#AND I HAVE SO MANY ROCKS I WOULD LIKE TO POLISH

[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?”

[cactusdrinkstea]

─ ‧ ִ ۫✭ A rock for a dragon

Malleus Draconia x Reader

Summary: You found a rock and gave it to Malleus because it reminded you of him.

Word count: 899

I kinda want to draw him with his tiny pretty black rock.

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Malleus wasn't a stranger of people feeling uneasy around him. Everyone thought and expected too much out of him. He was used to such thing, even if he wasn't too fond of it. Not many could just approach him casually and make small talk. They either treated him too formally, too artificially or they ran because Sebek scared them off. He could count with his fingers all of the people that genuinely appreciated him and he still would have some space left. He had his friends sure, but he never quite had something true. Of course that was until a particular human came along. 

Oh how he cherished you. You would wave, talk to him and even invite him to anything you had the chance to. No one else treated him in that way. That’s why whenever your familiar head would pop up, when your voice reached his ears or when your eyes stared at him, he knew he was about to have a good day. 

“Tsunotaro!”

A familiar voice said, and the smile that appeared on his face was almost automatic. When you walked towards him, the normally unapproachable fae housewarden looked over your direction with small fondness in his eyes. That little pet name, he had grown fond of it too. It always caused that fuzzy feeling in his chest. You ran all the way to where he stood, and you seemed to be holding something between your palms. 

“Child of man, what a pleasant surprise. Is there anything you need from me?” He asked, curious green eyes peering at your shorter figure.

“Take a look at what I found!” You replied excitedly. After that, you showed him. 

There was a small rock on your palm, a black one. It looked smooth but it had some sharp edges here and there. Upon closer inspection, it looked like black obsidian. Is that why you acted so excited? How charming.

“Look! It's a shiny polished rock! I found it near Ramshackle and it reminded me of you right away!" You beamed with joy. 

Malleus focused on the last sentence. You found a rock and you immediately brought it to him because it had reminded you of him? What simple way of thinking, and yet he was delighted to know that was the reason and not casual love for minerals. 

“You thought of me from a rock?” He questioned, cocking his head to his left just slightly. 

"Oh not because it's a rock, but because it's so black and shiny. It reminded me of your horns or your hair. So I thought 'Malleus would like it' and I cleaned it up and brought it. Do you like it?" You replied right away, as if your logic made absolute sense. 

That made him even more delighted to hear. It was actually very adorable of you. Malleus carefully took the shiny rock  into his hand to look closely at it, examining the obsidian for a moment. 

“I do, I like it very much” He answered, his voice sounding almost as soft as the way he stared at you. 

"I am glad, I thought it would be silly, you know? It's just a rock, why would a fae prince be impressed when he can have thousands of rocks? But I went for it anyway” You said, and he could see where you were coming from. 

He had received thousands of gifts in the past. Lustrous jewelry, expensive treasure, accessories, trinkets, food, and more. All of that was true, and yet this one was different. It was a gift meant for him. Not because of its price or value, but because it was given from the memory of him. He was kept in your mind. What else could he ask for?

Just being in someone's mind, not because of his power or his position. Not at all, just him. Oh he wanted to do anything for you now. If you asked for all the gold in the world he would hand you even more somehow.

“It is not just a rock. It is special” He said, still touching the rock with his gloved fingers. 

"Oh you really think so? Thank you so much. I hope you treasure it. I would too if you gave me a rock" You said before suddenly looking as if you remembered something. "Oh I have to go back to Ramshackle, I will see you later!” You replied and immediately bolted through the halls. 

He only smiled politely and waved you away, since you ran off so fast. Once he lost your figure his gaze went back to the rock. He touched it close to his chest, as if it was the most valuable treasure ever. He would never lose it. He kept thinking about you. The way you showed it to him so happily and the happy look on your face when you said you liked it. It was priceless. His heart almost skipped a beat. How could you be that adorable? It was like magic. 

“So endearing…” He muttered fondly to himself before placing it in his pocket to avoid losing it. 

Since that day, he had been carrying it around with him. Everywhere. It didn’t matter where he went, the little rock was coming with him. Occasionally he would take it out and stare at it, with the most adoring look one could give to something. And he definitely wanted to give you something back, but he hadn’t found yet what could possibly summarize how much he felt for you. He could only hope that when he found it, you would be just as happy as how he feels right now. 

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┆    ° ♡ • ➵ ✩ ◛ °             

┆彡   ✩      

[shy-writer-999]

Summary: Ace wants to try something new, but any time he's deep inside of you his possessive streak takes over. ~1.9k words. Mildly edited, I'll come back for a second round soon!

CW: Afab reader, cockwarming, possessiveness, pet names (“princess” used once), P in V.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

“Do you know what cockwarming is?” Ace looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

“Uh… I think so. Wouldn’t that mean you just put your cock in me but… we don’t move or fuck, really?”

“Mhm.” He nodded. “Wanna try?”

“Well, does that mean I get to fuck you after?”

He flashed a smile. “Sure.”

Many minutes later, after Ace fingered you and ate you out, you sunk down onto his cock. You were straddling him while he sat in a chair, bare chests pressed together, and your face in the crook of his neck. His cock was buried deep inside, unmoving.

Ace was doing something, but the memory of that night is foggy, distorted by pleasure. He must have been reading, writing, polishing his belt buckle, fixing his beaded necklace, something like that. He was working on something while you drifted in and out of sleep.

Ace felt warm and comforting inside and the experience was intimate. He smelled good and you could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. You felt safe, like you usually did around him, and you napped like that for a while.

Time passed and Ace finished whatever he was doing. One of his hands started to pet your hair, and his other hand came to rest on your hips. “Hey, gorgeous.” He murmured, stirring you awake. “You doing ok?”

You pulled away from where you were nestled in his neck and looked at him with sleepy eyes. “Mmhmm.” You forgot that his cock was inside of you for a second—you had gotten used to the sensation. But you were quickly reminded when Ace rocked his hips up, just slightly.

He pulled you closer and your lips met—you could tell he was smiling through his kisses, in excitement for what he was about to do to you, as well as pure adoration. Another slight push of his hips upwards and your core started to tingle and pulse around him.

He hummed in response. “I can feel that, baby. Does it feel good when I do this?” On the last word, he pushed his hips up again, cock pressing your g-spot as you let out another muted gasp. The warmth the pressure inside of you quickly turned to full-fledged heat, in two senses of the word. First, you were buzzing with pleasure already. He knew how to coax it out of you effortlessly. And second, you could tell he was literally warming you up inside, putting his devil fruit powers to good use, as he always did.

“Mmmmm, Ace.”

More kisses. They got intense, sloppier. His tongue pushed past your lips and prodded into your mouth; he reached a hand up to rest tangled in your hair. Every roll of his hips upwards felt electric.

“Fuck,” he pulled away and a string of spit connected your lips. “Your pussy feels like it was made for me.”

Ace had a possessive streak and it showed, in full force, whenever his cock was in you. It was a projection of how much he cherished you and how much he wanted to be cherished. You both knew that he was all yours and you were all his. Even so, he got off on reminding you in bed. Something about it really got him going.

We can speculate, but it must have to do with how badly he wanted to be loved and needed. He ate up the fact that he could be as possessive with you as he wanted, and you never said no to him (because every word he said was true). It was, among other things, one of the most intense and purely emotional sides of Ace, this all-encompassing need for you and your affection.

He relished the fact that no one else had you in any way—no one else knew you as well, no one else knew how you liked to be treated, no one else loved you like he did (and no one else ever would).

And tonight, his possessiveness was emphasized. Earlier that evening, the whole crew had been at a bar. It always drove Ace fucking nuts to see how every man in the room eyed you like a piece of meat. It pissed him off that they objectified you, eyes stuck on your figure any time you moved or any time your smile beamed. But what had been particularly worse about this night was that both of you had been chatted up.

A gorgeous young woman had grabbed Ace by the hand and dragged him to the other side of the bar when you were distracted. He tried to be polite, but he couldn’t focus. He was watching you get flirted with out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t seem to care that Ace was over in some dim corner with a random woman (he knew that you did care but you trusted him, so you weren’t that bothered). But Ace could see that the man chatting you up was being handsy—the guy did that classic and creepy hand-touching-the-small-of-your-back move that made you cringe in obvious discomfort.

So, Ace left the woman he was speaking with as she was in the middle of a word. “Sorry, I’ve gotta go.” He smiled painfully and practically bolted across the room, putting a hand between you and the creepy man and prying him off of you. “You’ve got the wrong idea, bud.”

Suffice to say, he got into a bar fight. But “fight” wouldn’t really be the right word for it. The second that Ace held a flaming finger in front of the creep’s face, the man ran out of the bar with his tail tucked between his legs, as they say.

But back to the moment at hand. Ace’s possessive streak was shining more than usual on account of the dual flirtation by randoms mere hours before. While Ace pressed his cock up into you with each second that passed, he reminded you that you were each other’s.

“You’re the only one for me, sweetheart.” He whispered in your ear. He only had eyes for you, only ever wanted you, and it would stay that way. “You’re mine.”

As Ace grinded into you, he used the leverage of his hands on your hips to push you down on his cock, hitting every spot he possibly could. Your arousal started to trickle down his shaft and onto his balls.

“Tell me who you belong to, princess.” Ace cooed in your ear. His desperate grunts accompanied wet sounds of you bouncing on his cock.

“You, Ace. Only you.” You whined as his pace increased. Each time his tip pushed on your gooey, sensitive soft, it felt like fireworks of pleasure lit inside of you. Your walls throbbed in time with his cock, driving him crazier.

His lips left a trail of kisses down the curve of your neck. Sinking his teeth down, he bit your shoulder, leaving a sunken crescent of teeth marks. A sign that you were his. The pain wasn’t too bad (though you yelped anyway), dulled by the fact that he was fucking you senseless. He lapped at the bite mark as if that would make the pain go away. When you whimpered in reply, his cock twitched.

“Look at me, pretty. Say my name.”

You made an effort to lock eyes with him, but you almost couldn’t look straight. “Ace. Ace, fuck. Feels so good.” The only word for the desire-riddled expression looking back at you would be ravenous.

As his name fell from your lips in a constant stream, your fingernails dug into the skin on his back—it felt great and encouraged him to thrust faster.

His precum wept inside of you, pearlescent and hotter than usual. He slammed frenzied, erratic thrusts that made you start to seize up with pleasure. You could barely speak, and you gave up on holding yourself upright, choosing instead to rest your face in his neck again.

“Wanna be with you forever, baby. You’re mine. All—mine.” He rasped in your ear, low and husky. Oozing desire from your cunt seeped down his shaft and onto the chair below; obscene noises echoed in the room as more filth left his lips.

Ace was out of breath, fucking you so hard and fast that he forgot to breathe. He choked out words between animalistic groans. “You’re so fuckin’ tight for me, sweetheart. Only—ever—for—me.”

The orgasmic coil inside of you was about to snap; you gave up on answering him and instead babbled, nodded, and moaned into his neck. He could tell that you were getting close from the way your walls shuddered around his shaft, the way that your muscles were starting to tense up and spasm.

“Cum for me, angel. Show me how good it feels. Show me whose pussy this is.” Ace almost couldn’t get the words out; he was heaving breaths and his mind was in a haze of desire. He needed to know that you were all his, that he was the only person you ever wanted. He needed to hear it before he let go. He was dying for you, feral for you, down bad for you in ways that words can’t describe.

“Ace—Ace, fuck, I’m—I’m cumming, Ace,” you keened his name and arched your back as he bucked his cock up into you. He deliberately controlled the heat of his shaft and flashed it blazing hot just for a second while he pressed on your g-spot forcefully with his swollen tip—it was too much.

Your orgasm exploded, euphoric and intense. You writhed on him in pleasure, convulsing over his cock with harsh squeezes.

That was what he wanted. Only he could ever do that to you.

His hips jerked one last time as he felt your walls squeeze and beg him for his cum. A guttural moan left his lips as he came deep inside of you—you could feel him filling you up in milky white ropes, dripping out of your slit and coating his shaft and balls.

With a long groan and exhale, Ace rested his head next to yours as he came down from his climax. His arms wrapped around you to bring you into a closer embrace as his heartbeat struggled to return to normal.

When he loosened his embrace slightly after a few minutes, he brought your face to his with gentle palms and started to nuzzle his nose on yours, radiating affection so strongly that you could feel it in your heart. His freckles popped out through the hues of pink and red that flushed his cheekbones.

Sighing in contentment with his cock still resting inside of you, both his hands cupped your cheeks, and his thumbs caressed your skin. “God, you’re so beautiful. I can’t get enough of you. Fuck. Will you be mine forever, baby?”

You laughed and the sound made his heart twist and flutter. A slight roll of your eyes accompanied your tone of feigned annoyance. “Yes, Ace. You always ask this, and the answer is always yes.”

“Okay, just checking.” He kissed every part of your skin that he could access until it tickled. “Are you still sleepy? Wanna go to bed?”

woowwww this was a fun one, omg. im down egregiously bad for him. if this man was real, i would do things to him so much that he wouldn't be able to walk for a week. pulling out all the stops. unhinging the jaw and whatnot. i can't describe how bad i want this man it's honestly pathetic at this point 😭😭😭😭

thank u so much for reading! here's my masterlist and my posting schedule for october.

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

[slytherinslut0]

quiet reckoning. chapter one

summary: mattheo comes to visit. it’s strange, being twenty five and still seeing your childhood in his eyes.

warnings: just a ton of fucking angst. complicated, self destructive mattheo who’s finally coming to terms with how he pushed you away when you were younger simply because he couldn’t stand being second to tom in your eyes. the acceptance doesn’t make it hurt any less. get the tissues. cry with me please.

masterlist & other chapters.

Life these days holds a strange, silent kind of peace, interrupted only by the faint sound of water rushing over stone—the creek that runs quick along the forest edge. In your early summer afternoons, the trees form a leafy wall of emerald and ochre, and they sway with the breeze that brushes the hair back from your cheeks.

You sit cross-legged in the dirt, hands buried in soil as you pull vegetables out of your garden in prep for the approaching cold months. You love how earth has its own signature scent: damp, fertile, alive. Somehow it makes you think of Tom—his manor, with its towering windows overlooking manicured grounds, its own gardens sprawling wide. His manor with its grand, sweeping staircases, polished black floors.

Everything was pristine, almost oppressively so. Even the walls seemed haughty, disdainful of the cobwebs that clung to the corners.

Tom had never let you stay long enough to tend to those.

But his gardens—those had their own softness, a quiet beauty that only fully revealed itself after dusk when the moonlight cast everything in silver. I loved you there, you reminisce, and the ache has a name in memory—longing. I wish I could have loved you there longer.

And now you're here, a few years after Tom told you never to come back to him—here where the ache feels smaller, further away. Here where there’s no temptation, where the air smells of earth and moss and freedom, and the silence holds its own kind of comfort. Mattheo visits sometimes, wandering into the quiet when your absence grows too thick, when too many of his owls have gone unanswered.

"He'll visit soon." He always tells you. You start to hate how much he lies to you.

"Don't pretend," you said once, and his mouth stretched into a thin, humourless smile.

"Alright," he replied. "I won't."

So now, when he comes to visit, he doesn't say it—he just sits next to you. He doesn't talk much. Neither do you. Life here is quiet—few neighbours, even fewer visitors. A woman brings you pastries from time to time and the town grocer knows your name, but most days you pass unbothered. You tend the garden when the days are warm, work on the cottage when it's cold.

When it's raining you read books and pretend they're not the same kind Tom used to keep.

On a day in early October, Mattheo sits next to you on the porch and you hate that you notice how he doesn't look at you the same way Tom did. It's something lighter, something less cloying. Sometimes you think of how unfair it is that he can taunt you silently like this—how he can remind you of the chocolate streaks in Tom's inky hair, the depth in his dark eyes. How he can remind you that he holds all the same features as his brother, just without the weight.

As the sun sinks slowly through the trees, casting pink and orange across the sky, you turn your face to the creek, watching the water ripple over stones and rocks, and you think of how young you loved them—the way your love grew different when you weren't looking.

Mattheo was chaos, always had been. I could have helped him find himself. But that thought feels hollow, and it's always followed by another. If he would have let me.

"It's strange to think that this is your life." Mattheo speaks after a while of not. He lights a cigarette, and you reach for it when he passes it to you. "You could have done anything."

You inhale the smoke and close your eyes—thinking of how cigarettes taste like fire and ash and the last time Tom had taken your hand.

"Maybe this is all I ever wanted to be." You reply, spinning the cigarette between your fingers. "At peace."

He glances at you in the fading light—the way the sunset casts shadows in the hollows of your cheeks, makes the gold of your earrings look darker against your hair.

He frowns. "You don't look at peace."

No, you think, taking another drag. I never really have.

You pass the cigarette back to him, watching the smoke drift in the breeze. He doesn't say anything else, so you don't either.

Instead, you watch the dark start to close in, the sky turn into an endless stretch of indigo, stars winking to life somewhere above the trees. The fireflies come out eventually, when the night is quiet and heavy and the world turns a little sleepy. They flutter around in the trees and grass like faeries—like stars that've made their home on the ground—and Mattheo watches them with a furrow in his brow.

You wonder what he's thinking, then think better of it at the bitter twist of his mouth. He always thought they'd burn.

"Why do you still come here?" You question. He turns to you, and when his eyes meet yours that's when you realize you'd verbalized the thought. "To sit with me."

Mattheo shakes his head. "I'll need another smoke to answer that."

So he pulls out another cigarette and lights it. The first inhale is long, and the exhale makes you blink. You look away and pretend like his response doesn't make your stomach twist.

