#is good and pure and a well spring of understanding

[murdockparker]

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?”

[kiplex]

✧ Thinking abt modern day Dragon Sylus ✧

Dragon Sylus x Reader

NSFW, Minors DNI!

Tags: Sylus having dragonisim, biting, mentions of mating/breeding but not really though..., RAW next question

A/N: This is not my Sylus birthday fic, wrote this on my lunch LMFAOOO. Also a crumb of NSFW, I just in good faith could not post three Caleb fics in a row.

Dragon Sylus who hoards your shirts and sweaters because they smell like you. He would never actually admit it to you, but you picked up on it when half of your wardrobe hasn't come back from the N109 Zone. You’ve started leaving them on purpose because it's actually really sweet. 

Dragon Sylus who is always giving you shiny things, he gets really offended when you turn something down. It's shiny??? Who cares if it's expensive!? He doesn't understand why you won't accept his shiny things :(( 

Dragon Sylus who doesn't really sleep much, but will pretend to just so he can watch you sleep. It's purely innocent. He loves watching the way your chest rises and falls, the soft little coos you'll let out sometime, he swears he falls in love with you more everyday.

Dragon Sylus who HATES the big light in his room and will avoid turning it on at all costs, prompting him to invest in fairy lights for you so you don’t stumble over things.

Dragon Sylus who bites you constantly, most of the time not hard enough to leave a mark. Well... actually most of the time it is to leave a mark, but it's how he shows his affection!! He can’t help it.

Dragon Sylus who does in fact go into heat in the spring. The first spring you guys were together he claimed he had a business meeting to attend out of the city, when in reality he was posted up in his room fisting his cock over and over again to a picture of you. 

Dragon Sylus who, next spring, tells you about his predicament. He’s hesitant to tell you because he knows you’ll do anything to help… but that's the problem; 

“I don’t think you understand sweetie, it’s… a mating thing. I won’t stop until I think you are carrying my child. While it’s sweet of you to offer yourself, I don’t wanna make you uncom-""Who said it would make me uncomfortable Sy?” 

Dragon Sylus who can’t believe he’s lived as long as he had and spent every heat alone. His throbbing cock surrounded by the walls of your tight cunt, he doesn’t understand how he abstained from this all these years. 

Dragon Sylus who pulls you into the meanest mating press, your walls spasming around him as you babble out how you want him to make you a mommy, to bear his offspring.

Dragon Sylus who rams so deep in your cervix you can feel it in your stomach practically. He keeps hitting that spot over and over until you’re seeing stars and you cum around his length.

Dragon Sylus who cums into your abused little pussy, as you squirm and cry that it’s too much. He just nuzzles your neck leaving another pretty little mark.

Dragon Sylus who knew if you weren’t on birth control, you would’ve been pregnant with his child.

You can find my master list here

[banquetwriter]

୨୧ Brat ୨୧

pairing: Rick Grimes ♡︎ fem!Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ use of daddy, one spank, dom/sun dynamic, multiple orgasms, pure filth tbh, reader acts helpless on purpose, brat tamer vibes

summary: ʚ Rick forgets your anniversary and he makes it up to you ɞ

Words: 2432

SUPPORT ME

You had your arms crossed a pouty look on your face. Rick rolled his eyes slightly, standing behind you. “Darlin’ please I-I never meant to hurt you,” he said, sitting behind you.

One leg on either side of the picnic bench. His rough strong hands land on the sides of your arms. You let out a frustrated whine, moving forward away from his touch.

“Y/n I didn't realise what day it was I promise I didn't go on the run to hurt you. I just didn't know what day it was,” he said slowly pressing his body up against yours.

You were in the cutest of dresses, your hair done up decently nice (considering it was the apocalypse) even made some of that homemade makeup bullshit.

You look like the cutest most beautiful thing Rick has ever laid his eyes on ever. Had it been normal life and he forgot your anniversary, sure he wouldn't mind you being a brat about it.

But this wasn't normal life. Not everyone had access to a calendar anymore, and sure some people kept track but Rick didn't. And he sure as hell was surprised you did. He knew it was coming up.

It was that time of year again, the spring. “Come on y/n don't be such a brat,” he murmured in your ear. You turned away from his face still giving him the silent treatment.

He let out a deep sigh not having the time to fight with you. “Alright listen this is what we're gonna do. I'm gonna go out and pick up your gift and when I come back I expect you to have left that attitude somewhere else. Do you understand me?” he said in a stern voice.

His hands slightly tightened on your soft flesh. It sent a shiver up your spine and heat to your core. “Fine,” you muttered out. Moving away from him, standing up, and walking to your shared room.

Rick licked his lips, “Alright. I'll be back soon.” he muttered, gripping the door handle and leaving the house.

It wasn't until a few hours later that Rick showed back up in the house you both called home. Slicked back hair, a new shirt, some new lingerie, and a bundle of flowers. He strained his back and walked down the hall.

He looked into your room to see you reading a book lying on your stomach. He lifts the hand holding the flowers up and uses his knuckle to knock on the open door.

You turned around greeting him with a much happier-looking face. You set the book on the nightstand and turned around slightly. You slowly bite your lips looking at your new gifts.

“Well hey there pretty girl,” he says setting the flowers and gifts down on the other nightstand. You let out a small chuckle, letting him crawl into the bed basically on top of you.

“How are you? Less bratty now? Yeah?” he mumbled moving a piece of hair out of your face. You nod with a simple pretty smile that could send Rick down to his knees. He cups the right side of your face leaning down to kiss you on your forehead.

He leans back up eyeing your figure in the tight-fitting dress. You feel your cheeks begin to warm under his gaze. His hand slides down to your lips parting them slightly.

He brushes them slightly sending heat waves to your core. “So beautiful…” Rick whispers looking at your face. His hand slides down further to your jaw, turning your head right and left.

“Sit up on the pillows.” your husband murmurs, moving off the bed completely. You obey scooting up to your pillows and sitting, letting your legs fall open slightly.

Rick stands on the edge of the foot of the bed, hands placed on each end of the bed looking down at you. His eyes were dominantly dark, you wanted to squirm under his gaze.

Rick stands back up tall shedding his shirt off. You rake in his form. God, he was beautiful. Scars littered his chest, and a good patch of hair as well as his happy trail led to the thing you wanted in you most.

“You ready? You want this?” he asks looking at you, a deep look of love in his eyes. You knew that if you said yes this would be the last time you would see that look for hours. Complete domination of a man would overtake him.

And you wanted nothing more than that.

“Yes…daddy” you murmur with a smug grin. He cocks his head to the right slightly. He grabs the comforter of the bed shaking your entire body with a swift move. You let out a gasp.

Rick grabs your hips and thighs and drags you down flush to his body. Feeling a small bulge growing in his pants. You try and wiggle out of his touch, squirming left and right.

Ricks's hand comes down on your hands and arms, “Quit moving brat.” he whispers in a deeply threatening tone. You give him a pout of sadness but you're so turned on.

You felt your sex start leaking with arousal. Letting out a whine of protest lets Rick know that you're far from done being bratty. He leans down kissing and teasing your neck.

His rough lips moved up and down your sensitive skin, nibbling on your jaw slightly. The flat of his tongue dragged up. You moan out trying to buck your hips into him.

His left hand slams down on your hips keeping you in place. “Rick!” you whine out trying to tease him more. He pulls away from your neck and shifts his knee in between your legs putting it right on your unclothed heat.

After Rick left for your gifts you thought it would be a good idea to go completely commando. You realize that it's gonna give you a lot more trouble than it might have been worth.

Rick's knee pressing evenly on your clit wasn't exactly what you needed or wanted but it sure as hell wasn't nothing. Your count began drooling all over him as he moved his hand off your hip and above your head stabilizing himself to bring his left hand to your jaw and neck.

His fingers slip around the sides of your neck squeezing it. You let slip another moan this one getting trapped in his mouth as he leans down kissing you roughly.

His dick straining heavily in his pants at the sight and sounds of you. God, you were a beautiful soul. It was like your body was hand-carved for him. He hoped only to bring you an ounce of the pleasure you gave him daily.

“Rick please…” and you whine out, his teeth clashing against his. Maybe being a brat wasn't such a good idea. You couldn't help it. You wanted all of his attention to yourself. A mean and rough man to take care of you.

Ricks's hand leaves your neck and lands on your face in a smack. You whine, pressing down on his knee, feeling a small wave of pleasure.

Your husband sits up, pushing your dress up to your stomach. Revealing your bare cunt leaking on his pants. “Oh what a poor little brat,” he says, fingers slowly moving to your cunt. He gingerly spreads it open revealing just how wet you were.

“This what's been troubling you?” he asks sticking one of his digits into your sopping arousal. “Mhm!” you nod eagerly. “That's what's been making you such a little bratty girl? Just a needy cunt?” he says in such a mocking tone.

“God no wonder you've been all bratty huh? Needed some good loving didn't you?” he whispers.

His rough voice plus his small ministrations were slowly filling your body with warmth and tingles. “M sorry Daddy,” you admit, trying to grind down on his finger. “Baby girl, why didn't you use your big girl voice and tell me huh? You know I'm always willing to help you right?” he says slipping a second finger in, starting to move even faster.

His thumb presses on your clit starting to rub just how you like it. “M said I was sorry Daddy! You forgot about me n I just wanted you!” you whined. “I know baby I know,” he says keeping his pass, rubbing harder on your sensitive button.

You felt the familiar feeling in your tummy pool, a coil waiting to snap. It felt like pleasure was in your bones, deep-seated love planted by your husband. “You feel so good, m gonna cum.” you whimper letting the pleasure slowly start to take over.

“Good girl, come on baby,” Rick says leaning down again and kissing up and down your neck/ jaw. The coil was threatening to snap, as his fingers pumped in and out, curling to your G spot.

“Oh my god.” you breathe out. Your back arches as your cunt clenches on his fingers. Tingling waves of heat tracked through your whole body.

Your visions dimmed and faded out for a few moments when your breath returned to a more normal pace. By the time you noticed, you felt Ricks's tongue slowly licking up your leaking juices.

“Poor thing, well that's all she needed huh?” he teased you, hands gripping your thighs. You moaned as he barely let your sensitive cunt recover.

His warm tongue moved and curled to your G spot as he moved a hand to finish rubbing your clit. You moaned his name like it was a prayer. Begging to keep going. Your second orgasm came quicker than the first one, between the lewd sounds of Rick eating you out like you were his last meal and his death grip on you; you didn't last long.

You grabbed the sheets, as you started to grind down on his face trying to feel every inch of him possible. “M gonna cum again, please,” you begged, again feeling your body teetering on the edge.

He pulls away keeping his moving fingers on your clit. “Do it. Do it for me,” he says, his words vibrating into your greedy cunt. “Mm, fuck.” you whined. You were sure your poor neighbors were going to complain.

Your orgasm washes over you, feeling your legs shake with the sheer force of your husband's desire. He slowly stopped his movements, pulling away.

His face is covered in your liquid, his hair sleek with a shine from sweat. You looked up at him, body on fire as your breathing returned to normal.

“You alright there y/n?” he asks looking at your almost dazed sight. You nodded ‘yes’ watching as he slowly undid his belt. Letting his pants fall seeing his, what must be a painfully hard erection.

He pulls his boxers down, his dick slapping his stomach once it sprang back up. Your eyes flutter a little looking at his being cock. It was so perfect, almost made for you it seemed.

“Sit up, take your dress off the rest of the way,” he says pumping his cock a few times to get it ready for your needy cunt. You giggle as you follow his directions. Sitting up removing the dress.

You toss it on the floor next to you. Eyeing up your husband, licking your lips slightly taking in the sight of his naked and erect body. You let your legs fall open, revealing your most intimate part of yourself to him.

“Get over here” he barks once again grabbing your hips and pulling you flush against him. You giggle looking up at him, “Oh you think something is funny huh?” he asks, pumping his needy cock with his hand.

“Mm nooooo..” you giggle out biting your fingernail. “S’ what I thought,” he says, grabbing your hand and putting it on your clit instructing you to rub. You obey as you prepare yourself for his cock.

He brings the tip up to your entrance, moving in slightly. Feeling his tip press into you. You gasp in the slight stinging sensation it brings, taking your hand off your body and gripping the sheets.

“I know honey, I know. Just hold tight for a second ok? Almost all the way in.” he says continuing his plummet into your body. You nod angling your hips so he can slide into the deepest part of you.

He makes it all the way in as you both moan out for each other. “Fuck.” he mutters, once again moving your hand back down to have you rub your clit.

He begins pumping in and out of you, slowly of course at first. Feeling your pleasure return for your third orgasm. “Rick,” you whimper out bringing your unoccupied hand to his hair. He follows suit plunging his hand into your hair, mouth roughly kissing you.

His body was flushed with red, as he pumped inside of you slowly coming to his own end of pleasure. You couldn't take it anymore letting your orgasm cleanse through you like a prayer. Your back arched, cunt squeezing him perfectly.

Rick closed his eyes pulling away from your mouth and letting his head rest on your neck. He felt your rapid breaths cool slowly as he quickly fucked himself to his own release.

Letting out a grunted moan as his hot white load shoots into you. He pulls out of you and lets his body rest on top of yours. You left your head kissing his forehead.

He lifts his own head smiling up at you, “there is my pretty girl huh? Just needed the brat fucked out of you.” he taunted you. But just like you knew his eyes weren't dark with dominance anymore, just love filled them.

He stands up walks into the restroom grabs a towel, cleans himself up then gingerly cleans your exhausted sex.

He holds his hand out helping you walk to the restroom, where you clean yourself off completely and use the restroom. When you open the door you're greeted with a halfway-dressed Rick.

With a pair of comfy pants on but no shirt. He hands you an oversized tee shirt with a pair of comfy panties. You smiled pulling them on, resting in the comfortable silence with him. His hands wrap around your waist holding you close to him.

His mouth is attached to yours slowly letting his love for you spill out. Both of you collapse in the bed under the covers to cuddle, his warm rough hands rubbing your body as he encourages you to drink some water.

“Happy anniversary baby.”

[seat-safety-switch]

When you're mad in the shop, you're not doing good work. Put your tools down, and go do something else. Good advice. It'll save you a lot of grief, broken parts, and painful mistakes. Problem is, if you were the kind of person to listen to "good advice," you wouldn't be in the shop. You'd be off getting gratified with some much easier hobby, like doing cocaine or setting yourself on fire in a religious protest.

For years, I thought that getting insanely angry at small problems in the shop was just part of being, well, in the shop. It's normal to lose the tool you just had in your hand five minutes ago. It's understandable to throw a wrench at the garage door when you break a brake fitting off. And it's certainly perfectly fine to scream at a bolt that you can't reach until you pass out from pure rage, only to wake up a few minutes later and do it all over again. That's why this hobby is so enjoyable when things actually work.

I thought that it was normal, because that's how everyone I grew up around dealt with difficult mechanical problems. Rage and grit. Stick to it, and don't let it be the boss of you. Then I had to quickly go to Switzerland, for reasons that I cannot legally elaborate upon. There, I began a new life. I met a Swiss watchmaker, Nils, who liked to work on clocks in his spare time. We started to hang out.

I never saw Nils get mad. Even when he shot the world's tiniest one-off spring into his carpet, a hundred-year-old treasure never to be seen again, he would just sit down and start making a new one. Sometimes, he would even start fixing my mistakes, after seeing how mad I was getting. I began to feel embarrassed at my childlike attitude.

Finally, our time together had to come to an end, when I fled his idyllic mountain village in order to evade Interpol. Nils may be gone from my life, but his lessons remain. Now, when I bash my hand into a razor-sharp, rusty heat shield while trying to remove the last fucking exhaust bolt, I just go inside. Then I swear really loud at some clocks instead. Makes me feel better every time.

[prettydaisygirl]

Ok so I am in love with Fire Chief James Potter rn.

Can I ask for a story where reader tells James that she's pregnant. Maybe she uses the fire station for help.

If not, totally understandable.

I love your stories so much. You are so talented!

okay so I know you literally just submitted this but as soon as I saw it my brain was like OOH so now here we are. I would give anything to have this man's babies, I'm just saying. I hope you enjoy this, my love! <3

firechief!James Potter x fem!reader who tells James she's pregnant with a little help ✿ 532 words

cw: pregnant!reader, James almost has a heart attack, pregnancy announcement, pure fluff

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

James is in the middle of a routine fire truck inspection when he overhears the call. His blood turns ice cold when someone calls out his address, and then your name. His mind freezes, but his body doesn’t, muscle memory immediately springing him into action. The entire station erupts into chaos, all units called to respond to the scene. 

They don’t let James drive, which is probably a good thing, but he’s the first one out of the truck. It barely comes to a stop before he’s out. He’s panicking, he has no information. And now that he’s here, he assumes the worst.

There are at least a dozen firetrucks and a few police cars and ambulances. There’s an entire crowd of people surrounding the front of his home, and they part for him easily as he steps between them. James isn’t sure why no one is moving. Why is no one doing anything? 

When he reaches the front of the crowd, he sees you. His body, fueled by adrenaline and terror, has him on you instantly. His hands are all over you, his brain jumbled and confused. 

“Are you alright, angel? What’s going on?” His hands cradle your cheeks and when his eyes finally land on your face, you’re grinning. His heart skips a beat, and his panic subsides just a bit. His confusion grows, though. 

“Hi James.” You say, and start giggling like a little girl with a secret. The tension in him shifts, now feeling like he’s out of the loop. That feeling grows when he looks around and everyone is staring at him with wide grins. He’s never felt more singled out in his life. 

“What’s going on?” He whispers, eyes finally returning to yours. You’re beaming, absolutely glowing with happiness, and the emotional whiplash from everything has him reeling. “I thought you were dead, I really did.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, but your smile and the tone of your voice make it obvious that you don’t feel sorry at all. “I just… had something to tell you.” 

“And it had to give me a heart attack?” He asks, a teasing tone to his voice and he runs a hand through his hair. He can still feels his heart calming down. 

“Well, I sort of did it on purpose.” You say, and then. “I’m pregnant.”

James’ heart stops, then speeds up again, arguably just as fast as it was before. “You’re pregnant?”

You nod, giggling excitedly, and show him a sonogram picture. His arms wrap around you, his face blooming into a smile that matches your own. He picks you up and spins you around and the crowd behind the two of you cheers wildly. 

James lowers you down and then places his forehead to yours, and he can’t resist placing a few chaste kisses against your lips. You blink up at him with wet eyes and he feels like he’s soaring, euphoric in a way he’s never felt. 

“I love you.” He says, and a tear catches his thumb when it finally falls from your eyes. 

“I love you too.” You say, and then James is picking you up again to cheer and celebrate with his team. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[joffyworld]

The Wall of Mutual Appreciation - Part I

@machetelettuce

You officially have the cutest Narinder boba eyes I've ever seen. They utterly confound me in the most captivating way. Perfect Nari Boba, 10/10! Not to even mention your lamb, that motherfucker is the cutest lil lamby ever made. So fluffy, so cuddly, so smiles. I need them in my life, thank you for making that possible.

@caffeinecramp

Sozo. Such an underrated and underutilized character is most au's but by God did you nail the design. He's so fluffy and neat, he looks so friendly and pure. But behind that fluffy exterior is the mad eyes of a scientist turned delusional zombie, and you portray it beautifully.

@halftoastedwaffle

Expressions! I'll admit I don't really know how to phrase this perfectly, but your expression work is flawless. Each face conveys such a beautiful range of emotions, even with characters that are super hard to use for facial expressions like Shamura. Such a powerful skill to have when telling a story through visual media, and you've got it down to an art form unto itself.

@thetireddoktor

Ugh Shamura. Shamura Shamura Shamura. Don't get me wrong Dok, your bishop designs are all absolutely stunning, I admire them constantly. But my God, you sure know how to draw that damn spider. I am deeply, deeply in love with that damn spider, and you've only made that feeling so much worse in the best way possible. You've got a real knack for drawing that evil bastard, I adore it.

@flowersgoldandgraphite

I love your Leshy to death and back. He's so smiley, so fluffy and so smug. Not to mention, he absolutely killed that dress you put him in. He looked beautiful, like he's always deserved to. The Leshy stan community thanks you dearly, your contributions will never be forgotten!

@z00lea

Undisputably the King of Cannibalism and Gore in the fandom. I don't know anyone that quite matches your crazy sense of detail when it comes to guts and violence, but somehow keeps it intimate and sensual at the same time.

@fanofthelambalt

I cannot overstate how much I adored when you went around with Vitas and interacted with so many other lambs. It was such a beautiful moment of community and made my heart so much warmer, I'll never forget those posts. So wholesome, so fun and so cute. It was perfect, and it reflects your kind and fun heart so well. Also your Helob drawing? Still the most beautiful piece of art I've seen of him, and it deserves the due credit. Such an under-drawn character, but man did you COOK with that. So so cool, so cool

@midia666

Horror! Few have mastered horror in all its subtleties quite the way you have. Your designs are dripping in horror and unease even before the gore and limbs begin to fly or dismantle, and it's such a treat to see. Not to mention, your Narinder and Shamura tear my fucking heart out. They're so tragic and pained, it's incredible really. You have a real knack for unnerving me in all the best ways, it's incredible to behold.

@wolsalwastaken

RATIL!!!!!!!!! RATILLLLLLLL!!!!!!! I fucking adore Ratil you don't understand, they're possibly my favourite main character OC and they're such an adorable lil fella. So so perfect in every way, I love the lil rat so much. Also when you put them in a dress I screamed, so bonus points for that! Your art style in general is just so fucking adorable and flexible to different tones, it's so good.

