know if I want to do anything today. This is supposed to be me massaging you and taking care of your body." Cassian smirked. Her words said no, but the faint wetness he could feel from her said yes.

"Are you sure? I can roll back over, princess. We can plan an official start date and sit down. Or I can give you a fun quick ride. Your choice."

"I'd like talking to Nesta first more." She hadn't even gotten to see Nesta yet to speak to her friend about this agreement. She understood why. The dynamic between her and Azriel was clear as day. That daddy babygirl dynamic showed them the control he had over her sexually. "I want to talk to Nesta first."

Cassian smiled and nodding. His respect for the youngest Vanserra grew, as did his adoration of her, at the respect she was giving his mate. His Ness. "Then let's get this wrapped up so I can fly you to the house, princess."

The flight to the House of Wind of the fastest she had ever taken. Cassian strolled in the doors, still carrying her. "Ness, I'm home momma!" He walked through the entryway, smiling as he got to the living room. "And I brought a snack."

Lyria waved at her friend, laughing as Nesta began to snicker. "The snack's mate is upstairs in his room. You should leave her here with me and go get him." Cassian set her on the sofa opposite to Ness before bounding up the stairs.

For the 3rd time in under 24 hours, Lyria was under the gaze of a predator waiting to make her it's next meal. Ness moved to the sofa with her. Almost cornering her between the arm of the furniture and her own body. "Don't you just look," Nesta paused, looking her over, breathing in the faded scent of her arousal. "Tasty today?"

She tucked a long red strand of hair behind Lyria's pointed ear. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too," Lyria admitted. "I wanted to talk." She became distracted quickly as Nesta trailed a long finger down the column of her neck. She raised a perfect arched brow waiting for her to continue. "About the arrangement."

Nesta's eyes sparkled with something Lyria instantly realized was arousal. "What's there to discuss? You are free use for Cassian, Azriel, and I. The bonds stay open at all times."

"What about boundaries?"

"Do you have boundaries, pretty girl?" Nesta began to kiss her throat. "Anything you don't want us to do, you just say the word and we stop." Cassian and Azriel had come back downstairs. Sitting across from them and watching as Nesta kissed up and down her neck, nipping along the way. "What's her safe word, Azriel?"

Her mate was smirking, shirtless in his sweatpants as he leaned back. "It's a color system. Green is good, yellow is slow down, orange for when she needs praise to continue, red for stop completely."

Lyria knew she was drenched at this point. Falling into that safe place and haze she always did with Azriel. "Fuck," her mate groaned as sensed it down the bond. "Free use, Nesta." He reminded the oldest sister.

Her hands were squeezing Lyria's breasts, playing with her peaked nipples through the fabric. "Cassian, undress my toy for me."

"Yes, mistress." Cassian pulled Lyria up, forcing her back against his chest. He had started to lift her shirt until Nesta tutted.

"Rip them off of her. She made us wait. She doesn't get fully gentle." Lyria whimpered as Cassian grabbed the tanktop she was wearing and tore it, then her bra, pulling the fabric from her body. "Just the seam of her leggings, they're wet enough." Nesta commanded as she removed her dress. Cassian's hand trailed from her collarbones down, stopping to pinch both of her nipples and making moan. Nesta was bare on the couch, legs spread wide as she began playing with herself.

Lyria gasped as Cassian reached her soaked core through her leggings. Both hands tore the ruined fabric with easy. "Play with her but don't let her cum. I want her punished for making us wait."

"Of course, mistress." Cassian forced her into his lap on the chair, forcing her legs to be spread wide for Nesta to watch.

"What a pretty pussy, Azriel. No wonder you've kept her to yourself." Lyria watched as her mate moved behind her and Cassian.

"You were given an order, general. Do not disobey your mistress. We do not want to have to punish both of you." Cassian's calloused fingers immediately found Lyria's folds, gathering her wetness before circling her clit and making her moan out. "Good boy," Azriel praised. His hand found Lyria's chin, ripping her gaze away from him and forcing her to watch Nesta. "She's been dripping like that for you for several days, Lyria." His mate whimpered. Drool forming as she saw Ness gather her own juices and squeeze her breasts with the other hand. "I expect you to lick her clean when she's done with you, babygirl. Do you understand?" Cassian chose that moment to push a single thick finger into her, making her cry out and wiggle against him.

Azriel watched, a smirk building on his face as he realized slowly they may get to truly punish Lyria. "One," Azriel began to count. Cassian curled a finger into her gspot, and Nesta picked up speed with her own teasing touches. "Two," Lyria's brain was screaming for her to say "yes daddy," but she was too lost in the feeling of Cassian pushing in a second finger, stretching her cunt. "Three," Nesta's smirk had grown feral, her moans picking up as she grew excited about them getting taken to Azriel's dungeon. "Last warning, babygirl. Four," Cassian curled his fingers again, stopping any thoughts she had other than moan and panting. "You asked of this, baby. Remember that."

Azriel walked to Nesta, darkness surrounding them first as Cassian chuckled behind her, his fingers still playing in her sloppy cunt. "I can't wait to see you, dripping, chained, and bruised by my mate." He whispered as he kissed her neck. "Be a good girl and cum for me. Cum on my hand, princess." His palm pressed down on her bundle of nerves and she screamed Cassian's name. He groaned at how tight she became, at how her sweet cunt milked his fingers as her release coated his hand.

He took his fingers from her drenched core, raising them to her mouth. "And you've broken two rules." A deep timber came from behind them and Lyria stiffened her eyes going wide as Cassian pushed his fingers into her mouth and gagged her. "I hope you mentally prepared for this, angel." And darkness surrounded them.

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #nesta x cassian #cassian x Azriel #nesta x azriel #nessian x reader #nessian x oc x azriel #nesta x cassian x reader x azriel

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m1ckeyb3rry · 2 months

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── THE GLASS PRINCESS // FOUR

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: You go to the zoo with Ty Lee. Later, you and Jia-Li watch a brutal confrontation between Kaho and an underclassman.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.3k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: big reveal HAHA jia-li is ruon-jian’s sister and kaho is chan’s!! idk if that was what people were expecting or not but i thought it was funny so here we are

To Zuko,

I suppose that, if you really are set on it, it would not hurt me to think of you as my friend. I hope that you are prepared for what that may entail.

I jest. I do not think I am a particularly difficult person to have as a friend, though you might get a more honest review from Ty Lee or Jia-Li. At least in my own opinion (which one might find to be unfairly high), I am agreeable enough to get along with most people — at least those who are agreeable in return (so, not Kaho).

Ty Lee and I went to the zoo. It was entertaining. I am fond of animals, and I found I enjoyed myself more at the zoo than in the academy. At least the birds sound pretty when they screech! The same cannot be said for my dear classmates, who are of the disposition to speak quite incessantly but without anything of substance or value to contribute.

My classes have been going well. I am already at the top of the year, which is partially due to how much I study and partially due to a different factor. I will not call it memory, because it is nothing that that is personal to me, but it is true that at times I will understand something before our teacher has even taught it. I must have been a very learned Fire Nation soldier, indeed.