The stream moves a little darker in the moonlight and the pine trees shiver with a gentle breeze that smells like soil. You feel the comfort in it—in knowing that all of this has been here longer than you ever have, and that it'll be here long after you're gone.

Perhaps that's precisely what you chased. A home in something steady.

"I come to remind myself you're okay." He says after a long silence, staring at his hands. "Sometimes it feels like you're dead."

You blink again. He's more perceptive than you remember.

"I'm still here," you remind him, but he laughs without humour in it.

"Sure, you're there," he replies, before another pause. "But you're not really living."

He says the words casually, like they're a fact. You think they're meant to hurt. He's right—it's a thought that comes quietly, the way most unwanted thoughts do. You over look at the river, the fireflies, the dirt under your fingernails—you try to feel the chill in the October breeze, the soft moss under your feet. You try to be alive.

"Why do you think that?" You ask even when you know the answer.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, and then exhales—casting his hair grey when the smoke drifts over his face.

He looks older here, when the night stretches over him. It reminds you how much has changed.

"Sometimes I think you're here to punish yourself." He says, passing you the cigarette again. "You say you come here for peace, but this isn't peace like a person should have. It's just an absence. Silence, and isolation, and nothing else." You glance down at his hand resting on his knee beside you, shadows deepening in the lines of his palm. He watches you. "I wish you'd stop hating yourself for what he's become."

A lump forms in your throat—you remember Tom as a boy, the way he'd hold magic in his palms and make lights dance just to make you laugh. You remember the way he once looked at you, quietly and gently in a way that made you feel safe within crumbling walls offering cold stone decorum. You remember one of the last times at Hogwarts, once things took a turn, when he held more than just magic in his palms—when the lights danced only to burn you instead of make you laugh.

You wonder what it says about you, that you loved him in both.

"I don't hate myself, Matt." You mutter, more conviction than truth. "If I'm punishing myself at all, it's for giving him something to hurt."

He doesn't say anything for a while, so you think briefly that his silence is agreement. You and him both know that there is a lot to hurt about, when it comes to Tom.

"You didn't give him anything." He rebuttals with certainty. "He was who he was before you even knew his name."

It's easy to forget that sometimes, the way he had been all sharp edges even when you'd first met. The way he'd pulled you and his brother through crumbling, damp, narrow hallways with something far too assured for a six year old. Something that made you want to follow him forever—something that whispered; I'll never let anything hurt you.

You exhale a plume of smoke. The fireflies look like falling stars when you close your eyes.

"Sometimes, I think I made him human." You say, and immediately wish you didn't. It's a weird thought, but one that comes unbidden. "Others, I think I made him evil."

It tastes like acid the moment you say it aloud. I made him evil. You think back to all those nights in the quiet, the way you taught him how to confide in you, the way he looked at you as if you held some answer he couldn't find on his own. You remember the secrets he shared, the way he softened when no one else could see. You remember how long it took him to get there.

But you remember the darker moments, too—moments when you didn't pull away, even when you should have. Moments you whispered reassurances instead of warnings, when you offered comfort instead of caution. Maybe, in those silences, you fed a need that shouldn't have been nourished, let him believe his ambitions weren't dangerous, only misunderstood.

You wonder if, in being the one person who never condemned him, you gave him permission to be what he became.

"And me?" Mattheo turns to you. You glance at him, the hard line of his mouth and his eyes that look more black than brown in the night— "did you make me evil too?"

You're both quiet for a moment, the only sound is the stream, the only motion is the flutter of the fireflies.

"I don't believe I made you anything." You say finally, letting him take the cigarette back from you. "I suppose you only became who you wanted to be."

You think, quietly, that it's a kinder fate than the rest.

He huffs a laugh. "So you think I wanted to be an asshole."

He's joking, you think. Or he's bitter again, resentful. You're sure he wanted to be whatever Tom would accept him as—though you'd never say those words out loud.

"I think you wanted to be loved." Is what you settle on, and the words tear your throat apart as you speak them. "Just like I did."

He hums, noncommittally, and lights a third cigarette.

You wonder why you still know that he's bitter even when he's not saying the words—why you still know that he only hums that way when something hurts, or when it's a truth he can't bring himself to admit.

"You found it now, haven't you?" You fill his silence with another sentence you wish you didn't say. "You're engaged."

You watch the embers from the cigarette tip light up the hollows of his cheeks, the way it burns his eyes gold as he takes a drag on it.

"Yeah," he nods into the night. "I'm engaged."

Something selfish in you aches at that.

"Then why do you come here and look at me like you're lonely?" You try to ask it casually, but you don't think you manage it. You see him tense when he realizes how well you still read him. "What is it you're missing, Matt?"

"I don't know." He looks at you in the dark, his expression lost in the shadows of his hair. "Sometimes I think it's you."

It's an answer like a knife, because you've known all along that he feels the same way you do—that the loneliness stays and the regret never really dissipates—that the 'what-ifs' linger long after they shouldn't.

"I'm not your girl." You remind him.

It sounds empty when you say it, but he made it clear when you were younger that he wanted it this way.

"You never were."

He looks away after that, to the stream, and you wonder if it has ever felt hollow like this.

All the lights seem very small suddenly, the moon, the stars—you're not sure where his vulnerability is coming from, all these years in passing. You assume it’s the old saying—absence makes the heart grow fonder.

"But you wanted me to be." It's more of a question.

"For a time, when we were kids." He gives you honesty that surprises you. "Sometimes I think I still do."

Why?—you want to ask, suddenly, desperately—and wonder at the cruelty of the thought. Asking that would be the worst kind of question. Why do you want me?

You think you know all the answers already. They sit bitter at the back of your throat.

"So that's why you come here." You say instead, shivering with the wind that brushes over you. "To remind yourself of all the reasons you still feel empty."

There's a dark sort of humour to the sound he lets out, one that makes your chest ache. He turns to you again, and his hands shake when he lifts the cigarette.

"It's not you that makes me feel empty, princess." He whispers. "It's the absence of you."

You look at him, then—really look. There's something strange about being twenty five and still seeing your childhood in his eyes. Despite the nickname, he’s not joking. It’s the kind of confession that tastes like a fist, like a punch that breaks bones.

I know, you think. I wish it could have been different for us.

"You need to stop coming here." There's no spine in those words. They're putty between you. "Just like Tom told me to stop, I'm now telling you."

He's quiet, watching you as the embers of the cigarette flicker over his fingers.

"I'll stop," he pauses, and you see the pain in his throat as he swallows. "When he finally comes to you."

That, you think, will probably never happen.

"So you'll come here forever." You say, and his mouth twists in a silent, bitter smile.

"I guess I will."

You don't have a response to that. It's not a choice he makes so much as it is his reality, and you, of all people, could never fault him for that.

So instead of words, you lean to rest your head on his shoulder, same way you did when you were kids. You sit together, watching the moon and stars and the stream and the trees and everything else around you that reminds you you're alive, even if you don't feel it. You think of his fiancé, you know she'd never understand. This is childhood love in its most vulnerable form—and you thank him for it, silently, for reminding you that you're not alone. Even if you're sure you are.

He leans his head sideways, on top of yours—a gesture almost automatic.

"I still think of you in the summer." He mutters into your hair. You close your eyes and remember the sun, the way it once felt like it touched your bones. "The summer when we were nine. Swimming in the river at night. Those stupid bugs that I thought were made of fire." He pauses for a minute, looking around, and you think he's done talking, until he isn't. "I suppose I do understand why you chose this life."

You remember that summer, too. Small children swimming in a river that was all silver shadows under the moonlight, chasing fireflies like stars. No parents to call you home, no rules except the ones of your own.

Somehow, that's not your favourite memory of him.

"And I think of you in the fall." You say, listening to your own voice sounding distant. "The year just before Hogwarts. When the leaves turned red and orange and gold. When you raked them into a pile for us to jump in."

He hums. "I tried to kiss you that fall."

"And Tom fought you for it."

"And he won." Mattheo's voice sounds distant too, almost lost. "He always won."

It's strange, thinking of autumn when you think of Mattheo, but it fits—he's just as fleeting. Beautiful, easy to fall into, but always gone too soon, leaving a chill in his place.

"Sometimes I think it's because he knew he could." You build off his thoughts. "And sometimes I think it's because he just wanted to prove it."

He shrugs. "Either way, I still lost."

It's such a mournful way to reminisce, you think, for the children you used to be.

"And what now?" You ask.

He exhales slowly, and the smoke looks like a mist in front of you. "I suppose now we both lose."

And that, is the most honest thing he's said all night.

You turn your face into his shoulder, the way you had when you were younger. You close your eyes, and for a moment you imagine being a child again—back in the days when love was simple and nights were endless. Back to a time when you didn't know things you should and all you had were each other's shoulders to lean on in an orphanage dirtier than the forest before you.

"We lose together, then." You offer, a half-whisper.

"Yeah," he answers, just as quiet, just as lost. "We lose together."

There's a bitter kind of contentment in that, you think. You're sure that's a terrible thing.

You take a few moments to brace yourself for the shift in conversation, and then—

"How is he?"

"He's fine." Mattheo understands what you aren't asking. "The leader he always wanted to be."

You close your eyes again and hear the stream running steady, moving around rocks that have been shaped by years of its presence. You ignore the ache in your chest.

"He's happy?"

You don't have to open your eyes to know that Mattheo smiles bitterly. "He's as happy as someone like Tom could be."

There are several beats of silence, the kind that holds too many unsaid things. You feel it in Mattheos exhale that there's something he isn't saying. You don't press him on it. You sit together like this for a while under the sky—watching the way the dark clouds move, the stars shift.

You think about childhoods that never last. About fireflies and streams and boys you loved.

"Tell me something true." You murmur as the midnight grog sets in. "Tell me something that'll warm me through winter."

Mattheo pauses, silent, and for a moment you think he's not going to answer.

"I've loved you most of my life." He mutters finally, into the top of your head. The words feel like a breath of summer, in a quiet, dark night. "That's the kind of truth that could melt an iceberg."

It's the sort of declaration you could only share in the cover of the night, in the silence of a forest. Not the sort of admission that would ever survive daylight. I've loved you most of mine, too.

"And a lie?" You reply.

His fingertips run through his hair, almost idly. You suppose he's looking back into memories of fleeting autumn's and summer sun, the time he tried to kiss you and the day he pushed you away. He doesn't answer the question for a while. You wonder if he doesn't have an answer, or if he just doesn't want to say it.

And then, finally, quietly— "I'm happy for him."

You close your eyes again. That, you think, is the cold truth of winter.

You turn your face again into his shoulder for a second time tonight, but you keep your eyes open. You can feel the weight of your childhood on your shoulders, the trees and the creek behind you, and the silence that follows his lie.

Suddenly, you're furious—a fire tearing through regret. You wish Mattheo hadn't chosen booze, fights, and empty escapes. You wish he'd let you love him properly before pushing you away. You wish he hadn't always resented Tom—hadn't always felt second best in a way no amount of reassurance could fix. Yet somehow, you just can't fault him for any of it.

He's always known you loved Tom first; he's carried that like a wound.

"Ask me to lie to you." You say as you swallow your anger.

There's an exhale. You're sure Mattheo's watching the trees, the wind as it runs quietly past.

"Lie to me."

You tilt your head up to the sky. You try to remember that fall, you try to feel what it was like to be a child again, and to believe in a future that wasn't shaped by the past. You think of his fiancé.

"I'm happy for you." You whisper.

From the corner of your eye, you know he smiles bitterly again, but he responds with nothing more than his unsteady breathing. You're both silent like this for the rest of his stay, together under the moon that's watched you both change.

"I'll be back in a month," he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear as time stretches thin.

He has to go before the sun rises, before dawn coaxes him into staying. You consider, if only for the flicker of a second, letting him.

"I'll see you then." You lean back and look up into his eyes, searching into the gold buried deep. If you look too long, you think you may see his broken heart. You make yourself smile anyway. "Write to me."

"Even if you don't write back." He replies with a nod.

The cold air makes your eyes water. For a moment he's still, like he may pull you into him and drown you in all the things he feels. Instead, he puts a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with one of his hands. The lighter casts an orange glow over his face that makes him look pale and tired again, like the boy you'd met in an orphanage that was so much dirtier than the forest before you.

"Good night." He murmurs, and you feel his thumb brush your cheek before he apparates back to the life you left behind.

And now, alone under the black sky, you take a deep breath. Then, you exhale, go back into your cabin and you try not to think about all the things you've lost.

You try not to think of the boy you've loved for far too large a part of your life and how it changed the boy who's loved you for far too large a part of his. You try instead to focus on what you have—walls and peace and solitude, something certain that won't disappear when it rains.

[13uswntimagines]

Safe Harbor II (Alessia Russo X Singer!R)

Request: R and Alessia go to an award show, and just how they handle the whole public outing

Warnings: There are definitely some D/s undertones (and overtones) in this fic. The use of Daddy. Light Smut- not super descriptive, but it's there.

Author's note: This universe is super fun, and I'm going to keep writing in it. Let me know what you'd like to see. I really wanted to explore the difference between when r is submitting and when she isn't because I think the dynamic is fun. There are also a bunch of references to Sunset Boulevard because I love the musical and I think some of the things are fitting.

You sighed, fidgeting with the bow tie that defiantly remained crooked no matter how many times you tugged at it, trying to ignore the city lights glittering off the mirror that took up the entire wall. 

It was gaudy, and unnecessarily flashy in your opinion. Something you would never want in your own home, despite how… useful your stylist claimed it was. You supposed it did have its place, here in the world you did your best to avoid. 

The one you only tolerated because it let you do the thing you loved. 

The one the character you play was far more…comfortable in. 

You blew out another breath, undoing the silky material around your neck and letting it hang over limply across your shoulders. 

It wasn’t that you were… ungrateful. 

You were not. 

You understood how lucky you were. You appreciated the fans more than you could put into words. 

You just didn’t appreciate being paraded around like a circus animal for everyone’s enjoyment. Or an exotic creature to be gawked at. 

It felt like they owned you most of the time now. Like you were just a marionette dancing at the behest of someone else. Your life had turned into a performance. 

That’s pretty much all award shows were. 

Behind the glamorous veneer, they were filled with hollow conversations and forced smiles. While some genuine people like Taylor and Kelsea attended, there was a reason it was called a snake pit. 

It was why you detested them so much, and why you did your best to get out of them. 

Your manager, Pepper, had been very clear though. There was no getting out of this one. Not when you would be the first-ever recipient of the American Music Awards Horizons Award. 

“Let me,”

You blinked at the voice that appeared behind you, and the hands that landed heavy on your shoulders. They relaxed instantly under her touch. 

You hadn’t realized you were staring at yourself in the mirror. 

You dragged your eyes away from the polished version of your form to meet Alessia’s in the mirror. 

There was understanding in the depth of her blue. They made you feel naked, despite the dark blue shirt and silver vest that clung to you. 

She saw beneath the glossy shell of your character. She always had, and you had faith that she always would. 

She tugged gently on the silvery tie laying across your shoulders, the ring that perfectly matched it glinting off of the sharp hotel lights. 

You frowned at the ring, large and gaudy with a rock that sent flashes of light across the room with every movement of her hand. It was not the thin silver band you had slipped on after she said yes. 

You supposed you should be happy that she would keep the real one private between the two of you. Something the fans couldn’t have. 

Still. 

You let out another breath as the tie slid from your skin, and she used gentle pressure to turn you to face her. 

“You’re overthinking this,” She said when your eyes met hers again, as she used a finger to tilt your chin up. 

You hummed at the feeling of her hands brushing your neck in familiar movements, and the careful pressure of the tie. 

You didn't have to voice your thoughts for her to understand, not that you could form coherent words at this moment. 

It was always a… weird headspace for you, the space in between who you were, and who the world expected you to be.

What was making it harder tonight was that it would be the first time Alessia walked with you down the red carpet. Your stylist even had you in matching outfits, as if your arm around her wasn’t enough of an indicator that you were together. 

The whole thing made it nearly impossible to separate the different parts of yourself. 

“Take a deep breath for me,” Alessia said calmly, tightening the silky material around your neck, her gaze never wavering. 

She took an exaggerated inhale, and you did your best to mimic her, your pulse slowing automatically, the gentle lingering of her hands in your skin grounding you with her. 

“You’re not usually this wound for things like this,” She said, her voice soft, curious, but unwilling to push you like she normally would. 

“Sorry,” You mumbled, gaining strength from her steady hands. “I’m just. Sometimes I feel like I’m a piece in someone else’s game. It’s like they own me. I don’t want them to own you too, even though I know your fans are nearly as bad.” 

You could already see the tweets now, talking about the stunning blue dress she was in, and how it perfectly coordinated with the dark blue lapels of your suit jacket. 

They would dissect every interaction between the two of you, from how your hand rested on her waist to every look the two of you shared. 

Alessia’s eyes softened, as she finished the knot of your tie, tightening it just enough so you could feel it, but not enough that it cut off your air. 

It was comforting in a… strange way. Grounding like the collar you wore when the two of you were alone, or the bracelet that was always a part of your wardrobe, no matter how poorly it matched your outfit. 

“I know,” She said finally, and there was something more intimate in the words than the flashy hotel room deserved. Something deep, that belonged only to the two of you. “But they can’t own what they don’t understand,”

Her hands left the tie, moving up to cup your cheeks gently, carefully of the makeup your artist, Pamela, had all but forced on you. “They can’t own what they can’t see,” 

You made a low sound at the implication. 

It was why she was wearing a giant rock on her finger instead of the band you had gotten her. 

They could have that part of her and you, but they couldn’t have this one. 

“They don’t get to own who we are.” Alessia finished, leaning in and placing a very gentle kiss on your lips. “Remind me who you are,” 

You blinked at the feeling of her breath on your lips. 