@yourtaquitos

Siliiness and seriousness, you always know the balance. You're so beautifully capable of shitposting one minute, then blowing my mind with a masterpiece the next. Your anatomy is delicious, your silliness is divine, and your art is deeply appreciated.

@lime202

Comfort. That's what I think of when I see your art. It's so perfectly comforting in every way. It's detailed, but simple, with beautiful intricacies threaded without being overwhelming. Your art reminds me of Spring and blooming flowers, it's so warming to the sight. Also your Leshy? So beautifully fluffy and cuddly, I will always love him.

@stitchesofsoulsart

There's so much love in every single post you make. It's so beautiful, the way you draw such wholesome loving fun and comfort the masses with your beautiful designs and creativity. You're equally capable of angst and drama, but goddamn the comforting fluff is what drags me in personally the most. That Nari design too? To die for. No other way to put it exists, it's peak Narinder alternate design. So fucking cool and pretty ugh.

@blueaceart

Okay this is super specific but the way you draw Shamura just intrigues me. The tired eyes and sunken sockets, like the weight of knowledge and the burdens of war have weighed upon them for eons. It's so beautifully harsh and real, and I never see anyone else take up the challenge of it in such a subtle way. So cool.

@shrimpsketchy

Pirates! I am utterly obsessed with your piracy au idea, it's so embedded in my brain and I genuinely screamed when I saw it. It's beautiful, such a unique concept I've not see anyone else attempt and WOW was the art that accompanied it just stunning on a whole other level. Genuinely art gallery tier art, I'm in awe at it every single time.

@jomo-is-here

Where the fuck to even start with you Jomo. Jomo, formerly known as Fwick, is the subject of my largest conspiracy yet. I am fucking CONVINCED that Jomo is the dev of the game that does the official artworks for special events and DLC, because holy SHIT is Jomo's art in a tier of its own. Jomo is the fucking Michael Jordan of Cult of the Lamb art, rivaled by very VERY few. The environments are splendid, the characters are adorable and it's all done in such a beautifully similar style to the official artwork of the game. You could easily tell me Jomo IS the person doing the official art, but if I'm being honest? Jomo is better (in my opinion). But don't get it twisted, you can tell the difference with a mere glance and Jomo's uniquely recognisable style is a unique and adorable edition that wouldn't go awry in a museum or an award show. This shit is top tier lemme tell you, I can't glaze it enough.

@scared-lantern

Lantern approaches art with a beautiful style and flair that few can match. Your lamb is one of the most adorable designs around and by God do you know how to maximise that cuteness in every way. Not to mention, your painted art style is just a real marvel for the eyes. I can't eat it enough, I'm always going up for seconds.

@jellyseafish

I absolutely adore the silly fun you upload with your art. Your lamb is so big eyed and fun to stare at as they get up to hijinks, even if the hijinks are just them staring back with big ol' peepers. Cutest patootest around, and boy do they love a good shenanigan. I adore them, I can't help it.

@shadbells

GOLD. Shad has a flair for the decorative and beautiful when it comes to art, and boy does it shine through in such a unique and beautiful way. The designs you make, especially for your lambs and Nari, has really quickly become some of my favourites Shad. The gold accents of the clothes and jewellery really highlight their beauty so well, and let me say personally they are BEAUTIFUL. Absolutely stunning designs with a delightfully devilish side when they want, I adore them in every way. 10/10, would marry and smooch, then get stabbed probably.

@ccarmody101

Your lamb design is beautiful as hell and your Nari and Goat bring me some seriously needed joy when I stumble on them again. You were actually one of the first COTL artists I stumbled on when I got Tumblr, and I'll always appreciate how you fed my addiction just as I took my first steps.

@shind91

Uniqueness. That's the first word that pops up when I think of Shin's art. The way you translate these furry fellas into humanised and more realistic designs is just bafflingly cool to me, it's such a brilliant translation that few people can so perfectly pull off. It's a genre of art I didn't know I needed, but by God do I love to see it now that I've seen your art more than ever before in my life. It's such a unique talent, and I cherish it every time I see it.

@spilycoris

Armour! I love the armour you've given your lamb, it's so beautiful while still being believable that they'd wear it. It's like a beautiful but functional jewellery, and really pulls the outfit together! Absolutely adorable, 10/10!

@angry-ursidae

Ursidae art, some of the most fulfilling silliness there is on Tumblr. Your Narilamb fuels my life, and your Shamura makes me die laughing. I don't know why, I just love that design it's so silly to me for some reason and I can't help but adore it. I love Ursidae art, this is known.

@frecktheheck

When I think of COTL character designs, Freck is one of the first names that pops into my mind. Between the anatomy, the charisma and character that blossoms in the characters designs and the historically-designed outfits, there's not a single thing you do badly, or even mediocre for that matter. Every single piece is a gift woven from the threads of love and passion, and the art style reflects your beautiful heart in a way that's so pure and comforting to all who see it. I cannot, and will never, have enough Freck art in my life. I can't stop devouring it and begging for more like a camel in the Sahara, and I wouldn't ever want that to change.

@haggz-is-here

If I had to give someone an award for "Person most likely to be a time travelling renaissance artist" it would be you Haggz. Your work, simply put, is INSANE in it's quality and baffling in its detail. I cannot, no matter how long I stare at it, understand how you do it. On a damn iPad no less. Da Vinci's legacy lives on in you, and by God do you do it proud. I can't praise it enough, it's just stunning every time. Stunning, there's no other word for it. Other than shocking, maybe?

@cultistic-ann-aka-sannaliel

Sanna is, quite frankly, a fucking genius at detail. There is nobody better for the minutae of an art piece than Sannaliel, and I will die on that hill. I have yet to be anything other than shocked and awe-inspired at a Sanna art piece, and I doubt that will ever change.

@hotchocolatedemon

A writer and a drawer, a rare double-talent! Not only that, but both are done to a wonderful degree! Never let it be said that hotchocolatedemon isn't a demon in the creative fields! I guess a deal with the devil would explain that 🤔

@tidalfoam

I fucking love your little gremlin ratsona. They're such a little thing, I adore them. I don't think there's a better meet the artist than your one if I'm being honest. It's perfect, sometimes less truly is more.

@loloelia

Lolo! The way your art has improved, even in the tiny amount of time I've sort of known you, has been tremendous, and it beautifully reflects your bubbly personality. Your positivity is a force for good in a negative world, and your art reflects that with every doodle and drawing! Don't ever change or doubt yourself, you're an amazingly joyful person to see around the place!

@cj-the-random-artist

This motherfucker manages to do two things at the same time. One: Draw the cutest lil fellas I've ever seen. They go to tea parties, they hug and slow dance, they go to TEA PARTIES. Two: educate the fuck out of me. I will always mention how CJ's QPR au was the first time I'd ever even heard of a QPR, l t alone been shown how it functions. It's so beautiful and passionately crafted, and reminds me how important representation is in art. There's nobody that does it better, and warms my heart in such uniquely beloved ways.

@twooftheluckyones

Gem and Cake!

To Gem: Your art heals a child in me I didn't know was wounded and in need of a bandage. It's so cute and pure, but so versatile in that too. Una is an utter delight, and Narinder is dripping with edge but without sacrificing the clear goopy interior that lies in his heart.

To Cake: You are, simply put, a writer in a tier purely of your own. The way you weave a tale with a myriad of writing tricks is just stunning to behold. If Gem is the heart, then you're the soul. There is nobody I take pride in learning from more than you, and you set a new standard with every piece you write. Never let it go said that Cake the Lucky can't write a bonafide masterstroke whenever he pleases, and in any genre he pleases. Smut? Action? Romance? Melancholy? Call this guy, he's the one to do it. Don't even get me started on how these two work together to make this shit sparkle, I'll be here all day.

@bogor-o

Have you ever seen an art piece so beautifully cuddly that you just wept because you can't actually hug the characters on your screen? Well, lemme tell you something. Bogor is the fucking expert of that. If you've ever wanted to see a character that looks like they could kill you with a stare and hug you back to life in the same breath, then go take a gander at Bogor's art, you will NOT be disappointed.

@greedykrab

Your skill in taking the abstract and turning it into the deeply developed is outstanding and profound. I will never quite "understand" your art style, and I think that's what draws me to it. It's like a beautiful puzzle you could stare at for days and never fully replicate, so uniquely yours in a world of already unique artists and styles. So so good.

@the-artist-grimm

The art? Spectacular, 10/10 on the cuteness and the violence when necessary. But the writing? Oh my God you crank that up to 11! Crimson Angel has torn my heart out every single step of the way and I'll never stop singing its praises. Your writing of parenting and the relationship between two firey but pained loves? Immaculate. Utterly perfect in every way.

@ro-bee

KIRAN. The beautiful baby boy I had the absolute honour of helping name. I will forever fawn over Pupigoat and your beautiful art style that brings them to life. Their pain is wholesome but brutal, and your skill at drawing it brings it to life so wholly and passionately. Not to even mention the rest of your art, it's all so unique and wonderful.

@losing-catharsis

A fellow poet amidst a sea of visual artists! The way you weave words into song without a rhyme scheme utterly fascinates me, and was a huge part of what inspired me to try free verse poetry in a few of my own works, to very little succes xD. Your a wonderful writer, never stop Cath <3

@zynical-forg

You draw, without any competition or contest, the CUTIEST PATOOTIEST Patooties ever. They're so small, so round and so lovable. Perfectly drawn blorbos every time, ready for some cute adventures together. Beautiful, 10/10 would fawn over again.

@yellowflowrs

Carillonneur. Need I say more? Okay but seriously now, you crafted the absolute BEST swap au I've ever seen in my life design-wise. The character traits? Hilarious and intriguing. The clothing? Beautifully horror themed. The actual character's designs and anatomy? Oh my God. Next level insane. The Carillonneur? The Rinder? So so good. I just devour them every time I see them. I've had to limit myself to my favourite of your au's or I'll be here till I die of old age, but I love them all so so so so sooooo much ugh. I can't wait to see what you get up to next, be it COTL or something else entirely!

@eliza-forget

You. You are the absolute most powerful MACHINE of creativity I have ever born witness to. I don't understand how you never seen to run out of ideas, motivation or passion, it's such a beautiful display of the human spirit at its finest. To top that off, the detail on every piece is just BAFFLING to point my eyeballs at. Every. Single. Post is just dripping with detail, whether that be clothing, design, anatomy, lighting, perspective or dialogue. It's insane how you produce artwork so fast, so efficiently and compromise nothing when it comes to vision, detail or passion. I genuinely feel inspired when I see your newest work almost every single day, I can only aspire to be like you and your bountiful spirit the same way someone aspires to a myth of the ancients and their acts of heroic bravery.

@loullipopx

Versatility. Lou does it all and goddamn do they do it well. Cuteness galore? Look no further than the Pokémon au and their designs. You'll cry they're so cute, and then you'll cry because you know you'll never see something as cute ever again in your life. Beautiful and sensual art? Go look at the pinups she did for the Lamb and Nari during the bunny suit trend. They have scarred my mind in such a beautiful way, I'll never forget it. Loulli makes that shit pop, and by God does it pop good as hell. Don't even get me started on the music she makes. Yeah that's right I'll say it publicly, this fucker makes music. Good music. GREAT music! The skillset goes above and beyond, and boy does it astound me every time I learn something new.

@lotus-duckies

Cannibalism? Check. Cuteness? Check. Religious themes? Check! The way you weave religion into your pieces is utterly fascinating to me, and I still remember our little theological talks super fondly. Every single piece is utterly soaked in symbolism, metaphor and a diabolical amount of love and passion, even when the love involved leads to a cannibalistic eating of a spouse or two. I cannot praise the detail put into these pieces enough, and the art style just emboldens those details tenfold. Never before have I seen an art style take me by the hand and plunge me into a sea of joy so quickly and vividly, and I'll always love it dearly.

@mudtrash

Two words. Anatomy. Ears. Your anatomy work on your lil sillies is utterly fantastic, especially your rare naked Nari. But the real prize in my eyes? The way you draw ears. I don't know why, but you give those motherfuckers the most beautiful flop I've ever seen. Nari? Big dorito ears. Lamb? Lil gloppy floppas. Goat? Middle ground flopperoos. They're all just so perfect. Your style is so cute and fun without sacrificing detail, it's to die for. For me though, the ears are the cherry on top of an already perfect cake. 10/10 dude, I wouldn't trade it for the world.

@streetchicken

Streetchicken cookin in the kitchen like it's KFC. Make no mistake, this motherfucker can COOK. Gay soldiers? Absolutely. Gay furry gods? Not a problem. Just a dude? Light work. Frog is an artiste behind the brush, but lemme tell you the real secret. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, can draw a bear or a hunk quite like Streetchicken. Not a soul. This motherfucker can COOK when it comes to big huggable bears and rough-and-tumble fellas, and the competition never truly stood a chance. Whether it be Captain Price, Soap or Leshy, there are hunks abound. I thank you for your contributions to the bear community Frogo, never stop cooking 🫡

@faebunnyleap

Smiles! That's my immediate thought when I think of Fae. There's not a single piece of yours that doesn't have me smiling at the hilarity, the domestic bliss or the calming of it. Every single post is crafted with such a refined and calm hand, and 9 times out of 10 your characters are always so smiley and free. Your art style helps that so much too, it's so diverse. Your sketches are so silly and fun, but when you turn it up to 11 and get serious it's such a fantastic result. Also, I think about that fuckass pagliaci twins post so often it hurts. It's so good, top 3 shitposts ever. I love it, thank you so much.

@neon-virus

Size! I absolutely adore how you use your characters and their size differences, with such a crazy array of heights and builds. Goat is absolutely HUGE, a real unit, while Lamb is like the tiniest lil cutie patootie ever made. Nari acts as this weird middle ground where he's still super tall, but Goat's such a monster that he looks kinda normal? I love it so much. Also wow, your shading and rendering on your more detailed full pieces? Utterly splendid, I cannot ever be sated from my greed for more. So so beautiful.

@paintpaintpaintman

Trad art central over here. Your paintings are honestly stunning and it's so refreshing to see some trad art standing out amongst the digital age. Your designs are awesome too, and seeing them painted to life is so wholesomely warming. I get a shot of giddiness in my veins whenever you post, and I don't see that feeling ever fading in the slightest!

@cconfusedkat

The cuddliest designs in the whole world, so full of joy and whimsy. Every design bursts with a huggable energy that just sucks you in. It's beautiful, I adore it. There's not a single character that I wouldn't snuggle, pat on the head and feed a cookie for being such a delightful lil fella, I love them. I can only hope that they would love me.

@teruuu-main

Teru, Teru, Teru. Your brilliance knows no bounds. Every au just drips with personality and beauty, each so unique in the ways they shine. Old Faith Academy? Beautifully tropey, so comforting and warm. Compulsion of Flesh? Ohhh BOY lemme tell you about Compulsion of Flesh. Never have I seen someone write two characters that are so fucking VILE that I cannot help but love them. They're insane, they literally eat each other, and I eat it up like a starved hyena. I can't help it, they've devoured my brain since day one, and the saying is true, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." This au will always be one of my favourites, and one of the first fan projects I ever got obsessed with. Words don't quite match my love for it, so just take some sounds. SNOOB. GLOOB. GLEEB. HAPAP! And so on.

@kikorikoiko

Your improvement in the time I've known you has been absolutely immense, and I adore the way you draw Astaroth and Kallamar. You've brought the Astaroth character to life in a way few have, and it's beautiful every time. Devs hire Kiko please, we need tragic polygamous gays to be canon (as if they aren't already).

@junoberrii

Cuteness. Pure and simple cuteness. There is not a single un-cute bone in Juno's wrist I swear to God. Every single post is just the cutest shit imaginable. So cute, in fact, that I constantly forget that the lamb is canonically a mass murderer, and that Nari is an asshole. If you want fluff, and you want it FLUFFY, go to Juno and just stare at the art on display. It heals your soul man, it really does.

@spiderin-space

Talk about versatility! Spider writes, and writes a damn fine story too! Not only that, but such a passionate and dedicatedly written story, with such a beautifully paced yet long winding story that leaves you always waiting for an update. The art though? Oh man the art. Cuddly, cute and joyful but with a perfectly conveyed sense of fear whenever Spider needs to put the brakes on the fun zone. Spider knows their shit, and does it perfectly to a T. Don't sleep on spider, that spider knows how to write a story that bites in the night, or soothes in the daytime. Take your pick, you won't be disappointed.

[writella]

Screwed Up and Brilliant

Synopsis: Negan is ready for you. Daryl isn’t; and maybe he’ll never be. Negan makes that clear to you tonight.

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (mentioned), Negan is a bad guy but there is nuance— at least I hope I accomplished doing so, angst, guilt, forbidden love, probably super stereotypical, reader at the Sanctuary, moral dilemma reader (but you got to understand, they’re both so fine!!), I feel like I need more cws but I can’t think of them and of course, smut, 18+: consensual, unprotected, vague dacryphilia, soft? dom!Negan, lite daddy kink, fingerings, riding, and basically just Negan blowing your brains out… but not in the walker way— the good way, the way we like. Amen.

A/N: Could you believe I started writing this in October or something? This is my first time writing Negan and I’m scared I may not have gotten it right so definitely feel free to give notes! This is set during season 7/8, I’m picturing Negan at the end of 8 and later seasons but there’s something about him older that gives me heart eyes everywhere, but whatever you prefer makes me happy. Anyway, from my heart, and maybe somewhere a little lower, to yours; with love from writella. ♡

You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million-dollar man; so why is my heart broke?

—— LDR, Million Dollar Man

The space was clean; minimal. The kind that let out no secrets of the owner that inhabited its insides. And of course there were the little things that let out some slight details: the ashtray on the nightstand— a smoking habit; a ring, a metal chain, another of black rope— an unsuspected, albeit small, interest in jewelry; the bottom nightstand closed by a lock—mysterious and cautious, though that was to be expected. It was only reasonable he’d have something he wanted hide. But other than that, Negan’s bedroom was quite unreadable; almost purposefully mundane.

There was a fireplace, a window at the corner, and a bed at the center. It had a dark, brass, rusted headboard that leaned against the wall. Two pillows at either side. The sheets were white, and the large blanket was of fur, a tan or medium brown, it was thick and heavy. Probably unnecessary for the approaching spring heat, but it adored the bed end well; matching the other bronze, or brown, wooden and darker aspects of the room. Even the light from the small fire, though you could see clearly, made everything mildly dim— the Sanctuary wasn’t known for its brightness after all.

And truly, nothing in this bedroom, or in this fortress of a place could be described as anything close to bright. Unless you counted the sun outside in the courtyard, or the largest fireplace that blazed in the main hall, or Negan’s piercing, priceless smile— so pristinely white, so wide it almost looked painful to perform. There was an eeriness to it as well. That was at the forefront, and everyone saw it. With the way he maintained their cleanliness, it was something that could look so pure, so put-together on any other; but on him, its power could scare you into worthlessness. It’s the one he used when he told someone what to do even if they hated it; it’s the one he used when killing someone’s best friend.

It’s also the one he used on the first day he ever spoke to you. The first time that truly mattered, really.

It was during Negan’s first supply gathering at Alexandria.

You still remember it well.

Your faces filled with desolation, but chins held high; you were strong— good at hiding the pain, the fear— only straight, pokered eyes and mouths allowed as everyone silently agreed with you. You had told Negan that Maggie was dead.

The Widow, he had coined her. The wife of your good friend that he killed— so generous a man was Glenn, even when he wasn’t trying to be. And she’s your friend too, brave Maggie. That’s the one he wanted, but as far as he knew, she was gone.

Thank God, you thought, Thank God, yes, indeed, until—

Negan’s eyes glazed over your frame for just a moment too long.

You weren’t speaking anymore. You kept it short enough. He should have turned his attention back to Rick but he didn’t.

Where there was sly roguery in Negan’s eyes, anxiety weld in the looks of all others: Rick’s throat tensed and tightened uneasily, sweat trailing down his curls and onto his forehead; Rosita’s jaw clenched with bitterness, brows furrowing under her green khaki cap with anger; and then there was Gabriel: his eyes turned from solemnity and pretend peacefulness to wide bewilderment. The plan you two exchanged had worked: you would tell Negan of Maggie’s passing, as per your idea, and Gabriel would swiftly solidified your lie by saying he was the one who officiated the short funeral. But then, another problem arose; one where he could be nothing else but helpless in aiding you. What was he, or anyone to do? It was easy to help Maggie, she was more than twenty miles away. But you, you were here. Right in front of him.

“Wait a minute…” Negan’s pointer shakes lightly by his temple, his mind turning curiously. “You.” He said, shooting his finger in the direction of your chest.

His smile, mischievous as ever, only grew wider as a moment passed and he made his realization: “You’re the one with that- tight- grip!” He balled his raised hand into a fist as he said it. A slight snicker came after, proud of his entendre. “My men were tryna put Daryl in the trunk and you latched onto his foot like it was your dying- act- which—” you attempt to lessen the startle in your eyes at his upward hitch in tone, “—it most certainly could have been.”

Negan comes closer now, his face nearing your own, “But you know better now, right?”

Obviously, you did not.

Or you would have stayed home, not given him the chance to remember you as he said he would after your nails could no longer claw into Daryl’s ankle. He was thrashing too much and Negan’s men pushed you away; they were too strong together against the two of you. They kicked dirt in your face for it, held a gun to your head until Negan told them to stop. His point was made with your two friends he had killed, no need for another— especially not one who amused him like you had just done.

‘DAYUM. She is surprisingly strong!’ He had yelled, ignoring the weeping faces of you and the group kneeling in a line on the ground; sweat, blood, and tears dripping everywhere. ‘And I do like ‘em loyal…’ He had given you a once over while telling his men, ‘Hands off, gentlemen,’ and before returning his attention back to Rick, he added, ‘I’ll keep my eye on you.’