I had to watch an Agni Kai. One of the girls in the year below us fought Kaho. Of course, she lost. It is such a brutal custom, you know…though of course I understand the cultural significance, it is not a joy to watch. Certainly, I don’t understand how some of the girls were eating snacks and placing bets on the outcome. Luckily, the girl who went against Kaho is alright. Kaho let her off with only a small burn, but it could’ve been much worse.

In better news, Jia-Li has invited me to spend the next break at her house on Ember Island! So I will go there instead of taking up space at the palace. I am excited — I am not sure if I’ve ever been to the ocean or not. It will be exciting to see it for the first time; or, if not for the first time in my life, then for the first time that I will remember. Of course, I will continue to write to you even on vacation, and Jia-Li has already said that I can borrow her clothes and things, so there should be no strain put upon you. If there were, then I would not even suggest it.

The next time I shall see you in person will be after the term is properly over, then. I look forward to it will hopefully be the Fire Nation lady you want me to be by then.

From, Your friend Ursa

P.S. You should not be surprised by what I am about to say: I still don’t remember anything.

“Wow,” Ty Lee said, chewing on a piece of candy as the two of you walked down a gravel pathway together. “I still can’t believe we got free admission!”

“Apparently, all students do,” you said, holding out your hand. She dropped the small, round, fruit-flavored disks in your palm, and you popped it in your mouth, smiling at the burst of flavor. “Though it makes sense they don’t advertise that.”

The Strategy Mistress was sick, so you all had been given leave to spend the afternoon as you pleased. Ty Lee had offered to take you to the zoo with her, remembering that you had mentioned wanting to go when you had woken up in the palace, and you had jumped at the chance to not be in the suffocating dormitory for a little while.

At the moment, you and her were standing in front of the dragon moose enclosure, watching as they grazed. One of the dragon moose had a calf, and it was a sweet looking animal, somehow adorable in its awkward ugliness. As you watched, it had a spurt of energy, jumping and bucking through the pasture, racing along the fence line and only skidding to a stop when it realized it was being ignored. Its ears drooped as it trotted back to its mother’s side, lowering its head to the grass once again.

“These dragon moose look a little different than the ones that pull the carriages,” Ty Lee said.

“Oh, I know why that is,” you said, eager to prove your competence. “Dragon moose are actually only native to one small part of the Fire Nation. The ones that pull our carriages are the offspring of ones that were domesticated many centuries ago. They’ve been selectively bred to best fit our purposes almost since the day our ancestors first tamed them, so they’ve evolved into very different looking animals. The wild dragon moose, such as these ones, never had that push to evolve and optimize to our needs, so they look the same as they have for all of those centuries.”

“You sure do know a lot, Ursa,” Ty Lee said gamely. “Was that school knowledge, book knowledge, or past knowledge?”

“Book knowledge,” you said. “I don’t know if I was that interested in the convergent evolution of domestic and wild dragon moose in my previous life.”

Ever since the first day of your classes, when you had discovered a mysterious aptitude and innate understanding of the rules of etiquette, you and Ty Lee had come up with three categories: school knowledge, book knowledge, and past knowledge. School knowledge referred to the things that you learned in your lessons, the offhand comments and the droning lectures that you remembered better than anyone else in your year. Book knowledge was the summation of the many pages upon pages you had committed to memory, encompassing everything from the political structures of the Fire Nation to the fauna of the Northern Water Tribe. Finally, past knowledge was the most mysterious and ambiguous category, because it meant the random things you just knew in your mind, even though you had no real reason to.

More things than you were really comfortable with fell into that latter category. It really didn’t feel fair — why was it that you could recall the pillars of etiquette and the different battle formations of the Soldiers of Agni, but not anything about who you had been in the past? Why was your identity, which you wanted to know the most, the only thing you could not remember?

In the middle of the zoo was a large, artificial lake. You and Ty Lee stopped at the fence and leaned over to watch the flying dolphin fish leap through the air before diving back into the water with great splashes. A little ways away from you, a child raced up to the fence and gripped it, staring at the flying dolphin fish in awe. One of the fish noticed him and swam over towards him before slamming its tail against the surface of the lake, bowling the child over in a great deluge of salty brine.

You and Ty Lee exchanged looks, neither of you laughing until you saw the other’s face, whereupon you burst into fits of giggles, unable to hold them in any longer.

“Should we go help him?” you gasped out, wiping away the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Ty Lee, who was doubled over at this point, shook her head.

“I think — I think his mother’s got him,” she said breathlessly. True to her word, an adult woman was yelling at the boy as he wailed, still face-down and drenched to the bone.

“He should’ve just stayed with the turtle ducks,” you said, shaking your head and pointing at the small flock floating placidly along, far from the mischievous flying dolphin fish. “They’re so cute!”

“From what I remember, there’s a petting zoo area somewhere in the zoo, if you want to try feeding turtle ducks,” Ty Lee said. “I wasn’t able to see it when I came with Azula and Mai, though, because Azula hates turtle ducks.”

“Hates turtle ducks? How could someone hate them? They’re so sweet and guileless,” you said. “Was she wronged by one as a child?”

“You could say that,” Ty Lee said. She didn’t offer further explanation, but considering you had never even met Princess Azula, you didn’t blame her. Whatever her past with the turtle ducks was, it was the princess’s own secret to keep or share at her own discretion.

It took you a while to find the petting zoo, as they had no signs, so you had to ask people to point you in the correct direction. Unfortunately, most of the people that you asked were other visitors, and by the time you finally found a staff member to take you there, you had all but given up on the prospect of going at all.

“Mostly, the people who come to the petting zoo are kids, or at least have some of their own,” the zookeeper said. Ty Lee scowled at her.

“Some of us are young at heart!” she snapped, earning a snort from you and a bewildered look from the zookeeper, who raised her hands in the air and back away.

“I cannot believe that was your response to her,” you said as you reached the counter where a different zookeeper handed you little bags of food to give to the animals.

“I panicked,” Ty Lee admitted. “But really, she had no reason to be judging us! It’s her own job that relies on visitors like us. Who cares about how old we are?”

“Quite right, Ty Lee, and anyways it can be argued that I have about as much life experience as a child, in one way, so she really has no ground to stand on,” you said.

“I wouldn’t say you’re all too childlike,” Ty Lee said. “You act like most anyone else our age would. Maybe more mature, even, but certainly not less, even though you have no memories.”

“Of course, it isn’t as if the effects of my formative experiences on my psyche have been erased just because I can’t remember them,” you said. “They still shaped my spirit, even if I cannot recall how they did so.”

Unfurling your fingers and offering your hand to one of the dragon moose — which was of the domesticated variety, not one of the wild ones from earlier — you used your other hand to rub its forehead.

“Ew! It slobbered all over me!” Ty Lee said as the dragon moose she was feeding swiped its long tongue over her now-empty palm and then across her cheek, ignoring her attempts to shove it off of her.

“That must mean it likes you,” you said. She stopped trying to shove it away, her expression growing contemplative as the dragon moose used its lips to play with her long braid.