“I’m Y/n Y/l/n,”

She hummed, kissing you again. “But who are you?”

A shiver ran down your spine at the order. At the reminder of the parts of yourself that she always held like they were precious and fragile. The parts she was fiercely protective of. 

Because even if this… facade belonged to your fans, the parts that really mattered were hers. 

“I’m yours,” You said, the words barely audible in the space between you. “Im yours, always,”

“Exactly,” She hummed, running a thumb gently over the skin below your eye. “And I’m yours too, no matter what ring Selena and Barbra decide to have me wear,”

You made a low sound, coming from deep in your chest, as the final tendrils of tension left your form at her reminder. 

Your relationship wasn’t a one-way street, though that’s what some people would assume if they knew about your dynamic. But the truth was that it was equally give and take. You supported each other and did things together. 

She was as much yours as you were hers. 

It still made you feel warm to hear her say it though. 

You leaned in and placed another kiss on her lips. “Don’t hold anything that happens tonight against me please,”

You didn’t add her title to the end of the sentence, despite how much you longed to. You knew if you did, you would never be able to leave the hotel room. You wouldn’t be able to paint on the face of a superstar. 

“Nothing within reason,” She smirked, pulling away from you. “I know you have a show to put on, but the rules still stand,”

You nodded, knowing that the rules always stood, no matter the setting. 

“Alright, lovebirds.” Your publicist, Tony, said, entering the room with a clap. “Your car is here, and Stevie is getting anxious about the paparazzi out front.”

“We’ll be there in just a moment,” Alessia said, her eyes and her steadying grip never leaving you. 

Tony huffed at the dismissal, settling down on the white sheets of the full bed closest to the bathroom. 

You rolled your eyes, stepping out of Alessia’s grip and grabbing your suit jacket. “You don’t have to babysit us,”

Tony made a low sound. “The last time I left you two alone in a hotel room before an award show you missed the Red Carpet, and Steve made sure I couldn’t sit for a week. I’m not taking a chance this time,”

You slipped the jacket over your shoulders, an easy smirk taking over your features. “It’s not my fault Ms. Kyle and Ms. Gordon always pick an outfit that makes Ms. Russo look so… delectable,”

Alessia couldn’t help but giggle, catching your hand. 

Tony didn’t need to know that she was the reason you hadn’t left for the VMAs on time. That the red and black suit you had worn made you too irresistible. 

“Whatever,” Tony huffed, pushing himself to his feet and leading you to the main room where your security, publicist, and team were waiting for you. 

And as you stepped out, you felt the mask of who you were expected to be slipping firmly into place, whether you wanted it to or not. 

******

You supposed you should be used to the cheering. The screams that followed you everywhere you went. 

The volume still surprised you as the dark SUV pulled up to the beginning of the red carpet, stopping so your door was positioned between two thick, red velvet ropes. 

“Ready?” Alessia asked, gently squeezing your hand. 

You hummed, glancing out the window towards the growing crowd, and the men dressed in dark clothing trying to hold them back. 

“As I’ll ever be,” You said, your voice taking on a quality that didn’t exist in your regular speech. 

You closed your eyes for just a second, taking a steadying breath before you grabbed the door handle and pushed open the door. 

The wall of sound that met you was indescribable, and the million-dollar smile you were known for came easily to your lips. 

You waved toward the crowd of screaming fans, and turned back to the car, extending your hand to help your fiancé out. 

Her fingers were warm as they wrapped around yours, and squeezed gently. 

It was a gesture that would go unseen by the blinding flashes behind you. One that was just yours. 

The fans only got louder as she emerged, her dark blue dress flowing across her curves, complementing the sharp lines of your suit. 

You wrapped your free arm around her waist to steady her, never letting go of her hand. 

“Such a gentlewoman,” Alessia said, her voice just barely audible over the squealing fans and the clicking cameras. 

Your signature smirk got wider, your eyes glinting in the camera flashes. 

“Only for you my darling,” You said in your best impression of Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard, your smirk softening when Alessia giggled. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way,” She agreed, leaning in and placing a careful kiss on your cheek. 

The crowd responded immediately, cheering as though it was more than just a kiss on your cheek. You could already see the tweets and Reddit boards looking at every microexpression.  

You hummed, shaking your head, feeling the heat in your skin where her lips had touched you. It centered you as you stepped into the onslaught of people held back only by tiny velvet ropes and security. 

The fans and the paparazzi only got louder as you finally took your first steps on the red carpet. It was like standing too close to a speaker. The cacophony of sound vibrated in your chest, and voices blended together into indistinguishable mush. 

Flashes burned your retinas, never stopping despite you not being in paparazzi ally yet. 

You wished Tony would put up a no flash photography sign for you like they did at the zoo. He would probably laugh and remind you that the circus made no such exceptions for their animals. 

What was worse is that you were used to it. Your face was a commodity to be bought and sold, your attention probably garnering enough cash to last someone for the month. 

You easily navigated the carpet, following Tony as your security buffered you from the public from behind. 

The fans were too far back for you to interact with (you waved anyway, flashing them charming smiles), and you didn’t mind Steve, Clint, Loki, and Thor blocking any cameramen from getting butt shots as you approached the alley line with little Xs. 

You had a split second to breathe while the paparazzi focused on Hayley hitting the final X with Josh before one of the workers held up a sign with your name, and the yelling re-started. 

“Y/n, Alessia this way please,” The attendant said, directing you to the first x. 

You wrapped your arm around Alessia’s waist, pulling her close to you as you took the spot they wanted. You painted your famous million-dollar smile across your features and unwillingly dragged your eyes away from Alessia. 

The barrage of camera flashes was overwhelming, and the calls for your name blended together in a cacophony that would deafen even the most narcissistic of people. 

“Y/n to your left,”

“How about a kiss?”

“Alessia on your right,”

“Show us that ring,”

Your smile turned slightly more cocky, as Alessia’s left hand found the center of your chest, flashing the rock on her finger as she leaned in and pressed a kiss on your cheek. 

It was different than the private one you had shared. 

The kiss just spurred you on, your eyes twinkling with amusement as Tony gestured for you to move to the next X. You caught Alessia’s hand on your chest, bringing it to your lips, seamlessly showing off the expensive ring on her finger before you guided her to the next spot, your fingers running gently over the embroidery on the silky material of her dress. 

“Y/n here please!” The photographers yelled as you got set, and you tired your famous smirk toward the sound. 

“Alright Mr. Demil, I’m ready for my closeup,” you winked at the cameras as the clicking rapidly picked up, and you heard several chuckles from behind the cameras. 

Alessia also chucked from beside you, resting her hand on the center of your chest as the two of you posed again. Your arm tightened around her waist, your fingers tapping her hip gently just out of the view of the cameras. 

The two of you stood there for another long second, looking every bit the power couple you were portraying, before Tony gestured for you to move to the x. 

You squeezed her hip as she turned, leaning close to her ear. “Least I didn’t have to murder anyone to get their attention,” 

“No,” Alessia agreed with another giggle, aware that her response was visible to the crowd. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re a pop star instead of an old silent movie actor. Though your acting is quite good,”

You grinned widely, as you made it to the final X and she turned to face you. “It’s easy when I have you on my arm,” 

She hummed, a bit of red spotting her cheeks, and your grin turned quite wolfish as you tightened your arm around her to draw her closer for the final set of photos. 

“You’re just so ravishing,” You said, far enough away that you knew the cameras would capture it. “Isn’t she?”

You directed the last question at the men behind the cameras, and the clicking of the cameras increased. You didn’t add that their chuckles and cheering didn’t bother you because you knew that Alessia was yours as much as you were hers. 

Alessia hummed again, having expected you to do that. You were never shy with your admiration when you were in public. 

You leaned close to her ear again. “So ravishing that I can’t wait to eat you up,”

“I might just give you a chance later,” She laughed, pushing your chest very lightly. You pulled back with another cheeky grin, wiggling your eyebrows. 

“Alright lovebirds, that’s enough,” Tony said after several seconds, stepping in between you and the cameras, and gesturing you off the final X as the cameras all turned to whoever was going to be taking the alley behind you. “Reporter Row is next, but you only have to make a couple of stops so you’re not late to your seats,”

“Just Call Her Daddy and the slow-mo guy right?” You asked as you guided Alessia to a part of the carpet between 2 walls, hidden from view, and your security team created a little pocket around you. “And I want to say hello to the fans,” 

“Yes,” Tony nodded, looking over his shoulder at the line of media outlets standing less than 3 feet apart from each other. “I’ll keep the rest away from you.”

You swallowed hard and nodded once, leaning into Alessia’s hand that was still on your chest for a long second. 

It didn’t matter how many times you participated in Red carpets, how many times you were trotted around like a show pony in this parade of excess, it never got any less overwhelming. 

You took a deep breath before you let Tony guide you forward, your million-dollar smile taking over your features once more. 

You waved at the reporters as Tony directed you past them, only stopping for the slow-motion camera (dipping Alessia in the photo) before you were standing in front of Alex Cooper. 

“And here is the couple that everyone is talking about. You both look absolutely stunning,” She said, smiling too widely with an easy wave of her hand. “how does it feel to be here at the AMAs,” 

“Thanks, It’s great,”  you matched the expression, tightening your arm around Alessia’s waist. “The fans have been amazing so far and I’m very excited to get to see the performances tonight. Plus any time I get to spend with my gorgeous fiancé is amazing,” 

You winked at the camera and placed a very sweet kiss on Alessia’s cheek. Both women giggled, and Alessia ran her thumb over the back of your hand. 

“And you’re receiving the very first Horizons Award,” Alex pushed on, knowing she had a very limited time with you. 

You nodded, your expression turning serious. “I’m very very honored, though I think the spotlight should really go to the people doing the hard work like folks at the Trevor Project and GLAAD,” 

Alex nodded. “You’re also performing tonight. Any spoilers you can give?” 

You hated how quickly she moved on from the topic you actually cared about. The topic that could actually help other people. 

But you didn’t show it on your face. Instead, you let your features turn mischievous, meeting Tony's eyes off to the side. “You know I don’t like to give away my secrets,” 

It was a silent signal that you could handle this yourself. That the slight podding wasn’t an invasion you needed him to deal with. 

Alex chuckled, holding her little microphone out to Alessia. “What about you Alessia, anything you can say?” 

“I actually haven’t seen it yet, but I’m sure it’ll be fantastic,” Alessia said and you turned your entire attention to her. 

You were sure that there would be memes of the way your expression immediately softened, or how she had all of your attention the second she spoke, but you didn’t care. 

Alex shook her head in mock disappointment. “Well, I’ll let you two go, good luck tonight,” 

You blinked back toward Alex, smiling brightly once again. “Thanks,” 

Then you let Tony guide you away, keeping a protective hand on Alessia’s waist as you headed towards the arena, and you felt your shoulders relax. 

The hardest part of the night was over. 

*****

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you made it to your seats in the front row, with Haylee and Josh on your right and Taylor and Travis on your left. 

You supposed they wanted to keep all of the footballers together so they had something to talk about while their significant others were stuck being exhibited on stage. 

“What’s your color?” Alessia asked, gently squeezing your knee as the show went to commercial break. 

You hummed at the all too familiar, catching her hand and intertwining your fingers. So far the show had been… bearable.

There were a couple of good performances, and you had won 3 awards. There were also minimal jokes from the host directed at you and your fiancé, which you appreciated. 

You were feeling good. You were feeling in control. 

“Green. Are you enjoying the show?” you asked, leaning in close to her in case one of the online fan cams was trained at you. 

She nodded. “The performances have been very good. I really liked Luke’s,”

You grinned wider. Luke Combs had done a mashup of Beautiful Crazy and Forever After All, both of which were songs that you had helped pen. “It’s funny you’re marrying me when you're such a sap for country music,”

Taylor gasped to your left, leaning around Travis to playfully glare at you. “Are you making fun of country music over there?” 

You turned a mischievous smirk on her. “No. I would never,”

She rolled her eyes dramatically at you. “Pop music is just glorified county you know?” 

And you couldn’t help but smile at the pompous tone. 

“Maybe country music is just slow pop music,” You shrugged, matching her tone. 

“I’m confused by what’s happening,” Travis said over your head towards Alessia. “Do they do this frequently?”

Alessia couldn't hold her giggle anymore. “Since they met. You would think that neither of them writes country music,” 

“Oh,” Travis said, turning a slight shade of pink. 

This wasn’t your first time meeting him, but it was his first time attending one of these with Taylor, and you could tell he was nervous. 

You leaned back into Alessia’s side, just as the lights flashed, indicating that the show would be back in 30 seconds. “I’m glad you liked Luke’s performance,” 

“And I’m going to love yours too,” She said, and you made a low sound. 

You were most nervous about what she would think of what you had planned. The performance that you had been working on for weeks. 

Her opinion was the only one that mattered to you after all. 

The lights flashed again, in the 10-second warning and Tony materialized in front of you. “Hey kid, I need to steal you,” 

“Go be amazing,” Alessia said softly, pushing you gently to your feet. 

You sighed, eyes darting back to you when she gently tapped your ass as you stood, and she looked the picture of innocence. 

Travis was coughing to hold in his laugh from the other side, and Taylor was smirking. 

You rolled your eyes and let Tony drag you away, though Taylor did catch your eye as you left, sending you an easy nod. 

At least you knew that Alessia would be entertained while you were gone. 

*****

Alessia could understand why you despised award shows as much as you did. 

You had disappeared 45 minutes ago, and your seat had been filled by a random stranger only there to make the arena look full. There were more commercials than performances or actual show. 

Though it was nice to talk to Taylor and Travis, it was inherently boring and slightly unnerving because of all of the cameras. 

The announcer kept mentioning that you were coming up or up next, and really Alessia didn’t think anyone needed more suspense. 

And then Taylor was whisked away by Tree, and the lights were flashing, and she knew that it was finally time. 

Taylor stepped out onto the stage with a brilliant smile, walking to the front. 

“As artists, we have incredible platforms. We have fans that stretch around the globe, and our next performer has gone above and beyond to give each and every one of them a voice,” Taylor said. “From raising more than 600 million dollars for charities like the Trevor Project to granting more wishes this year than anyone else, all well releasing an album that stood at number one for a record 29 consecutive weeks, she is the embodiment of what a star should be. That is why she is this year’s recipient of the Horizons Award. I’m honored to welcome my friend, Y/n Y/l/n,”

The stage shifted, the side Taylor was on was going dark while the curtain lifted on the other, revealing you standing in a spotlight. 

You weren’t dressed in the suit she had last seen you in. Instead, you were in a white shirt, suspenders, and Khakis, and you were barefoot. 

You took a big deep breath, your shoulders moving with it as the opening piano notes of the song started, and Alessia felt her own breath catch in her throat. 

It was when the party’s over.

You looked up at the crowd and started to sing. 

At first, Alessia thought that this was going to be the performance. Just raw and painful. Completely vulnerable. 

But off to the side, another spotlight shined, showing a dark-haired woman in a white flowy dress that had yellow around the bottom, matching your kakies. She danced towards you, the dress billowing around her ankles as she twirled. 

She touched your shoulder and you melted into her, catching her hand and beginning to dance. 

Alessia’s breath caught. The world had never seen you dance before. Not like this. 

There was a lot of push and pull. Moments where the dancer would hold you close and others where she would shove you away. With every movement, your perfectly pressed clothing became disheveled, one suspender dropping, several buttons of your shirt coming undone and your always immaculate hair going very messy. 

The two of you flowed together in a beautiful story of pain and disappointment. 

It was… indescribable, and Alessia and the entire arena were entranced. 

She could feel herself leaning forward as you got to the bridge. 

You twirled the dancer, pulling her close so your foreheads touched and your lips were nearly brushing. It was intimate and stunning, but Alessia didn’t feel jealous. 

Let’s just let it go

Let me let you go

You breathed heavily, the sound echoing around the arena, as everything stopped. 

Quiet when I’m coming home and I’m on my own

The dancer pulled backward, walking away from you, and you left your arm out, fingers stretched as she disappeared off stage as if you were calling her back. 

Suddenly you were alone again, stuck in the spotlight. 

And I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that

Your voice faded out and the stage went dark.

Everything was silent for a long second before the crowd erupted around her, people pushing themselves to their feet as the lights came back on. You ran your hand through your messy hair, pushing it back as you bowed to the standing ovation. Your eyes roamed the crowd, finally landing in Alessia. 

Your head tilted at her in acknowledgment, like you were asking ‘What’d ya think?’ in the stupid southern accent you sometimes affected to make her laugh. She nodded. 

Words could not describe how proud she was.

Her chest welled up with pride. With awe until it was practically overflowing. She felt lucky that she knew you. That she got to love you. Even the parts of you that you didn’t like to talk about. 

She sent you a kiss, and you caught it, sliding it into your pocket with a wink. And then with a blink, the mask of your character was sliding back into place as your fingers briefly ran over the braided bracelet that never left your wrist. 

Taylor approached you with a crystal trophy, passing it to you with a hug and words only you could hear whispered in your ear. 

You nodded as you pulled away, saying something back with a cheeky smile. Alessia knew there would be lip readers all over TiK Tok later trying to decipher the exchange. 

And then you turned back to the audience, looking out over the crowd like you were royalty surveying your kingdom, your eyes twinkling as they continued their ruckus applause. 

You waited another long second before you held up the crystal trophy reminiscent of how Alessia had helped hoist the Euros trophy, before you took another bow and then were gone, disappearing backstage with Taylor. 

She wasn’t sure how you got out of your speech, but she guessed Tony would release one for you later.

“That was fucking incredible,” Travis said as they retook their seats. “How does she sing that high and dance at the same time?”