And he did.

You made an impression.

Now you’ll pay.

Rick should have told you why he wanted you to stay with Judith. He remembered what Negan said too. He remembered what Negan said to everyone. He couldn’t forget. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was only the start of Negan’s day here. Maybe he would have found you anyway.

Rick would feel it was all his fault nonetheless, but all you could think about is how truly, it was your own, and no one’s at all.

The sun allows glints of wickedness to sparkle in the whites of Negan’s teeth as he continues imparts his demand, “From now on, don’t stop me when I’m giving an order, okay?” It’s like you can hear him underlining his words just with his darkened voice. Turning his waist, he extends his hand to everyone as he finishes, “And that goes for all of you.”

You force your face to remain leveled as he meets your eyes again, that cheshire look returning directly toward you. He curls his head to the side, whispering near your profile, “So… you’re his girl, huh?”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape. You don’t even realize it before you can try to close it. He asked the question of aversion, or at least that’s what you assumed it was to Daryl.

You knew it was just his way, that speaking about things like this might have not been his strong suit. Besides, there were more things to worry about almost all the time, but it still hurt to know that when asked, the only complete and honest answer there could be was no.

Your eyes trail down slowly, desperate to avoid his, and Daryl’s face— a few feet away from you— turning to the side, looking at nothing. He could not hear what was being asked, but maybe Rick did, Rosita and Gabriel too. It was unclear, but their eyes prodded with more tension, more worry, Daryl could register that, and even more so, he could not stand Negan’s face that close to yours; he was probably trying to make an advance on you, scare you, or both. He pretends not to care, but ultimately it’s useless. Negan detects your expression and turns to look at Daryl’s; he notices both failing attempts at impassivity.

“Oh,” he muses, voice returning to its normal volume, “or not, my bad…. I guess that does make more sense though.” He speaks louder now, casually, like he’s a close friend consoling you about your boy troubles, “I personally haven’t been able to hold a conversation with the guy either, and I’m just tryna be friends.”

Daryl was right. Negan was weaseling his way in. He snarls because of it.

Only Dwight hears this and sends him a warning glare.

You feel the sweat beading from your hairline to the nape of your neck. The danger felt from Negan’s presence was as thick as the sun’s heat that shone directly on the cemetery grove. It’s hard to look up and especially to look at him directly for that long as if he truly was the fire in the sky, so you look down again.

Negan pats your shoulder sympathetically, his hand then going to hold up your chin, his thumb tracing your jaw softly.

It makes Daryl’s arms twitch and his stance jerks forward, but he’s pushed back, Dwight beating him on the chest. It’s only once but you can hear it, everyone heard it.

It only makes Negan’s grin become more sly because— there it is— a reaction; an answer. It makes what he’s about to do that much more sweet: “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Idiot,” he tisks. Then more quietly he adds, “I’m not one though.”

This time it’s for sure: Rick caught that, and Rosita too. They give each other an alarming look as Negan continues to trail over your dispirited form, like a wilted flower. His hand lowers back down to your shoulder, then trails to your arm, to the elbow, and then off of you entirely.

Despite the feeling of Lucille under his grasp telling him he shouldn’t, Rick urges himself to speak before Negan says what they all know is coming. “Negan,” he starts, swallowing the slight shake in his voice, “would you like to see the pantry—”

“Did I ask you to speak, Rick?” Negan states, his frame still positioned in front of you. “I’m thinkin’ here… I’m thinkin’… particularly, that you should come with me.”

Daryl makes a sound that you couldn’t hear, for Dwight was already barking a “Shut up,” at him. Only the swat he gives to Daryl’s shoulder is what is once again heard by all.

You almost choke on your gasp, but you hold it in. Only letting out the faintest sound as you ask, “What?”

“You heard me,” he plainly says. “I mean, what do you even do here anyway?”

You almost felt embarrassed to answer.

“No, I’m askin’. Seriously. Does Rick actually utilize you?”

As you begin, your voice is still quiet, “I… I work in the garden, with the produce… I help tutor the kids… I go on runs, gather supplies. I cook. Help with weapons maintenance, I—” you stop, realizing your grocery list of jobs probably sounds pathetic to him, you’re like a chore boy, “— I do a lot. But everyone does.”

“Hm,” Negan responds, playing with his nails nonchalantly. Your thoughts come to fruition with his next words, “So you’re just everyone’s helper?”

He noticed the sad offense emanating from your eyes, so he raised his hands, “And those are important things to do, I mean it. It must mean you know quite a bit from everyone, that’s smart, and there’s no trouble in it. But… I saw you. I think you can do more.”

“How?” You can still only gasp out your words. “I’m not Maggie. And she’s not here.”

“No.” He brings up one finger, “But you’re clever,” you look at him confused as he brings up his middle finger to join the first, “and quick on your feet, that I now know.” A third and fourth finger comes up, “You’re strong, you’re loyal— things I’ve stated before.” Then the fifth he says with a smug smile, “And you’re a looker, I must admit.” He moves his hand to one side of his mouth, pretending to secretly tell you, “But that’s just a plus,” he winks. “And more importantly, it seems to me that just like most people in Prick’s community, you are undervalued and not paid attention to whereas I see potential.” He says it all so simply, he truly believes he’s offering you so much better that he finally ends by saying: “Hm. Yeah. I think you’ll be much better off with me.”

And so, with no true goodbyes said, in a van you went after Negan’s visit was done. A different one from Daryl’s, of course. Taken away from the first home you had in ages.

Before the trunk door closed, Negan gave you parting words: “You see?” He had said, “I told you I’d remember you, didn’t I?”

The words rang in your ears for the entire ride as they still do now, even more or less than two months later as you sit in his room.

Your heartbeat started to rise little by little as time went on and he hadn’t arrived. With the window allowing you to escape into thought, you were left to think about the last couple of days, and specifically, the last time you were in here:

You were sitting with him on his bed. You had asked if you could talk about anything other than the world you two lived in now, and surprisingly, he obliged. It was nice. Sometime later, he had finally opened that locked drawer.

You heard him suck his teeth, what he was getting seemed lost, which allowed you to take a closer peek inside.

There was a picture of a woman. The first wife? The only real one? You couldn’t tell and you wouldn’t ask, it would have been too much. You didn’t even get a good look at the woman anyway— part of her face was covered and he was fast. But he saw your eyes, so you decided to take note of the books you caught a glimpse of, pretending it was the only thing you saw. You try to think of something to say… It did make sense he was a reader, at least even mildly if that was all it was. The way he describes his ideals, his persuasiveness, his diction— it impressed you, even if you disagreed with a lot of it. It was almost ironic that the only cover you saw was of a dictionary, the more valuable ones probably hidden under. “Is that where you get all your big boy words from?” You asked.

“Some of them,” he joked back, composing himself.

It was strange to almost catch him off guard. It was so unlike him to allow it, but what happened next felt even more surprising.

Whatever he got from the drawer was enclosed in his hand. He put the free one on top of the other as he started, “Now… I don’t want you thinking I’m growing soft on you. I just thought you deserve it because—” and then his voice fades. Even Negan, the ever curse-filled wordsmith, was finding it hard to describe in any other way that he was pleased with something as absurd as you not trying to escape anymore. He knew you would probably think that was the only reason for a gift, but then he opted for something that even you couldn’t help but know was equally true, “You don’t seem to proactively hate me anymore. You’re here. I appreciate it, so I wanted to,” he says sincerely. “That’s all.”

Negan opened his hand, resting the piece in your palm— it was a locket; lovely and rusted floral engravings all over it.

You felt sad that you thought it was beautiful, and even worse for knowing the reasons why he was giving it to you. No wonder his voice had faltered.

You remember the soft shock and awe on your face, how you said thank you and how your face felt so hot when you said it, how he asked you to turn, and how you looked at him from behind you after he put the piece on. He was so close and it felt like he was coming closer. You don’t remember if that part was real, but you can see it so clearly that it must have been. Unfortunately, the only thing you remember for certain is that knock at the door that sent Negan away to handle whatever was going on downstairs.

Had you almost let him kiss you? Would you have liked it? Are you the most deplorable person for even thinking that while Daryl was somewhere else locked up at the time?

“I see they delivered my message.”

You return from your daze, your startle leaving as soon as it comes.

It was just him. There Negan finally was.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in. The door was unlocked.”

“I knew the meeting was gonna go longer than expected; thought you might as well make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to you, “which I see you did, and no—“ you were getting up from his bed, “it’s fine.” Negan sets Lucille near the door. He walks over to you, sitting down on the edge of his bed as well. There is a bit of distance between you two.

“You know, I came back the other day,” he informs, “I was actually going to talk to you last night, but then I heard you tried to leave. Again.” His eyebrows furrow, “We still on that?” He asks. “Thought we had a breakthrough the other night.”

“But after Carl—“

“—Carl,” he interjects, “came here all by his badass self, and for that, I did not lay even my pinky fuckin’ finger on him.” His hand goes to his chest, “I even took him home like a gentleman. And after I got here and found out they put you in a cell without supper, I had you back in your bed before midnight yesterday, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Seriously?” Your incredulity is hidden under the softness of your voice as you say it, but it’s cracking.

“As a heart attack. It’s your ex-people who don’t listen. At least I was nice this time.”

You sigh heavily, docility officially fading. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “That’s hard to believe. Especially if you were gone for most of the day. I know what that means. You had whatever the fuck your version of fun is.”

He grits his teeth, holding his words back. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the back talk, and you especially shouldn’t be saying anything after the night you had yesterday, but he allows it.

This time.

Of course, he didn’t like you leaving, but he rather that it was Daryl who escaped than you. And based on the bruises: one on the side of your head, one high on your shoulder— he imagines you might have gotten pushed against a wall— and the light ones that littered in a couple of spots on both your arms— he could tell his men must have been rough with you as they brought you back. He didn’t like that; therefore, he lets you quip. Someone would be getting their own bruises for it some time later anyway. He would take your smartass mouth out on them to cover for it.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “Nothing was undeserved though.”

You breathe in, the back and forth was no use. “What happened yesterday?” You asked, losing the sarcasm. Your eyes peered into his for honesty, hoping to skip the sly replies and get to the truth. “Just tell me what happened at home.”

Home. You knew better than to use that word. In fact, you have just stopped using that word. He let out an exasperated laugh, but skipped the lecture. “You want the truth? Or just the SparkNotes?”

You roll your eyes lightly. You probably don’t even notice you did it. Despite the situation being discussed, it makes Negan’s head turn endearingly— your tone of voice, the things you say, the way you react to him… you still don’t realize how fresh you’ve gotten with him, how comfortable. But he sees it.

“Alright. Well, Spencer’s gone.” He reveals offhandedly, replying to your silence.

Your eyes do not widen, you know what gone means. You simply nod and try to not think about how the now-cleaned bat most likely looked before.

“And don’t tell me that you care,” he says, pretending to interject to your continuing silence. “You gotta know he was a small dick nepo-prick, right?”

You bite the inside of your lip, shaking your head slightly. You won’t give in to a cheap joke even if it was pretty accurate, so he beckons you by name, “C’mon, that was funny.”

Still, you give him nothing.

He sighs; taking off his leather; and sits near you on the bed, his hands cupping the ledge. “Thought we were finally over this quiet thing.”

“A lot has happened this week.”

“Like…” he prodes. He would only talk about it if you brought it up.

Your eyes shut tightly before opening again. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to. “You know what. Daryl.”

He states the fact plainly, “Daryl left you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fierce now. You can’t believe it. You won’t. “He’s not that kind of person and this isn’t an easy place to get out of— I obviously know that— he wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” he jeers, “but he did and he didn’t bring you with him. Even though you were found trying to find his cell. That’s some real idiotic bullshit right there, isn’t it? From both of you.”

You glared at him hotly, you wouldn’t give it up, but unfortunately you had no rebuttal. Both of you would just continue on with the same argument, the conversation going nowhere. And not because either side knew they were completely right; in truth, neither of you actually knew what happened the other day. But in this regard, you felt there was no other choice: you believed in Daryl fully.

Because he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Right?

You continue shaking your head, trying to find something to say in retaliation as you feel your sureness withering. Separating you two was the smartest tactic. You now have nothing to hold onto. “He wouldn’t,” you repeat pathetically, “I don’t believe you.” Unfortunately it’s not quite enough, so he continues with a rant you know all too well.

“You don’t believe me?” He cups the ends of the bed more tightly, positioning himself closer to you. “When I’m the one who gave you the safest roof? Secure food, clean water, access to all these pretty dresses, which, I know you’ve become accustomed to—” and here it comes— “I saved you!”

Saviors and their “saving,” you sneered at it. What bullshit. “You didn’t save me.”

“But I gave you someone to talk to… Huh?” He taunts, waiting for your response but nothing comes. He uses it to his advantage, “You’re quiet cause you know it’s true.”

But you know something too. He says it before you can.

“Or fuck, maybe I just gave myself someone to talk to.”

You pretend you can’t hear the earnesty in it. “Stop,” you scoff. “Don’t treat me like I’m special. I was the second choice.”

“I think with my dick sometimes. You’re the only choice.”

You start to shake your head, your face is flushed; scared, hot, and a little bit of something else that you refuse to let out. Then the tears come— the room feels so big and you two are so close and there are so many feelings you’re trying to push down. “It doesn’t matter,” you say wearily, “You took me. And you took him. You hurt him, I saw his face.” Your voice begins to tremble, almost in unison with the tears that peak out on your eyelids. “And that outfit you put him in. He didn’t even look me in the eye.”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You didn’t even let me see him.”

“He doesn’t notice you.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you’re not happy… What about the other night?”

You ignore him, shaking your head: “You hurt my friends.”

“What about the other night?” He persists, his voice slowly growing louder. “What about every time I let you sit in on my meetings? What about how you have your own room? What about how I actually talk to you?”

“You let him get hurt—” the tears start to fall, there is a quiver in your voice but you still match his near shout, “And you almost killed Carl—”

“Shut up.”

“And you killed Abraham—”

He warns you by name.

“And Glenn! Maggie’s husband—”

“SHUT. UP.”

“The baby won’t have a father, Negan!”

His voice is low and grim as he demands you to “Stop. Now.” Negan grabs the sides of your neck as he says his next line, it comes out brisk and harsh and heavy like his touch as his hand wraps around your neck. “I knew you lied to me.”

Your voice is hushed, feeling his lightly pressed thumbs on the front of your throat as you speak shakily, “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Maybe not since you’ve been here, but did you hear yourself right now?” He pauses, allowing you a second to let it sink in. “You just fucking proved it.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. The baby, you had said. Fuck.

“See? Told you, you were smart.”

And he did. Brave Maggie. Clever you. That was his reason number one.

“You have to get why.”

His voice remains eerily calm. “I do.”

Another tear falls and his thumb presses its pad under your eye, spreading a tear on your face as the next one comes down.

“Negan…” you say. It’s a mix of a warning and a plea but you can’t tell for what, both fear and fire mix together because of his proximity. His touch and stare was dangerous, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was pleased he caught your slip up, thrilled to see you cry, but there was also something about it— his touch, his eyes— that was equally intoxicating. There was something more tender there as well, something you didn’t want to turn away from, he wasn’t as rough as you thought. Nonetheless, your answer to these conflicting feelings are ones of neglect, you stay your course. “You’re a bad person,” you tell him.

“Please,” he whispers back, “just stop.”

His eyes glaze over your features with an intent look you’ve only seen once before, it was that other night in fact. It’s almost gentle, but maybe it’s just pity, so you don’t let it stop you. “But you are.”

“Stop,” he pleads, then it’s hushed, “just stop…” he says, “just stop.” Then he starts coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”

And you know you should get up.

You should, you should, you should, you know it but— you don’t.

You breathe into it.

His lips latch onto yours; your heads tilt; you lock perfectly.

Everything after happens fast, the instantaneous mess of it all: he waited and waited, and of course he would. He was waiting for you to see it, to feel it. He thought the other night was the breakthrough, but no, it was tonight, it was how you didn’t back away just now.

His hand goes lower on your leg, nearing your knees so he can get under your dress, trailing up your thigh, reaching the inner side that’s pressed up to the other one.

His hand on your neck brings you in closer, traveling up to under your chin and jaw, holding you so tight, but so sweetly. All you felt was surprise. He slips his tongue in, it's deep and intense. He brings a velvet warmth that you’d never expect from him. It was paradoxical; a fiery heaven of a feeling.

He starts rubbing your clit over your panties, kissing his way up to your ear as he does so to ask, “When’s the last time someone’s fucked you?”

Your lips are parted, but you cannot speak, so he continues.

“Daryl never did, did he?” He asks in a muffle, continuing to kiss and kiss. “Who was before him?”

Again, no verbal response, but your breath does hitch at his touches. He continues to draw circles, your wetness now slowly dampening the material, making it easier for his finger to place itself between your folds, so he dips his hand under the band. That and his whispering makes you feel a kind of spark that shoots all the way down to where his fingers are touching. The first press of his thumb without any material in between forces a sudden heat to rise that instantly causes a flush of liquid to slip down your hole, it feels messier than it actually is until his fingers go lower spreading it everywhere. You were much wetter than you thought, and you can’t help how good it feels, how easily you’re responding to it.

Negan calls your name, holding in every cocky reply he wanted to give about how wet you are— he needed an answer to his question first. So he looks you in the face, making sure he has your full attention, “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” His words are meant more genuinely than his tone implies. “Not at all during any of this?”

You shake your head small and slowly. No.

He laughs pitifully, he doesn’t mean it rudely, but he just can’t help it. A touch-starved baby at the mercy of his fingertips? “Well, god-damn.”

He felt like a rich man.

He begins to kiss your lips again, now pumping his fingers into you. Your walls tighten. It’s only two, but they’re his. It’s new and exciting. His kiss makes you lean into the bed, the force of his head and tongue going deeper into your mouth guiding you to lay flat as his fingers still play.

“I hope you know how fucking soaked you are,” he finally says. “You need it so bad that it feels this damn good with me only touching you like this?” You can’t help the way your body jerks up and he can’t help but be smug about it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Your eyes grow vicious at his grin, you almost want to hit him, but you can’t. All you can do is suppress your moan into a quiet whine. He’s so magnetic— his touch feels forbidden but so right; his voice so alluring; and his midas touch pulls you deeper and deeper into a trance, you might as well be turning into gold. Other than the involuntary reactions your body makes as his fingers continue going into your hole, now slowly going in and out as his eye gloss over your body in your favorite dress that you wore the most, you’re left paralyzed; subjected to following his lead. Wherever he wanted to go next, you’d let him.

He takes his fingers from inside of you and you look up quickly. You made sure not to whine at the loss of contact but your eyes couldn’t hide your dismay. All he did was smile and quickly lick away the wetness.

“Just takin’ this off,” he tells you as his hands cross over to the ends of his white t-shirt, slipping it off and onto the ground, one of those small rope chains hitting his chin as he does so.

It was only his shirt but you’re struck by him: to see more of his ever present sun-kissed skin felt almost godly. He was pretty lean, not too lanky like his stature, but not too broad either. Light curves of muscles adorned his chest and shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen were slightly hairy, a tattoo placed on the upper right side and you finally saw the other tattoos placed on his upper arms more clearly. They looked nice on him. He was so handsome. You felt more wetness peeking out from down below. He looked so big above you.

“Like what you see, beautiful?” That typical snark still laced his voice, but there was a genuinity to it as well. He wanted you to like what you saw; to like him.

His words make your face hot, eyes casting off to the side. It was easier to talk to him when you were mad at him, when it was about home, even just small talk about the Sanctuary; this felt… different. Just like the other night.

You had almost already forgotten that his charm worked this way too; in a kinder way— when his eyes are wide, when his smile is soft, when he calls you sweet names without the irreverent, quip-filled pretenses.

It made you have all the words on the tip your tongue: how handsome and sexy you could say he is, how much you liked his tattoos, even all the greys that littered his hair and beard l, or how, if you had to admit it, you liked that dumb shit-eating grin of his, but all you can do is lightly smile, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at your bashfulness. You finally nod. “Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes, “maybe.”

He starts undoing his belt with a laugh of his own, “Oh I know you’re a fuckin liar if you think I’m a maybe.”

As his pants drop to the floor he takes each hand and places them over your shoulders on the bed to ask, “May I take off the lady’s dress?”

Your eyes widened, your open mouth only letting out a sweet, surprised, and whispered, “Huh?”

“What? Didn’t expect me to be a gentleman?”

You try to compose yourself, calm the fire you feel all throughout your body, and pretend you haven’t already given in completely right when he kissed you. “I just didn’t expect it would be all this slow.”

He laughs inwardly, glad to see the personality he came to know come back after all that happened these past two days. “Just give me a moment,” he jokes back. “You think I’m gonna waste seeing the reaction of you watching my cock spring out just so I can shove it in fast? ” He comes closer, his voice lowers now, “Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re just some doll or a fuck-piece.” The groundedness of his voice is something you’ve never heard before. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated that I see you. And truly, I think you’re damn gorgeous.”

Your eyes are stars. How can you even react? He thinks you’re gorgeous and you’re taken aback. “Thank you,” is all you can quietly say.

“You’re welcome.” He responds with eyes that have never looked so honest, so soft. You get lost in them and he has to pull you back, returning to his question, “May I?”

You nod, quick and excitedly, “You can take it off, Negan.”

He grabs your hands and stands you up. You look up at his face and his fingers move to the ends of your dress, pulling it over your head.

The tips of his fingers trace your chest and stomach lightly, delicately touching your skin as if it’s porcelain. He grabs your waist and travels up to take off your bra, then pushes down your wet underwear.