“Aw,” she said. “Now I feel kinda bad for being so mean.”

“I don’t think it’s offended, but maybe you should get your braid out of its mouth before it chews it off,” you said. Ty Lee yelped and yanked her braid out of the dragon moose’s grasp, jumping away to stand behind you.

“As soon as we get back to the academy, I’m going to have to shower,” she said, shuddering.

“You do smell somewhat like dragon moose,” you said, sniffing her delicately and then wrinkling your nose. “Wanna go back to the flying dolphin fish? I’m sure they’d be happy to rinse you off.”

“Very funny!” she said.

“It feels like you don’t think it’s that funny,” you said, snickering. “Which is a shame, because I do.”

“Let’s just go see the turtle ducks. They’re the whole reason we came here,” she said, stomping off.

“You don’t want to visit the hippo cow?” you said, pointing at the enormous beast that was allowing toddlers to clamber over it as it dozed with one eye open.

“I don’t even want to think about how things could go wrong if I go near that,” Ty Lee said. “Turtle ducks are nice and safe and little. As I said, let’s go there.”

These turtle ducks were kept in a pond which had no fence, allowing them to wander about as they pleased, swimming amongst the lilies blooming in the water and hiding in the bulrushes on the part of the bank further from the path.

Crouching, you broke off pieces of lettuce and threw them towards the turtle ducks. They paddled over and began to squabble amongst themselves, racing to snag the treats before their companions.

Ty Lee joined you, and for a little bit, the two of you were quiet, tossing lettuce at the turtle ducks and observing them eat. Only once all of your lettuce had run out did Ty Lee speak again.

“I thought turtle ducks ate bread,” she said.

“They do,” you said. “They love it a lot, which is why people give it to them. But it’s bad for them. Makes their stomachs upset.”

“Then why do they love it?” she said. “If it makes them sick, why do they keep eating it?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “It must taste very nice. Sometimes, it’s like that, I guess. You do things that you know are bad for you because you think that they are good.”

Ty Lee glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. “School knowledge or book knowledge?”

“Neither,” you said. “Past knowledge, I think.”

You couldn’t explain it, but then again, when had you ever been able to explain your past knowledge? Ty Lee exhaled but did not question you, which you were grateful for. You doubted you could’ve explained further, anyways.

“There you are!” Jia-Li hissed when you and Ty Lee walked into the dormitory building together. The light mood of the outing had faded after you had fed the turtle ducks, a pensive melancholy settling over you both in place of the earlier humor as the two of you considered your own respective thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” you said.

“Where have you guys been?” she said.

“We were at the zoo,” Ty Lee said.

“Didn’t I tell you before we left? Did something happen? Oh no, did the Strategy Mistress suddenly feel better and decide to hold class after all?” you said. “We have an exam coming up. If I missed a class, then I’m going to have to double down on my studying.”

“Those are words I never want to hear from your mouth again,” Ty Lee said. “How can you ‘double down’ on your studying when you already spend almost every waking moment doing exactly that? I mean, there’s only so many hours in a day, you know!”

“Never mind all of that!” Jia-Li said. “No, the Strategy Mistress is still sick, so you didn’t miss anything — at least, nothing academic.”

“Good,” you said. “I don’t mind missing anything else. Which I’m assuming we did, considering you look near to fainting, Jia-Li.”

“One of those idiots in the class below us has been spending the entire afternoon antagonizing Kaho! I’m afraid she’s going to blow up, and sooner rather than later,” Jia-Li explained.

“That sounds like something I’d like to be far away from,” you said. “We should’ve stayed at the zoo a bit longer, Ty Lee.”

“Mhm,” Ty Lee said emphatically. “I’d take dragon moose slobber any day!”

“I don’t think this girl realizes what she’s getting into,” Jia-Li said. “See, the thing is, whenever you’re around, Ursa, Kaho’s too busy hating you to get annoyed by anyone else. But since you were gone all afternoon, she’s had nowhere to channel her inner anger.”

You made a face. “So? Are you suggesting that I should’ve stayed around and let her be rude to me or something?”

“Not at all,” Jia-Li reassured you. “It’s more that she’s seemed downright gentle recently — or, I guess, gentler. That’s why that girl thinks she has a chance, but the truth is in terms of Firebending, Kaho is probably the most talented student in the entire academy at the present moment. And when you mix that talent together with an ill temper, it’s a bad combination.”

“Has she challenged her yet?” Ty Lee said.

“Not yet,” Jia-Li said.

“It’s only a matter of time,” Ty Lee said, sighing. “Ugh. This is all so ridiculous! We should all just get along.”

“Let’s just avoid them all for as long as we can and hope everything has smoothed over by the time we go down to eat dinner,” you said. “Ty Lee, you can stay in our room, as long as Jia-Li is okay with it.”

“Of course,” Jia-Li said. “I wouldn’t send you into the dragon’s maw like that.”

“I can handle her if it comes down to it,” Ty Lee said. “And I really need to shower — bad run in with a dragon moose’s tongue, Jia-Li, it’s a bit of a long story. But thanks for offering!”

“What can she do against someone like Kaho?” Jia-Li asked you. You shrugged.

“I have no idea, but she is one of Princess Azula’s closest friends, so she must know a thing or two,” you said.

“That’s true,” Jia-Li said. “Let’s stop talking about Kaho and her idiocy now, though. There’s no point in letting her spoil our time together. Did you have fun at the zoo?”

“I did!” you said. “It was nice to see all the animals, and we got to feed some of them at the petting zoo, which was nice. They were all very friendly.”

Jia-Li smiled fondly. “That’s good. I used to love going to the zoo as a kid. My brother and I used to visit together — his favorite exhibit was the flying dolphin fish, but I always liked going to see the koala sheep.”

“Were you and your brother close?” you said, feeling a pang in your stomach. You had no idea if you had a brother or a sister or any siblings at all. What if you did? Would they be missing you right now, or would they have moved on from you already? Would they resemble you, or would you look completely different? Would they have cared for you in your youth, or would you have cared for them in theirs?

“We used to be,” Jia-Li said. “When we were very young, that is. He was my best friend.”

“What happened?” you said.

“We grew up,” she said, undoing the ribbon tying her hair back and beginning to comb through her long locks. “I came here, and he went to the school for boys. Then I suppose we just learnt to have different interests. He preferred hanging out with his other boy friends, and so I was left to find my own entertainment.”

“That’s sad,” you said. She set down the comb and retied her hair.

“It is,” she said. “What I wouldn’t give to go to the zoo with him again, or some other such activity. Actually, I just wish we were children again…but we are grown now, aren’t we? It’s fine. That’s how life is.”

“Is he much older than us?” you said.

“Only by a couple of years,” she said before brightening. “You should come meet him!”

“Uh,” you said. “Where would we do that, exactly? And why?”

“Our next break is soon. My family has a house on Ember Island; you can come stay with us! Unless you have other plans already or something, of course,” she said.