Alessia dragged her eyes away from where you had disappeared. “She does a lot of breath training,”

Travis nodded like that answer was sufficient, just as Tony appeared in front of them again. 

“Do you want to go backstage? I'm not sure if Y/n will be coming back out,” He said softly. “The show is almost over anyway,”

She met his gaze, seeing the message that he hadn’t said out loud. The worry hidden in brown eyes. It was familiar in a slightly unnerving way. 

You were always the consummate professional, brushing off concern with ease and navigating situations that put you on edge without a hair out of place. 

You would push through because that is what the Hollywood machine expected from you, even in your most vulnerable moments, and no one would know the difference. 

You were excellent at pretending until you weren’t. 

She knew from just one look that one of two things had happened: you had asked him to come get her or he had seen you struggling and done it himself. 

“Sure,” She said, letting him help her up. “It was nice meeting you,”

She directed it toward Travis who nodded in return.

“Taylor should be out in a few minutes,” Tony said toward the man before he led her away. 

She didn’t look back to see his response, staying very close to Tony as he led her out of the row. 

Clint took up her back the second they made it to the aisle. 

She didn’t ask Tony if you were ok, though she wanted to. She would just have to wait and see for herself. 

******

Your fingers curled against the wooden counter of the makeshift vanity, as you leaned all of your weight forward. 

You closed your eyes and did your best to focus on your breathing. 

You were ok. 

It didn’t make sense for you not to be. 

Your performance had gone off without a hitch. You had accepted your award and not made yourself look like a total idiot. 

So why was there a boa constrictor around your lungs?

Maybe it was how claustrophobic the little changing room they had given you was. Maybe it was the fake smiles and handshakes you had received from everyone except for Taylor.

You tried to pull in more oxygen, but it felt like you were sucking air through a straw. 

You shook your head, forcing your eyes to meet themselves in the mirror (adamantly ignoring the gleaming award sitting next to you), knuckles turning white as you tried to ground yourself in the moment. 

They were wide, terrified with pupils blown wide like you had taken too much of your ADHD medication. 

What the fuck was happening to you?

You tried to force another breath through your lungs, sucking in deeply through your nose and pushing it out your mouth. 

It shouldn’t be this hard. 

You didn’t even blink when the curtain that separated your small changing room from the hallway was slowly pulled aside. 

You didn’t have to. You already knew that the only person Steve and Natasha would let through was your fiancé. 

“Hey,” She said, stepping up behind you and placing a very careful hand on your shoulder. “Tell me your color,”

Her voice was soft but twinged with the edge of command that never failed to make you melt. She wasn’t asking you where you were at, she was ordering you to tell her. 

It took a moment for the question to filter past the roaring in your ears, and the rapid beating of your heart. It took another for you to assess what you were feeling. 

You knew you could just say yellow, the blanket term for caution, but you also knew you had a plethora of other options. Ones that reached past the traditional stoplight system to be more descriptive. Ones that made it easier to put your emotions into words- something you had always struggled with. 

You swallowed hard, reaching for a color that you hardly ever used outside of the bedroom, and even then you had only used it once. “Orange, I think,” 

Alessia’s hand tightened on your shoulder, but her expression didn’t change. 

Orange meant anxious. More than anxious really. It meant trapped. Too confined. Too constricted. 

It meant on the wrong edge of panic, but not far enough gone to be red. 

“Ok,” She said, her voice even, calm. A complete contrast to how you felt. “Can I come closer?”

It was probably a strange question considering that the changing room was so small that she had to be within a foot of you to be inside, but you appreciated the thought (likely born from the last time where you had pulled the quick-release cord on the rope harness Alessia had crafted and hadn’t wanted any contact for almost an hour). 

You nodded. 

You wanted her touch. You craved it, and a part of you knew it would be the only thing that would help you breathe again. 

“Words my little one,” Alessia prompted you softly. 

You nodded again. “Yes, please,”

She moved immediately, dragging her hand across your shoulders as she stepped behind you, and down your arm to rest on your wrist just above your bracelet while the other slid across your abs. You didn’t even remember undoing your shirt. 

Her chin hooked over your shoulder as she pulled you back into her, pressing her lips very gently to the skin under your ear. 

“Breathe with me,” She said, taking an exaggerated breath in, her chest expanding against your back. 

You did your best to copy her, even if it made your chest ache. 

It took several minutes, but eventually your stuttered, shaking breaths steadied, and you relaxed in her arms. 

“Good girl,” She hummed when she felt you settle into her, placing a very gentle kiss by your ear. “Better?” 

“Better,” You agreed. “Thank you,”

“Always,” She said, her fingers tapping gently on your abs. “Your performance was incredible by the way. I’m so proud of you,”

“Really?” You asked, your voice going soft, and an insecurity you didn’t let anyone by Alessia see creeping into your tone. 

“Yes,” She promised, her lips tickling your ear. “You were spectacular. You had everyone on the edge of their seats, including me,”

You leaned back into her, your head tilting to give her more room. “Thank you,”

It could be considered strange sometimes, how your need for physical touch changed after anxious moments. How sometimes you shied away from it and needed space to ground yourself. Other times you needed it desperately to bring yourself back down to earth. 

It could be considered strange how…quickly you could go from one end of the spectrum to the other. But it had always been that way.

You could tell that she was trying to gauge your mood by the way her hand splayed low on your stomach, shifting just enough so her pinky was brushing the waist of your khakis. Silently asking if you needed more contact. 

Your breath caught in your throat as her lips turned to your exposed neck, her teeth gently grazing the skin. 

“What is your color,” She asked you seriously, and you held in your groan at the tone. 

“I’m ok,” You said, fighting to keep your voice even, and your body still (one of the rules that existed when the two of you did things like this). “Want more,”

She hummed, but her hand didn’t move and her lips completely detached from your neck. “That isn’t what I asked you. Tell me your color,”

You met her eyes in the mirror, a shiver running down your spine at the icy blue you found there. 

You knew what she was really asking you. 

It wasn’t just about if you wanted to go farther. She was making sure you were still present. That you were there enough to consent. That you weren’t just doing what you thought she wanted you to do. 

You swallowed, working through what you were feeling, rolling through the more descriptive menu of colors you had to choose from. 

“Amber,” You decided. One of the colors that was in between green and yellow. The one that told her you couldn’t deal with anything heavy or teasing, but that you were coherent and most importantly able to consent. 

She hummed, her lips returning to your neck, and her hand glided further down your abs. “That’s what I thought too,” 

You couldn’t stop the low groan that left your lips when her hand slid past the waist of your Khakis, or when her thumb began to toy with the hem of your boxers. 

“You did so well tonight, my little one,” She said into your ear. “I’m so proud of you. Let me take care of you now,”

You let your head fall back completely on her shoulder, as her hand finally dipped into your boxers and her teeth gently joined her lips at the sweet spot on your neck. 

Her fingers were gentle as they walked down the front of your groin until they landed between your lower lips. 

She didn’t immediately go for your clit, choosing to dip lower between your legs instead. 

A shiver went down your spine when she ran through you, making a low sound just below your ear. 

“You’re wet,” She said, the words tickling your ear. “Is this for me, little one?”

You swallowed hard. “Always for you,”

Her teeth nipped at your ear. “For who?”

“You Daddy,” You murmured. “Always for you,”

It was true. You had been ready for her as soon as you saw her in her dress. 

Selena and Barbra knew that blue was your favorite color on her because of how it brought out her eyes. They knew you were obsessed with the feeling of silk and satin. 

They had known what they were doing when they chose your outfits, and not just in the sense of what the fans would think. 

She hummed, her fingers slowly dragging through you. “And to think all of those people out there think it’s for them,”

“Not for them,” You said, shaking slightly as a finger slipped inside. “Your daddy,”

“I know,” She agreed, her voice soft, soothing despite the harshness of her teeth on the soft skin of your neck, no doubt leaving a dark mark you would have to cover later. 

Or maybe you wouldn’t cover it. 

That was a decision that could be made later. 

“You performed so well. You’re so good,” Alessia repeated, as she finally began to move, a second finger joining the first after only a few thrusts. “Now let daddy reward you,”

She shifted so her palm grazed your clit with every movement as she picked up the pace. 

The pressure was perfect but it wasn’t enough, even with her fingers curling against your inner walls. 

As if reading your thoughts, Alessia’s free hand moved. It trailed up your arm to under your chin, cupping your neck, the warm metal of her ring pressing into your skin. 

She didn’t apply enough pressure to cut off your air, just enough for you to know her hand was there. Enough for the pressure to ground you. To prove that she was there. 

You sucked in a sharp breath, melting back into her. 

“That’s it, my good girl,” Alessia crooned, her mouth never leaving the abused skin just under your ear. “You’re doing so well for me,”

You were good. 

You were doing well.

You could feel yourself rising higher, the coil in your tummy pulling tighter. You knew what was coming, the sweet release that would wipe every thought from your brain. 

“Please,” You breathed out, feeling a smile curl on the lips against your neck. 

She hummed as if considering the request. 

The rational part of your brain knew that she wouldn’t string you along like she sometimes loved to do, not with the color you had given. The rational part of your brain knew she wouldn’t ruin the orgasm threatening to crash over you like she enjoyed when you were both bored at events. 

She wouldn’t make you wait when neither of you had agreed to play a game tonight. 

But the rational part of your brain wasn’t in control right now. 

“Cum for me little one,” She said after a long second, her pace never changing, the hand on your throat squeezing just a bit. 

But that was all it took. 

Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you felt the hand on your neck move to form a seal over your lips, stopping any sound from leaving you. 

Alessia kept up her movements, working you through your orgasm, and supporting your weight as you went nearly boneless against her. 

“Good girl,” She said, slowing her hands as the final aftershocks rocked through you. “Always my good girl,”

You groaned low, your eyes opening to meet her smoldering blue in the mirror and her hand fell away. “Say it again please,”

“You are my good girl,” She repeated, keeping eye contact with you, carefully removing her hand from your core. “And I’m so proud of you,”

She brought her fingers to your lips, and you accepted them without question, sucking greedily at her skin until it was clean.

She pulled them from your lips with a chuckle. “I take it you’re feeling better?”

“Yes,” You agreed, leaning back into her. “I don’t know what happened. I got off stage and it was like I couldn’t breathe,”

“Well, you went from a very emotional performance, which was breathtaking by the way, to winning a massive award,” Alessia reasoned gently. “That’s a lot of emotional bandwidth to handle,”

You made a low noise. “It’s always coming down that’s the hardest,”

“I know,” Alessia hummed, kissing very gently just below your ear.

“You helped,” You continued.

“I will always help you,” Alessia promised fiercely, and you believed her. “Are you ready to get changed so we can get out of here?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

But you made no move to leave her arms.

You were too comfortable to move, wrapped in her safety, and she let you stay there for a few more minutes before she carefully unbuttoned the two buttons left on your shirt, and did the zipper on your pants. 

You didn’t remember her unbuttoning those, but then again you were a bit… distracted. 

She pulled away as she dragged the shirt from your shoulders, dropping it unceremoniously on the makeshift table next to your Horizons award. You slid your pants down and turned to face her. 

“Selena dropped off my after outfit,” You gestured towards the garnet bag sitting in the chair behind her. 

Alessia undid the zipper, pulling out another blue suit, this one more plain than the first.

“I think she knew how this night would end,” Alessia said, passing you the extra pair of boxers Selena also included in the bag. 

You hummed, swapping the boxers. “Perhaps we’re getting too predictable,”

“Or our stylists just know us too well,” Alessia countered, holding out a black button-down for you. You slipped your arms through the sleeves and stepped closer to her so she could do up the little snaps. “And changing our… routine doesn’t exactly appeal to me,” 

“Me neither,” you agreed, taking the pants when she was finished and thanking the universe that there was elastic around the waist. You tucked your shirt into them and pulled on the dark blue vest that matched. “Will you help with the tie?”

“Of course,” Alessia rolled her eyes, pulling the blue silk out of the garment bag. “Come here my love,”

Your nose scrunched involuntarily at the nickname she had chosen, but you straightened and stepped closer to her.

“What’s with the face?” She asked, lips ticking up as she placed the tie around your neck. 

You shrugged, looking away slightly, red bleeding into your cheeks. “I like the other nickname better,”

“Which one?” She questioned, using a thumb to move your chin so you were looking at her again. “My little one or my good girl,”

A shiver ran down your spine as she repeated the nickname. 

It wasn’t the one she usually went to, because you didn’t usually enjoy it. But tonight was different. 

Something about it felt… right. 

“Ah,” Alessia said, reading your expression. “Keep your chin up so I can do your tie, my good girl,”

You let out a low sound but kept your chin tilted up. 

It only took her a second to do the knot, straightening the bow so it was centered. “There, good as new, and gorgeous as ever,”

The red on your cheeks bled down your neck and up toward your ears. “Thank you,”

“Always, my good girl,” She said, leaning in and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Do you want the jacket too?”

You shook your head. “Why don’t you wear it? It’ll look smashing with your dress,”

“It is a bit chilly in the hall,” Alessia reasoned, and you leaned around her to grab the soft material, holding it for her. 

She turned and you draped it over her shoulders. 

“Perfect,” You murmured, your fingers lingering on her shoulders.

There was something incredibly sexy about seeing her draped in something that was yours. You wondered if this was how she felt when she saw you wearing the braided bracelet (or your collar), or when she wrapped you in intricate knots or left dark bruises just under your chin. 

It was how you felt when you saw the real ring on her finger. 

“Enjoying the view?” Alessia asked, raising a perfect eyebrow at you. 

You blinked at her, not realizing she had turned to face you again. More heat joined the flush already in your cheeks.

“Always,” You said, your eyes crinkling with your smile. “You’re still as ravishing as ever,” 

“Let’s go before we end up here all night,” Alessia hummed, holding her hand out for you. “You might want to run your hand through your hair,”

“I think it’s adequately messy,” You shrugged. “The fans will enjoy every hair being perfectly out of place, and I’m going to put on a beanie once we get to the car,”

“Wouldn’t want them to see your favorite disguise,” Alessia said, as you took her hand. 

You wiggled your eyebrows. “No. Then I wouldn’t be able to sneak into arsenal games undetected,”

“You mean it wouldn’t allow you to get mobbed at games because your disguise is never good enough for general admission,” Alessia corrected, moving toward the curtain of the dressing room. 

“That was once,” You huffed. Alessia raised her eyebrow at you.

“Fine, twice,” You conceded with a wave of your free hand as she pulled you out of the changing room. 

“Try 6,” Tony said, as soon as you stepped into the bustling hallway. 

You didn’t ask how he knew what you were talking about. You didn’t have to. 

You knew your privacy wasn’t really private. Especially not here, even if you wanted to pretend it was. 

“More like 8,” Steve intoned, stepping away from his spot guarding the entrance to the little makeshift room. “You have a bad habit of ending up in places you shouldn’t be without enough security,”

You shrugged. “Yelena and Natasha are plenty,”

“Together, yes,” Steve sighed, as Clint appeared behind him. “Not when you only take one or the other,”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to Alessia, and wrapping your free arm around her lower waist. “Details,”

Alessia hummed, noting the change in your demeanor, her eyes drifting up to see the cause (a little black camera on the ceiling further down the hall). 

“Shall we go, darling?” You asked, again imitating Norma Desmond. “The cameras are waiting, Ms. Russo,”

Alessia nodded, squeezing your hand. “Yes, let's go home. I believe we have some unfinished business to attend to,”

“Ah yes,” You agreed, wiggling your eyebrows. “I still need to get my taste,” 

Alessia and your security laughed, though there was a glint of something very familiar in your fiance’s eyes. Something that told you that this night was far from over. 

Something that told you she would be… claiming you as soon as you were away from prying eyes. 

Something that told you this night would be ending with something just between the two of you. 

Something that was yours that the outside world couldn't take away from you. 

“Don’t worry, my good girl,” Alessia murmured, pulling you close. “You’ll get all the tastes you can handle,”

[jazjelspen]

devil's spawn.

angel alastor w/ radio demon daughter reader

(notes: based off of the concept of my other story 'my angel baby' except alastor and his adopted daughter switch places and personalities. In Alastor's pov (?)in this chapter.)

(caution: RUSHED!! definitely rushed qwq so I greatly apologize. Not proofread in the slightest. Might have cringe parts am so sorriy qwq)

(Alastor is still in a way the angel version of 'the radio demon' except he's called 'the radio angel' by his fans, but he doesn't refer to himself as such since angel alastor is actually humble)

(I'm willing to make another part but considering Hs becoming more stressful and it blowing my brain up it'll definitely take time, but always willing to make more if wanted/needed)

It was another bright and fresh day in heaven, Alastor clinging the laundry up on the line while his mother, whom he managed to find in his decades inside the pearly gates, sat on a rocking chair reading a book as she usually would.

The bright heavenly lights making his halo shine, complimenting his wings, other neighborly 'winners' he would be acquainted with would walk by and greet him with a wave or a tip of their hats to him while he was outside fixing their clothes.

In this particular universe, Alastor is the complete opposite of his original counterpart. Where the original Alastor would hurt and destroy, this version of him would care and heal. He was selfless, kind, compassionate and sympathetic to which again is also a complete twist around compared his original self.

Alastor died out of an accidental kill, mistaken for a deer and shot through the head while he was out in the forest collecting his adoptive daughter's favorite flowers, at her favorite flower meadow on the day of her eighteenth birthday.

Unfortunately due to missing his baby girl's birthday and being taken away from her too soon for his liking he has been living in pure regret, panic, and pure sorrow form having to leave her too early and it pained him everyday.

He raised you all by himself while juggling his passion for radio hosting, finding comfort in your innocence and smiles when he first found you and as you grew up you gave him a reason to live and work.