Negan’s cock stirs at the sight, you’re so pretty and so ready for him. “And I didn’t even need to see it to know I was right.” Just like he said, you’re gorgeous.

Negan pushes down his boxers. Cock springing up. Big and veiny with a red tip. He was itching to get inside of you.

And there you were, eyes and mouth open wide, scared and excited all at once. You were intimidated but surprisingly not scared if it would fit or not. You would let him do anything to get himself inside of you, even if it hurt.

“There it is,” he says, pleased with your reaction. He comes closer to your ear now, pushing you down by the hips against the bed once more. “And trust me, if you like that, you won’t fucking believe how I’ll feel inside of you. Just wait.”

“I…” He wanted to make you feel good, you’re almost speechless. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He says, and then he places himself above you, admiring your glistening folds as he spreads your legs. He already lines himself up, he could look at you forever but he is in no desire to wait any longer. He pushes in. It’s a bit fast, a tight fit, it must have hurt you, but he’s too excited, he can’t help it. He lets out a hum and then a groan at the feeling of your walls enclosing him, and he hears you gasp at his size. He starts to pump into you immediately.

His face hovers over yours. His eyes study your features and he realizes he’s never been this close. Of course he hasn’t, he’s never fucked you, made love to you. He’s just now noticing the way your eyelashes curl, what birthmarks adorn your upper body or not, and how many earrings you may have, but most importantly, he’s noticing the way you react to him: the way your eyebrows might scrunch, or what elicits more pants and squirmings, the way your lips tug tightly against each other or open into ovals and circles depending on what he does, how he thrusts, where he touches, how he moves.

It all makes him slowly speed up. He can’t take it anymore. He kisses your neck and jaw— some kisses sweet, then others that are rough and he begins to pump and pump. Faster and faster.

“Oh,” you choke out before moaning, “ah.”

He continues, loving every facial expression you make until he finally speaks. “Alright. I gave you a break— now tell me how it feels?”

All you can do is whine incoherently.

“Excuse me?” He says more sternly. You know what he wants.

“Negan,” you whine again.

He stops. “Yes?” He asks all too knowingly. “Gonna use your words and tell me how it feels?”

You sigh, taking the hand placed on your hip and moving up toward the ends of your stomach, all the way up to your left breast. You let his hand rest there, feeling the heat and your quickened heartbeat radiating from the area. “You… you feel so good.” Your eyes are watery, “Amazing.”

You got him there, and he almost can’t help but start hammering it in, but then he remembers… he doesn’t have to help it. He could do whatever he wanted, so he does. He squeezes your breast, grinning wildly as he gives you one hard thrust. “Damn right,” he tells you, hearing your yelp before pounding fast.

You had always been quiet but he never quite saw you at a loss for words as you are now. Your mouth is completely open, your eyes threatening to roll back further, making sounds he’s sure you’ve never heard from yourself before. Have you even had it this fast? This big? This great? He knows it couldn’t be. And he’s the one who gets to show you. His eyes gloss over you with pride at the thought.

He grabs your chin to get you to look at him, “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You moan. You weren’t used to this. Your eyes roll back completely as he pounds into you with eye contact.

It makes him groan loudly, his jerks into you, letting out his own moan from the sight. “Oh fuck, baby. Don’t play with me.”

You give in, force yourself to speak, you can’t let this end. “You, Negan!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” It’s so hard to speak, it comes out so pathetically.

“Who's making you feel like no one else?”

“You, Negan, it’s you!” Your moan turns into a pant, “It’s you, only you.”

He comes closer, his nose touches yours. His movements slow, but they don’t stop. He’s rocking into you now. “Only me?”

You don’t even think, “Who else? It's only you.”

His teeth sparkle, “Only me.”

“Only you, daddy.”

He laughs cockily, “So Daddy’s making you feel this good?”

“Yes, daddy. So good.”

You feel the groan he makes travel right to your clit, making it throb.

He kisses you, the corners of your lips to your cheek and neck and collarbones and back up again.

He restarts his pumping into you but his head remains close to yours. You decide to wrap one of your arms around his neck, pulling his hair, and the other hand travels down his back, holding him close.

Negan breathes you in, his head near the crux of your neck, hearing every little sweet sound you make that he’s never heard before. It all drives him wild, but then his eyes open. A question comes out that surprises you both: “Am I ruining your life right now?” He quietly asks.

“That doesn’t matter,” you say, breathing heavily from his touches, your eyes are still closed.

“I think it does.”

“You make me feel like no one ever has…” The bliss you feel from his current soft strokes and touches making it hard to speak, your voice is so light. “At least I got to experience it.” You open your eyes now, fingers tracing the cross drawn into his arm, “At least I got to see the real you.”

Your eyes say more than your words do. There’s a yearning and a sadness, an answer to what feels right in this moment, but an insight that there are doubts that could creep up later the more that you think about it.

“Just keep going,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You want to see him, you do see him. His head connects with yours again, and you moan into each other's mouths as he keeps pumping. Your legs come up to his hips and you’re not afraid to be loud anymore, to tell him how good it feels, how much you like him.

He takes your hands and places them over your head, crossing his fingers with your. It’s so pure, so lovely even when he’s going so hard down below. You hear your breaths heavy and your bodies slapping and the bed shaking.

You think about his skin, and his scratchy beard against yours, and the way you hate how he can make you smile by making the most ridiculous and raunchy jokes, and the way you love his voice, the way you can’t help but to like the way he cares for you.

“Negan,” you say weakly.

“Yes,” he responds intently.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “I think I can.”

“Come for me,” he encourages, moving one of his hands down to rub your clit. “C’mon.”

“I’m gonna come,” you repeat, edging yourself on. Bucking up at his thrusts and his fingers.

“You can do it. Be a good girl. Do it for me.”

You swear the fireplace blazes louder and bigger, lighting up the whole room as you yell out, moaning once more as you orgasm.

Negan finally breaths out after, holding in for so long, and comes after you. His hands place themselves flat on the bed and he pushes in fast, riding out the high.

He scoops you up immediately, holding you in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

You two stay there for a moment until you look up. His hand caresses your face, “What is it?”

“I…” you were embarrassed to admit that you weren’t ready for it to all be over yet. “Can I ride you?”

A wiley smile appears on his face. He has to admit, he’s a little shocked you’re ready to go again, but he’d never turn it down. “Well, of course you can, babygirl.”

He flips you over, completely ready, but instantly, you become hesitant, almost overwhelmed. He was the world, not you, yet you were now above him. All the allowance to touch him anywhere you want at your disposal.

He puts his hands under his head, arms flexing. An ever wide smile present as he waits for you to begin. “You asked for it. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Your eyes grow excited again, deciding not to hold back, and you start to rock against him. You place you hands on his chest, feeling him up, touching his biceps, hands going over his tattoos— you could stare at them, at him, for hours. You honestly think you’d lick his whole body if he’d let you. And of course he probably would. To feel big and proud and irresistible while you look like a little desperate freak? You wouldn’t even have to ask him twice. Thinking about it and about how full his cock is making you feel, stretching and reaching all the right places, makes you moan and whine. You bucked your hips wildly, humming and giving him “mmms” because of how yummy it feels. You could do this forever.

“Ah- uh- Negan,” you moan and your stomach caves as you whine again and you hurl forward, continuing to rock but your pace is faltering. It’s becoming too hard and Negan can tell so he takes you by the hips, helping you move. First continuing to let your grind and then pushing you up and down his shaft so you can bounce on him. You push yourself up again, hand on his chest, pushing against it and you bounce along with his help. This was fun. You try to go faster and faster. It felt like being a kid on a playground.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at who you’re fucking, sweetheart.”

So you do, and moan at the sight of him, “Ohmygod,” you say. “You’re so handsome, Negan.”

He's so proud of you. Enjoying your actions, enjoying your noises. He groans as he sees your breast bounce and it makes you squeeze against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, “finally listening when you’re spoken to, about to make yourself come on daddy’s cock again.”

He starts to rub your clit again and you continue to bounce. It almost hurts because of how overstimulated you’ve become but you don’t tell him to stop. Your hands come to reach the headboard, helping you bounce harder. He tells you again how much of a good girl you are, how he loves that you’re not stopping, then he tells you how dirty and desperate you are for wanting him again after he already made you come. But he’s obsessed. This is all he’s ever wanted since the day he brought you here. His hands trail up from your hips to your waist and breast and back down again. There is nothing more he wants than to fuck you or for you fuck him.

You look down. You both notice your necklace still wrapped around your neck, almost nearing between your breasts, bouncing along with all of you. It reminds you of why you're here, why he gave it to you. It makes you have the realization he had… Was he ruining your life? Were you ruining your own? But how could you be when it all feels this good? It was completely screwed up, but everything felt so magnificently brilliant. His touch is everything, his voice is everything, his body is everything. It makes your hips stutter, it makes you moan, and at last, it makes you come again. You ride your high, going and going and going until you fall into his chest. His hands come to hold you tight thereafter.

Unthinkable bliss is all that is felt for a long moment… then… your head turns to the window. You remember what is out there and what isn’t in here.

A tear falls down your cheek and he realizes what’s happening when it falls onto his shoulder.

It hurts him now. To see you cry. It’s not fun anymore. You feel it, yes. You see what he saw, it’s true. But you aren’t really his wife. You’re nothing that is his at all. You both know that as well.

It takes you a long time to speak, you have to force yourself, but you do. “You have to let me go now.” You say it sternly but there is a sadness to it; a small part of you wants to not mean it even though you completely do, even though you do wish to stay here, to be enveloped by his embrace— you simply cannot forget.

“Mm,” he shakes his head, remaining leveled, “you know too much.”

“I barely know anything,” you say. “And not that anything I do know matters. Knowing the way around the Sanctuary isn’t going to help anyone when I know there is no way we could actually get in…. And what’s more important anyway is that I’m not changing my mind and you’re not either.”

“I’m not.”

“And I can’t. I wouldn’t. And they’re not going to. Never…. And if some of them die…” A whimper almost leaves you but you manage to swallow it, “I have to be by their side, Negan. I can’t only hear about it. I… I can’t see it next to you.”

His lips are pressed firm, his jaw is fixed and tight, almost like he’s grinding down on his teeth. The breath he takes through his nose could be a heavy sigh if he opened his mouth, but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in.

You words and their weight hang in the air for a moment before he finally speaks: “One of my guys that watches the armory doors has a shift that ends at 6:00 am… but at 5:50 I’m going to come up to him and tell him he gets off 10 minutes early that day, that I’ll wait for the next person to come.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, your confusion spirals before he keeps going. “It’ll be fucking weird, but he’ll look dumb as shit if he questions me, so he won’t. Then when he’s out of sight, I’ll leave. The next person is coming right at 6. That’s all you get. 10 minutes. A little less really.”

Your eyes round slowly as the stun continues to sink in. He’s… letting you leave.

“You take one gun and one knife. Just one. Don’t make it noticeable. I’m going to check. Then you go out of the back door that’s inside.” He didn’t have to tell you the way. “It should be easy, I know you’ve tried it before.”

You look down, taking in all he says, but then he turns you face to meet his, “If anyone sees you, I’m gonna have to make a show of it when they bring you back. Not what I want. But if I get there before you get out, maybe 5:58, just cause I’m an asshole, just to see you one last time… And if I do, I’m gonna turn you around and you’re stayin’. Fair?”

You nod. It’s small and light. You don’t question any of it, you can’t. “8 minutes.” You respond.

“8 minutes.” His voice is neutral, but underneath there was a tinge of solemnity to it. “8 minutes,” he says under his breath.

“What about now?”

“Now?” He asks. He didn’t think about it. He assumed you would want to go after this, after you got what you wanted. “Well,” he turns to his nightstand, “right now it’s half past 10.” He stares at you for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. This whole moment has felt so quiet, both eerie and gentle. You still weren’t used to the latter from him, even after what just happened. “You can go if you want. Sleep in your bed for one more night, or…” he stops, “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” His sigh is short and whispered but you both hear it, you feel its weight. “It’s your choice.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Your eyes trail all of his face and the arm that is still holding your own, adorned with all the tattoos and skin you had just fallen for. You wanted to study them and hold onto him forever. And his eyes: they said so much— there were so many little inflections, ones that you had finally read, and so many others you’ve yet to decipher. You desired to know him, but you had to go, so all you decided to do was to hold him. For now, you chose to stay, and hoped that your embrace would transfer the fact that the only reason it would be hard to leave is because of him and only him. You would remember this forever. “8 hours till 8.”

“8 hours till 8, kid.”

You close your eyes tight and nuzzle into his chest, A peace you had never known in the Sanctuary finally subsumed you. You feel free to finally tell him, “Thank you. I really do miss home.”

Home. There it is again. There was no malice in the way you said it, but there was still a pang from your melancholy words that made his heart throb. You missed home. And as peaceful as you looked, and as safely as you held onto him, your words reaffirmed that home was not here and it was not with him— no matter how you looked, and no matter the fact that you were allowing him to hold you for the night, to call you his. In the end, you were not.

He had to finally accept it.

“8 hours till 8,” are your last words until you finally drift to sleep. This would be your last and most tranquil night here. To you, it felt right, almost harmonious, albeit sad. This is how it was and how it was meant to be. You needed it.

But to him, it’s shattering. He doesn’t repeat the phrase back this time because, for once, he has nothing to say. The fire glow of the night has now withered into darkness.

You won.

He lost.

But both your hearts broke.

[taevjim]

Romancing the Viscount (m) 18+

♞ ♞

-Disclaimer: This AU is inspired by Bridgerton. I do realize a viscount is a British nobleman, but for the sake of the AU, we are going to use our imagination xoxo

♞ ♞

-Summary: For three seasons now, you had yet to have any marriage proposals under your belt. It was depressing to say the least. You have come into society as a blossomed young woman, ready for marriage, but no man of the ton has seemed the slightest bit interested in you. You’re on year three of being let off your leash into society and the pressure was certainly on for you to find a husband. You were beautiful, charming, and had incredible wit; anyone would be dying to have your hand in marriage. What could possibly be taking so long? Perhaps a viscount has had his eyes set on you all along and he’s the reason you have yet to be wed.

-Pairing: viscount!jungkook x female reader

-Genre: smut, smut, and more smut.

♞ ♞ ♞

The day started off fairly promising with the pure energy that radiated from you as you rose from the cotton sheets which kept you company at night, aiding you a good night’s rest. Your feet touch the cold floor and you spring to action as you skip across your room, your baby blue night gown trailing through the air behind you at your rushed pace. Excitement crept through your bones down to your core with the thought of tonight’s seasonal ball. Of course you had plenty of balls to attend to throughout the season, but the first ball of the season was always the most important, as well as the most promising.

Although you were gleaming with excitement, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as well. Maybe even a bit discouraged. This would be your third season out into society and you couldn’t help but wonder if you would find the man of your dreams in the near future. A girl can only hope. Many young women have had no problems snagging a husband on their FIRST year of their debut into society, so what could you be doing wrong? Surely there was nothing wrong with you, at-least you didn’t think there was.

Your reflection in the vanity mirror stares back at you as you run your nimble fingers across the soft, supple flesh of your cheek.

“Is it my looks?” You ask yourself, barely above a whisper.

The characteristics of your looks were actually quite simple. You had rather large, round eyes with perfectly curled lashes to frame the lids. A cute button nose and incredibly soft cheeks which always seemed to have a hint of pink undertones to your rather fair complexion. You were also adorned with an exceptionally full figure, making you curvy in all the right places. Never mind the fact that these characteristics didn’t exactly make you unique; you were still deemed one of the most beautiful women of the ton.

Yet, still no husband.

Perhaps you were beginning to feel a bit impatient. Of course you were. What were you to do if you go through yet another season with no man on your arm? God forbid you end up as a spinster, which might be your fate if you don’t find any eligible bachelors soon.

There were quite a few bachelors who you have set your endearing gaze upon, but unfortunately none of them have ever given you more than just a couple of minutes of sub par conversation. With questions ranging from the weather to who you think the queen’s next ‘Diamond’ will be. You’re always polite and proper, speaking with purpose and clarity. You’ve never seemed to have trouble charming your way through a crowd. You’ll never understand what the hold up could be.

Surely you should’ve at-least had ONE proposal by now, but as luck has it, it’s not necessarily on your side as of late.

Your maid rushes through the double doors of your chambers, preparing to wake you before her eyes land on you across the room while you sit at your vanity.

“Well you’re up quite early, I see.” She smiles and strides over to open the curtains to the windows, letting in the bright rays of sunlight into the four walls of your bedroom.

“Today is the first official day of the season. If I’m going to find a husband, I need to make sure I am on my toes at all times and prepared for anything,” you say as you gently pat a small dab of foundation into your skin.

Dana, your maid, gives an approving nod and walks over to begin taking the pins from your hair, allowing your curls to bounce out from their confinements and take their place down the slope of your back. You made sure to pin your hair in rollers the night before so that you could have the most perfect curls. She begins running her fingers through the softness of your locks, carefully moving the pieces of hair into their rightful positions.

Effortlessly beautiful. Exactly the look you were going for.

You put the finishing touches onto your makeup, having gone for a subtle natural appearance, and stand to finally begin ridding yourself of your nightgown.

“You’re going to do just fine this season,” Dana says as she helps you into your corset. “Don’t forget that you are absolutely gorgeous.”

The corners of your lips raise at her compliment and you turn to her with your hands clutching your chest. “You’re too kind. I appreciate the work you put into making me look so good.”

She lets out a giggle and slightly shakes her head, the front two pieces of her baby hairs swinging at the sudden movement. “Don’t be silly,” she begins, “You already have all the right qualities.” Her words pierce into your mind, almost reminding you that you should have nothing to worry about.

Almost.

She helps you into a simple baby pink gown that seems to hug your curves in all the right places. The corset is definitely working wonders on you, not that you needed to rely on it too terribly. You grab a scarf and carefully drape it behind your shoulders and across your forearms, deeming yourself ready for the day.

First stop was to go by the modiste for a fitting of your dress you would be wearing for tonight’s ball. You wanted to make sure everything would be perfect for tonight, which would hopefully grant you the success you’ve been chasing since two seasons ago.

As hoped but also a bit expected, your fitting goes by swimmingly. Madam Claire, the most trusted modiste within miles, did an exceptional job on capturing exactly what you envisioned for your gown. It was a dark blue with a suede bodice and sleeves made of silk, enveloping your arms all the way down to your small but perfectly manicured hands. The bottom portion of your dress was also silk and although it was slightly puffy, it was still quite slimming, small crystals adorned the fabric across the entirety of the material.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

“Oh Claire,” you gush as you do a 360 spin, your eyes only leaving your reflection in the mirror for not even half a second, “It’s everything I’ve imagined. If I do happen to be blessed to become a bride this season it’ll surely all be thanks to you.”

A slight blush creeps onto her tanned cheeks and she playfully waves a hand at you, “Oh stop it. This dress wouldn’t even look half as good if it weren’t you who were wearing it.”

The smile never leaves your face as you embrace her into a quick, but comforting hug. “Thank you so much Claire. You’re the absolute best,” you thank her and quickly undress to change back into your previous dress.

You decide to pass a bit of time as you make your way back down the street, finding a bench up ahead to sit and catch up a bit on your new book. You quite liked reading. The way words can be put together to create something beautiful was a talent that would always be incredibly admired by you. It was the way that it didn’t matter where you were, for once you picked up your book and started reading, you could imagine yourself being there in the story. Almost as if the words came alive right before your eyes.

You’ve been told by a countless number of mamas of the ton that the reason you didn’t have a husband yet was because of the fact you couldn’t keep your nose out of a book. Often being told not to “taint yourself” with such a boring and time consuming activity.

However, that never stopped you from opening a book and becoming one with the words on the page. It was like it was an addiction. An addiction you never wanted to ween yourself off of. People didn’t seem to understand the want of a woman to read, but you were never confused with the activity. You simply enjoyed it. You had even taken up quite a hobby of your own by writing in your journal every other night, explaining in utter detail of what you wanted most out of this life. Perhaps writing it down on paper helped give you the hope of it actually becoming true.

Your attention was suddenly torn away from your book as you lift your head to the sounds of women giggling a bit too loud for your liking across the street.

A group of four women stand before a man as they flutter their lashes and wave their fans inches away from their bosoms. The man in question was none other than Viscount Jeon.

He was a man of great fortune and even greater integrity. His confidence radiating from him like fumes from a flame as he chuckled at the flirting women. Viscount Jeon was definitely the man every young woman wanted on their arm, regardless of his reputation being a class A rake. Not to mention, he was drop dead gorgeous.

From where you sat, you slightly saw his side profile, and boy was it a sight. Of course you’ve seen the Viscount plenty of times, mainly at a ball being thrown, but sometimes around the square. It wasn’t hard to admit that you would never get tired of seeing him. His shoulders looked deliciously broad from where you were sitting and you quickly realized your interest for your book carefully slipped away the moment your eyes landed on his figure. A quite lean and very muscular figure, at that.

You subtly watch as the man converses with the women, making them swoon at almost every word that leaves his enchanting lips. Your eyes trace his figure, taking in the expensive material of dress he wore on his back. His coat cinched around his waist almost too perfectly, making him all the more irresistible. You catch the sight of his rings around his beautifully thick, creamy toned fingers, and let out a disappointed sigh as he moves to shove his hand into the pocket of his perfectly fitted breeches.

Embarrassment quickly replaces your neediness as two mamas pass by you, following your entranced gaze over to the Viscount. You had been caught staring. Although you weren’t caught by the Viscount himself, you still felt your cheeks get hot as you were visibly noticed practically drooling over the man.