“I don’t have any plans,” you said. “I probably would’ve ended up going to the palace again, but visiting this Ember Island place sounds a little more appealing, in truth. As long as you and your family are alright with it.”

“My family won’t care,” Jia-Li said, waving you off dismissively. “My father will probably be delighted to have the girl sponsored by the royal family staying in his home, and my mother will just be happy that I’m bringing a friend home. As for my brother…nobody cares about his opinion, anyways! If he wants to complain, then he can just run along and stay at his best friend’s house. They’re going to be on Ember Island then, too.”

“Then I would really love to do that,” you said. “Thank you for inviting me, Jia-Li.”

“Sure, you’re a great roommate, so it’s not an issue,” she said. “I was a little sad about having to leave you during break, but now I’m just excited! You’ll love Ember Island, I promise. It’s so beautiful there.”

“I’m excited, too,” you said. “Actually, I was a little scared about the break — I wasn’t sure if I had a place in the palace or not, and either way, there’s something a little intimidating about staying there. It’ll be much more fun to be with you the whole time, in a place that I can feel somewhat wanted.”

“Of course!” Jia-Li said, growing starry-eyed. “And I can take you to the ocean for the first time! Do you know how to swim? Wait, you probably wouldn’t know if you do or don’t. Well, if you don’t, I’ll teach you, and if you do, we can swim together! You can borrow my things, I think we’re probably close in size.”

“Alright,” you said, overwhelmed by the many plans she was already coming with. “I’ll leave all of that to you. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“You can count on me,” Jia-Li said, giving you a thumbs up. “I promise it’ll be the best break ever!”

Since Ty Lee had apparently gone to her room after showering, you and Jia-Li decided to make your way to dinner together in the hopes that you’d find her in the dining hall. Both of you were hungry by that point, though, and you unanimously agreed to just eat, even if she wasn’t there.

“I’m surprised,” you said when you walked in and found no traces of Ty Lee anywhere. “She’s normally so timely when it comes to dinner.”

“Yeah, but remember how long it takes her to wash and dry her hair? She probably won’t be down for a while,” Jia-Li reminded you.

“Right, I forgot about that,” you said. Ty Lee took a lot of pride in her personal appearance — rightfully so, of course, given how lovely she was — so her pre and post-shower routines were quite extensive, to say nothing of the actual shower itself. And especially because she had gotten covered in dragon moose saliva at the zoo, Jia-Li was correct to assume that Ty Lee might not be out for quite some time.

“Uh-oh,” Jia-Li said as you two sat down with your dinners. She nodded at the end of the table, where a girl you vaguely remembered being in the year below you was smirking at Kaho, whose jaw muscles were twitching with every word the girl spoke.

“Someone should stop her,” you said, though you made no move to get up, wanting to stay far away from the disaster zone that was about to emerge. Jia-Li hummed in assent, but she obviously had the same idea, remaining firmly put beside you. “It’s like she has a death wish.”

“She’s just trying to prove her superiority,” Jia-Li said. “There’s a clear hierarchy in this school, and right now, Kaho is at the top. She doesn’t like when people come for her spot, but of course, everyone wants to be there, to be number one, so they’re always trying to best her. It’s why she doesn’t like you — you’re beating her in terms of academics, which she hates, because she’s supposed to be the best. At least with you, though, you’re not a bender, so she can console herself with the fact that you’ll never be able to compete with her in any way that matters on that front. This girl, though, is challenging everything that Kaho is. She wants to be the most respected girl in the academy, but to do that, she needs to prove that Kaho isn’t worthy of that place any longer.”

“Can she do it?” you said.

“No,” Jia-Li said bluntly. “Plenty of people have tried. None of them have succeeded, except for Princess Azula, and she’s a special case in that she already was afforded a different status than the rest of us because of her bloodline.”

“Then she’s a fool,” you said.

“There’s more fools in this world than not,” Jia-Li said.

The girl continued to tease Kaho, who was obviously doing her level best to ignore her, not even affording her the dignity of looking at her. One could argue that it was maturity, but you understood it for what it really was: a way to demean her opponent, to prove that the other’s existence was meaningless to her, that she was so insignificant it was as if she truly did not exist in Kaho’s eyes.

“Honestly,” the girl said, voice lilting impishly, “I feel for you, Kaho. I mean, you used to be the top student, and then a girl with amnesia took your spot! It must’ve been embarrassing, losing to someone who doesn’t even have any memories. And to make matters worse, the prince really does seem to favor that girl, and we all know what he thinks of you…”

“What is she talking about?” you whispered under your breath to Jia-Li. “Why is she bringing me into this? What does Prince Zuko have to do with anything?”

“You’d do well to shut up now,” Kaho said, though it was the wrong thing to do, for her reaction was proof that the girl had struck a nerve.

“It’s like I told you,” Jia-Li whispered back. “Kaho is used to being at the top. When we were younger, before everything with the, ah, banishment, she tried very desperately to befriend the royal family. She was never able to endear herself to Princess Azula, but her sights were always on the prince, anyways, so that mattered little to her. It was marriage she sought; the prospect of being Fire Lady was too appealing.”

“I’m assuming she was unsuccessful,” you said. Jia-Li nodded.

“Extremely. It wasn’t even her fault, really; Prince Zuko was always kind, but unattainable for all of us. He had no interest in dallying with girls that went to school with his sister, so Kaho was never able to gain his approval in the way she wanted. Perhaps it might’ve been different if he hadn’t been…you know. They might have grown closer as they grew older simply due to her sheer persistence, but we’ll never know,” she said.

“For being the supposed best of us, you’re not the best at a lot of things,” the girl said. “I mean, I bet you’re not even that good at Firebending!”

Kaho slammed her fist on the table, standing to face the girl and glaring at her.

“Is that the game you want to play?” she said. “Fine. I’ll go along with it. I challenge you to an Agni Kai!”

“I’m assuming that’s not a good outcome,” you said.

“Nope,” Jia-Li said grimly. “Let’s just say that things have gone from bad to worse. Come on.”

“We’re going to watch?” you said.

“It’s all but mandated. I don’t like it, either, but we kind of have to,” Jia-Li said. “Hopefully, it’s over soon. Sometimes, Kaho can be inventive.”

You and Jia-Li stood in the very back of the crowd, though your view was still perfectly unobstructed. You almost wished there was something blocking your vision, though, something in between you and what was surely going to turn out to be a grotesque sight, one way or another.

“Want some?” the girl in front of you said, turning around and proffering a bag of candy to you and Jia-Li.

“No, thank you,” you said, for you were already queasy and knew that sweets would only worsen the effect.

“I’m okay,” Jia-Li said.

“I’m betting on Kaho,” the girl said, grabbing a handful of candy and dropping it all in her mouth. “Wanna join the pool? One of my friends is running it.”

“Like a betting pool?” you said.

“Yup! It’s how I could afford to buy this candy — I won last time,” the girl explained.

“No way,” you said.

“We’re good,” Jia-Li said when the girl looked offended at your short response.

“I can’t believe they’re betting on something like this!” you said.