That's the only thing that him and the original sadistic version Alastor have in common; the fatherly love for their daughters who are also their entire lives. Their love traverses across universes.

Eventually the more you grew up the more.. peculiar and unique you became.. your innocence would melt away with a sadistic fire in your eyes that he would notice at times but would try his best to lead you in the ways of love and compassion which you had for him but lacked for those around you..

Alastor was finishing up his morning chores for his mother's home before he would eventually go back inside and get a few necessities before leaving his home. His pearly coat, his shining microphone staff, fix his appearance in the mirror just a tad, and finally hugging his mother goodbye from the porch to head up and down the street towards the main part of the city.

Yes, he was still a radio host as well too.

Instead of broadcasting screams of pain and terror from sinners he instead would give voices to those who wished to express their passions, interview everyday folk and influential people on opinions and advice to those listening to his radio show and he even has good connections and acquaintances to the high Seraphims of heaven in order to get the latest news in the ruling of heaven.

He's just as famous as he was in life, maybe more considering how many people there are in heaven alone.

His polished shoes creating sounds on the pavement as he hummed a special tune that he adores, a tune he used to sing to you. Yet again still greeting passing by acquaintances and fans of his show with genuine glee and care.

Alastor waved off to an old friend while walking by, shining his taken cared for smile. "Good to see you again Roger, don't forget to tune in soon in a few hours! It'll be a real gas so don't miss i-- oh my!"

Alastor looked down as he seemed to bump into someone small, looking down at his feet he saw a young little girl. Another fellow 'winner' she seemed to have bumped into him with chocolate smeared around her mouth with a giddy yet apologetic smile on her face. And unfortunately smeared some chocolate on his pants.

"Hiya mister!" she waved, showing her dirtied little hand as well "Sorries! I didn't watch where I was going..!"

Alastor noticed the stain and his jaw hung slightly from surprise but then immediately laughed it off, petting the young girl on the head in understanding.

"Oh little one, don't worry about it at all! Here, so you can clean yourself up." He then took a white embroidered handkerchief for his chest pocket to give to the little girl who then wiped her face and her hands, seeing her struggle a bit Alastor graciously held her hands gently to wipe them off for her and her nose as well.

"Mary!" A voice exclaimed that approached, a woman than came into view, a winner as well. "Oh! Well if it isn't our most kind radio host! I deeply apologize about my daughter sir.." The mother would smile sheepishly and apologetically. "Thank you so much for helping my little girl, I apologize for her clumsiness! Could I perhaps offer you help of any kind?..”

Alastor shook his head as he would then neatly fold the handkerchief and saved it in his coat this time so that he could remember to wash it when he got back home. "Oh no no! No need ma'am, it's nothing a little magic can't cover up for the time being!" He smiled at the woman who now had her hands placed on her daughter's shoulders with a sigh slipping through her lips. He looked down at the girl as he gave her a pat on the head "On the other hand, are you okay dear? I do hope you didn't hit yourself too hard!.."

The little girl shook her head as well in reply, "Nu-uh mister! Thank you for helping me! I promise not to bump into anymore misters or any misseses!" Oh her messing up of words ringed a bell in his head

"How darling! Take care of yourself and your mother now, " He looked up at the woman to then lower his head slightly in respect before resuming his steps again "Apologies for the rush, just trying to see if I can get some special guests on my radio show tonight!"

The woman waved at him 'goodbye' with her young girl following suit "Oh I sure hope they agree! Good day to you Alastor!"

"Good day to you as well madame!" he waved back as he finally took enough steps away from them to now get a clearer view of the inside of the city.

He couldn't help but sigh in despair, he remembers when he used to have his own little girl.

Took care of her as if she was his own blood, as if they came form the same flesh and heritage.

And although you didn't, he never loved you any less.

His smile faltered slightly but picked it up quickly, rushing towards the next moving tram that he recognized to get to his destination: the middle of the city. Once he saw one and hopped on, he could feel his heart pump with blood he once had as red and now as gold as the tears of the elder angels.

If what he heard was right, he would try to get a segment with three special guests from hell.

Sure, he knew that they came from a place of bad and evil but that didn't deter him any less. From life to death he would give voices to everyone that needed to be heard and he would follow it no matter where someone came from.

The fresh breezes and the smell of bakeries, restaurants, the sounds of workers in mom and pop shops and independent growing businesses were like music. He could've sworn that even the laughter of children and the chattering of friends, couples, and families amongst each other turned into melodies in through his brain circuits.

Heaven was.. heaven.

But his only sin was not speaking out at heaven's hypocrisy or flaws at times. Many times he would but it turned into heaven setting restrictions on him.. silencing his own voice. He was never fond of that but apparently according to Sera and that blasphemous Adam, it was required. 'To avoid panic and prevent disturbances amongst the people of heaven' or so they'd say.

He was working on a way to go around that.. change their minds. But it was much harder than he anticipated.

Oh!-- The tram stopped with a loud hiss and ring.

Alastor snapped out of his thoughts would hop off the tram and finally start resuming his walk. He was now just a block away, the more he walked the less the voices and sounds of work distanced, entering a quieter part of the city. He was now in the smack middle of the entrance to heaven, where ice cream shops were laid in rows, cafes as well, people quietly chatting and drinking their beverages or eating their food.

Oh! And he could heard a familiar tune! It was that one.. welcome song that St. Peter would often sing..

Not a favorite song of his.. at all.. but he applauded them for effort!

Maybe a splash of swing or jazz would bring it to life.. but he assumed that was the old man in him talking.

For the time being he decided to watch some place nearby yet not too close since he knew that if he stayed where he was he would be caught up in the performance and he would have to sing with them..

Waiting at the side and hearing the singing come closer and close Alastor would make himself busy by polishing his microphone with his breathe and sleeve, fixing and dusting himself off as to not give any bad first impressions.

And thankfully he managed to remember his stain that the little girl left-- forgetting about it due to wanting to get to his destination on time and helping the poor thing. With a gentle swish of his staff pointed at the stained he then managed to cover it with his heaven-given magic.

Once the full group performance made his way towards his direction was when he stood up straight, chin high, shoulders fixed, looking good as always Alastor.

He heard Emily's voice among the performance, the youngest of the two Seraphims.

He's quite close with the two, at first only starting as something for business until one day he got closer to them and confessed his past, and his regrets.

Emily reminds him much of his daughter, the high angel having an enthusiasm and mentality of a late teenager or young woman, same age his daughter was when he last saw her.

He thought, wondered, pondered, dreamed-- what his little girl grew up into.

His eyes stared at his microphone, the shine of silver blinding him when he turned it for a spot of sunshine to burn his eyes slightly.

Did she grow up into an incredible woman? Did she ever find love? Settle down and have children? How has she matured? Does she resent him for leaving him so soon even if he never meant to? Does she look completely different? Did she ever change her name?

Were you even up here at all?

He hopes you were, looking and asking for you far and wide in heaven. Did you seclude yourself? Did you hide from him on purpose?

Or were you simply in hell..

No-- his little girl couldn't be in hell. Sure she had concerning hobbies, thoughts, ways of doing things but it didn't deserve her going to hell of all places.

You had to be up here, somewhere.. you had to.

A somber sigh escaped his lips as he stared at his reflection in the object between his palms and fingers. His heavy heart tugging and ripping itself apart.

'my little girl.. where are you?'

"Alastor!! Hey!"

A young voice shouted at him from afar, looking up he saw Emily wave and ushered him to head towards her way from afar.

He let go of his guilt for now, and shined his iconic smile as always.

"Why hello Emily, Sera," he lowered his head at the high angels in respect for them "How may I help you ladies today? I see we have new visitors!" His head moved to look at the other three ladies in front of him that came from below.

There was a young woman with eyes that shared the same enthusiasm as Emily's did, hair of sunshine and gold, fangs as sharp reminiscing those of a blood bat, small and thin frame and an outfit that successfully mimics casual sophistication.

Another young girl to her right was one that seemed more reminiscent of an angel, her long hair filled with silver and moon, a gaze as sharp as broken, stance serious and unapologetic, she seemed ready to protect the blonde girl beside her but also had eyes of worry and a sense of uncomfortability haunted her features and her almost slouched back.

The last one, really shook him up.

The next young woman to the left of the blonde girl was adorned in nothing but pure red with tones of a deep hot pink in her entire look. Her clothes were of an era he knew of very well, of course he'd recognize clothes from the 30s!.. except they had a few odd touches that more or so reminded him of the 40s or heck maybe even 50s.. a bit more ahead of his time. She had a large sharp smile that screamed of mischief and eyes that are waiting to do something-- anything sinister.

Despite all this, these characteristics weren’t the ones that shook him to his core.

She looked like someone he knew, that he missed.

"Everyone, this is Alastor. He's heaven's most famous and influential radio host! Giving voices to the voiceless when he was alive and even more up here, and of course due to his selfless acts when he was alive he was blessed to be let through the gates of heaven." spoke Sera, introducing the 'winner' as he chuckled sheepishly.

"Oh thank you Sera, but it's nothing really! Just had to do what was right."

Sera then lead his eyes back to the newcomers, having him face directly to the girl with hair of sunshine first. "Alastor, I present to you the Princess of Hell and heir to the throne, Charlie Morningstar. She's here to present a few ideas to the court the next day."

Alastor's eyes widened in surprise, "Princess! I didn't know royalty were to visit us today!" he bowed down towards the girl as to pay his respects, standing back straight once he finished. "A pleasure to meet you sweetheart quite the pleasure! Didn't expect our guests to be of royalty so apologies to any bad manners."

The princess shook her head with a large smile "Oh!-- don't worry you didn't give off any bad manners! It's nice to meet you too Mr...Alastor!.. it.. it's very admirable what you did before and what you do now! You seem to have earned your place here quite well!"

The man shook his head as well in reply "Oh like I said it's nothing! If anything I should thank my daughter, she was my reason and my motivation to be nothing but kind to others to present a good example! I continue to do so in her honor."

Charlie's eyes grew as a soft 'awwww' escaped her lips "You must love your daughter very much..!"

Alastor nodded, "Of course I do! As a father always should!"

Charlie opened her mouth again to speak, her eyes filled with a sense of bittersweetness until she was suddenly interrupted by the young woman dressed in red. She walked in between Alastor and Charlie with a sense of charm and enthusiasm, the spirit of a presenter or spokesperson shining in her body language and way of speaking.

"How delightful! The love of a parent transcends heaven and earth! Now that's poetry!" the girl's voice was glitched out and heavily amplified with a strong sound of static, as if her vocal cords came straight from a radio speaker. She held a staff much similar to his, except her's was shorter and more compact-able.

The girl with silver hair rolled her eyes in nothing but pure irritation, Charlie giggled nervously as she then pointed her way towards the one who spoke. "And this is ______! She's the founder and host of my hotel back in hell! She's helped me throughout everything and I dont think I would be able to get to this point if It weren't for her help as well!"

Ah,

He knew it.

______, anyone could have that name.

But you looked like his daughter, his pride and joy.

His face still shines with a smile but his eyes are baffled with the sudden hit of realization.

It couldn't be a coincidence-- you looked like her, your eyes had that spark he always used to see in his daughter before he left. The way of speaking, that stance-- more confident and mature but the way you spoke.. your vocals were a match to his daughter's just with a touch of years to it.

And you looked at him as if you knew as well, eyes narrowing with piqued interest. Sharp smile widening an-

wait..

what?..--

You seemed to have almost hopped right in front of him with your hand suddenly shaking his. "A real pleasure to meet you sir! Quite the pleasure!"

You mimicked his greeting yet somehow you spoke it so naturally, as if spoken a billion times before. He was stunned, if there weren't people around he would've slipped and broken down right here right now--

but he cannot, will not.

He will not worry others, he will not bother others with his emotions.

"Good to meet you Ms.."

"______. Simply call me ______." Your sinister grin only stretched, a sense of despair fell into the pit of his stomach,

His little girl in hell?

Did he.. fail at raising you?

Was dying too soon the reason why you let yourself fall?

Whatever the case, Alastor was nothing but stuck in a small limbo of his own guilt again

If he did this to you-- even indirectly,

he wouldn't ever forgive himself.

"Ms.. ______..."

'my little girl' he would've said, 'my daughter, how I've missed you. please forgive me for leaving you so soon... I'm so so sorry my darling..'

the words were stuck to his throat.

a small gust of air was the only thing that escaped from his cords.

Sera clapped her hands together once as a way to announce, "Well Princess Morningstar. I hope your stay here is nothing but comfortable, and I say that to your companions as well."

Sera looked at the 'winner' with confusion and a sense of concern but she knew she had to leave due to duties calling for her and Emily's presence.

Sera gently put her hand on his shoulder, "Alastor, would you perhaps show them where their hotel is and how to check in? It's going to be the one nearby."

'the one nearby' he thought, 'a block away.. '

"of course! anything to make our guests feel more welcomed!"

Sera nodded in 'thanks' before flying off with Emily on her side, herself also waving goodbye to all of you as well.

Alastor paused, before finally turning his head at the girls.

"Well, let's get you all to where you'll stay for the time being!.."

He will find out what happened to you, what went wrong, how he messed up.. he'll beg for forgiveness from you. for you were and still are his reason for who he is.

you were his one and only daughter, he will make it up to you.

"Follow me now! Time isn't going any slower!"

Little did he know, he wasn't at fault at all.

You were just born that way.

You knew what you were and you embraced it as a way to cope from him being taken away from you.

Of course you had to blend in and you took on the mantle of taking over your late father's radio show, eventually becoming as famous as he was and you were nothing but just as charming as he was on his show.

But then you killed, the power imbalance favoring you was nothing but amazing to you.

Years later, you enjoyed it. Killing was your life's purpose. Your crimes were never a subject for you to ever regret or feel guilt for.

You regret nothing.

You were a merciless killer then, and one now.

Through earth and hell, forevermore.

[dearharriet]

Standin’ on a Cloud; Eddie Munson ☁️

summary: your boyfriend eddie is a sweetheart, but you already knew that.

word count: 1.2K

warnings: fem!r, established relationship, fluff fluff and more fluff, nicknames (babe, baby, angel, darling, sweetums)

a/n: based on my favvvv song angel by madonna <3 i just want eddie in my room goofing around and maybe also kissing me silly :(

“My darlingest darling,” Eddie coos suddenly, buttering you up from his perch at your vanity. You glance up at him from where you’re lounging on the bed, reading a magazine. He’s been in your room for all of thirty minutes and he’s already trying to accost you.

“What do you want?” you reply bluntly, making Eddie let out a shocked laugh.

“Want?” he starts, and you know he’s about to be facetious. “Whatever do you mean, sweetums?” he teases, standing to approach your bed. “I only desire your precious time.”

You love the way Eddie moves. He’s like a dog that grew up with cats, slinking clumsily, if there ever was such a movement.

“You’re so full of it,” you whisper with faux sweetness, drawing a finger down the crease of the Rolling Stone you bought on a whim at the supermarket.

“Full of…what? Love? Full of love?” You laugh at Eddie’s absurdity and sudden closeness, his hip leant on the bed and his body folding in half to meet you face-to-face.

“Yes, of course,” you answer, “how did you know that’s what I meant?”

Eddie smiles lazily, his face slightly red from hanging sideways.

“Just one of the many super-boyfriend-powers I possess, babe. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah, right.” You close your magazine.

With much less accusation, and double the fondness, you ask again: “What do you want?

Eddie squints like he’s not sure he can trust you. He decidedly crawls up onto the bed using only his knees, shirt riding up and arms flailing.

“Um,” he begins mindlessly, trying not to clip you in his fuss to lie down. He settles in beside you, propping his head up on his hand, eyes mischievous.

“I was just wondering,” says Eddie, "if my gorgeous girlfriend would do me a flavor and paint my nails for me?”

“A flavor,” you repeat with a small smile, pretending to read a headline about Wham! while Eddie’s warmth distracts you. Eddie hums confidently in return, like there’s nothing amiss with his word choice. Turning your head to look at him, your mouth curls into a grin. “What color y’want?”

Eyes alight, Eddie rolls off the bed, presumably to raid your polish stores if he hasn’t already. Your stereo is playing a tape that Eddie sweetly curated for you, with rock ballads and indie jams he thought you’d like, and you belatedly recognize the song playing. As Eddie sifts through your colors he absently sings along, shocking you.

“—can see it in your eyes, full of wonder and surprise—” His rich timbre takes the tune on effortlessly, like he’s heard it a hundred times before.

“I thought you were against Madonna,” you mention, watching his back. He looks up at you through the vanity mirror, cutting his singing off before the chorus. Realizing he’s been caught, he sighs heavily.

“Well, yknow I was, but I think I’ve changed my tune.” Distracted, he turns around, leaning on the messy table to properly talk to you. “Cause you left that Virgin tape in my van, right?—and I was just gonna retire the poor thing but…”

“But you liked it?” you anticipate, perhaps a touch too excited to have this one thing over him.

“No,” Eddie says awkwardly, holding his mouth in an o for a moment. “But!—you played this one on the drive to Steve’s that day and I, uh—” He fiddles with his fingers, strangely sheepish.

“You what?”

Eddie spins around, back in business with your nail lacquer. You almost don’t hear him when he shyly continues.

“I guess it sorta reminded me of you,” he admits, shoving his hair behind his ear nervously.

Your stomach churns with want, a honeypot of sweetness as your eyes trace over Eddie’s figure. You’re so used to him in your room now, despite how out of place he is—dark and moody against your bright and girlish decor. Perhaps it’s because your room has obtained some Eddie-adjacent additions as time goes on: rock records and DND game items. It feels good to know that you have the same effect on him, and you’re suddenly glad you left that tape in his car. The image of him singing Angel on his way to see you is almost overwhelming.