You let out a huff of air and stand to your feet, deciding you should head back home to start getting ready for the ball.

What you didn’t notice, however, was the way the Viscount’s eyes locked onto you as he spotted you crossing the street. He has stolen many glances at you over the past couple years every-time he’s seen you. You were beautiful, that much he knew. He also knew that your debut into society wasn’t the most successful as you still hadn’t managed to find a husband which happened to be from his doing. He has never even spoken to you once but he knew the moment he laid his eyes upon you, he had to have you, and he made quick work of letting every man of the ton know that you were off limits. You, however, had no idea that was the case of your suffering fate and he didn’t plan on telling you about it either.

♞ ♞ ♞

You watch the trees go by and listen to the sounds of the horse's hooves hitting the ground while you make your way to the ball in your carriage. The leaves were a beautiful green and the grass even greener and it made you smile. You always appreciated nature and how magical everything seemed to look whenever a new season had approached. In your gut you had hoped tonight would be the night you get to meet your future husband, as you were starting to grow very tired of waiting.

A sigh escapes your lips and you look down into your lap, suddenly very interested in watching the way your fingers toyed with the material of your dress. If you manage to fail yet another season, you might just give up. You looked exceptionally beautiful tonight, even you could admit. Dana sits across from you as she watches you silently battle yourself inside your own head.

She reaches forward and places one of her hands over your fidgeting fingers and says, "You will do amazing tonight. Don't worry yourself so much, you'll create wrinkles on your forehead."

You send a gentle smile her way and caress her hands into your own. Dana had always encouraged you no matter the day or the task at hand. She was so supportive of you, never faltering. You suppose it was because it was her job, but you and Dana had grown rightfully close over the years of her taking care of you. With your mother passing at a young age and your father going over seas, Dana was all you had. You couldn't feel more grateful.

"What will i do?" you ask, "If I don't find a husband surely I'll be ruined."

She frowns at the sight of you shutting down. Truthfully, Dana couldn't quite understand how you still haven't managed to wed since your debut. There was no gossip going around of you that would potentially scare any suitors away. Your looks were most definitely not the problem, as you were incredibly beautiful, even more beautiful than most ladies she had worked for in the past. In truth, she was just as confused as you were.

"Don't talk that way. You will find a husband, I'm sure of it. You are beautiful, smart, witty, and selfless. This season will be your season." She holds both of your hands into her own and her words make you smile. You trusted her with your life and she always saw the good in you. She knew the potential you had to become successful.

Now it was just you who needed to see it in yourself.

The carriage suddenly comes to a stop before the palace and your eyes sparkle as you take in the scenery. The hedges around the property were trimmed perfectly and the lights that shined around the palace twinkled in the most captivating way. You watch as a few ladies make their way inside, fans in hand. The goal for you tonight was to shine and continue to be the one thing you ever knew how to be, which was yourself.

"Go," Dana shoos you out of the carriage and gives you another look before sending you on your way. She moves a couple strands of hair that managed to fall out of place and smiles, "Perfection."

You wave to her as you begin to make your way to the entrance, your nerves suddenly making another appearance inside of your gut. You fix your posture as you started to slouch and you carefully run your fingers across the material of your dress, trying to rid the perspiration that managed to build up because of your nerves. Taking a deep breath, you begin to make your way inside.

Your eyes take in all of the pictures that hang the walls of the hallway. It's almost like you had never been here before, although you have a couple times in the past. The first ball of the season was always held at the Queen's palace, and the Queen made sure to keep it exceedingly presentable. You stop before one picture that catches your eyes above the rest. It was a picture of the Queen and her King when they were younger. She wore the most grand gown in the photo, as she always does, and King George stood beside her in all his gory. They looked proud and emanated power as they both stared into your soul. Oh how you longed to find a love like the Queen had.

"Are you not going to go inside?"

Your head whipped to the side as you curiously look to see who was speaking to you.

It was the Viscount.

You quickly bow, not wanting to seem disrespectful. "Lord Jeon, how lovely to see you."

His eyes never leave you, not even for a second. He takes you in from your head down to your toes, as if his eyes were drawing a map across your form. You always managed to clean up very nicely, from styling your hair into the most perfect way to picking the most gorgeous gown.

You began to feel rather small under his stare, nervously switching your weight from one foot to the other. At his delayed response, you begin taking him in as well. His waist coat fit his muscular body like a glove and his breeches, even more fitting. You could almost make out the shape of his body through the fabric, your eyes trailing the material. What a man the Viscount was. You look back up to his face, finding him already staring at you, and a blush creeps up to your cheeks.

"No escort?" he asks as he looks around the, now empty, hall. It seems everyone has already made their way into the ballroom.

"Oh, no. I don't ever have anyone to escort me to these sort of things," you let out a breathy chuckle and clasp your hands together for what seemed to be the tenth time tonight already.

A small smirk edges it's way onto his beautiful lips and he holds his arm out to you. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

Was the Viscount really offering to escort you into the ballroom? Surely he wouldn't want to be seen with a woman such as yourself, as you've had not a single suitor in the past two years. A man of such status would never.

However, he was the Viscount, and you would be absolutely insane if you didn't take him up on the offer.

You carefully outstretch your arm and rest your fingers into the crease of his elbow, allowing him to lead the two of you to the ballroom entrance. Your nerves seemed to spike even more now, causing you to slightly squeeze his arm. He notices the action and looks down to you, watching as your eyes bounce from one edge of the room to the other. With his other hand, he reaches over and allows it to rest on yours. This action causing your gaze to snap up to him.

"No need to be nervous. I got you." Your eyes fall to his lips as he utters the words and oh how perfect they looked as he attempted to comfort you, which had worked, by the way.

You give a curt nod and a tight lipped smile and allow him to escort you through the entrance.

Upon entry, everyone stopped their conversation and allowed their eyes to fall at the head of the room where you and Lord Jeon stood. You hear the whispers immediately from the mamas and their daughters as they wonder how you, a woman with no suitors and three seasons deep into society with not a single marriage proposal, had the Viscount on your arm.

You had to admit, you felt pretty powerful. Not that him escorting you to the ball meant anything. Perhaps he was just being nice, but you surly were not going to complain.

He leads you down the grand staircase and you make sure to try and watch your step so you don't happen to fall and embarrass yourself even more to the people who so clearly wanted to watch you fail. Your fingers tighten against his muscle once again as the two of you reach the bottom and begin taking in all the eyes that were now on the two of you. Had you been dreaming?

He doesn't make an effort to part from you, instead, he leads you over to the refreshments table and hands you a small glass of lemonade. He must have thought you were thirsty from the nerves attacking your body from the inside, which he would be right. You grab the glass and take a sip, instantly feeling a bit better. A massive sum of the people around you were still staring, but it seemed as most begin to indulge into their own conversations and even taking to the dancefloor.

A couple of women make their way to you, their fans in hand and their lashes fluttering in the Viscount's direction. You wanted to roll your eyes but stop yourself because in all honesty, you couldn't really blame them.

"Lord Jeon," one gushes as she bows before him, furiously fanning her bosom when she stands to meet his gaze. "What a lovely ball, don't you agree?"

You figured that maybe you should leave his presence and allow him to converse with the women, however, you feel his arm flex and tighten around your fingers just as you were about to let go. In turn, you decide to stay in place and you flash a fake smile to the woman before you.

"Oh," she says in a startling manner, "I didn't see you there Miss." You wanted to scowl at her for her very obvious condescending tone , yet decided against it because you were the one with the man she wanted at your side. It made you feel quite victorious in a way.

Alas, as soon as her attention was on you, it was gone in a second and back onto the Viscount. "Would you care to dance?" she asks, so shamelessly holding her hand out to him.

He gives her a warm smile and tugs you slightly closer into his side, "Pardon me, but I was actually about to ask Miss Y/L/N if she would like to join me on the floor." He looks down at you now, you not quite registering his advance just yet. You only look up to him when you see the woman in front of you shoot a venomous glare upon you.

"Of course," you say, barely above a whisper. You wanted to laugh in her face and maybe even throw an unpleasant gesture her way, but in turn you make the decision to be as graceful as you can in the matter. You turn to set your half empty glass of lemonade on the table behind you and allow him to lead you onto the floor.

If everyone was staring at you before, they surly were now as the two of you take your places into the center of the room and begin to dance. It was apparent to the Viscount that everyone in this room was envious of you, although you weren't aware. He knew every man wanted to have you and every woman wanted to be you. He couldn't blame you too much for your lack of observation because in your defense, no man had approached you for anything more than small conversation, too afraid of what the Viscount may do had they made an advances onto you.

"You must pity me." The words come out before you can stop them and you let out a small laugh. He ticks his head to the side, very obviously confused with your comment.

"Pity?" he questions. "Why would I pity you?" he follows up with another question just as he slightly spins you, pulling you in again.

It took you a bit off guard with the close proximity between the two of you being incredibly evident. You look up at him through your lashes and let out a small sigh. "Lord Jeon," you begin. "I just want you to know that you don't have to feel bad for me. I may not be able to get a husband but it doesn't mean I need you to try and help me."

Now it was his turn to be slightly taken off guard. You thought he was only being in your presence so that he could bring more attention towards you, in turn, helping you find a husband. You become quite nervous at his silence and the way he just stared at you, still dancing without missing a beat.

"You think I'm only dancing with you to help you find a husband?" he asks, spinning you another time. Your eyes drift slightly to the outskirts of the dancefloor, noticing how everyone was watching the two of you. Quite a few faces of disapproval look back at you and those of admiration aimed at the Viscount. Of course they were only interested because he was here.

"Is that not what you're doing?" you ask as you turn back to look at him. You were slightly surprised to see the longing in his eyes as he stared back at you. How could you possibly think he was only interested in helping you? How could you not know how beautiful you were, how the room went completely stiff upon your entrance? And now as everyone stops and watches the two of you dance together, you still think you aren't good enough to be looked at.

He shakes his head at your question and slightly dips you. Your breath quickens, as does his at the sight of your hair completely separating from your shoulders and fully exposing the expansion of your chest. Your bodice fit your body to perfection and in this moment it proved much more evident from what he observed upon first glance of you out in the hall.

You're picked back up into his arms in a rather slower pace than you expected, now rising to see his eyes buried into your skin even deeper than they were before. It's crazy how one can have such a way with words solely based of their eyes alone. His eyes spoke more than his mouth ever has, at-least to you, and it took your breath away. You can't help but just stare back, practically feeling yourself getting lost.

Unexpectedly, he leans closer and in a whisper he speaks, "You're entirely too beautiful to be pitied."

His words were soft and kind, and everything you didn't know you longed to hear from someone else. You certainly didn't expect them to come from a man of his rank. For a moment you don't know what to say and you don't catch the smirk that inches onto his face as he gently pulls you from the dance floor, you not realizing the song ended.

Among the next hour that passes, you and the Viscount fall into effortless conversation. He tells you of his travels and many successes in his life. He also tells you his name, Jungkook. You would never call him by his name, of course, but the fact he even felt comfortable enough to tell you raised a certain spark inside of you. You learned that he's kind, smart, and also quite funny. He had you giggling more times than you can count at his quick wit and charming playfulness. He also learned quite a bit about you, that you love to read, you liked to take your horse out to the field and enjoy fresh air and nature in general. You also shared his trait of being goofy and playful as the two of you threw jokes at each other here and there throughout the night. The biggest thing he learned was that your giggle was a sound that he truly felt blessed to be able to hear, causing him to not be able to stop coaxing that sound from you with his words. He wanted to draw that sound from you all night, never wanting it to leave his head even for a second.

A couple more hours pass and you were so embedded into your conversations with Jungkook that you didn't realize the ball was coming to an end and people began spilling out of the ballroom. Jungkook watches as your curious eyes sweep across the room and observe everyone as they ascend back up the stairs and out into the hall.

You turn your head back to Jungkook, once again catching him already looking at you, and you nudge your head towards the exit, "I think it's time the night has come to an end."

"It doesn't have to end though," he blurts and your eyes slightly widen. You try to process what he means by that as he grabs your hand into his and leads you both out of the room.

As you make your way outside you instantly notice how chilly the air has become, feeling the way it slightly licks at your skin, leaving goosebumps in it's wake. Jungkook notices and inches closer toward you, hoping he can radiate some body heat your way.

"That's my carriage," he says and points to an elegant looking black carriage pulling up to stop in front of the two of you. How would it look for you to be getting in his carriage with him at the end of the night? You look around you, watching to see if anyone notices. Everyone already looked down upon you as it is, so how would they react if they noticed you riding away with their lovely Viscount?

You feel a hand at the small of your back, slightly causing you to jump when you realize Jungkook is carefully pushing you towards the carriage for you to get in. Damn what the ton thinks, you think to yourself. You were certain Jungkook wouldn't put you in a position to have you under such scrutiny. You hardly knew him but you trusted him.

He slightly gulps as he catches sight of the stockings you wore as you lift your dress a little to climb up into the carriage. It made his body shudder as he was confronted with the pure want and need he had towards you, and yet you were all the more oblivious. He knew he wouldn't be able to get that image out of his head for quite some time.

He climbs in after you, settling into the seat across from you and instructed his driver to take the two of you to the nearest park. Before you can question him, you stop as you notice the sheepish look on his face before he spoke, "I thought we could sit and talk a bit more."

You smile at his words and give a small nod, yet you find it hard to look away from him. Usually you loved to watch as the trees passed by while you rode, enjoying and taking in the nature around you, but you simply couldn't tear your gaze away from him. Evidently he couldn't either, his eyes boring into yours with a sort of intensity.

One minute he's sheepishly smiling at you like a boy being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and the next he's looking at you like he wants to tear your clothes off in that very moment. Admittedly, it makes your head spin. You slightly adjust in your seat and his eyes snap down at the movement. He felt as if there was a fog in his head, weighing down so heavily that he couldn't think straight when looking at you.

"Thank you for being by my side tonight. It was quite unexpected but I very much enjoyed it," you said, trying to break the ice and the staring contest between the two of you.

He gives you a boyish smile and nods in agreement. "It was very nice," he states, "I wouldn't have wanted to spend my time with anyone else."

His words take you back slightly. He didn't even know you, and to be quite fair, he has never really showed an interest in you before, so why now?

"Why tonight?" you ask, your judgement getting the best of you and causing you to blurt the question before you can think twice.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks into your eyes, into your soul. "I know it must be a surprise that I've shown up out of nowhere tonight, but to be honest, I've had my eye on you since you first debuted into society."

Now his words really caught you off guard.

You shake your head in confusion and lean forward yourself. "What does that even mean?" you ask, "You've had your eye on me for two years yet never spoken a word to me. Why?"

He can't really give you the answer that you deserve when it came to that kind of question. He really didn't even know the answer to it himself. He knew he always wanted you but he never found the right time to make it clear to you.

"My duty as a Viscount has kept me very busy these last few years. I haven't been Viscount for very long so when that role was passed down to me, I had quite a few tasks thrown at me, on top of my journey's to other countries. I couldn't find the right time to talk to you." You slightly squint your eyes at his confession, still not fully grasping the fact of why he never once acted on the way he's telling you that he's felt for quite some time.

On the other hand, you were confused how he even had an interest towards you at all. You always thought the men were repulsed by you, hence the fact you were still unmarried, not even being courted by any of the men of the ton.

"I'm just confused," you start, "I've only seen you a few times and in those times I've seen you, you've never once noticed me."

You begin to feel nervous under his intense gaze, not being able to read the emotion that currently flashes in his eyes. "Not that you've noticed," he admits, "I've seen you many times and trust me when i say, I can't help but notice you when you are near."

He slightly scoots closer, carefully grabbing your slightly shaky hands to hold into his own. The feeling you have when he's so close or when he's looking at you the way he is, is a feeling you can't describe, but it's also a feeling that you don't want to stop feeling. Ever.

You look down into your lap where your hands are connected and smile at the way his thumb caresses your skin, "I thought all of the men around here were repulsed by me." You look up and meet his confused stare.

"How can you believe such a thing? You are absolutely one of the most beautiful women I've ever laid my sights upon," your breath hitches as his hand comes to cup the side of your face, his pinky finger tracing down the skin of your neck so gently, "I knew when I saw you that I needed to have you." The last sentence comes from his lips in a whisper and you almost feel as though you are in a trance, just staring into his eyes, not able to notice how close he has managed to get to you now.

Is this a dream?, you wonder.

Out of everything that has happened to you over the past couple years, including tonight, you knew only one thing. You wanted the Viscount. You wanted him more than anything you've ever wanted in your life and now that he's right in front of you, sitting so close you can feel his breath tickling your skin, you didn't care if it had been a dream. You suppose there's only one way to find out if you truly are just dreaming.

You lean forward a couple more inches and plant your lips onto Jungkook's, instantly sighing at the sweet taste of him. He wastes no time in kissing you back, reaching up to grip both sides of your face with his hands. Turning your head slightly, he gains more access to your mouth and can't help but run his tongue across your lips, almost begging you for entry, which you grant to him with no hesitation. He kisses you as if his life depends on it and you realize you've never felt so euphoric in your entire life until this very moment. You pull away suddenly and only now you notice how he has sunken to his knees before you, looking up at you as he anticipates your next move.

You've always loved looking at the man before you, even if you never noticed him looking back. You've always dreamed of the day you got to run your fingers through his silky hair-

Giving into your thoughts, you reach up and slowly bury your fingers into the tresses of his black locks, meeting his gaze half way as his eyes bore into yours, almost pleading you. This was the second time tonight that Jungkook has made you feel so powerful. The feeling was addicting.

You run your fingers through his hair and rest your hand on the back of his head, biting your lip at the sight of him so vulnerable before you. He groans and rushes in to push his lips against yours with a force that has your back resting against the seat now. He never lets up, kissing you as if he's scared you'll be pulled from his embrace any moment now. Goosebumps rise on your skin a second time tonight as his fingers inch across your collarbone and carefully push your dress down your shoulder.

He pulls away and almost whines at the sight of your skin becoming more exposed to his eyes. Who knew he would be so hard at the sight of a woman's shoulder, for Christ's sake. You didn't quite realize the affect you had on the Viscount just yet, but he intended on showing you.

As fast as he pulled away, he leans back in even faster, attaching his lips to the underside of your chin. His lips move across your skin with such fever, it practically makes your head almost spin of your shoulders. You've never felt such...bliss, and he was barely even touching you.

Almost as if he read your mind, his hand slowly travels down to your ankle, pressing his fingers against your skin, before his hand disappears under your dress and dances up your leg. The softness in which he touched your skin left a fire in it's wake, making you slightly shake in excitement. He gives a warm smile at your reaction, indulging in the sounds your heavy breathes make. He watches the way your chest rises furiously, suppressing a groan at the perfect sight that was you.

He gives a questioning look as his fingers reach the inside of your thigh and he doesn't even need to ask before you're already nodding your head, looking at him pleadingly, which further drives him even more mad for you. Your small hands grip the expanse of his broad shoulders, the same ones you were drooling over earlier in the day, and your head leans back, the feeling of his fingers ghostly dancing over the material of your undergarments. His lips finally press against yours once again as he firmly presses his fingers against you, drawing the most beautiful sound from your throat.

It was hard for him to believe how warm and soft you felt against his rough fingers. He presses his fingers even further against you, becoming addicted to the way you felt under his touch. In turn, more noises were drawn from you and he knew he would never get tired of the way you sounded. He pushes your dress up so he can see the way you look beneath him and the sight is enough to turn a man insane. The expanse of your think thighs adorned in the beautifully delicious stockings you chose to wear for the occasion, almost calling his name to keep his eyes on you.

"Please," you whisper.

His head snaps up when he hears your whimper, the look on your face taunting him, coaxing him to touch you further. Jungkook likes to think he's quite the strong spirit, but he's never felt weaker as he has kneeling before you now. He gives into the soft sounds you make just for him and pushes his fingers past your undergarments, fully touching you. You instantly gasp and push yourself up further into his embrace, shocked by the feeling that was currently running through your body. You've never been touched this way and you were almost angry that you didn't get to experience this until now.

The only barrier between the two of you is broken as he slowly pushes two fingers inside of you, watching intently at the faces you make. You let out a drawn out moan and pull him closer until his face is practically into your neck. He takes the opportunity to plant his mouth against your skin, feeling your pulse beneath his tongue, and you shudder at the warmth that consumes you.

"You're so perfect," he grunts as he pushes his fingers deeper, causing you to gasp for the millionth time. His eyes fall to your chest once again, watching it rise and fall almost in a pattern. He's thrusting his fingers into you faster, with more purpose, manually reaching inside of you for the delightful sounds you offer to him so easily.

You thread your fingers into his hair again, ever so slightly pulling when he reaches a spot inside of you that has your toes curling. He was making you feel so wonderful, a feeling you never wanted to go away. A feeling you wanted him to provide for you every single day as long as you live. Your eyes flutter open as you look up at him, the sight causing an unfamiliar feeling to bubble inside of you. His hair was slightly damp from sweat, his eyes producing a fire you've never witnessed, all the while his fingers moved inside of you much faster than before.

There's a feeling rising inside of you that causes you to arch your back and slightly constrict your legs around Jungkook's incredibly lean waist. The sounds are pouring from you now like a mantra as you desperately claw at his shoulders, pulling him impossibly closer to your form.

"You can do it baby," he whispers, egging you on before planting his face into your chest and beginning to take the supple flesh of your breast into his mouth. That's all it took to have you falling apart beneath him. Your muscles constrict and his name comes flowing from your mouth like a chant, further proving to him how undoubtedly perfect you were.

You lay still, breathing heavily as he removes his digits from your body and smooths your dress back into place. He carefully places your sleeve back up your shoulder and pushes a piece of hair behind your ear. You watch him the whole time, admiring how determined he looked. Your words were hidden in your gut as you keep your eyes on him. Soon, you realize his carriage stops before his house and you turn to him, confused.