“It’s common, believe it or not,” Jia-Li said.

“I believe it, sadly, but I wish I didn’t,” you said. “It’s so heartless.”

“That’s just how things are here,” Jia-Li said. You pursed your lips as the fight between the girl and Kaho began, deciding to keep silent, because your words would be wasted when your argument was not even with Jia-Li in the first place.

Even though the girl was no slouch in terms of Firebending, the fight was over almost as soon as it started. Kaho’s power was too much for her opponent, and she seemed bored as she coated her palm in fire and slapped it against the girl’s bicep.

“I got the first burn,” she said, miming a yawn. “So I guess that means I win. Why are you crying like that? Honestly. Just shut up. Why’d you agree to fight me if you couldn’t accept defeat like an adult?”

The skin on the girl’s arm was red and angry, already beginning to blister, but you could tell even without an explanation from Jia-Li that Kaho had been merciful. She could’ve done worse, but she had chosen to let that girl off with a warning. A reminder to never be so daring again.

There was something odd about it all, though. Despite the fact that her opponent was standing across from her, you noticed that it was not the burnt, sobbing girl that Kaho was scowling at so darkly.

It was you.

Ursa,

I’m glad you were able to make it to the zoo. I know you mentioned wanting to go a while back, so it makes me happy to know that that desire of yours was fulfilled. I wish I could’ve been there. Did you get to feed the turtle ducks? I remember doing that when I went, though of course I only visited once, with my mother, and that was a long time ago, so maybe things have changed and they don’t let people do that anymore.

I wish you hadn’t had to see an Agni Kai. They are definitely a darker part of Fire Nation culture. But, then again, for a nation that values honor so greatly, they are just a natural consequence. I hope you haven’t been frightened too terribly. Mai says that Kaho isn’t always so generous with her opponents, so there’s something to be grateful for: at least it was only a small burn. You’re entirely right — it could’ve been worse.

You shouldn’t worry about taking up space at the palace. It would be my our pleasure to host you once again. But Ember Island is a nice place. You will have fun there, I’m sure. The ocean is very, very beautiful. It’s the bluest thing you’ll ever see, and it goes on for what seems to be forever. The Fire Nation is lucky in that our ocean is warm, and the tides are not so vicious — nothing like the poles, where it is so treacherous and cold.

It is nice to know that you are enjoying yourself so thoroughly. That is what I am really concerned with; it matters little to me if you ever become a proper Fire Nation lady or anything along those lines. I would even prefer it if you didn’t. It’s more important that you are happy.

Yours, Zuko

P.S. Perhaps I am not surprised, but I am still disappointed on your behalf.

#zuko x reader #zuko x you #zuko x y/n #zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla #reader insert #canon au #the glass princess #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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4ft10tvlandfangirl · 5 months

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You know what's incredibly upsetting? Seeing so many pro-Israel or pro-Zionist posts parrot that the only reason anyone could be pro-Palestine or call for a free Palestine is because they hate Jews.

I know what this tactic is meant to do and I know how making people apathetic, how discrediting their knowledge of a topic or questioning the genuineness of their empathy and other similar tactics are used to benefit the oppressive group but it's still pissing me off.

I am a descendant of enslaved people.

Our history lessons always begin with the slaughter & genocide of the indigenous peoples that were here first, primarily the Taino, who thankfully have a few descendants living in isolation along with the protected Maroon villages. It is normal throughout high school to take history trips to former great houses & plantations and see for ourselves the sites where our ancestors were brutalized and massacred; the weapons and tools of torture preserved and on display so that we knew but a taste of what they went through.

My university is built on the grounds of a former plantation. There are businesses and homes built on top of mass graves & on top of sites of slaughter. There is literally no escaping our colonial history because it touches everything. Our last names are not even our own! Most of us have English, Scottish and Irish last names given by the plantation owners to our ancestors. Or you know...because many children were the product of rape. We cannot accurately trace our true heritage more than 4-5 generations back because most families have no complete records.

A lot of you like to bring up grandparents. Cool. My great-great grandmother was the daughter of a mulatto free woman and a white Scottish sailor. She was white passing. Because land and work were hard to get here under colonial rule, she left the island for a better life with her husband who was a Cuban born mulatto and they ended up living in the US through WWII and after. They were considered an interracial couple (black & white rather than both being seen as mixed) and could not live in certain places because it was illegal. Papa couldn't find work, was treated horribly, because he had darker skin but Grandma found work passing as white and was treated much better. She worked 2-3 jobs to provide for them and their 5 children.

But, there were times when she would appear darker like if she was out in the sun too long or her curls would start to show and a Jewish neighbour/coworker suggested to her it might be safer to tick Jewish on forms rather than white if her race was ever questioned. I suppose due to that kindness the family formed friendships within the Jewish community where they lived & Grandma's eldest son actually married a Jewish woman. His kids and grandkids are all Jewish and they still live in the US.

I share this specific thing because I have very real concerns for those members of my family. But while I worry for them in this time of increasing anti-semitism and absolutely decry any verbal/physical attacks against them, I am still going to speak against things that are wrong. What Israel is doing is wrong. Of course as a non-Jewish person I can acknowledge I may misstep and if I say/do something that is genuinely anti-semitic I'll take the correction. But if your aim is just to intimidate me into silence it's not going to work.

And trying to tell me 'well black people are not welcomed there or black people wouldn't get treated well in Palestine' as if that affects the cost of bread. Guess what? Black people face racism everywhere. Even among our own and colonialism has a lot to do with that. That same grandmother, I was fortunate to grow up with her in the latter part of her life after she returned to the island and every time I went out with her there were questions of whether my family worked for her. Or why was I, this little black girl with this little old white lady as if I meant her harm. She had to say proudly, "This is my granddaughter." How other people view me or treat me isn't going to stop me from speaking up for what's right.

With the history of my people I could never ever ever side with the oppressor. Ever. Whether its here in the west or in the east, whether it's happening to my fellow black people, or any other group of people, I cannot in good conscience stand with the oppressor. My ancestors were forcibly stripped of their humanity, called savages, animals, barbarians and all of that was brutally beaten into them. That same language and similar acts of brutality are being used against Palestinians today.

You think you can cower me into staying silent on that? With unfounded accusations of hate? I refuse.

N.B. - my use of the word mulatto here is strictly to provide the historical context of how my grandparents were seen/classified and spoken of. It is not a term we use.

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fancyfeathers · 2 months

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Rain and Dirt (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader)

Chapter Four, Melancholy Memories

Sequel to The Moon Will Sing and Time Alone

Chapter One

Chapter Two Chapter Three

Summary: Stories are told of Rex Lapis the God of Contracts and his darling the Goddess of the Moonlight, but what people do not know is the truth of what their relationship really is. People think at Rex Lapis’s death that his wife would be the first to weep, but what if she is the first to smile.

You watch as the faces of Lumine and Paimon turn into pure shock. They look at each other, then to Moon Carver, then back to you. Their faces turn to shock then into pity, the one thing you did not want now.