When he finally picks a color, the song is wading into the bridge, and Eddie’s face is still pink. Madonna croons through your grainy speakers as he returns to you—I believe that dreams come true, ‘cause you came when I wished for you... Despite his blatant embarrassment, Eddie dances on the way back to the bed, almost like he can’t help it.

“Well, that’s funny,” you say, finally wrestling out of your thoughts.

Eddie entertains you, shaking the bottle of paint he’d settled on—too quickly for you to make out which it is. “Why so?”

Confidently, knowing exactly what it’d do to him, you say, “I always thought this song was about you.”

Eddie is kneeing his way onto the bed once more, his bottom lip caught under his teeth. He doesn’t lie down again, staying on his knees above you, so you flip over to avoid craning your neck.

“Babe, I’m a metalhead,” Eddie reminds you seriously, pressing his hands into the mattress on either side of you. He looks completely wrecked from your statement, but he’s doing a commendable job of pretending he disliked it. He says: “You can’t go calling me an angel or you’re gonna ruin my rep.”

Grinning, you push up onto your elbows to eat up even more of the space between you and your boyfriend.

“Well, you’d better stop being such a sweetie and making me mixes with Madonna on them, then.”

Eddie inches closer.

“But how else will I tell you what a doll you are?” he goads, and his breath warms your lips.

“Um…head banging?” you suggest helpfully. Eddie shakes his head gently so his curtain of hair tickles your face, making you giggle. He places an affectionate peck over your smile and then leans back on his haunches.

Sitting up all the way, you look to his ring-heavy hands.

“Okay, what color did we pick?”

Hesitantly, Eddie unfolds his fist to reveal a hollow box of glass on his palm, undeniably pink from the varnish it encapsulates. It doesn’t escape you that the exact same shade sits on your own fingernails. Looking up to catch his eye, you watch his face flush.

“What was that about being a metalhead?” you tease, unable to resist. Eddie makes like he’s going to get up and pick a new color but you jump to stop him. “Oh, Eds, I’m only kidding!”

“Do you think people will laugh?” Eddie asks, and he’s oddly sincere. You pull your head back, somewhat surprised that he’d even care, but then again, most of Eddie’s song and dance about non-conformity is just that: performance. He believes it, of course, but only because he has to—because he’s not like everyone else. It’s almost impossible to be impervious to judgment, and you also think Eddie might be more worried about your guys’ friends than anyone else.

“Maybe,” you tell him, not willing to lie. “But it’s just polish. You can take it off and pretty much anybody would forget the next day. Or you could flip ‘em a pretty pink middle finger, too, ‘cause they should mind their own damn business.”

A sweet smile curls onto Eddie’s face, his brown eyes melting and gooey. He brushes a quick thumb over your jaw as a thank-you of sorts.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you confirm, “yeah, I think it’s metal.”

Eddie surges forward, attacking your lips with his own. The kiss is short-lived, one closed-mouth press, but what it lacks in duration it makes up for in sweetness.

“‘Kay,” he agrees, moving to sit against your headboard. “Make me pretty.”

Crawling onto his lap obediently, you say, “Can’t make you something y’already are, angel.”

Eddie’s face turns as pink as his nails end up later.

+

thank u for reading <3

masterlist

[averageallogene]

Lyney ♡⊹˚ His lucky charm [NSFW]

✧˖°. Summary: Before his most recent shows, Lyney seems to have some nervousness regarding his abilities as a magician. Thankfully, his lovely girlfriend is always there to ease his mind beforehand, providing him with the luck her magician boyfriend needs.

fem. reader (3rd person) ; this is basically smut with little more than an intro to it, so beware. Also SPOILERS for ACT I of the first Fontaine Archon Quest. 

5k words.

notes. Hi yes hello I am back, I have played the two Archon Quests, and after working a little for my thesis I decided to write something by my own volition <3. I’m not sure if Lyney here might be portrayed accurately but nonetheless I really wanted to write a smaller piece for him before doing it for other characters! He’s adorable :( ♡ Enjoy ✧˖°

By clicking on the “expand”, you are hereby agreeing to view NSFW content. PLEASE if you are under 18, DO NOT INTERACT. 

PLEASE do not report, as this is my warning to those who do not wish to view NSFW. I, like most writers, work hard on each piece we choose to publish, and reporting it will decrease the number of readers it reaches... Thank you for understanding ✧˖°

Magicians have no need for something many folk cling onto - luck. After all, every trick they perform is something they study, polish, rearrange, rehearse. Everything is staged to the finest of details, leaving no room for unpredictable variables to enter the equation. Every performance is acted out accordingly, a mental checklist going on inside the performer's mind as each prop is placed and moved about, each line is repeated from the rehearsals, each movement in one’s body is carefully played out. Everything is a carefully crafted performance, and what need do they have for luck? None.

To Lyney, such is the truth. Well, at least this philosophy held itself rock solid, up until the incident that nearly landed him a guilty verdict. Despite his confidence in his abilities to wow the crowds, even before there would always be a small but ever present pitter patter to his heart, a quiet reminder of his own nervousness before the show would begin. He would usually handle himself most well, though through the eyes of those closest to them, the normal feeling of “performance jitters” wasn’t all that well hidden. Well, and if that were the case, more so after things went back to normal.

His breathing would be a little more unstable, his fingers would fidget with one of his cards as his eyes darted about his changing room. He would fiddle with his exquisite hat, rebraid his hair while trying to ease himself. Things had gone back to normal, their scheduled shows were once more popular and always fully booked. Yet still, there always was this sense of anxiety deep in his stomach, never truly going away as he quietly wondered if the show would go as planned. 

Well, thankfully he had someone to help ease his mind each time. And as if right on que as he brooded over the upcoming performance, a knock to his dressing room was heard, the door opening to reveal the loveliest of sights. At the door stood [F/N], his lovely girlfriend who would always visit him before he went on stage. 

“Hi Lyney! Hope I’m not intruding?” She asked sweetly, smiling his way which only helped to ease his worries.

“You never are, my love. Come in!” He breathes out, the eagerness to have her close not quite passing unnoticed to her. He extends his arms before fully taking her in his embrace, sighing deeply as he inhales the familiar perfume she would always wear. His favorite. 

“How are you feeling?” [F/N]’s voice grows softer, her arms resting around his lower back as she smiles his way. The silence that follows is enough of an answer, her magician simply distracting himself with playing with the tips of her hair. “...Nervous?”

“...Hah, why it seems nothing really blinks past you. I may have taught you… Too well…” He jests, the smile on his face betraying him before it drops slightly. It reveals some of his vulnerability for her, his violet eyes locking with her own before he speaks up again. “I suppose it’s just some performance jitters again, nothing new...”

“It’s okay Lyney. You’ll do great, I know so.” Her smile shone brighter than the very sun, beaming with warmth that was only cast to him. It comforted his very being, filling his conflicted heart with sugary sweetness that only soothed him in a way no one else could. And if that wasn’t enough, the next few sentences were the ones that would always, always seal the deal for him. “Everything will go well, and everyone will be wowed by your hard work. I’m proud of you.”

It was as though his heart was struck, pierced with cupid’s arrow as he couldn’t keep up the calm and confident act. Lyney’s body visibly relaxed, a content snicker escaping his lips as his arms brought her closer. His lips were quicker than his words, filling her face with brief yet lovely kisses, watching with glee as she giggled as a response. Amidst each kiss he whispered words of gratitude for her support, his hands roaming throughout her lower back as he yearned to feel her closer and closer. 

“Lyney… You didn’t even let me finish!” She laughed, her words being cut off with a deeper kiss as his lips found her own. She could feel his smile against her lips, the magician quite literally stealing her breath away before finally pulling away. 

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. I just can’t contain myself, you’re just too adorable for me to!” He sighed, the flamboyant hum in which he spoke glittering the otherwise full truth she very well knew. “To think a professional magician would be wowed in such a way, you’ll be the death of me…”

“You almost make it sound like I’m such a bad thing.” [F/N] rolled her eyes playfully, her fingers carefully adjusting his hair before inspecting to see if his braid was well done. 

It was in small moments like so that Lyney would cease to speak, allowing his beloved to do as she pleased. His eyes would focus solely on her, watching how her expression would shift, her eyes roaming about to ensure he looked his absolute best. He could feel his heart beating hard against his ribcage, no longer solely because of the nervousness he would feel before each one of his shows. The mere sight of his girlfriend was enough to blow away the growing blaze of anxiety, leaving it only in embers that with time would cease. Her mere care, her mere nature, her beauty inside out… 

It was enough to leave Lyney riddled into little more than a lovesick puppy, the loopy smile upon his pretty face being reserved only for her. 

“Lyney?” [F/N] called for him once more, watching as he finally seemed to come back to. His hands were roaming around her hips, carefully circling around her figure as he finally let out a soft hum for her to continue. “You’re a little too quiet… Everything okay?”

“I’m so lucky to have you, [F/N]...”

It was her turn to be left speechless, her face morphing to surprise as their gazes locked. He watched as the loveliest shade of red adorned her cheeks, the flusteredness he’d often cause on her never failing to amuse him. Still, despite so, he hoped she knew just how sincere he was with his words. 

“Oh Archons… What’s gotten into you?” Her voice whined a little lower, her eyes turning away to avoid him for a mere instance in which her flusteredness was still far too raw. She could feel how his lips chased after her skin, peppering her with light and soft kisses by the corner of her mouth. 

“Nothing.” He responded, his usual flair dropping to soft whispers as he carefully turned her around, helping her have a seat on his vanity. Between fleeting kisses, Lyney took the opportunity to bring himself between her legs, his hands never letting her stray far from himself. “I just wish to remind you more often, because it’s the truth.”

“Well I think it’s the other way around, you know… I’m the one that’s lucky here.” [F/N] smiled softly, her hands finding rest on his shoulders before gently massaging his tense muscles. Her boyfriend leaned back, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle that seemed familiar, one of challenge and mischievousness that would often leave her questioning before finally realizing what he’d plotted. 

“My my, is that so?” He hummed, head tilting to the side while his grip on her tightened ever so slightly. “If that’s the case, how come each time you visit me beforehand, every show I perform runs far better than what I expect?”

“Oh, you’re really running with that?” She giggled, music to his ears. “Only because I kissed you that one time, telling you it would bring you good luck?”

“And did that show not go beyond amazing? In fact, I do believe that was the peak in my career thus far.” He reasoned with a nod to his head, kissing her deeply before resting his forehead against her own. “Therefore, I’m the lucky one here, and you my dear [F/N], are my lucky charm.”

“Oh Lyney…” She sighed softly, stroking her hand through his blond locks slowly. “I didn’t know that tonight my magician was planning to turn me into putty in his hands.”

It was his turn to laugh, quietly, yet full of warmth and endearment. “It’s what you get for stealing this magician’s heart long ago.”

“Ah! I’m gone. Goodbye Fontaine, I am melting from my boyfriend’s words!” [F/N] leaned back dramatically, Lyney catching her before she would fall too far and hit her head against the large mirror of his vanity. The pair laughed in unison, fingers interlacing as he brought her close to himself once more.

“You’ve definitely gotten that dramatic flair from me.” He pointed out, his free hand now resting firmly on her thigh. He watched with hearts in his eyes as she giggled at his comment, shrugging her shoulders before bringing him closer with her legs. 

“I love you.” [F/N] whispered, leaning forward before it being her turn to steal a few kisses for herself. 

It never stopped after that though, one going after the other, kisses lingering longer before them turning into a longer makeout session. The way her lips were always so soft, so warm, the faint taste of her favorite chapstick melting against his own, it never failed to leave Lyney yearning for more, his whole being focusing solely on his lover whilst everything else blurred around them. His tongue carefully peeked through his own lips before swiping across her own, the grin being felt against her mouth as he felt her jolt slightly from the antic. Giving him permission to continue, Lyney carefully led the dance, his tongue meeting her own as they both ignored the need of air, muffled breaths fanning one another as their hands held the other closer, tighter. Before he knew it he was leaning himself forward and her backwards, a little more, his body pressing against her own before they were practically bent with her head touching the mirror behind them. Her legs were pressed against his sides, never letting him stray too far, her hands stroking through his back and hair, sending shivers down his spine as sparks ignited deep within him. 

“L…Lyn-ney…” She murmured between breaths, him finally tilting his head so the two of them could breathe. The way her tongue stuck out of her mouth as she breathed heavily seemed to only entice something further deep within him. “W…What about your show?”

“Worried about that?” He inquired, the clear endearment for her concern being evident in his tone of voice. He leaned closer, voice whispering as he slowly licked the strand of saliva that had dropped down her chin. “We still have time, if that’s what’s troubling you dear.”

“H-Hah…” The words seemed to get stuck on her throat as his hands maneuvered around her frame, carefully parting her legs a little more to give him better access. His fingers quickly grabbed a hold of the hem of her dress, lifting it up slightly before resting his palm on her warm thigh, his lips still remaining close to her own as his very being craved more of her.

“Do you want me to stop?” Lyney softly asked, leaning back as his own breath grew uneven. His face too displayed a lovely shade of pink, his lips redder after the relentless kisses she’d given him. His eyes were glittering with excitement, half-lidded with pure love as he waited for her response. His thumb was caressing her skin softly, the circular motion he did easing her more than arousing her as he searched for her honest answer.

It was embarrassing to admit, but [F/N] absolutely did not want to stop. Her body felt far too hot for her to go back on it now. “I… N-No.”

“Are you certain, dear?” He leaned closer, eyes squinting softly as his breath fanned her face. His hands slithered a little more upwards, giving her goosebumps as they traveled up to her hips. “I don’t want to put you in any situation that might be even a little uncomfortable… I will understand if this is-”

“N-No Lyney, I’m okay.” She nodded her head to reassure him, her hands gripping his clothing tighter as if not wanting him to move an inch away. “I admit, it’s… A bit nerve wracking, given the place but… I still don’t want you to stop.”

He bit his lip, smiling with both excitement and apology. “I’m sorry love, I always seem to get carried away when it’s about you.”

It definitely was the truth, especially given with the way his hands moved around her body. There was always a certain kind of care in each movement, his grip upon her skin tight and loving, as if reassuring himself she was there, with him. Lyney was both selfish and giving when it came to his beloved [F/N], always wanting more for himself, yet always wanting to reassure her she felt properly adored.  

“We’ll have to be-” He kissed her again, followed by another, her lips trying to keep up with his own as he gave her fleeting kisses. “Very quiet- Okay?”

“M-Mhm.” She nodded her head, her face blushing a deeper shade of red as his fingers finally lifted her skirt up. Her own hands helped him hold it up for him, watching him as it finally dawned on her, his figure getting nice and cozy in between her legs before he kneeled down. “L-Lyney?”

The grin he gave her was enough to make her lower region throb. 

“I’m craving a taste of you, baby. Could you please indulge me?” He whispered, his hands parting her legs before resting securely against them. His head turned to her left thigh, leaving a trail of small bites and kisses as he came closer, delighting himself in every reaction she offered him, every gasp and jump, every attempt at caging his head in between her legs. 

“J-Just- Don’t tease me, please.” [F/N] outright pleaded, earning herself an honest nod of his head as his eyes sparkled in anticipation. 

Carefully, her eyes jumped back at the closed door before going back to him, her breath trembling as she breathed out from her parted lips. Whilst one hand held her dress up, the other slowly lowered, helping him to remove the lacey underwear that hid his most wanted prize away. And with a lift of her hips, they were off easily, hanging by her ankle as Lyney’s gaze focused solely on the erotic view before him. His [F/N], holding her dress up for him, sat on his vanity as her chest rose and lowered irregularly, her pussy in full display for him alone. It was enough to get him aroused, the fabric of his own clothes becoming far too constricting as he felt his boner raging to be freed.

His experienced hands crept closer, thumbs slowly hovering her juicy lips before deliciously parting them. He could feel his mouth go dry in an instance, the view of her leaking pussy outright hypnotizing him as she let out a quiet moan. He couldn’t help himself but play around with her pussy lips a little, after all, how could he not? The way her pretty hole would throb in want, leaking out her nectar only for him, dripping down her skin and onto his table, the squelching sounds being nearly enough for him to lose all sense of control. He couldn’t help himself but stare, watch in lust before her soft moans and whines became a little too loud, all the while still arousing him even further.

“Lyney!” She pleaded in a whisper, the pout she offered him sending his heart racing. 

“Yes, you’re right baby… I’m sorry.” He hummed, leaning forth before finally giving her heat a long, slow and deep lick. The vibrations from his hum resonated with her pussy, sending pleasant shockwaves throughout her body as she shut her lips right before moaning. “We’re gonna have to be quieter, love. Can you do that for me?” 

It was difficult to hear him when he was practically squishing his face against her pussy, yet from the mere fact he’d stopped, [F/N] had been able to deduct what he wanted from her quickly enough. She nodded her head eagerly, blushing even deeper as she bit her lip.

“Mhm… ‘M sorry…”

It truly divided Lyney’s heart in two, for he absolutely adored hearing every sound [F/N] would bless him with. Her voice already was pure melody for his ears, all the more when she would be moaning due to his administrations. However, the pure excitement of their ordeal, having a chance of being caught, it was enough to keep him going, to entice him to lick more, to lap around her clit again, to suckle on it whilst plunging one of his fingers deep inside. The way his beloved would instead jolt more often, writhe above him, attempt to suffocate him as her legs tried to close around him, all to not be as vocal, it all had him entranced. 