Jungkook hops out effortlessly and holds his hand out to you. "Well, are you coming?" he asks.

Your eyes scan before his home, taking in the beautifully structured building. As you part your lips to ask him why you were here, he steps closer and gently caresses your chin in his hands.

"If you're to become by wife, you need to meet my family."

♞ ♞ ♞

[damienshaas]

Hi hello back again, had a much better day today and yesterday and to celebrate I require your finest damangela gifs, pics, videos, 16 page essays etc. go hog wild basically..all the best 💛

YELLS ANON YOU GET ME? this is great for a break from playing bloom & rage need a second from my min maxxing the girl kissing game...... you said essay i'm in that mood so i'm giving essay with a side of pics okay? okay.

OKAY SO like. they're insane right. like I think everyone usually has a lot to say about like amangela because when they're together in a vid they are. FULL sending it. like full "we're getting married in the spring" and "we've been kissing for seven minutes over here while [Shayne and Spencer] prattle on". so like that's their god given yuri right.

BUT when damangela is in a video they're giving in a more. how you would say. demure. mindful. way. like amangela is fun because it's not "serious" like as in it could never realistically happen, right. it's the beach episode of smosh interactions. literally just pure fun.

but damien and ang.......... they're yapper meeting yapper. saying whatever comes out of her brain vs infodumping genuine knowledge, damien. high energy vs cool composed. off the walls humor vs quick-witted and well-thought snipes. damangela is just that bitch. damangela is damien getting into Sarah Christ form and asking in character "so your place tonight or mine. or neither." damangela is bouncing looks at each other between rounds of tntl while everyone else is spiking the camera consistently like good boys and girls. damangela is angela being like "I'm excited we're on a team together again it's been so long"/"we're against each other and i'm going to beat your ass" (proceeds to get obliterated a la loud librarians). damangela is damien "I'm gonna torn apart in the comments about astrology" and angela "I think you're worried and I understand you are. but don't be" and ofc damien "I appreciate you." damangela is angela wanting to do nsfw prompts for games when damien is there AT LEAST 9/10 times. damangela is damien "you have such a great laugh." damangela is damien unprompted bringing angela up everywhere especially when she's not there; his stream, smosh mouth, other podcasts, insta captions, games videos. damangela is angela doing the same; perfect person podcast, smosh mouth, reacting to old smosh content. and there's just. everything else they do. like I see them and my whole brain goes dial up noises combined with like, lawnmower startup sounds.

also. peep the height difference.

it's especially funny when angela is the peak of looking respectfully. because why is she so real.

also they're just the big sillies.

like computer, play bad habit by steve lacy. computer play kiss goodnight by IDKHBTFM. computer. computer help. girl help

also. it helps that they're both. really hot. like if we're talking about power couples that could pass me around like a blunt on a good day in paris I'm not hesitating.

and finally, of course,

it's the mutual respect. it's the genuine friendship. it's the recognizing how absolutely hilarious the other person is. it's the just wanting to make each other laugh.

i'm glad you had a good day, anon! fingers crossed this made today a nice one 💙

[sundew199]

Strawberry

A/N: this may or may not be based off of smth personal lol, it was too cute of an idea not to write, enjoy!

tags: Jean Kirschstein x reader, fluff, jean and reader's daughter, pure tooth-rotting fluff

Out in the backyard of the house that finally felt like a home, Jean stood on the back porch, wiping his forehead of sweat, the blazing late spring sun reminding him why he detested it sometimes. But it was all worth being out here now that his little project was done, looking out a the raised garden beds with freshly planted strawberry plants.

His daughter recently became obsessed with strawberries, and he isn't exaggerating either. It was her favorite fruit and requested to have strawberries at all three meals throughout the day. Both you and him found it absolutely endearing the way she fawned over the bright red fruit. Even her small wardrobe now consisted mostly of strawberries, proving even further it was no secret they were her favorite.

Which is what sparked this impromptu project of his. By the time summer was close to an end, Jean could bring his daughter out to pick her own strawberries and save from him or you making weekly trips to the market.

When Jean told his daughter, her eyes lit up and her smile stretched from cheek to cheek as she squealed, so excited to have her very own strawberries. Jean felt like the luckiest father in the world when she ran to hug his neck, listening to her babbled 'thank yous' and feeling his own smile stretch from cheek to cheek as well.

Over the next three or so months, either you or Jean were accompanying your daughter out to the garden. She was so anxious for the plants to produce her favorite fruit and didn't have a good grasp on time yet, she was only five. So every morning and every evening, she would be out in the backyard by the flowerbeds, almost willing them to grow, and Jean truly thought it was the cutest thing.

Besides staring at the fruitless plants, his daughter loved to water them, but wasn't big enough to hold the watering can herself, so of course Jean was helping her hydrate the strawberries at least once a day.

The more time went on, Jean's daughter would tell him all the things she wanted to make with the strawberries; Jam, pie, cake, strudels, just about everything under the sun and Jean promised her that they would.

Near the end of summer, the first strawberries had began to redden and Jean's daughter squealed the moment she spotted them one afternoon watering the plants, begging her dad to let her pick them. Much to her disappointment, they weren't quite ready and it broke Jean's heart to see how much that saddened her. He promised her that it wouldn't be much longer before she could pick them.

Sure enough, a few more weeks went by and it was Jean himself that spotted the bunch of strawberries that were finally ready to pick, grabbing his daughter from inside and the little basket you bought for her. She stared in wonder at the bright red, plump fruit, almost not believing they were ready to pick due to her recent disappointment.

With some encouragement, Jean convinced her and watched her pick the biggest one and hold it out to him. Grabbing the watering can, he held the strawberry in his palm and washed it off, handing it back to her and gently telling her to take a bite. Stars appeared in her eyes the moment she broke the red, sweet flesh, spreading warmth throughout his chest.

"How's it taste?"

"So good daddy, here you try." Mumbling as she chewed, passing the strawberry back to him. Jean laughed under his breath at the trickle of juice dripping from her chin, wiping it with his thumb as he took a bite of the strawberry. It was delicious, better than the ones he was buying for her in the beginning.

"Can we pick all of them?"

"Sure, but just the ripe ones."

Her head bobbed in understanding, leaning over the edge of the flowerbed and reaching from the strawberries. Jean thanked himself for planting plenty of plants, finding so much enjoyment watching how happy and excited his daughter was at picking the fruit. The basket was starting to fill up quickly, but Jean didn't stop her, joining her to pick the fruit.

"Can we make something with the strawberries tonight?"

"I'm sure we can come up to make with your first strawberries."

She giggled, dropping another plump berry into the basket. When all the ripe ones were picked, and her basket was overflowing, Jean decided there'd be no harm and eating a few on the back porch as the sun started to set, sitting his daughter in his lap and handing her strawberry after strawberry, even if it ruined her dinner.

"Do you like strawberries daddy?" Turning her head back to look at him with the sudden question, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I love strawberries baby, but I think out of all the strawberries we picked tonight you're my favorite."

"But I'm not a strawberry." Sounding offended at his endearing answer, causing Jean to laugh softly, pecking a small kiss to her forehead.

"Not yet, but if you keep eating all the strawberries before we can make something, you might turn into one." Surprising her by tickling her neck and face with kisses, listening to the sweetest sound that was his daughter's laughter and the joy that came from her favorite fruit, forever crowning her his little strawberry.

[artists-ally]

{Confess Your Lust} Reader x Azriel

You all can thank @riddlesb1tch for this. I have no regrets. It's just pure filth, but I know my whores like this 🥰 Rose this is all for you so you're the only one I care about liking it. Hope you all enjoy, title is from this song. highly suggest listening to while reading btw

Word Count: 4,682

Warnings: SMUT. Minor Dom/Sub concepts, bondage, degrading, teasing, orgasm delay/denial, overstimulation, Az is your pretty little good boy and you're gonna let him know ;)

Tagging: @riddlesb1tch @thelov3lybookworm @librafairy @needylilgal022 @bubybubsters @harrystylesfan2686 @justdreamstars @cyrygher @berryzxx @thehighladywrites @xaithings