“We’re so sorry…” Lumine started, but was not able to find the words. You shook your head, which caught the attention of Moon Carver.

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” The Adeptus questioned, stepping towards you. You knew that the Adepti would be shook to the core at the news of your husband’s death, you did not know what exactly their reactions would be besides extreme.

“It was at the Rite of Descension, I was assisting Lumine and her companion, Paimon, in finding the site of the ceremony.” You gesture over towards them, and your eyes drift down towards the ground, trying to make yourself at least seem mournful in front of the Adeptus. You took a shaky breath in as if to make it seem as if you were on the edge of tears. “Rex Lapis only descended as a corpse, he was assassinated, he’s dead. We have yet to find the culprit but they think it was Lumine but I was with her the entire time.”

“Preposterous…”

“Moon Carver-“

“PREPOSTEROUS!”

“Moon Carver!” You raised your voice at the deer and he fell silent. You sighed and fixed your gaze on the sky above. “Please stay calm, this is not the time to loose yourself in anger.”

“But how could one assassinate Rex Lapis during the Rite of Descension! And then place suspicion upon the attendees, ones with his wife no less!?” Moon Carver spoke out once again, his voice a little but softer than before but not by much. He glanced at you and then back to Lumine, almost to see if you had anything else to say. “Hm… of the unjust accusations placed upon you, one has become aware. The mind knows its answer. Though one must consult with one’s fellows, lest the mind be misguided. Go. Take your Sigil of Permission, carry with you a message.”

“B-but who should I look for?” Lumine questioned, looking at the deer and then back at you.

“Mountain Shaper and Cloud Retainer can be found here. Only fate will decide if you shall find them, or a word from my lady shall draw them forth.” You gave a nod at Moon Carver’s words, confirming this to be so. “There also exists a Conqueror of Demons, a Yaksha. Go to Wangshu Inn, there you shall seek him.”

—————————

You, Lumine, and Paimon left Moon Carver’s abode in silence, pure, awkward, tense, silence. You walked beside her, looking over the landscape of Jueyun Karst, remembering the days you spent here with your husband and the other Adepti, memories you wish to forget, even the fond ones. You felt your hands clench at the thought of all those thousands of years you spent imprisoned, one by chain and cage and then with a ring and vow.

“Are you okay, Miss (Name)?” You heard Lumine question, her face fixated on your own. You made yourself look at her, and she looked worried for you.

“Yes, why would I not be?” You replied, questioning her in return which gave her and Paimon a flabbergasted expression.

“…your husband was killed in front of you.”

“So? He is not my husband anymore, he’s dead.” Lumine still looked so perplexed at your explanation, but she simply did not know or understand what happened during all those years. “There are some things you cannot understand especially with the perceptive Liyue has of him, which is true but he was not just what they speak of. You asked me before what I felt of him and his death and the truth is I felt relieved when I saw his corpse.”

“You what!?” The high pitched voice of Paimon squealed in your ear when you said that. “You’re happy your husband is dead?”

“It sounds strange but if you know the story behind it, the true story, it is not so hard to understand. Those love stories that Childe mentioned, do not believe them, they are all lies. Remember history is formed by the victors, and I did not win.” You looked at Lumine and her confused expression. “I will explain at some point, but it is best you understand the present of the land before you try to understand the past of the land. I am sure your time in Liyue will bring light to that, once you return from the abode of the Adepti, come and find me.”

“Wait, you’re not coming with us?” You nodded your head at Lumine’s question, your eyes going to drift up at the mountains that hold the abodes of Mountain Shaper and Cloud Retainer.

“I cannot come with you, this place holds too many painful memories for me.” You forced a smile, but in your mind you could remember the cries of agony you wept after you broke your contract with Rex Lapis, those five hundred years of pain. “You will find Mountain Shaper on Mount Hulao, and then Cloud Retainer on Mount Aozang. You can tell them that Moon Carver sent you and if that does not work, tell them that I sent you and show them this…”

You slipped off your glove and you expected to see the mark your husband left you with after your act of disobedience, but it was not there, it was gone. You silently guessed that it vanished with his death, as death did you part. You shook away that thought for the time being and slipped off your wedding band, made of pure cor lapis, engraved with a long forgotten language of ancient Liyue. You took Lumine’s hand and placed the tin open her palm before your hand folded her fingers to curl around it.

“One last request, if you have the chance there is a cavern between Mt. Aozang and Qingyun Peak at the bottom of Huaguang Stone Forest. If you want a silver of the truth of who Rex Lapis really is you will find it there, but be warned that if you go there somethings are hard to unsee.” Lumine only nodded to your request, but did not say anything else and nor did you. You only gave a quick glance before you turned on your heel and began walking back, back to Liyue Harbor, a city that feels strange to you now.

—————————

You returned to Liyue Harbor, but you decided not to return to your home, you just could not make yourself return there now. You instead found yourself walking down to the docks, wanting to feel the comfort of the ocean again. You sat down at the edge of the dock, dangling your feet in the water that had an orange glow as the sun set over the harbor. You closed your eyes and remembered the time you and your siblings would converse by the water, not just you and your sister, but your whole family. The gods of Teyvat that are no Adepti, nor wind of Mondstadt, or subservient to any Archon of the land.

“Come little sister, you are the goddess of the rain, you have no reason to fear the water.” Your older brother told you, extending his hand to you as to help you wade into the water. Your brother had taken his human form as to be less intimidating to his younger siblings, namely you and your sister. “Come now, I will protect you for everything that swims knows my name as they will know yours.”

“But, it’s so deep.” You were hesitant to go any further than where the waves just hit your feet. “Who knows what’s down there.”

“I know the depths of the ocean, for it is my home and I promise nothing that dwells there is scarier than I and you don’t fear me, do you?” You shook your head no to his question and took a breath in before taking his hand. He guided you deeper into the water, but still making sure the water did not go over your head. “See, you are perfectly safe here, safer than anywhere because the ocean will always protect you.”

You hummed as you remembered the comfort the ocean had with your brother, and it still provided comfort but you could not see him anymore thanks to the one who calls himself your husband. You heard footsteps approach you, coming to stop behind you. At first you got a bad case of deja vu, remember the times your husband would drag you away from the water, saying how it was to protect you from the dangers of the deep. You could not get yourself to look behind you.

“Back so soon? I’m guessing Lumine is still off meeting with the Adepti.” A wave of relief washed over you as you heard the Fatui Harbinger’s voice. You looked over your shoulder to see the red haired man.

“Yes, I figured she could navigate herself from where I left her.” You responded as Childe came to sit next to you on the dock, his legs not dangling over the edge as to avoid the water. “She’ll be alright.”

“Is that the entire truth?” His words were sudden and caught you off guard. You glanced at him, a confused look plastered on your face.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, with all due respect, you’re a terrible liar.” His empty blue eyes looked over the vast ocean before you, his eyes landed on Guyun Stone Forest in the distance. “When most women's husbands die they are weeping at their side, so I suspect those stories are nothing but fiction.”