"You taste so good…" He groaned against her folds, his tongue practically spelling out his love for her as he ate her out with such passion. The groans and sighs that would escape him would only please her further, sending [F/N] closer and closer to her own release as she practically bit down her tongue to quiet out her own moans. Lyney simply couldn't have enough of her taste, lapping every last drop to his greedy tongue as he yearned for more, fingering and licking it out of her as he could feel her gummy walls throb against his fingers. "You're so wet, too… So dirty, my angel."

"L-Lyney…" She mumbled, her erotic whine finally pulling him out of his trance to look her way. By that point she'd already held her fingers around his hair, him not even noticing up until that very moment. 

His light eyes glanced up, for a moment the magician forgetting how to even breathe. It felt as though the wind was knocked out of him, staring up to see his beloved gazing down at him with such a needy look. Her cheeks were flushed, the thin layer of sweat visible on her forehead as her grip on his hair tightened softly. Her teeth were by that point gritting tightly against the hem of her dress, it being her faint attempt at keeping her noises down to a minimum as he ate her out to his heart's content. The view was dirty, marvelous. The dress was lifted to such a way he could now see part of her tummy as well, her body lined with sweat as it reacted to every little touch he gave her. 

It drove Lyney over the edge. He couldn't wait any longer. The breath finally left his mouth in a shaky notion, her thighs shaking like jello as it hit her bare pussy before he got up. 

"Gods, you're so gorgeous [F/N]." He outright moaned, his fingers carefully taking the fabric out of her mouth. He watched how she heaved deeply, her lips tempting him to latch onto them. And who was he to refuse, but a poor magician whose heart had been stolen by the woman before him?

He leaned in quickly, capturing her lips against his own as they both moaned against one another. Their hands couldn't let go of the other, fiddling with their clothes as they attempted to find the best position to finally get what they both wanted. [F/N] leaned herself to the edge of the table, her legs still apart for him as her fingers now fiddled with his belt, unbuckling it before finally freeing him of his leather shorts. Lyney could feel his cock throbbing already, eager to finally plunge inside of her spongy walls and ease the yearning he so deeply felt. He groaned against her lips as she finally freed his hard length, pumping it for him slowly as it was now her turn to suck on his tongue with her own lips. 

"I need you, Lyney…" [F/N] moaned, helping him to part her legs further as he kept his face closer to her own. 

"I know, baby, I know. It's only fair I indulge you after you've treated me so well, right?" He hummed with a smile, all the while his face indicating just how excited he was. 

He grunted quietly as he carefully rubbed his cock against her leaking folds, the two of them attempting to quiet their moans down to the best of their abilities. [F/N] could feel how the particularly protruding vein on the side of his cock rubbed against her pussy, sending tears to the corners of her eyes as she felt herself closer and closer to her release after being so well tended to by her lover. Lyney in turn kissed her tears away, his lips never leaving her face as he practically gulped down her moans to himself. After coating both her pussy with his pre and his cock with her bountiful juices he stopped, lining himself with her entrance before, with a glance shared, he carefully thrusted himself inside.

His hands gripped onto her knees, his lips shutting themselves tightly so as to not moan out as he often would. The way his eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to not voice much of the obvious pleasure he was feeling was a delightful view, [F/N]'s face blushing madly as she brought him closer. Her arms wrapped around him tightly as she hid her face against his neck, her lips pressing against his skin as she quietly whimpered in pleasure. 

"Ah, Lyney!" She moaned quietly, her nails digging into his shoulders as his own sighs of pleasure hit her ear. 

"You're so tight, baby-" He in turn hissed gently, feeling how her spongy walls swallowed him whole as he finally bottomed out. His own hands were gripping harshly against her skin, the two of them sharing moans between one another even as his tip hit her deepest part. "Fuck, you're so wet. It feels so good."

"Please Lyney, give me more…" [F/N] pleaded to him, her eyes wide and glistening with pleasure as she leaned back for an instance. At that point she was once more leaning back against the rest of his vanity, granting him access to pound as deeply as his heart desired. The mere sight of her in such a way was enough for him to derail. 

"Archons, anything for you [F/N]." The magician grunted, his hands leaving her knees as his lips latched onto her own. 

By her own she was able to open her legs as widely as possible, the hem of her dress covering everything from the mid-thigh up as her hands were far too busy around his body. They wrapped around him tightly, effectively caging Lyney in between her much to his contentment. His own hands were busy holding her as close as possible, resting on her hips securely as to not knock her or anything else out, the items on his furniture tumbling slightly with every thrust he pounded into her needy core. With each time he bottomed out Lyney reached deeper, the tip of his cock effectively kissing her cervix as he molded her walls to his shape. He drank her every moan as if he worshiped all sounds she offered, his lips sucking on her tongue in such a lewd manner that he couldn't help but grin over how she squeezed him harder over it. 

"Hyaahhhh, Hinhey…" [F/N] attempted to moan his name out, her puffy lips parted as his own toyed with her tongue to his pleasure. 

He could feel the way she was milking him dry, her juices thoroughly coating his cock generously as her pussy practically praised and outright worshiped him. Her walls throbbed deliriously, sending him closer and closer to his edge as he fucked her through what he very well knew was her approaching orgasm. 

"Is my baby- Close?" He leaned back to speak, humming quietly while licking his own lips eagerly. He watched as she nodded her head quickly, her fingers combing through his hair slowly, deeply. Just how he loved it. "Here, cum for me will you? You can take me like this as you do, right baby?"

[F/N] bit her lip, nodding her head again. She watched how one of his hands left her hips, holding it up for her to take it. His girlfriend took it without thinking twice, their fingers lacing together before Lyney held them against his mirror, his pace quickening up. Once more he glued his lips to hers, never quite truly satisfied with her kisses just as much as he never quite got enough of her pussy. Her breath against him grew ragged, her moans growing ever louder, all while trying to suppress them in what he could only find the cutest whines. He bent her more, held her tighter, he pounded deeper into her. He could feel her moans vibrate against his mouth before she finally gasped, a high pitched sob being all she could muster before her inner walls violently spasmed around him, creaming his cock bountifully as she rode her high. Even still, just as he'd asked her to, Lyney continued to thrust, still as deeply albeit slower, letting her savor her release just as he quickly followed with his closing one. 

"Gyah, L-Lyney-!" [F/N] moaned against him, he in turn shushed her in understanding. "Mmm, t-to much!"

"I'm so close baby, so close…" He whispered, his thrusts a little less rhythmic as he tried to focus. His eyes opened to gaze deeply into hers, the sight of her red cheeks and unfocused eyes only edging him further deep into the abyss of pleasure. "Can you please take it just a little more? Just like this…”

“Mhm…” She eagerly nodded her head, the tears of overstimulation streaming down her face sending a long shiver down his spine. His free hand came to rest upon the side of her face, thumb clearing the tears away as his grip on her other hand tightened. “I-Inside, please.”

He bit his tongue gently as he smiled, nodding his head before pulling her head closer for a deep kiss. “Anything for my lovely lady.”

Against him she moaned, him in unison as he felt the knot deep inside himself finally snap. Lyney felt his eyes shut, a deep low grunt leaving his throat before he finally felt his release wash over him. He thrusted deeper still, his pace finally slowing down as thick ropes of seed flooded over [F/N]’s inner walls. Her womb was eager to receive the abundant load, being painted white from inside out as it overflowed whilst he still remained sheathed inside. Whilst their fingers were still locked she brought him closer, holding him tightly as her body shivered with the overstimulation. Lyney could feel his breath finally begin to slow down, a few final slow thrusts of his hips following as he moaned quietly, ensuring he was milked for all he was worth. He held his [F/N] close, as close as possible, their bodies finally relaxing as they rested atop his vanity, her body welcoming him closer as his seed leaked down and dropped onto the ground.

Even as she still regulated her breath, lips puffy and red and mascara slightly smudged from the sweat and tears, Lyney lunged forward, capturing her lips for the millionth time. Never satiated, like the greedy man he was at heart, he smiled against her as he enveloped her closer, relishing a moment longer. The silence that followed felt comforting, the two of them sighing in bliss as he felt her arms around his figure. 

“Sorry… It must’ve been uncomfortable to sit like that, on such a surface.” He stated, eyebrows furrowing softly as his thumbs cleared her smudged makeup as much as he could. Lyney dared not move, still not even wanting to pull out. It wasn’t as though he could anyway, for the way [F/N]’s legs captured him definitely sent a message for him to stay a little longer.

“Mhm, it’s fine… I enjoyed it all the same.” She smiled sheepishly, relishing in his soft touches as she in turn rearranged his side swept bangs. 

“I’m glad.” He sighed in relief, the pair too engrossed into one another to even notice how some bottles had tumbled over amidst their frolicking. “Still, next time I’ll be sure to make up for it, for all of it.”

“Lyney, truly it’s fine!” [F/N] laughed softly, finally opening her legs for him to move more freely. She watched in amusement how her boyfriend coughed softly upon noticing how heavy she leaked, rummaging through the room to find a towel he could dampen to help clean up. “Sorry… We might’ve taken too long, no?”

“Hey, if anything it’s my fault… It’s what I get for being so greedy.” He reassured her with a sincere smile, carefully helping her to clean up before dressing her back up. [F/N] watched as he fanned his face with his hand, the blush on his face still evident as she helped him dress up as well, a snicker escaping her pretty lips at the sight. 

“Well… I still… Very much enjoyed it.” [F/N] reiterated, her voice low as she helped him button up his undershirt. His smile was difficult to ignore, especially so as she helped him retrace the tear he would always paint on his right cheek. 

“...I did, too.” He pulled her closer by the waist, smiling in a devilish, albeit inoffensive manner. He pulled her closer, stealing a deeper kiss as he relished on the taste of her lips, hoping to steal some of her chapstick for himself so he could taste it all throughout his performance. As he pulled away, he whispered quietly to her, fingers playing with the end of her hair. “...Maybe next time we do this, I can have you turned to my mirror. The faces you make are simply delicious, my dear.”

The way [F/N]’s face turned to utter surprise was enough of a reaction, the magician following with a sneaky laugh as he pinched her behind as the cherry on top. In turn, his girlfriend gently slapped his arm, huffing as her cheeks turned bright red, his laughter becoming louder as a result.

“Lyney!” She groaned, nearly turning around from him in embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry baby! Mostly.” He chuckled, embracing her before kissing her cheek with the usual level of endearment that was solely reserved for her. 

“Hmph…” She pouted, though both knew it wasn’t something to last long. “...Good luck on your show, honey.”

“After this? It’ll be the best show yet…” He in turn whispered, his forehead resting against her head as they quieted down. “I’ll see you after?”

“I’ll be waiting here.” [F/N] smiled softly, them embracing one another before finally deciding to part.

Well, Lyney had always been energetic in his performances, yet there seemed to be an improvement on that particular one. True to his word, that performance definitely did do amazingly well, becoming the talk of the following weeks.

All thanks to his lucky charm.

[azen13]

Your thoughts about yandere zhongli but in the au where you are the archon are tasty.... unfortunately, I don't think Zhongli will keep your Gnosis because it would be reneging on a contact and he is Contracts. But imagine... what if you sealed Morax away, and he (much like Azhdaha in canon) managed to split off a small part of himself to exist as a human, "Zhongli" the funeral parlour consultant? Your most devout worshipper.... until he frees your old enemy and friend, Morax. ♡

anon ur so real for this. i 100% agree zhongli wouldn't keep ur gnosis bc. god of contracts. the part about splitting off a small part of himself??? u truly ate. anyways here's a little drabble based on that idea! i had to rewrite it bc my laptop died and i lost my progress sobs

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Implied Stalking

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Every prayer made in your name is like a melody. They float across Teyvat, weaving together in a resonant unceasing chorus. From a young child wishing for protection for her father, to an old man begging for more time with his wife.

But beneath all the moving lines, beneath all the trills and mordents, is a peculiar prayer. A low, droning hum, one that seems to have gone on for centuries. When you listen to other prayers, you can glean out what it is saying. But while this one speaks in a language you know, it utters words you cannot understand. No matter how many sleepless nights you spend trying to decode its desires, they remain incomprehensible.

All that you know is that the person speaking it is deeply, utterly in love.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

You hear it one day when you walk through the streets of Liyue, masquerading amongst mortals to understand their troubles. The sun has barely risen, its first rays turning the eaves of homes a warm amber color as you walk through Chihu rock.

Then you hear it. That low, rumbling tone, like an earthquake. It's coming from all around you, but you can't see anyone in front of you, so you spin around.

All you see is a man dressed in fine clothing, a slightly confused expression plastered on his face. Harmless. Unassuming. Even still, you cannot help but think that he looks strikingly like Morax.

"My apologies, I thought I heard something." You offer a kind smile, ready to turn away quickly, but the stranger steps forward.

"You are quite alright. It is quite early in the morning, so some exercise must be cautioned," he says, Cor Lapis colored eyes gazing at you intently. He even sounds exactly like Morax. His voice almost brings you to tears, but you sidestep your sorrows. "Perhaps we could walk together if you are concerned about danger?" The stranger asks.

You shake your head. "Thank you, but I would hate to impose on your time," you say. For some reason, the stranger's face tightens, almost imperceptibly so, but you see it in the slight frown of his lips, the narrowing of his eyes.

"I assure you," the man says, taking another step towards you, "I have no plans this morning." His words have an almost godlike authority to them, though you quickly brush aside that thought. You sense no such power from this man.

Taking another step back, you look into his eyes, as beautiful as polished amber, and stand firm. "I insist, I'm alright," you say, faking levity.

There is a moment of silence before the stranger lets out a soft sigh. "So be it," he says, pausing for a moment. "At the very least, may I know your name?"

By this point, you already want to leave. This man, human or not, is simply off-putting by how similar he is to Morax, in appearance, in voice, even in mannerisms. Still, you manage to stay smiling. "I'm Y/N," you say, offering your hand.

The stranger grasps your hand quickly in an almost vice-like grip. "I go by Zhongli," the man responds. He holds onto your hand for just a millisecond too long, but you don't pay it much mind. Letting go, Zhongli gives you a slight, almost unnoticeable smile. "I sincerely hope we meet again, Mx. Y/N," he says, turning around and casually walking away.

Something tells you that you will, in fact, meet him again.

[moonselune]

Hey! I see some players think that Astarion changes in his tone when Wyll declares himself a duke (our bat boy loves power so much hahah). So, can you write about what would happen if Astarion found out that his beloved fem Tav is a rich aristocrat? 🤭 Have a good day! xx

Ahahahaha I had so much fun writing this and I hope you have a wonderful day !

Astarion x F!reader | Nobility

You and your companions finally reached Rivington, the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, after a long and arduous journey. The bustling village streets were alive with activity, but something unusual caught your attention. There, waiting in the town square, was a gilded carriage adorned with the insignia of a prestigious noble house. The horses, meticulously groomed, stood proudly, and the liveried footmen were perfectly polished, ready to serve.

Astarion's eyes widened as he took in the sight, a mixture of confusion and amazement crossing his features. "Darling," he began, turning to you, his tone incredulous. "What on earth is this?"

You took a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable reaction. "That," you said, gesturing to the opulent carriage, "is my family's carriage. I believe I have been summoned to Lord Gortash's coronation."

Astarion blinked, clearly flummoxed. "Your family's carriage? And who exactly is your family?"

"I'm an aristocrat, Astarion, a Lady to be more precise" you admitted, looking at him with a mixture of guilt and determination. "I didn't think it mattered."

"Didn’t think it mattered?" he echoes, incredulous. "You’re an aristocrat, and you didn’t think it mattered?"

Lae'zel and Karlach, standing nearby, exchange amused glances. Karlach's hearty laugh breaks the tension. "Guess you’re not the only one with secrets, fangs."

Astarion ignores her comment, his attention solely on you. "You do realize you’ve deprived me of the joy of knowing I was courting a lady of wealth and status?"

You chuckle, shaking your head. You walked towards the carriage, talking quietly to one of the footmen. Astarion relaxed, believing that at least now he would be able to enjoy some luxury on this forsaken journey. But then he sees you shake your head and begin to lightly argue with the footman. You then abruptly turn away from them and walk back to the group.

"I have told the carriage to go, we will continue on foot." You announced to the group and Lae'zel and Karlach nodded happily, eyes fixed on the vampire who seemed to pale more than they thought was possible.

"You… you’re refusing the carriage? Are you out of your mind?" Astarion’s jaw drops in disbelief. He turns to Lae'zel and Karlach, seeking their support. "Am I going crazy, or is this utterly absurd?"

Karlach shrugs, grinning. "Personally, I prefer roughing it. Keeps things interesting."

Lae'zel nods, "Luxury breeds softness. Hardship breeds strength."

Astarion still looks at you outraged, demanding an answer for your ridiculous behaviour, and you sigh, "I don't like showing off my wealth. It draws unnecessary attention and separates me from the people we're trying to help."

"You don't like showing off your wealth?" He gestured dramatically to the gilded carriage, that was still lingering in case you had changed your mind. Though Astarion now looked like he was about to lose his. "Do you know how many people would kill for the chance to ride in something like this?"

Before you could even respond, Astarion started towards the carriage with fervour. "Well, if you won't show it off, I will! Imagine the envy we'll inspire! The-"

You quickly grabbed his arm, yanking him back. "-Astarion, no."

He huffed, clearly frustrated, and crossed his arms, sitting down on a nearby rock, like an upset child, grumbling to himself. "I can't wait to tell Shadowheart about this. She'll have a field day."

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the situation, you crouched down to his level, holding his hands as he pouted. "Astarion, I understand you're upset, but this doesn't change anything between us. I'm still the same person you fell in love with."

Astarion sighed, his anger giving way to exasperation. "Fine, fine. But I reserve the right to be upset about this for a while."

You chuckled, cupping his face with your hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Fair enough."

Karlach watched the exchange with amusement, however, Lae'zel looked upon it with impatience. "Are we done with the theatrics? We have more important matters to attend to."