Summary: Azriel requested a very special birthday present. And who were you to tell him no.

~~~~~~~

“Cassian, as long as I’ve known you, you’ve gotten me a dagger for my birthday.”

“Yup,” he grins. 

“You know it’ll never suffice to Truth Teller, right?”

“An Illyrian can hope,” Cassian sighs, a relaxed smile on his face. “I know they all go in a drawer at the bottom of your dresser.”

Azriel rolls his eyes, but thanks his brother anyway. He appreciates them, but they hold no candle to the pretty piece of steel sat on his thigh.

Mor had gifted him a new pair of boots and a matching belt to go with them. They were of sleek leather, polished so well he could see his distorted reflection in the curve of the toe. He might have to set them aside for a special occasion so he doesn’t ruin them with training and missions. 

Rhys and Feyre gifted him a custom made weapons display case. It had racks and shelves for all his favorites, as well as drawers for the ones Cassian constantly gifted. It was complete with a throwing pad on the side to practice different strikes as well as a sharpening stone. He’d never admit to anyone but himself, but it made the back of his throat string. 

Amren promised him a night out at Rita’s, and coming from her it was quite generous. 

Buy my gift… it was something to be shared between my mate and no one else. They didn’t need to know the secret behind the look in my eye. It was waiting at our newly constructed home, just like I promised. Just like he had asked. 

“That’s it from us, I don’t see another one here,” Cassian looked around the rubble of discarded bags and decorative paper, not finding any other boxes. “Did Yn already give you hers?”

“No,” I said, sipping my glass of wine. “It’s back at the house. But he already knows what it is.”

“He does?”

“He does?” Azriel furrowed his brows, clearly not remembering the conversation the two of us had several months ago. 

Azriel sauntered into the dining hall, hands fisted at his sides, wings tucked in close. “Can I talk to you?”

The sudden spring of worry in his eyes made me put down my book, following him to a nearby couch to sit on. 

“What’s up, my love?” I asked tenderly, locking a piece of hair behind his ear. 

“If I asked you to do something for me- to me… would you?” 

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Az,” I cocked my head to the side, getting a better look at his eyes. Those wicked shadows blocked some of his tan skin, so I gently nudged them out of the way.

“I umm- I was thinking that we might change some things up. I’ve had a lot of thoughts about these things and I want them. And I want to see if you could want them too.”

“Okay,” I nodded, waiting for a response.

“I want to try using some toys. On me.”

Well, that is not where I thought this was going to go at all. Utterly shocked, but not opposed to the idea, I asked him to elaborate. And by the Cauldron did he. He went into detail of what he wanted, why he wanted it, how he wanted it… it sounded like a dream come true. 

“I’m so happy you told me about this. Yes, I’d be more than happy to fulfill these fantasies with you,” I smiled eagerly. “I promise I’ll make it special for you. Just like you did for me.”

Azriel still didn’t seem to get it, so I flashed a mental image down the bond, watching his brows unfurrow and raise up his face. It was almost ridiculous how far they went up. Nobody else said anything as they watched the interaction. 

“Oh.”

“Oh… what? What did she get you?” Rhys prodded his brother, Azriel not breaking our eye contact. I just smirked, winking in his direction before turning back to the wine. Mor spared me a curious glance, but I gave away no details. The others didn’t need to know what happened behind those closed doors. 

“Just something to play with later,” Azriel swallowed, throat working down and then back up. Only I would be able to note the change in his scent. “Time for pastries?”

I giggled as he deflected the question and moved onto another topic. It was another hour or so before anyone made a move to leave, but as soon as Cassian rolled out, his hands were all over me. 

“Are you being serious?” His hands were cupping my cheeks, a desperate plea to his voice. 

“Of course, my shadow. Go on up, get yourself ready. I’ll be up in a little bit, okay? Send word when you’re ready,” I instruct, moving out of his reach to begin cleaning up some of the mess left behind from the small party. 

“Won’t you come do it for me?” His strong arms wrapped around me, the soft scent of his wings wafting in the air. “I could really use your help.”

“I thought you wanted me to take control?”

“I do, that’s why I-”

“Didn’t I give you an order?” 

“Y-Yes, I just wanted-”

“Then go. Don’t make me ask again, Azriel.” 

“Yes my lady,” he obediently replied. I watched him go up the stairs, shadows lingering behind before darting after him. Once I heard the door click softly shut, I continued my work around the living area and the kitchen. I didn’t have any desire to be cleaning, I just needed to build up some tension. For this to work as he wanted to, I needed to do the unpredictable. Which would be really fucking difficult since he is basically progammed to know every turn and corner. 

I threw out trash, packed dishes in the sink, scrubbed them clean and put them away. About five minutes ago he sent a shadow curling my way, enticing me up towards the play room. I ignored the urgency of the call, deciding I’ll go when I want to. And he’s just going to have to wait. 

Azriel isn’t the most patient creature in this world, that’s for damn sure. 

Making him wait this long would be torture. 

Precisely how I wanted it to be. 

Finally, after another ten-ish minutes of stalling, I make my way upstairs. Purposefully being as loud as I can without stomping up the stairs. My heels click gently across the hard stone. As I near the door, I am hit with a wave of arousal coming from the room. It’s thick and tastes devine on the back of my tongue.

The sight of him sitting in the chair, wings facing me, arms ready and waiting behind his back is a marvelous sight. I can’t help but smile. He looks so pretty. 

“I thought you forgot about me,” Azriel said, a smirk in his tone. “Is it time for my present yet?”

“So impatient, all of you Illyrians,” I snorted, rolling my eyes as I made my way to the wall in front of him. Hung up, there were various toys and playthings. All could be used for pleasure or pain, depending on the mood. “You’ll get it when I say you do. Give me your wrists.”

I held the bundle of rope between my palms, stalking back over to Azriel in his chair. As I pass around to where his hands are locked behind his back, I make sure to tell him he’s allowed to safeword if and whenever he needs to. 

“I know, my love, thank you. I know you’ll take care of me,” he smiles gently, offering his lips.

“You asked to be overwhelmed, so I’m not going to stop unless you give me the word. I want you begging me to stop, remember? You’ll sound so pathetic and pretty when you whimper,” I smiled sickly sweet, pecking his lips with my own. “Ready?”

He gave a firm nod, hazel eyes locking on my body as I pulled away.

Back at the wall, I open the drawer in the chest, finding those two boxes I hid away weeks ago. How he never found them, I’ll never know, but I’m so glad. One was a vibrating cuff. The other was a dildo. 

After taking them out of the box and sanitizing them, I left them there for Az to see, but not to use yet. No, I wanted the anticipation to do the work for me. Rather than giving him what he wanted, I made my way over to him and trailed my fingers around his frame. 

Every flick of my finger sent goosebumps slithering across his skin. Up his neck… down his arms. That sensitive place between his wings twitched as I trailed through it, delicately applying pressure on the muscle. 

“Fuck, baby you… you can’t tease me like that.”

“I think I can do whatever I want,” I replied. “You are tied up at my mercy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Good boy,” I smiled, threading my fingers through his thick hair, latching onto his scalp. I pulled to the side, watching his body move with the force. His chest rose and fell, I could feel his heartbeat down the bond. Wicked. Powerful. Anticipating my next move. 

I slid into his lap, feeling just how much he needed me through his pants. I leaned just far enough away that he couldn't capture my mouth with his. He tried twice to kiss me, but each time I leaned away, a sick smile on my lips. 

Azriel scoffed, “I just wanted a kiss.”

“I know you do, but I didn’t give you permission, did I?” I mocked, leaning in closer and closer. “Your pleasure belongs to me tonight. I decide when you get what you’ve earned. And all you’ve done so far is complain that I haven’t given you anything. That’s not how good boys behave is it?”

I can see the fire in his eyes, those two sides of his personality fighting each other head on. This desire inside him to be taken care of, to be set free by my control versus that blistering need to be in control of everything. 

I’ll break him free with my bare hands if I have to. 

“Don’t be shy, my shadow. You can say it, it’s okay. No one can hear you besides me. Unless you want everyone to know just how much you need me.”

“I’ll behave,” he recites quickly. “Please.”

“Look at you, begging for it already,” I smirked, standing up from my place in his lap. He groans, cock clearly straining against the fabric covering his legs. 

I circle him. Like a predator to its prey. “You look so pretty tied up, my shadow.”

“When I asked you to play with me, I didn’t expect to be tortured.”

“Tortured?” I spun around to see his hazy eyes. “Oh, my sweet love, I haven’t even touched you yet and you’re already begging? Don’t be so pathetic, Azriel. You can take more, can’t you?” I nodded his head for him, fingers fisted in his hair. “Yes you can, good boy.”

I quickly walked around to see his pink cheeks, heated with humiliation. I had no intention of going easy on him the first time. 

In a swift motion, I sheathed the blade at his thigh, cutting away his pants, leaving him just in his undershorts. He gasped, eyes going wide as roughly pulled them down his hips. “Y-Yn what are you-”

“Quiet,” I demanded. 

Azriel shut his mouth, panting heavily as I fisted his cock in my hand. His head tipped back in pleasure, and I almost let myself enjoy it for a second before I ripped my hand away. Those fierce hazel eyes were back on mine in an instant, silently begging for more. He made a wounded sound when I walked away, grabbing the vibrating cuff from the dresser. 

“Let’s play a game, okay? I put this on, and you aren’t going to cum. If you take it like the good boy I know you are, then I’ll give you something else to play with. If you cum… well, you’re just not going to stop.”

Azriel looks genuinely afraid. Like I might break him if I go through with this. I’ve never wanted to break something so badly just to put it back together again. 

I kneel in front of him, spreading his knees apart. I can see the generous amount of gel he’s used to work himself open for later. His body is glowing, vibrating with tension. I spit on his dick, enjoying the sight of him flinching as it hits his hot skin. 

Being extra agonizing, I blow some cool air on his tip to really watch him jump. I giggle, sliding the cuff over his length. The pale blue color is a stark contrast to his bright red skin. There is a button near the bass to turn it on and to switch the intensity. The gentle purr of the toy comes to life with a quick tap, and Azriel damn near falls out of the chair.

“Relax,” I say, forcing his knees down. I looked up at him, chest unmoving as he held his breath. “Breath Azriel.”

“I- I can-can’t,” he chokes. “Fuck Yn, it’s too much.”

“It’s only on the first setting, you’ll get used to it. In thirty seconds I’m going to put it on the next setting,” I warn, watching the way his body quivers slightly. 

My mates eyes are slammed shut, teeth clenched together. His cock gently pulses with the vibe, slick trickling down his shaft in a steady stream. To be a little extra mean, I run my tongue up the length.

“Oh gods Yn…” he pleads, head tossed back. His chest is on display, perfectly cut muscles constricting with every breath. 

“You’re being so good, Azriel,” I praise, relishing in the way his body relaxes into the words. “Just a little longer.”

I stand, walking to the corner of the room to the closet. I quietly wheel out the next part of his surprise, setting them aside for when I need them. When I come back, I notice the sheen of sweat lining his chest and torso. It glimmers in the low light, catching at all the right angles. 

I stroke my hands up and down his shoulders, working the tense muscles. He relaxes into my body and I travel further. Over his chest, over his abs, down his thighs. When I reach his cock, I press the next button and turn up the intensity. 

Az growls. In a way I’ve never heard him before. He curls in on himself, kicking his feet against the floor. 

“Don’t act like you don’t love it, Azriel. I know you want to be my good boy and take your birthday present so well. You’re gonna take it until I tell you you’ve had enough.”

“It feels so good,” he moans. His thighs are shaking, his cock flushed almost purple. “M-More.”

“And now you’re begging for it? Gods, Az you are so easy for me. I’m sure if you'd found this before tonight, I would’ve caught you with it, huh? So fucking desperate.” I can’t help but tease him, he makes it so easy. And he is being so good for me, why not give him what he wants? “You asked for more, Azriel.”

I click it up another notch, watching the way it sends shock waves through the muscles in his thighs and abs. He’s open-mouth panting now, unable to take a breath without whining. He starts shaking his head back and forth, eyes blinking rapidly. 

“You’re not allowed to cum, Azriel. I didn’t give you permission.”

My reminder makes him sob. “Please, please Yn. Fucking please let me cum. Fuck I-I can’t- Yn I can’t-”

“You’re going to,” I demand, pushing the hair out of his face. “Because I told you to. You wanna make me happy, right? I won’t be happy if you cum. You don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?”

He shakes his head no rapidly, sweat dripping down his face. 

“Then don’t cum. It’s not that hard.”

Azriel cries out, the noise coming deep within his chest. He tries to cross his legs to relieve the pressure, but I force them to stay open. He shakes and writhes, wings slanted behind his back in a mess of shadows. He cannot sit still, but I don’t reprimand him for it. 

The room is filled with the sound of his harsh breathing and the hum of the vibrator. It’s filled with the scent of his sweat and breath. 

“Yn- Yn turn it off.”

“No.”

He curses, a colorful menagerie falling from his wet lips. “Please please please please please please.”

The sound of him begging, truly begging, makes me grin in a sinister way. This is exactly how I wanted him. A whimpering, desperate mess for me to play with. 

I turn it off. 

Azriel blows out a breath, body still writhing. His cock stands tall, a deep shade of maroon. I know one flick of my tongue would send him over the edge. And having that kind of power over him feels incredible. 

After letting him rest for a second, I decide it’s time for some real fun. I pluck the dildo off the dresser and stand in front of Azriel, waiting for him to look up at me. When those hazel eyes meet mine, they’re glassy and full of pleasure. Almost too much. He looks drunk with his cheeks so rosy and ears flaming red. He looks so adorable all fucked out like this. 

“Stand,” I commanded, watching the words register on his face. 

His knees tremble, but he manages, stretching his taught legs. The sight of him shaking so vividly would normally scare me. But right now it's… it's beautiful. I made him this way, and this ache between my legs couldn't be stronger. 

The cup on the end suctions to the metal chair when I place the dildo down. “Sit.”

“Yn-”

“Sit,” I snapped, eyes hardening. Azriel swallowed, looking from me to the chair and back. “Don’t make me ask again. I told you to sit. So sit down. Now.”

He turned back around, standing above the chair. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he lowered himself to the chair. His arms were bulging against the ropes, veins running along his biceps throbbing with his pulse. But he sits. All the way down. 

With a proud smile, I drink in the way he sits. It's so rigid. His chest barely moves with his quick breaths. His eyes are screwed shut. 

“Azriel,” I taunt, my voice sickly sweet. “What's got you breathing so hard, hmm? Are you in too much pleasure? Does it feel too good?”

His mouth gapes open, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“You’re at a loss for words with how good you feel. So fucking pathetic, completely fucked out the first time you’re taking a toy?” I click on the vibrator again, starting at level two. He thrashes, then grunts, tossing his head back. “You can take it. You’ve been such a good boy. You’ve been pleasing me so much, Azriel, did you know that? You’re making me so happy. Keep being a good boy and I’ll let you cum.”

“Yn…” he breathed, head falling back to meet my eyes.

“What do you need, my shadow? More? You want more?” He shakes his head no, but remains silent. “You can do better than a pitiful shake of your head. Tell me what you want, Azriel.”

“Yn… Yn…” he chants, my name a plea of desperation. It's airy and full of need. 

“That’s it, baby. Tell me what you need, I promise I’ll give it to you.”

With bleary eyes, he looks at me. “Please let me cum.” 

The words are broken and a little slurred, but he told me what he needed. So I’ll give it to him. 

“Such a good boy, Azriel. Telling me how much you need to cum. I’ll make sure you do, baby. Just keep taking it for me. You’re doing soooo good.”

I kept talking to him, praising him for how good he’s taking everything I’ve given him. Azriel is babbling and pleading like a total whore. While he drones on and on, I wheel out the surprise I set in the corner. Three long, vertical mirrors are set around him so he can see every angle of his perfect body. 

So he can watch himself come undone without me even touching him. 

“Azriel, look at me baby,” I commanded. He settles his gaze on me, then the mirrors. “Don’t you think you look so pretty?”

The way his body slumps in the chair sent chills down my spine. He spread his legs, admitting the cuff constricting his cock. Azriel pushes on his toes lightly, bobbing up and down on the dildo. “Fuck I- Yn I look so…so-”

“I want you to keep your eyes locked on the mirror. Don’t look at anything but yourself. This is all for you, take it all in, my shadow. Enjoy watching yourself fall apart for me.”

Azriel nodded. 

I circled him slowly, amused at how… delicate he looked despite the harsh reality of his current fate. He was tied up, more vulnerable than ever. And yet he looked so sweet and simple. And devastatingly ruined. 

At the first touch to the leathery material of his wings, Azriel jumped. He shouted and swore. 

“Relax, Azriel.”

“I can’t handle it when you touch my wings, Yn. I’m not gonna be able to hold on,” Az pleads. I touch him again in the same spot. He shudders and grits his teeth. “Yn please.”

“Eyes on yourself, Azriel.”

With a deep, controlled breath, he pulls his eyes back to the mirrors. As I touch and explore the most sensitive parts of him, he twitches in every direction, effectively screwing himself further on the dildo. I take the curve of my nail and trace a vein running in his wing. Fibers in his muscles seize. 

In the mirror, I can see the cuff working nicely. His chest is coated in sweat and it takes all my strength to not run my tongue from the tip of his cock to the base of his throat. Instead, I continue to tease his wings. 

Azriel has this one specific spot right at the base of his wing that drives him insane. The moment I begin to move my hand, he begins to moan uncontrollably. He begs and whines and begs again for me to make him come. 

“Are you watching yourself, baby?” I ask, locking eyes with him in the mirror. When he nods, eyes cast down at his body, I stroke his wing. Twice. And tears spill down his face. 

“F-Fuck Yn I need to cum. I need to cum, fuck PLEASE let me cum please please please,” Azriel chants like I’m a long forgotten god. As if I would be able to grant all his wishes and desires. And it fills me with a fire I’ve never felt before. 

“You’ve been such a good boy, Azriel. Go ahead. You can cum, let go.” 

The second I gave him permission, he came. His whole body convulsed with the force. His legs and torso shivered, ecstasy pouring out of him with every whine and curse. 

“Fuuuucccckkkkk,” he mewls, watching his cum slide down his cock, spreading over his thighs. The cuff keeps vibrating, drawing out his pleasure. “Turn it off turn it off turn it off-”

“Don’t you wanna see how far you can go? You look so pretty when you cum, I could keep watching you forever, my dear. Why don’t you do it again, okay? You’ve earned it, go ahead and cum for me, just once more.”

His whole body is flush, the same beautiful color as his aching cock. He strains against the ropes and for a minute I think he’s going to break free. But he falls slack, a steady wave of whimpers as the cuff continues to drain him. The flow of it never stops. 

After a few more seconds to enjoy the show for myself, I turn off the vibrator. I gently slide it off, the majority of his seed landing on my fingers. I make a bog show of licking it off for him. 

Azriel is lost in his mind somewhere when I begin to undo the ropes. I massage his shoulders, working blood back into his extremities. 

“You did such an amazing job, my love. I am so proud of you, I hope you had as good of a time as I did.”

Azriel stayed quiet, but he nodded his head, gulping down air. He was shaking, but judging by the way the bond felt, he felt nothing but euphoria. I had done exactly what I was asked, and he loved it. 

While I kneaded his shoulders, kissing up and down his back, he recovered. While I was strong, I wasn’t strong enough to lift a fully grown Illyrian warrior and carry him to the bathroom. Currently, he’s in no condition to move under his own volition, so we’ll take our time until his strength is restored. 

“I love you so much, Az. My beautiful, strong mate. You did such a good job, such a good boy for me.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, a lazy smile on his lips. “Love being your good boy.”

“You are, you did so fucking good Azriel. It was so hot watching you cum like that,” I smiled, kissing his forehead, then his lips when he pursed them to me. “Feeling good enough to get to the bathroom? The tub is waiting, ready for you.”

My mate nodded, “Only if you’ll come in with me.”

Giggling, I slung his arm over my shoulder. “Of course I will. Stand up slowly, take your time. I’ve got you.”

With a few hisses as he stood up off the chair, wings splaying out to help him keep his balance, I guided him to the bathroom. He could stand just… not super well. We stumbled, but made it to the tub in one piece. I left him to climb in as I stripped, adding some salts to the bath. 

“I don’t care about that, just get in, my love.”

Illyrians, not known for their extended patience, but they are known for their incredible brutality and bravery.

As well as their wingspans. 

Before he could yank me in with my clothes on, I swept them away with a flick of my hand and climbed in. Azriel guided me to sit in his lap, face to face. His warm, scar-flecked hands caressed my body. It wasn’t in a particularly sexual manner, but I was far too turned on to not let a whimper slip. But he didn’t smirk or crack a teasing joke, he just continued to roam my body. 

It seemed to calm him, the edges of ecstasy fading away from the bond one strand at a time. His heart rate slowed and that glaze over his eyes faded away. 

“Feeling okay?” I asked, stroking my hands up and around the tattoos on his shoulders and chest. 

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “Just… wow. My body feels so tingly.”

“Now you know how I feel when you make me cum multiple times.”

Azriel smiled, sending my heart tumbling in my chest. “Guess I should be a bit more gracious with you, shouldn’t I? Considering now you have what you need to retaliate.”

“I think you’d like it if I retaliated,” I grin. “I’m glad you had a good time.”

“Good time? I’ve never felt so satisfied in my whole life. Thank you for giving me that experience.”

I smiled so wide it hurt. “Of course, my shadow. But the next time you want to have a ‘new experience’, don’t hesitate to wait so long to tell me.”

“I promise,” Azriel whispers, cupping both sides of my face with his hands. Our foreheads lean in together. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

[romanhughesy]

GRAVITY - andrei svechnikov x fem!reader

summary: you meet in spring. andrei is confident, easy-going. deeply casual. summer’s long, but you’re around again when andrei comes back in the fall and ‘casual’ shifts into something fonder, something taking shape around the edges. a mid-season injury brings things to a breaking point, but the longest night only comes once a year.

wc: 3k

warnings: suggestive (like pg13), angsty?, emotionally unavailable!reader<3

a/n: im so sorry it’s late, but this is my fic for @wyattjohnston’s winter fic exchange, written for @sydnikov !! i LOVE your writing and was so inspired by your preferred tropes/figure skating background, so i hope you love it!! ive never wrote anything quite like this before, so feedback is 10000% encouraged bc this is also my first fic in awhile :’) title is from ‘gravity’ by my queen tinashe, that song and her other song ‘cross that line’ PERFECTLY describe the relationship i was trying to capture here.

-

somewhere along the way– far too late– it becomes apparent you and andrei misunderstood each other. maybe even from the very first moment.

on an unseasonably humid early spring night, in a dark gritty bar with shitty lighting and shittier beer, a spark ignited between the both of you. he approached you, half-drunk and put up to it by the rowdy teammates commandeering a booth with a great view of the bar. of you and your friends. he offered to buy a round of shots for everyone– if your friends would take them back to the booth and leave the two of you at the bar. your girls, who absolutely did not need anymore shots, practically ran across the bar with the tray; not before elbowing you and patting your shoulder, of course. maybe one hockey player could fly under the radar, but certainly not this one, and the table full that were now hosting your friends were the talk of the little bar. even some of the other girls nearby looked at you enviously; like you’d been chosen, or won some sort of prize. it was an unpleasant kind of feeling that you tried to shove aside in favor of easy, tipsy conversation. after talking around the elephant in the room for a minute, the liquid courage helped you decide to name it. you praised his performance in their game earlier that evening. months later, you can still remember how his smile took over his face, wide and prideful.

“thank you, pretty,” he slurred, shuffling a bit closer, “i can teach you how to skate good like me.”

you also remember your own prideful scoff, rolling your eyes on pure instinct. that unpleasant feeling sharpened. “i could carve you up, svech.”

his jaw dropped, the disbelief seeming more honest than his boastful smile, somehow. “you play? you are… small.”

“i’m a figure skater. i coach, too. maybe i should teach you to skate better.”

andrei’s wolfish smile came back in full force then, large hand draping over yours on the sticky bar. “perfect figure skater– pretty and small. i’m sure you skate well, but not like me.”

he raised his drink to signal the bartender, but you slid your hand from underneath the bar to rest on top of his and tapped the back of his palm lightly, stealing his attention with a head tilt.

“should we go and check out each other’s skills?”

one night set the stage for a loose kind of routine, spring nights slipping away in the back of seedy bars, in andrei’s bland luxury apartment; bodies coming to an understanding on rumpled grey sheets in his california king bed. your friends wouldn’t shut up about him, but you insisted there was nothing to tell. and there wasn’t. neither of your lives had room for anything more than what you already had. when he was gone, or just not around, your life passed by more or less the same as when he was there. you weren’t going through the motions to pretend there was anyone else, to him or to your friends, but you knew where you stood. and it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. what you and andrei had was good, easy. you didn’t want a boyfriend anyway, so why would you complain about a steady hookup who wasn’t getting attached?

as the days got warmer, the nights got shorter, and andrei’s games became more meaningful. he slipped away— as much as you can really slip away when you aren’t being held at all. he more or less disappeared from your life once their second playoff series went south, and you refused to give chase.

-

summer was a blur. long days full of early morning practice, the smell of the ice invigorating your senses and bringing relief from the oppressive heat. it was a year too hot to be outdoors much, so you holed up, binging reality tv and redecorating your bedroom. your friends brought you out of your shell every now and then with a couple of weekend beach trips and many more coerced nights out. they’d switched from seedy sports bars to cocktail lounges, or dance clubs, and were good enough to not mention why, at least to your face. things felt simpler this way, dancing into the night with a rotating cast of strangers and cutting out early with the excuse of your sunrise rink time. you started landing a new trick, and even the heat couldn’t dull your mood about that.

seemingly in the blink of an eye, the dog days of summer had passed, and banners started cropping up around downtown boasting the shiny newcomers and fan favorites returning to town for training camp. you saw andrei’s face on the house-sized poster hanging on the outside of the arena and pretended to yourself that you’d never met him, because, really, what else were you supposed to do? go back to that same bar, with your same friends, and pretend you knew him at all?

-

well, you did do that– not of your own volition, to be sure– and he was there, because of course he was. you saw him the second you walked in, tall, broad and smiling, just like you remembered. you pointedly looked away, sharp eyes almost daring your friends to say something, but they didn’t have to.

you were fumbling through your purse to pay for your drink when he approached from behind, resting his hand on the bar. your bodies weren’t quite touching, but you were enveloped by his stature.

“you can put all of their drinks on my tab,” you could almost feel the vibrations of his deep voice through your chest. your friends raised their eyebrows, but said nothing, taking their drinks and deserting the bar. that deja vu, memory-on-the-tip-of-your-tongue feeling washed over you, heightened by his next words.

“how was your summer, pretty girl? mine was long, without seeing you.”

you sidestepped his hold to be able to look up at him, to take his features in for the first time in awhile. in person, that is. there was a boyishness, an almost clumsiness, about him like this that never came across in his media. you tried not to let it persuade you.

“i landed my axel for the first time.” you answered, not bothering to address his flattery.

“triple?” andrei asked, eyebrows raised.

you rolled your eyes. “i’m an amateur, andrei. not all professionals can land a triple.”

his eyes flashed, that challenging look that always dragged you in, “i’m a professional. i bet i could. i do lots of hard things.”

“i doubt you could even stand on figure skates, much less jump.”

he tilted his head, and you felt pulled back in time, “can i show you my skill?”

“andrei…” you tried to pull your gaze away from him, but he grabbed your hand, gentle as can be, and you locked eyes with him again.

“please, pretty girl. i missed you.”

looking back, you still aren’t sure what you thought he’d say, but it wasn’t that. the shock stirred up some of the unpleasant feelings of the past few months, the severed connection that was barely tangible to begin with. you lightly scoffed, “yeah, right.”

“i did. i’m glad to be back, to see you tonight. let me show you.”

what else could you say to that?

so you let andrei take you home, and tried to tell yourself you were just imagining the difference in his behavior, projecting softness, maybe even fondness, where there was only lust. tried to explain away his gentle hands on your cheeks, your hips, his quiet praise and adoration. you slept over, that night, and tried to turn a blind eye again in the morning. and again a few days later.

as fall crept in, the two of you start texting more often, meaningless chatter and jokes, and began foregoing the pretense of having to go out to the bars to “coincidentally” meet up. he’d ask to pick you up after leaving the stadium most nights he was in town, and more often than not you’d stay over. andrei didn’t seem to mind that you were often gone before he woke up; flying across the ice to try and leave your emotions behind, heart crawling a little further up into your throat every day. you knew it was unnatural, yet you couldn’t help but try to build your walls a little higher with every step you took forward towards something different with andrei. you just couldn’t help but feel like letting your guard down would be a fatal mistake.