“That… is correct.” There was no point in lying, he already knew, probably figured it out when you were talking to him before. “What do you want, Childe? Need I remind you that I am no mere mortal, I’m still a god even if I am weaker than the others.”

“I mean no harm, I just want to make a deal, no contract necessary.” He reached out and gestured into the distance where he was looking, Guyun Stone Forest. You knew who lay under there, all of Liyue knew. “You miss him don’t you?

“Morax?”

“No, your brother.” Childe corrected you and your face dropped to be emotionless and your gaze fell onto the water that reflected you both.

“I miss all my siblings.”

There was a pungent moment of silence between the two of you, no glances or words exchanged. Your heart ached for your family, your sisters, your brothers, but they were all but gone now, some dead, some sealed away, and others unknown to you.

“Here is my deal, help me…” you could feel his eyes fix on you again, watching you for your reaction. Then when he said those words he got the reaction he wanted, eyes widened, mouth agape, and body frozen. “…and I’ll make sure your brother is freed.”

#yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere rex lapis #yandere rex lapis x reader

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holylulusworld · 6 months

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Dishonored

Title: Dishonored

Summary: You fell. For his lies. For him. From grace.

Pairing: Prince!Steven Grant Rogers x Princess!Reader; Lord Barnes x Princess!Reader (no polyamory)

Warnings: heavy angst (I’m not joking), lies, manipulation, hurting people for revenge, implied loss of innocence, unwanted/unplanned pregnancy, Steve being the worst, sadness, hopelessness, desperation, suicidal tendency/suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, fluff, we stan Bucky in this story

Rating: Mature

Words: 2,7 k

Square filled for @anyfandomfluffbingo: Square 9: “I never loved you.”

Square filled for Lulu’s Winter Bingo 2022: Square 4: Winter

Square filled for @steverogersbingo: C3: Free space – Royal AU

Square filled for @buckybarnesbingo: C2: Sharing body heat

Please heed the warnings for this story. It contains triggering content such as attempted suicide.

You fell. For his lies. For him. From grace.

How do you move on when your honor and grace get ripped away by the man who promised you love and devotion?

He lured you in – sweet-talked you into giving him the one thing you cherished the most. Your honor and innocence. Reserved for your future husband, and the man loving you unconditionally.

Lies. All lies.

It was a moment of weakness making you stumble and fall. Into his bed. Into his arms.

He took you apart, gentle, and slow. A miracle to you when you think about the aftermath.

A few months earlier, your father’s castle

“I can't believe Prince Steven came to woo me,” you mumbled to yourself. The prince arrived earlier this morning and you hoped your dreams would come true. You always felt a deep connection to the prince, and now, he’s here to talk to your father.

“Princess!” Your chambermaid scolded. “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold! Your father called for you. He wants you to meet Prince Steven. He will stay at the castle for a few weeks until he travels to his uncle’s castle.”

Your face fell. He came here to sit out the approaching snowstorm, nothing else.

How could you have been foolish enough to believe he came to ask for your hand?

“I’m…coming,” you tried to not cry. All your hopes and dreams ended up on the ground - shattered and torn. “We cannot let our guest wait.”

“Father,” you stepped confidently toward your father to peck his cheek. He was always soft on you, and let you break a few rules. Especially when it came to etiquette. You’re his little thunderstorm, a wild child with a bright mind and softness that’s hard to find among royals. “I heard we have a guest.”

“He’ll be here in a minute,” the king softly said. He ran his hand over your hair and patted your head. “I need you on your best behavior. I angered the prince, and we don’t want him to tell his father the king about it.”

You wrinkled your forehead. “What? I don’t understand,” you whispered so no one could hear. Your father is one of the kindest people you know. How could he possibly anger the prince?

“Your Highness,” Steven walked inside the throne room, accompanied by his best friend, and confident Lord Barnes. The brunette watched you with interest while the prince’s eyes drifted toward your brother and his fiancé, Lady Margaret Carter. “I see the princess will join us for supper.”

“Your Highness,” you turned your attention toward the prince. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again. It’s been too long.”

Steven eagerly took your offered hand to press a chaste kiss to the back of it. “The pleasure is all mine. Thank you for having me.”

“Lord Barnes,” you smiled at the brunette. Last time you saw him he was reading a book in the garden, chuckling at something he read. “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay. The library is always open for you.”

“Princess,” Lord Barnes smiled wildly. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

“Oh…my…you are too kind, Lord Barnes,” you replied gracefully and batted your eyelashes. “It’s always a pleasure having you around.”

Supper was more than pleasant. Lord Barnes kept the conversation flowing while the prince watched you the whole time. He complimented you and raised his glass on your beauty and grace.

You were surprised. His eyes seemed to be glued to your brother and his fiancé. Out of a sudden Prince Steven turned his attention toward you. He even stopped his friend from talking to you.

Your cheeks heated up, and you felt warm when he placed his hand next to yours, subtly brushing your pinkie with his finger.

It was the first time he was so close, and you allowed yourself to bask in his attention for as long as it lasted.

The next days felt like a dream come true. Steven asked you to spend time with him and go for a walk in the gardens. For propriety's sake, a chaperon accompanied you and Steven. But you didn’t care at all.

The moments spent with the prince were the best of your life. He made you smile, and laugh and your heart flutter.

All that mattered to you was his smile, his soft blue eyes, and the way he looked at you. It was the same way your father looked at your father and your brother at his chosen bride.

“I wish these days will never end,” you dared to hope Steven would say the same.

He took you by surprise when he replied. “Even if they end,” he looked you deep in the eyes, leaning a little closer to whisper, “I’ll always come back to you."

The prince was about to press a soft kiss on your forehead when your chaperone stepped in.

“Your Highness, please do not forget you are wooing for a princess, not a wench. Remember your manners,” she tutted. “We should head back inside. It’s getting colder, and I can smell the snow.”

Marjorie, your chaperone was right. Winter came faster than expected, accompanied by a snowstorm that wouldn’t let up.

The whole country was suffering from the cold weather and the snow masses.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. The snowstorm and unforgiving winter kept Steven and Lord Barnes from leaving your castle.

You didn’t mind. Most of the time you spend with Steven, chatting about his kingdom, childhood, and love.

Yes. Love.

You held hands, and when your chaperone wasn’t looking, he even stole kisses. Steven promised you that love is the most precious thing to protect in this world.

He played you well, you give him that.

Your heart couldn’t take being apart from Steven for a single moment. So, you gave him everything you had to offer, and what he was craving.

On one of these cold winter nights, you let him sneak into your bedroom, and take you to bed. He kissed you, and when he settled between your thighs you believed he would make you his wife and love you forever.

When it was over, he smirked, and his eyes grew cold. Your heart dropped as he hastily redressed. “Steven, what are you doing?”

“My plan went well, didn’t it?” He looked at you, making you feel ashamed of yourself. You grabbed the blanket to cover your body. The one he ruined with his touch.

“I don’t understand, Steven. My love. What has gotten into you? You said you love me.” You cried as he looked at you, wrinkling his nose at your disheveled state.

“I never loved you,” he coldly replied. “Your father forced the woman I love to marry your brother,” he sneered and curled his lips. “I stole his beloved daughter’s innocence. What will he do if he finds out you are carrying my bastard under your heart?”

“Steven, I don’t…” Your voice trembled. “Why? I…”

“I came here to ask your father to stop this insanity and let me marry Margaret. I love her dearly. He refused and wanted to send me away.”

You remember now. Your father told you that he upset Steven.

“But…she came here, begging my father to help her. She wanted to marry my brother. Margaret wasn’t my father’s first choice. Some princesses and ladies were more beautiful and with a better reputation. He agreed because she was in love with my brother and threatened to kill herself if he didn’t allow her to marry my brother.”

“What?” He looked a little shell-shocked at your words but shook his head. “Lies!” Steven yelled, making you flinch. “Shut your mouth, wench. Never talk about Margaret like that again.”

He left without looking back and slammed the door shut. Leaving you devasted, heartbroken, and ruined.

After that night, he never looked at you. He declared that he was going to stay at the guest wing until it was time to leave.

One month later, …

Hopelessness is the only thing left in your life. You can feel a new life growing in your womb. Every passing day brings you closer to doomsday.

Soon you won’t be able to hide the secret. Soon everyone will know you got dishonored.

Foolish girl letting a man take what should have never been his.

You run your hand over your belly, choking out another sob. If you want to save what’s left of your honor, you must take matters into your own hands.

Shakily you glance at the balcony parapet again. If you do it now, you can save your honor, and your father’s.

Stepping toward the parapet you release a shuddery breath.

What if it’s not high enough? What if you survive? What if they ask questions?

“No,” you step away from the parapet. This is the wrong way to go. You must let it look like an accident. Or maybe, if you can find someone selling you a potion, you can end your life painlessly and fast.

The river looked inviting to you. You look at the floating water, fascinated by its power and grace.

Once upon a time, you were gracefully too.

That was until your grace and innocence got ripped away from you like it meant nothing to him. “If I step into the river, it will be over soon. Maybe they will believe it was an accident. I slipped and fell into the river.”

Slowly, you stepped toward the water, closing your eyes for a moment. This was the only way to save your honor. The water would wash away the sin you committed and take your secret with it.

You took another step, and another until you felt the cold water kiss your feet. “Cold.” You whispered but walked farther into the water, feeling it tug at your gown. “It will be over soon, my little stardust.” You rubbed your belly. “I’m so sorry.”

The water surrounded you, almost reaching your waistline as you heard someone call for you. “Princess! NO!”

It was Lord Barnes. His heart stopped beating for a moment when he saw you in the river. He knew something was wrong with the way his friend acted out of a sudden.

“Nooo!” You heard the water splashing and then, two strong arms wrapped around you like anchors holding you in this world. “What are you doing, princess.”

“I cannot…he dishonored me,” you choked out a heartbreaking sob. “I cannot remain. No man will want me. Not after he took my innocence and…the baby…it will be a bastard.”

Lord Barnes stiffened when the words floated out of your mouth like the water in the river. He couldn’t believe his friend and confidant would do such a thing to you for revenge.

“My love. No,” he dragged you out of the water, and wrapped you in his arms, letting you cry in his chest until there were no tears left in you. Lord Barnes said. “Stay with me, my love. I’ll keep you warm. We need to keep each other warm.”

“But I—” You lifted your head to look at him with tear-clouded eyes. “You should’ve let me die. Father will…”

“He won’t know. Not about what happened with Steven, nor what you did today. What a coincidence I came by when you slipped and fell into the river,” he whispered and kissed your temple. “I came back to ask for your hand, and to wed you in spring.”

Your heart thundered in your chest at his words. “I’m…ruined. You don’t want me, or my bastard child.”

“I will love it like my own, my love,” he kissed your cheek. “You are not ruined, princess. Only a little broken. But we can fix this. I got my heart broken once too. We will heal together.”

“My lord, the babe…it’s not yours…I can’t…you can’t.”

“It’s cold, let’s head back to the castle and get you warm. I’ll call for a healer…”

“Not a word about her condition except for the cold,” Lord Barnes warned the healer. “If you say a word about the other thing,” he patted his sword, “you won’t be able to spend all the gold you’ll get.”

“Not a word,” the healer nodded and walked back inside your room.

“Marry my daughter?” Your father eyed Lord Barnes warily. He came back a few days after Prince Steven and he left the castle. Alone, and with a grim expression. “But…what about the prince?”

“He’s a foolish man, my king,” Lord Barnes growled. “He lost his heart one too many times to a pretty face. I cherish your daughter, her grace, and her kindness. If you allow me to woo her, I’ll be forever grateful. I’m not a prince but love her dearly.”

“She admires you too,” the king replied. “She talked about you, and that you love to read as much as she does. If my daughter agrees, I’ll agree on your bond.”

Lord Barnes didn’t wait until spring to wed you. He insisted on marrying you within another month.

You watched him with sad eyes as he desperately tried to fix his friend’s mistake.

“Lord Barnes, you can still find a better bride,” you took his hand to press a soft kiss on his knuckles. “I’m thankful that you tried to save my honor, but I cannot make you miserable for the rest of your life.”

“My love,” he whispered. “I fell for you the first time we met. If only I knew about Steven’s plans, I wouldn’t have stepped back and let him woo for you.”

“It’s not your fault, only mine,” you sniffled, and wiped your eyes. “I wasn’t raised to become a wench. I decided to let him do this to me…”

“Y/N, you’re not a w-.” He shook his head. “Never use that word again,” he angrily said. “He was the one stealing the light from you. You’re still an innocent angel.”

“I know that I’m not,” you hid your face in his shoulder, allowing yourself to let the mask you wear so well slip. “You’ll get damaged goods, my Lord.”

“Call me James, or Bucky, my love,” he gently rubbed your back. “I promise, you are far from damaged goods for me. You are going to be my wife and I’ll love you. And the babe will get all my love too. They are going to mine.”

“What a beautiful pair, don’t you think?” Your mother asked. “She looks happy, my love.”

Your father smiled wildly as he watched you and your groom share the first dance. You smiled and laughed as Bucky twirled you around.

“I was worried about our daughter for a while. Prince Steven’s departure left her heartbroken,” the king held out his hand for his wife. “Let us join them and celebrate their union.”

The queen smiled and took your father’s offered hand. She didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

A mother always knows when her child is in need.

She will never break her promise to herself and tell her husband that she saw you at the river when Lord Barnes saved you, or that she heard what you confessed.

“He is a good man, my love,” the queen whispered. “Our beloved daughter couldn't find a better man.”

While everyone celebrated your wedding and danced, Steven stood in a corner, watching you and his best friend happy together.

He squared his jaw and balled his hands into fists. His heart dropped watching Margaret and your brother join you on the dance floor.

Everything he did was in vain…

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers angst #bucky barnes #buckybarnesbingo2023 #steverogersbingo #anyfandomfluffbingo #prince!steve rogers #royal!bucky barnes #royal au #angst #tw: attempted suicide

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