his time on the road helped, in a lot of ways. it gave you a sense of normalcy, you went out with your friends and didn’t look over your shoulder. you could give andrei a bit of a cold shoulder over text and pretend he was the busy one, the one not responding. until he came back to town and kissed you breathless in his sports car, taking off your jacket with his big but deft hands and mumbling into your neck about missing you while he was gone.

it wasn’t that you didn’t like him— certainly not that— but it was hard to feel like you stood on solid ground when his life moved at such a fast pace. he never intentionally made you feel small, but his world, spanning millions of miles and millions more dollars, was dizzying, and so entirely divorced from whatever you two had that you still felt as though you didn’t know him, really, even though you held all of these small pieces of him close to your heart. you felt constantly at a loss, not sure how to best express yourself in any given moment, caught between honesty and protecting your feelings, unsure how to do both at once. the leaves turned, then fell, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were also waiting for the other shoe to drop.

andrei, apparently, had none of the same hangups. he was simple, straightforward and never shy to go after what he wanted. his interest was more than clear, but you could never bring yourself to ask just how far it went. he never asked you to go to dinner, or one of his games, and even though you guys weren’t just hooking up, in fact there were a couple of hangouts late fall without having sex at all, you couldn’t find any other name to call whatever you two were doing. so you stopped trying.

-

somewhere around the first frost, things changed. andrei had his first injury of the season, having to sit out a short road trip, and you found yourself out of your depth with the version of andrei that reminded you of unpleasant early-summer heat. you didn’t know how to comfort him, scared to cling or insert yourself unnecessarily into his personal life, so you thought you should just mirror his attitude. maybe that’s what brought things down.

one late november night, you started shrugging back on your clothes after leaving the bathroom until andrei’s voice, thick with sleep, gave you a momentary pause.

“where are you going?”

you looked up at him, and immediately regretted it. his high, strong cheekbones were softened in the dim light, eyes dark and confused, but you refused to believe the furrow of his brow held any traces of disappointment

“home. i have an extra-early skate tomorrow.”

“you know you can stay here,” andrei assured in a low voice, but you just shook your head and sat at the edge of the bed to put your socks back on.

“it’s fine, andrei. it’s not that late.”

he sat up fully, then, long arm reaching across the bed to try and touch you, but you were too far away.

“what’s going on?” andrei asked, not letting you answer before another question sprung from his lips. “why are you not comfortable with me?”

you froze, looking up slowly but deliberately avoiding his eyes.

“it’s nothing. i’d just rather be at my place tonight.”

“it is something,” he insisted, voice still quiet, but more firm than you’d ever heard him speak to you. “you don’t want to be honest with me. why?”

“i’m being honest with you,” you argued, even though you knew it wasn’t true. “why are you upset? it doesn’t matter.”

“i like spending time with you. i’m alone, i’m hurt, and you make things better.”

it somehow stung, the sweet words only serving to remind you what he could say instead, what you wished he’d say.

“we spend plenty of time together, svech. i can’t put my plans aside for you just because you couldn’t travel with the team.”

you didn’t have to read a different emotion into his furrowed brow any longer, it was set in a very clear frustration, now.

“don’t say that, don’t call me that,” he insisted, “what did i do? why are you angry?”

you stood, at that, pulling your sweater over your head hastily. “i’m not angry. you’re the one making this a big deal.”

“you are leaving and trying to hurt my feelings. i am just trying to figure out why.” he rose from the bed, trying to catch your wrist as you went to button your jeans, but you took a step back.

“we already fucked, andrei. you had plenty of my ‘quality time’ for tonight. i’m leaving, now.”

he stepped into your space, shaking his head and grabbing both of your wrists, not forceful, but firm.

“this is not about sex, pretty. you know it’s not. why are you saying this?”

“well, that’s all we have. we’re not dating, i’m not your girlfriend, so you should call someone else if you need comfort.”

it was his turn to take a step back, then. dropping your wrists, hurt clear as day across his face.

“that is not true. we cook together, work out together, watch movies together, talk on the phone while i am gone. is it all just about sex, to you?”

your insides twisted, hurt and anger shifting into a kind of guilt, a panic. you’d been so painstakingly, yet fruitlessly, trying to protect your own heart, trying to push yourself away. blind to the fact that the whole time, he was reaching out to you.

“i… didn’t want to ask for something you couldn’t give,” you hedged, eyes down and picking at your nail beds.

andrei shook his head again, but his expression softened, closing the gap between you.

“i have been trying to date you since i came back, beautiful. but you have been hiding from me, even when you’re this close. i’ve been waiting on you.”

you stared up at him, eyes wide, hands dwarfed in his grasp. you couldn’t even begin to find the right words to say.

“let me show you, gorgeous,” he continued, one hand coming up to rest on your cheek. “let me cherish you how you deserve.”

“andrei…” you breathe. he bends down, captures your lips in a kiss so tender it makes tears well up in your eyes.

“it’s okay, pretty. we’re okay.” he kept mumbling assurances to you in between soft kisses all over your face, across your jaw and down your neck. you couldn’t contain your sigh as his faint stubble brushed against your neck, hands finding a gentle perch on his broad back. andrei pulled back the slightest bit, soft smile and mischievous eyes making your heart flutter.

“can i show you, my darling? or do you need to go home?” he teased, hands absentmindedly trailing up and down your sides.

“please, drei,” you plead, hand stretching up to the back of his neck to pull him back down to you. andrei doesn’t move a muscle, his own strength so much greater than yours, but you couldn’t complain because you got to watch his soft smile grow, eyes alight like he just scored the greatest goal of his career. he lifted you with seemingly no effort at all, laying you back down on his grey sheets, hovering above you, bicep bulging next to your head. it was distracting, but you couldn’t look away from those gorgeous eyes, locked on yours.

“can i come to the rink with you in the morning? want to finally see how my pretty girl skates. probably puts me to shame.”

you were pulled from your daze at that, searching his face and finding nothing but openness, happiness, satisfaction. but you still can’t help but ask, “are you sure? it’s an open skate. people will see.”

“see you ‘carve me up’?” andrei joked, caressing your face. that spring night felt so far away, a version of you that could never conceive of where you would end up. “i don’t care. just want to see you.”

you couldn’t hide the shock on your face. the pit in your stomach hadn’t exactly subsided, the heaviness of wasted time and self-admonishment lingering, but you tried to push it aside, letting yourself reveal a gap in the armor you’d woven so tightly around your heart. you wouldn’t be able to just let yourself fall overnight, but you could do this. you could give him an opening, a glimmer of warm sunshine on a cold winter’s night.

“sure, but we’ll need to go to bed soon. it really is extra early,” you conceded, hand raising to brush some of his hair back from his forehead.

his sweet smile turned that wolfish, boastful grin you knew too well, leaning down to give you a quick kiss.

“soon? maybe not, pretty girl. i have been waiting for this. might take awhile. but don’t worry, i know great stretches for sore muscles we can try in the morning, too.”

and, well, what else could you say to that?

———

[apiswitchcraft]

understanding norse runes: a historical and modern perspective pt. 3

Sorry it's taken me so long everyone, holidays and school starting back up had me really distracted.

For part 1 click here, for part 2 click here.

ᛏ tiwaz

ANGLO-SAXON:

"Tir is a guiding star, well keeps faith with princes; it is on course over the mists of night, never failing."

NORWEGIAN:

"Tiw is the one-handed member of the Aesir often has the smith to blow."

ICELANDIC:

"Tyr is the one-handed As and leavings of the wolf and king of temples."

INTERPRETATION: Law and order, justice, victory, but victory for the people, not just the individual. Tyr (this rune's namesake), as the god of war, is also a god of the people, much in the same way Ares is. This rune emphasizes self-sacrifice in the name of common good, in order the serve a larger purpose. However, Tyr also embodies the wisdom of the goddess Athena, also a goddess of war. You have to be reliable, hard working, and loyal in order to achieve success, but you also have to have a plan, gather intel, do research. Think about what you did to deserve your successes: it's not just about the end goal, but the path you took too. As a bindrune, this stave can be good for summoning courage and energy needed for change, especially in legal matters. However, if your motivations are not pure, or actions not just, Tyr will just as much take action against you as for you. Use this rune if you need help bolstering your leadership skills, or for reinforcing a position you already have. Take decisive action, assert yourself, and take on obstacles with gusto.

KEY WORDS: Courage, loyalty, justice, wisdom, determination

ASSOCIATIONS: Tyr

ᛒ berkano

ANGLO-SAXON:

"Poplar/Birch bears no fruit, bears without seed suckers, for from its leaves it's generated, splendid are its branches, gloriously adorned its lofty crown, lifting to the sky."

NORWEGIAN:

"Birch is the greenest-leaved of branches; Loki was lucky in his deception."

ICELANDIC:

"Birch is leafy branch and little tree and youthful wood"

INTERPRETATION: Meaning "birch," this rune represents birth and rebirth, especially when created out of very little. New beginnings, or a restart of something old. But just in as much as it can be ascribed to the cycle of life, this rune is also connected to the cycle of death, as they go hand-in-hand. Birch is a hardy tree that grows in cold climates, bracing the bitterest winters to be cut down and used for maypoles at the coming of spring. This stave is especially useful in what is called "feminine" magic: relating to menstruation, birth, protection of young girls, or sensuality. Use Berkano to call upon the power of Frigg during wedding preparations, Freyja during times of courtship, and Hella during times requiring vengeance or after betrayal. Prosperity and beauty are indicated, as well as a nurturing, protective force. Lots of interpretations relate this rune to the Divine Feminine, or the Goddess archetype.

KEY WORDS: Fertility, new beginnings, femininity,

ASSOCIATIONS: Frigg, Freyja, Hella

ᛖ ehwaz

ANGLO-SAXON:

"Horse is a joy to princes in presence of earls, Horse in pride of its hooves, when rich men, mounted, bandy words, and is to the restless ever a comfort."

INTERPRETATION: Relationships and friendship, literally meaning "horse," the interpretation stems from the trust and love between rider and horse. On any journey into the unknown, you should always bring a friend. Mutual trust is important, though, and that takes a good amount of work to achieve. Harmony between to people is indicated, but loss of individuality does not accompany it. Reliability and loyalty are important qualities in this situation, not intolerance or jadedness. This harmony can also be achieved between two unlike things, two opposites: man and woman, physical and psychic, shaman and god. It is a good rune for meditation with the gods, as it can help bridge the gap between the mortal and immortal realms. Because ehwaz means "horse" this rune can also indicate travel or change. A steady and progressive change is underway, and consistency is key to maintain it.

KEY WORDS: Partnership, harmony, travel

ASSOCIATIONS: Sleipnir, Freyr

ᛗ mannaz

ANGLO-SAXON:

"The mirthful man is dear to kinsmen, yet every man must fail his fellow since the will of the Lord dooms that the frail flesh to earth be taken."

NORWEGIAN:

"Man is an augmentation of the dust; great is the claw of the hawk."

ICELANDIC:

"Man is the joy of man and augmentation of the dust and adorner of ships."

INTERPRETATION: Literally meaning "man," mannaz represents the journey towards self-actualization, achieving an internal balance: between mortal and divine, between male and female, between conscious and unconscious. Take responsibility for yourself, and have respect for everything around you: nature, your fellow man, the gods, our ancestors, and your future. This is the stave of humanity, and all the flaws and follies that may accompany it, but recognizing them as inherently Human, and therefore not all that negative. It represents an awakening, like removing the blinders from a horse, so to speak. It addresses question of identity and purpose, one's function in society. However, this rune requires cooperation, for the user not to fight their "destiny" (which is self-made), or to at least not to abandon it. This rune represents the choices a person is constantly presented with, the same choices everyone is presented with, as a collective. It serves as a reminder that we are never alone, and while we are constantly reliant on others, we should also allow others to be reliant on us.

KEY WORDS: Identity, self-actualization, community, humanity

ASSOCIATIONS: Heimdall, Odin-Vili-Ve

ᛚ laguz

ANGLO-SAXON:

"The sea seems interminable to people if they shall venture on rolling ship and the waves of the sea terrify them, and the sea-stallion heeds not its bridle."

NORWEGIAN:

"Water is where a cascade falls from a mountain-side but ornaments are made of gold."

ICELANDIC:

"Water is welling stream and broad kettle and land of the fish."

INTERPRETATION: With the translation being "lake," the laguz rune represents a lot of what the element of water represents: creativity, visions/dreams, emotions, and vital energy (coming from the idea of the Niflheimr). As with the flow of a rushing river, it is safer to go along with the current than to fight it. A period of trials leading to personal growth is indicated, something that will be difficult, but not outright impossible to overcome. It may be that something hidden is soon revealed. You might feel overwhelmed, or quite put upon, but remember that there is nothing wrong with you, and all shall soon come to pass. Representing the essence of life, laguz can have alternative meanings involving birth, reproduction, healing, psychic powers. It's usage in matters involving the female reproductive and menstrual cycle is said to be very powerful.

KEY WORDS: Intuition, femininity, adaptability, emotional depth

ASSOCIATIONS: Nerthus

ᛝ ingwaz

ANGLO-SAXON:

"Ing was first among the East-Danes seen by men, till he to the east over waves went, his wain after ran, thus the Heardings named the hero."

INTERPRETATION: Ingwaz, representing fertility and masculinity, was said to translate to "Yngvi," thought to be another name for Freyr. It is the time before actualization, a period of gestation, in a sense. This is a potent state, a time where you have to have patience, and let things come to be on their own time. Ingwaz is a rune of transformation, of birth and death, of sensuality and love. However, not so much in the same way that Freyja was a goddess of love, but in the way that Freyr could be interpreted as a god of love; which is more about virility and sex than love. However, if your issue does not relate to interpersonal relationships, this is definitely a rune of nature. This is the stave of the farmer, of the father. Look towards the masculine figure in your life for answers, whether they will provide it to you, or are the crux of your issues.

KEY WORDS: Virility, fertility, potential, masculinity,

ASSOCIATIONS: Freyr

ᛞ dagaz

ANGLO-SAXON:

"Day is God's sending, dear to men the great lord's light means mirth and happiness to rich and poor, useful to all."

INTERPRETATION: Meaning "day," this rune represents clarity, awakening, opening the third eye, consciousness, hope and happiness. Often given very little context other than it's interpretation being overall positive, the dagaz rune should be invoked whenever you need a turning point, or clarification. It is the light of day at dawn, that brings recompense to the fearful and retribution against the hateful. It reminds of the cyclical nature of life, as bad times come, so does new hope emerge. New opportunities are being presented to you, basically on a silver platter. When surrounded by other runes, it turns basically a whole reading towards the positive.

KEY WORDS: Awareness, dawn, hope, happiness

ASSOCIATIONS: Day, Odin

ᛟ othala

ANGLO-SAXON:

"An estate is very dear to every man if he may there rightly and peacefully enjoy in the hall frequent harvest."

INTERPRETATION: The rune of the hearth and home, othala means, most literally "ancestral property," which aligns very similarly to the divinatory interpretation. It promises safety and stability, our relatives, our roots. However, it also warns us to not hide behind our pasts, and to be constantly evolving along with the rest of society. At the end of the day, we must always have something to come home to, a strong foundation. But if this foundation is unsteady, like a toxic relationship is, it can harm us more than help us. It represents everything inherited, psychological traits, land, a home, a name, family, a community. It represents the separation between the here and now, and the then and there, between mortal and immortal. For this reason, it can be a rune to represent Odin.

KEY WORDS: Heritage, inheritance, legacy, tradition

ASSOCIATIONS: Odin

[writerslittlelibrary]

So, I'm not a prisoner? extra

masterlist part 1 part 2 part 3 extra

summary: you did not expect that your mission to take down the traitor, could end in such a difficult situation for you…

pairing: Natasha x Red Room teen reader

warnings: none 

genre: fluff

words: 1117

a/n: this is purely because it’s my birthday :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

You had been with the Avengers for a few months, and according to the file you once found, your birthday was coming up. You didn’t really care much for it. You had never celebrated a birthday in your life. Natasha, however, was determined to change that. 

She and the other Avengers had it all planned out. They had been preparing for weeks to make sure you had the most amazing birthday ever. 

After weeks of making you try all different kinds of cake and foods, Wanda had documented what your favourite foods were, and she had remember all your dislikes. 

And so, Tony made sure he had ordered the best, most delicious birthday cake in existence. Bucky, Sam, and Steve were in charge of decorations. Clint and Natasha were in charge of presents, Wanda and Bruce, who turned out to be a surprisingly good cook, were in charge of the food, and Thor had made sure to bring you something nice from Asgard. 

You had no idea any of this was happening. Of course, you had caught on that something was going on. You were a spy, after all, but you couldn’t seem to figure out what the other Avengers were hiding from you.

You had tried on many occasions to make some of them crack, wanting to know what they were keeping from you. Many times, you nearly succeeded, but Natasha was always around to point out your behaviour, making the Avengers you were questioning shut up. 

However, it seemed that Natasha was finally going to tell you what was going on.

When you went to bed that night, she came into your room, sitting on your bed. 

“I just want you to know, that tomorrow we have a party for you. We didn’t want to spring it on you,” Natasha explained, smiling at you as she stroke your hair.

“A party? Why?” You asked, looking at Natasha confused.

“Well, tomorrow is your birthday, and it is custom that people’s birthdays are celebrated,” Natasha explained, and you nodded in understanding. You took a few moments to think, before you decided to ask some questions.

“Will there be cake?” you asked, remembering a movie where you saw someone having a cake on their birthday. 

Natasha smiled at your innocence and nodded. It was unbelievable to her how you, after having been through so much, were still able to hold the innocence in your eyes. 

“Of course there will be cake,” Natasha said. 

“Like in the movies?” you gasped excitedly, and Natasha chuckled, nodding with a smile.

“It’ll be just like the movies,” she promised, leaning forwards and giving you a kiss on your forehead. After saying goodnight, Natasha left the room, and you tried to sleep, although your excitement made it quite difficult. 

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

The next morning, Natasha was the one to drag you out of bed. You were tired and grumpy at first, until you remembered it was your birthday, and it was supposed to be an exciting day. 

You were out of bed and ready after that thought immensely quick, joining Natasha who stood outside your door, waiting for you.

She led you to the common area, and you gasped as you saw all the decorations. The other Avengers were sat around the kitchen island, a stack of waffles sitting in the middle. You, however, were too busy admiring all the decorations. You couldn’t believe anyone would do something so nice for you. 

Natasha smiled as she watched the look on your face. In these past few months, she had found there was no greater joy for her than to watch you be happy about something. 

After you took all the decorations in, you moved to the counter, sitting on the barstool at the head. Even the barstool was decorated!

After everyone wished you a happy birthday, and you awkwardly thanked them for it seeing as though you were not used to having so much attention on you, Wanda started handing out the waffles she made, making sure you had all the toppings you could ever want. 

Did Wanda remember everything you liked? Did she care so much about you?

Your brain was running a hundred miles an hour. A few months ago you couldn’t even see a future for yourself, and now you had people that cared so much about you that they even remembered your food preferences. 

Honestly, you could have cried. 

After breakfast, Natasha led you towards the seating area. A huge pile of birthday gifts was sitting on top of the coffee table, and any of the Avengers could notice how your face lit up when you saw it.

Natasha told you to sit down on the couch, and after you did, the other Avengers joined you, either sitting down on the other couches, or taking a seat on the floor. 

Natasha had given everyone specific instructions not to sing for you, knowing how it was all probably already overwhelming for you. She didn’t want to scare you off. And lets be honest, who actually enjoys being sung for?

Natasha was the first to hand you a present, sitting next to you and placing a kiss on your forehead, whishing you a happy birthday. 

You thanked her and opened the gift carefully, scared to rip the perfectly wrapped wrapping paper. 

You soon realised it was a stuffed animal. Your favourite animal nonetheless. You smiled at the innocent and heartfelt gift. For some reason, the simple stuffed animal hit you really hard, and you stared at if for a moment, trying to hold back the tears.

Natasha took your staring as something else, and so became worried she had gifted you something you did not like. 

“Do you like it?” Natasha asked carefully, but when you turned your head and she was met with your teary eyes, her worries settled immediately, opening her arms. 

“I love it,” you cried, crawling into her arm and crying softly into her shoulder. 

Natasha held you close as she rubbed your back, keeping one hand on your head to make you feel as safe as she could. 

After your emotional breakdown, you managed to unpack all your other presents with enthusiasm, smiling and thanking everyone for each and every gift you received. You were certain these people were mind readers, as they managed to get you every single you wanted, or were interested in. 

The day ended with an amazing dinner, cooked by Wanda.

After all the cake, snacks, and excitement, you ended up falling asleep not even half way through your favourite movie. All the Avengers smiled at the sight. You were a truly magnificent soul, and they didn’t know what they would do without you.

Tags: @wandanatlov3r @tobiaslut @natashasgirlll @xanthreee @mrsromanovaa

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @nova-kyle @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @simp-erformarvelwomen @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @mxximoffswifey @lorsstar1st

[tealvenetianmask]

More about Blitz and anger . . .

Anger is a super stigmatized emotion. That's for a reason- it's powerful. When we see it from other people it's usually externalized- it's ugly, aggressive, shows up in abusive situations- it sometimes leads to violence. But when we talk about righteous anger, or the anger of marginalized people, we sometimes praise it. That's because anger can be empowering too.

I want to talk about how Blitz's anger, while it's also destructive at times, has empowered him.

Personal note: when I was a kid, I was yelled at frequently by my mother. The house I grew up in was a 60's rancher with a long hallway in the center, and she would chase me down the hallway yelling. As I grew older, I learned to yell back. Feeling anger and externalizing it didn't make the hurt go away, and it didn't solve our problems- it turned us into two people yelling at each other- but it did make me feel less helpless.

So let's look at Blitz as a kid. In addition to guilt tripping him, his father tells him that "there are scarier things," than stealing from a wealthy and (literally) powerful family, and he doesn't disagree. I think this screenshot captures their relationship pretty well.

We see moments of defiance from Blitz though, even as he's very much under Cash's control. Georgia Dow pointed this out in her video about how Blitz learned resilience in his childhood. Here, have some defiant expressions:

Notice Blitz's eyebrows here, mirroring his father. I suspect that as he grew older, Blitz learned to push back harder, to argue, maybe even to yell. He learned to channel his anger- at being used, diminished, devalued (very likely yelled at and probably physically hurt too) into expression, into fight (I don't picture him physically fighting Cash, but the guy has fight in him- of all kinds).

He learned to feel angry at the world and express that too- for treating imps as lower than other demons, for limiting his options in life, for filling the road to success with exploitation (as we see in the Mammon flashbacks with Fizz).

Speaking of that flashback, he's very ready, as a teenager, to express anger exactly when he needs to for the purpose of protecting a loved one.

Fast forward to the present.

Blitz's anger helps him stand up for the people he cares about- see Fizz in the present at Mammon's show but also Moxxie in Spring Broken.

It helps make him good at his job too. When we see him fight, he doesn't tend to seem all out enraged, but he's super determined and all in. He's at home in a conflict. When he's doing his best fighting, we see a mix of the "angry" facial expressions and pure confidence.

Anger also helps him manage a lot of difficult emotions. Disclaimer (and idea I'll get back to soon)- I said manage, not deal with.

When he interacts with Verosika and with Robo Fizz early in season 1, there's genuine underlying pain from how the relationships with Verosika and the real Fizz ended, but he channels that into anger. The anger makes him take action (Good action? Eh. But still action- he's not crying on his couch.) rather than get consumed by more painful emotions. He's able to keep going.

It also gets in his way, even as he uses it as a coping mechanism. Is his anger at Muffy and the Karen in the doctor's office understandable as he's dealing with his frustration about the inaccessibility of healthcare for Loona and his worries about losing Stolas? Yes. Is it helpful? No, probably not.

It isn't useful with Stolas either. Stolas is this person who's kind and beautiful and quirky and able to match his wit, and who Blitz has grown genuine feelings for, but who is also deeply entwined in the unfairness in Hell's society that Blitz has grown to resent throughout his life- AND Stolas unknowingly participates in some very familiar microaggressions himself.

Blitz channels a whole range of complicated emotions- love, fear, despair at the thought that he isn't loved back- all into anger because he HAS been wronged and his world IS unfair, and anger is COMFORTABLE because anger is ACTIVE, and with it he doesn't have to just let things happen to him!

So we end up back here.

[kettleinusefornow]

Rough ride..MDNI

CHAPTER 3

Sae Itoshi X Reader fic

Contains breakup and miscommunication

Revenge sex

Iceskater!reader

eventual happy ending </3

teenage love

ALOT of angst

CHP1 CHP4 CHPLIST

CHAPTER 3: Different Fonts, same insides

Sae’s POV 

“Why is she here..? I can’t meet her right now.. Not after I just met Rin.” He thought to himself as she stood in front of him. The moonlight only did her good as it radiated the glow of her aura. Her gaze was sharp like the edges of glass shards.. The calculating coldness in her eyes drew him in. She showed a tinge of betrayal as she looked into his eyes. He felt as if there was swirling darkness in her that he couldn’t ignore, but the only thing that came out his mouth were razor sharp words. 

“What do you want?” 

Why did he say that? He asked himself that question. His time in Spain made him turn into a cold and miserable being. He didn’t find joy in having happy relationships with people when he found out how the world doesn’t care about who you are and only what you are. 

She was visibly taken aback by his bitter tone. He isn’t.. He couldn’t have such a bright star in his dark world. It would only diminish her brightness. She was a princess and he was an ogre, that's something no amount of luck or power could change. She was an unattainable flower at the end of the cliff and was limbless farmer that could only dream of climbing the cliff. She still had that shine in her eyes that still had the ability to dream and stay unaware of the real world. Sae on the other hand.. He knew how it was to be confident in yourself only for it to be easily outshone by someone better than you.. He shouldn’t bring her down with him. He almost didn’t catch her calling out his name.

“Ca-can I come in?” God.. Her voice was like honey that was freshly harvested in the middle of spring, it was almost the same as it was 5 years ago.. She had the voice of a thousand sirens.. If you get too attached you would only end up getting drowned..

“Okay.” He wanted to push her away but he couldn’t.. He just had to let her in. She came in, clearly cold. He had no right to touch her and warm her up or scold her to wear more layers. He lost it a long time ago when he saw the real worth that he had. 

She went into the living room and sat down on the couch where they had their sweet memories attached to it.. He wondered if she recalled them too.  He sat across from her. 

Seeing her could only bring the blissful memories of the past. 

“Sae, why do you keep acting like you owe me something?“ Y/N suddenly asked him while laying on the patch of grass, freely basking in the sunlight of Sae’s backyard. 

“Do you really have to make my kindness into some twisted meaning?” Y/N looked straight ahead at the sky while he looked at her as if she was an extraordinary beauty while replying to her in a calm tone. 

“Well I don’t know! It just feels weird..” She grumbled while closing her eyes. Sae didn’t take his eyes off her. What felt weird? The way he looked at her as if she was the only one for him or the way he couldn’t keep his eyes off her even though she looked like a mess after playing in the mud all day? Young love is just so pure.

”The only thing that’s weird is the fact that you are wearing mismatched socks on grass! Weirdo..” Y/N sprung up looking at him with  fire in her eyes. “You-!” She grabbed his collar but he swept her wrist and pulled her down onto him, right in front of his face.

“My fashion is just too complex for someone like you to understand!” She declared, clearly being offended. It was followed by silence after that, before erupting into laughter while Y/N fell back onto the grass grasping her stomach and laughing. Sae laughed too.. Of course he laughed. He was still a kid that was joyful in the past…

That laughter soon turned into silence again, Y/N spoke up. “Sae.. Do you think you’ll be different after you come back from Spain?” Sae pondered for a while before, “The only thing that’ll be different is the fact that I’ll be taller than you! And maybe you are meaner.” Well.. Sure their height difference was larger now but.. She wasn’t the one turned sour.

©kettleinuse4now | please do not translate, repost, refer without permission | don’t steal and say it’s your own (ahole behavior)