"Yes we are," You smile and stand up, pulling a begrudging Astarion up with you, "lead the way!"

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: idia shroud celebrates your birthday!!

COMMENTS: a birthday present for @twstchatterbox the MOON to my SUN the DYNAMIC to my DUO the BLACK CAT to my GOLDEN RETRIEVER!!!! i love you lots and lots i am so glad we are friends i am squeezing you so tight from the other side of the world.

i wanted to keep this a surprise and i HOPE I SURPRISED YOU i hope you didnt see this coming sjdjdsjdj you have given me so many gifts from your doodles of me to your doodles of US to all the interests you've shared with me to looking out for me all this time AND EVEN STAYING UP LATE TO TALK TO ME?? I AM SO SORRY FOR YOUR SLEEP SCHEDULE

i hope you have the best birthday ever you deserve so much so take this awkward gamer boy. you know your lore. i know your lore. i tried to incorporate it and im sure only you will understand it but thats the point isnt it?

THIS IS GOING ON TOO LONG. I SHOULD HAVE MADE THIS A SEPARATE POST. ANYWAYS. GO READ IT I LOVE YOU

You cross your arms over your chest, amused as the blue package floats silently over to you. It stops right in front of you and a flickering screen loads from a small projector propped on the top of the box.

accept quest?

yes. no.

It’s ridiculous of him to put a no option. You press the yes option and a cheerful jingle rings from the speakers as the package drops at your feet. Bending over, you scoop it into your arms, a delicate smile on your face. You can feel quite a few gazes on your back but you opt to ignore them, walking out of your dorm and towards the source of your gift.

Ever since the events of winter break, you’d become far more accustomed to the halls of Ignihyde. The students seem to have grown more accustomed to you in turn, although some still scamper away from you.

There was only so much that could be done, you think. Besides, your presence here was not because of them. You were here for their Housewarden.

As you reached his door, you wasted no time reaching out to knock. Each tap of your knuckles against his door was crisp and loud, just in case he was wearing his headphones. The corners of your lips lift into a smile as you hear him shuffling around, no doubt checking up on his room to make sure it’s just the normal amount of messy but not too messy lest you get suspicious that he’s a slob or that he cleaned just for you.

You already know he did, though.

“Are you going to keep me waiting?” you call out teasingly, tapping your foot on the polished floors.

The door creaks open slowly, and the soft pink glow of Idia's hair lights up his face. Your heart takes a tumble in your chest.

“Hi.” you breathe, “I wanted to open your gift with you.”

Idia squeaks and opens the door to let you inside, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Um, okay. Thanks.” he says, mumbling each word as if he isn’t sure what he’s saying at all, “You, uh, didn’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.” you refute, and you both understand what would have come after that.

So let me do this.

“Okay.” he jams his hands into his pocket and shrugs, always so awkward around you but so obvious, “I hope you like it.”

“I’ll love it.” you reassure him.

After all, a heart as kind as Idia Shroud’s wouldn’t pick anything but the best.

[dia-oro]

Imagine referring to The Chain as your 'wifes'

And they would carry proud that tittle! You all just have to do is love them and be there for them in their moments that old ghost visit their minds, because what better than be love by someone that will stay in the down as in their up? time was raise by the forest spirit child’s, do you think this man know what the difference from wife to husband? He will take it at stride being your dear wife and your rock to stay ground when you feel like falling apart by just the most gentle breezed. Also he come with a bonus, because how no to love malon? She now call you both her precious wife’s. (And you been your knees at malon supremacy) if wars try to correct you just put ‘male’ in from of the wife and he done for, he will even Pratt that he your male wife, heck he will be competitive with sky and twilight for seeing how more male wife material of the three of them (only if poly chain) of no well, he still will talk about you to every-fucking-one even with the help of wind he will have photos of you and will show it at times and call himself a lucky man (sorry Lana, the best person win him) and Zelda and impa are just ‘good for him’ aplaude his dedication, now wars attention to the conference!. blame wars that now he ‘male wife’ but for you twilight will just smile and let you call him wifey, just let the wifey one for private moments between the two of you. Need a hug but can’t say it? Your wife twilight will be at your side as wolfy confronting in silence you as you always did in the twilight hours.

legend, legend legend… he will snark, he will give these roll of eyes like is his job, but the moment he think somebody is messing with you? Someone made you cry? Hurt you feelings? He will proclaim very loudly that he your wife and that whoever did make you even let a little tear will know these boots are no only to got faster, they kick ass good to.

I hope you know that sky just like time come with a bonus, what does is feel that when you say it the first think he did is write Zelda because finally happened! You admit you’re theirs (well, you call him wifey! That counts right?) because he have been talking to his girl very serious of these feeling at Zelda at the moment she see you she know you’re their, call it Hylia, destiny or just you’re so special to her and to her beloved that must be that you’re make for them! Congrats, your human blood is probably still in some hero’s and they survive so much shite because of it, don’t think to deep of it or that some Zelda’s did have your blood no only the goddess in their body. four… if you see him freeze for like 15 minutes is like no because you did wrong but because the colors are going rampant, blue never will admit it but he very fluttered by it, vio may say ‘but I’m a man’ but do you think he really mind?? You better be prepare for him planing the pretties ring just for you, green is trying to control red, red is gone gone like for a fucking second you can be sure they lost him, but now he okay and planning the wedding even he was trying to convince vio and blue of they using a dress for making it the whole wife thing more official. do you understand you just call a Fae your wife right? Half or not, you’re now spouses in his mind, there’s no going back so live a happy ever after with your man, now you have in all Eras many sisters in law, he will try his best to make his world the best for you, he will there to help his Zelda to make the world you live and breathe one that one day world living.

My dear, wild, well, wild is doing a flip in the air giving twilight a heart attack right now, do you think he even know what gender mean? Do you see some of the clothes he use?? All he know is now he your wife and will make sure no blood moon , nail polish or even ganon follower ruined your day, he wild take you to ride his best Horse, present you to the lord of the mountain, give you his best food to make, best piece, you’re now his dear spouse in his mind, now yes he didn’t even remember how someone marry so he pretty sure you just call your beloved either ‘husband’ or ‘wife’ and done, you can’t unmake this dear.

[writertothemaximum]

Pairing: Yuuji x ftm Reader

Genre: Fluffy established relationship headcanons, I promise they are super cute, but please read the tags

Tags: NSFW/18+, dom reader, sub Yuuji, both top and bottom, female anatomy mentioned (clit, pussy, etc.), bondage mention, slapping mention

-You are definitely the sun of Yuuji's world. It doesn't matter if you're upset, it doesn't matter if you're in a bad mood--He sees you and he feels this overwhelming sense of love.

-Yuuji loves cuddling. He's a cuddle monster, you could say. Whenever the two of you get in any private space together, his furnace body is strapped around you cutely, his strong arms holding you like somehow you're going to leave.

-How could you say no to him? How could you say no to that face that looks like you make up his world? Again and again you reassure him that you're not leaving, that he's completely capable of taking care of himself, and Yuuji worries about being clingy, but he never sees how hard he's being on himself. He never sees how much you care about him back.

-He loves getting you gifts. And not expensive things. All small little trinkets--Souvenirs from places he's visited, things that remind him of you. Shells from the beach, a polished rock from the side of a mountain. He's always thinking of you.

-In bed, Yuuji always leaves things to you. It's better when you don't have to make decisions, right? Huh? You don't think so? Yuuji doesn't really get it, he's more than happy to lie there while you rub his back, while you explore his body, massaging his sore muscles slowly.

-He doesn't tell you this directly, but Yuuji loves when you're rough with him. He loves when you pin his arms down and he can't get up. He loves when you tie him against the bed and he feels trapped, helpless. You're here. There's nothing to worry about.

-Yuuji loves sucking you off. He could lie between your knees for hours, making gentle suction with his lips against your clit, against your cock, whatever it means you're going to fuck him with. It's like he's worshiping you, making sure that you know each centimeter of your body is cherished, loved.

-The sounds he makes when he laps you up get you so wet. He's so cute, you could pick him up and eat him, and the worst part is that he would let you. You could slap his face and he would moan.

-Better yet, he has the stamina to go as many rounds as you want, but edge him, and he'll be pleading for days. It'll be absolutely adorable, why don't you give it a shot?

[maybeelse]

The surgeon is sprawled out on her living room couch when you arrive, flipping through screen after screen of beautiful people on her ancient phone. One of her housemates answered the door and let you inside, their too-perfect smile drying into a polished mask as they realized why you were there. The last words they said to you before they fled were a quiet "good luck."

She's really not much to look at. Chubby and long-limbed, with oily shoulder-length hair. You can see her split ends from the doorway; it's obvious that she's never bothered to put proper care into them. Her clothes show a similar lack of effort, just loose grey sweatpants and a tank-top that barely contains her breasts.

The only part of her that's really noticeable—the part that catches your eyes and makes you hesitate at the enormity of what's about to happen—is the smooth plastic casings covering the ends of segment of her limbs, and the strangely spiky balls connecting them. The hum as she stretches, the faint whir as her fingers swipe left on another profile, a faint frown dancing across her lips—it's almost too much. The house is so quiet.

She yawns and shifts, glances up; sees you watching her.

"Yeah? Who're you?"

"Oh! I'm sorry, I'm, uh, Alex? We talked online?"

"Oh yeah. Was wondering when you'd get here," she shifts from lounging to standing in a way that would dislocate half your limbs if you tried to mimic her, "if you'd wuss out."

"… does that happen a lot?"

"Eighty-twenty. Lots of people online talk big but can't back it up, y'know? Hah," there's something sharp and brittle in her laugh, "sometimes people try to back out when I've already got them on the table. Can't deal with the reality of it. Weak."

"I … I see."

"So. You ready, Alex," she scowls, "or are you just here to gawk at the freak?"

She punctuates the question by rotating one of her hands around, wrist grinding as it completes the full 360-degrees. You're staring, gawking, but you can't help it; it's not like your sleepy little town has many—any?—other augs. They cluster in the cities, in the old world's radioactive junkyards, in the places where baseline biology isn't enough. It was astonishing to find one so near, much less a trained surgeon—her lips are tilting into a frown. She must think you're just a fetishist, a chaser, unworthy—

"No!" you practically shout, "I mean, uh. I'm ready! I'm ready."

"Yeah? Fine. Keep up."

The house looked normal from the outside, just another of the mass-produced mid-western two-story single-family trash-piles with attached two-car garage and optional backyard deck that the Kessler Belt's half-mad corporate agents carpet-bombs across the plains at irregular intervals. A GMO-turf lawn midway through being colonized by herbicide-resistant native plants, sprinkled with the telltale signs of the southwestern swarm's outriders; gnawed leaves, bright-carapaced aphids, and piles of plump rock plants marking the exact point beyond which baseline humans could expect fucking around to lead to finding out.

In short: it was a house like any other.

The illusion fails as you follow the surgeon deeper into her home, beyond the living room's pastel-patterned walls and focus-tested furniture. The interior layout had already struck you as a bit odd—the walls weren't in quite the right places, there shouldn't have been a step three feet inside the front door—but perhaps that could be explained away. Minor variations are normal.

The thick bulkheads and stained metal walls are not minor variations. Nor is the cavernous staircase plunging down where the ground floor restroom should be. A grinding scream echoes up as she leads you past it into what could almost masquerade as a normal garage, if not for the thick plastic sheets draped along its shelves and shrouding its ceiling or the polished metal table standing proudly beneath the garage's single light.

You can't tell what color the stains on the concrete floor are. Could be dark oil, could be dried blood. It's hard to ignore them.

"Here we are. Up on the table, Alex."

"Uh. Aren't there restraints, or, uh. Something? This is a bit …"

"Nah. First thing I'm gonna do is stick an AP filter in your neck." She grabs your neck, twists it; you gasp. "C5-C6 gap, probably, doesn't look like you've got anything weird going on. You don't, do you?" A pointed question. You can't shift your head, can't look her in the eye.

"N-no! My parents wouldn't," she releases you, waits while you rub your neck, "they're hardcore naturalists. Like, most people are, here? But they're …"

"That so? And here you are," she says, a hint of hunger tinting her words, "asking me to ruin daddy's perfect little all-natural—"

"Y-yeah."

"And then, what, you're going to run away?"

"Yeah. I have bus tickets," you pat your pocket, checking that they're still there, safe in your wallet, "for tomorrow. I just. Don't want to arrive with nothing, you know?"

She laughs, abruptly, startling even herself. "Oh, they're just going to eat you up, you know that, Alex?"

"W-what do you—"

"Don't worry about it. Just get on the fucking table already. Oh yeah," she grins, "you should strip first. Don't feel like cutting the clothes off you."

She doesn't seem particularly interested in watching you strip, at least, just leans against the wall and flips through her phone. Doesn't look away, doesn't stare at you, just lets you get on with it. She's being professional, you suppose, and even if she's not kind it's still better than high school locker-rooms. Anything would be better than that.

You still blush.

You're not sure where to put your hands, when you're done. Part of you wants to try to cover yourself up, to hide yourself, to hunch down and keep her from seeing, but … well, she'll see soon enough.

The table is unpleasantly cold under your ass, and you let out an involuntary squeak at the sensation. No doctors-office padding here, no disposable paper covers, just hard, cold, metal. She glances up at the noise, finally taking an interest again.

"Ah? Oh, right …" Her eyes sweep over your body, and you ball your hands in your lap, trying to keep her from seeing. "Well. I've worked with worse."

"I-I'm sorry, I, uh …"

"Don't worry about it, yeah? S'just raw material, who gives a fuck. Anyway," her joints grind as she starts to move, making her steps unpleasantly jerky, "let's get started. Give me a second …"

You flinch away as she pulls your arms away from your crotch, not understanding, but she's strong enough that your resistance hardly matters. Your arms positioned, she wraps her own arms around you. It's a strangely tender motion, but perhaps that's just because it's been so long since someone last touched you; certainly there is nothing except impersonal focus on her face.

"There will be a slight pinch," she says, and then, with a noise like shears closing on meat and bone, a noise that is exactly what it sounds like, there is pain.

You can't feel your body.

You're lying on your back on what must be the same table you were on a moment ago, before you passed out, and you can't feel your body.

The light above is shining directly in your eyes, and your entire head is tingling, and there's still a horrible pain in the middle of your neck, and you can't feel anything below it. There's a sharp smell in the air, and the sound of dripping, and—that's piss. You pissed yourself. Good thing you're naked, huh?

Thinking about that doesn't help with the pain.

Somewhere in the room, outside the narrow scope of your vision, you hear the surgeon tapping on her phone. Dialing a number. Waiting while it rings …

"Hey, hoss. Yeah, just started. Wanted to check the order priorities before I—yeah, I'll send you a picture." The click of a camera's shutter, exactly the same as your own phone made, back when you still dared to use it. "Mhmm, yeah. They breed them strong out here. … yeah. Yeah. I'll see—", a burst of static as the call ends, "—well fuck me for wanting to say goodbye."

The surgeon's feet click against the ground. She leans into your vision, eyes bright and eager, head limned against the light. "Guess what, Alex? You're going to be an assault drone."

[ganondoodle]

totk is like a highly polished alpha build of a game to me

graphic- fantastic, i just love botws style of graphics, its the perfect blend of something more realistic but very stylized and timeless

visual design- great, i cant stand anything sonau (zonai), and ganondorfs concept art is better than final (and still involves lots of annyoing stereotypes) but overall still pretty solid

sound design- phenomenal, it really is, the underground, the rain on the parasail? unmatched, already loved botw but they really outdid themselves here

music- possibly best in the series to me, like ... theres so many fantastic tracks, in isolation i love so many of them so much ... which sucks bc being connected to such a lackluster rest sours them badly

mechanics- working but undercooked/unfit for the world, its impressive they got ultrahand working at all, but its still clunky/quickly frustrating and badly balanced also contributes to utterly destroying botws world design- this ability was simply not made for this world and is in the end both detrimental to it and itself, bc that mechanic could have truly shined in a game REALLY build around it (... if they could manage to balance it well and stop handing you the solution, it would be funyn if it werent so sad how many times the game literally doesnt even make you engage with its main gimmick bc it just hands you the prebuild thing) time reversal breaks every puzzle/challenge, also unbalanced, ceiling jump is the most harmless but i still think it lets you skip too much

writing- worst in the series, where would i even start with that, not a single character is written well/interestingly, most detrimentally the main characters, .. like all of them, zelda, ganondorf, rauru... and the "story", its barely even bare bones, its plain cardboard with an old divine right propaganda slogan written on, continuity in a direct sequel is non existant, there is no follow up on anything, why did they call it that when they dont seem to have any love for anything botw did given how much they trample over everything it established, i struggle to believe they actually thought this was good, theres has to have been trouble during development

world design/changes- a joke, ... i dont know how people dont feel scammed by how little was actually changed, no, a few rocks sprinkled througout are not meaningful changes, i was one of the people not worried about them reusing the world bc i loved this world and was sure theyd meaningfully change it- god how wrong i was; the sky and underground are both like the bare bones with textures and placeholder rewards/points of interest, they both do not matter at all and their potential is yet again utterly, painfully, wasted and only add more points of destruction to the map in case of the sky, and both add confusion about everything, not the good kind of intriguing confusion, the bad nothing makes sense confusion it really does seem like they put some quick changes into every main point of interest where most players would go to make them think they changed things when .. they only changed these parts, barely, either bc they knew everyone would skip around the world anyway so it wouldnt be worth it, or bc its ... unfinished

game design/structure- baffling (bad), connected to the point above, but it truly is beyond me why they repeated the exact same structure as botw while removing what made that work, why would you repeat every point of interest of the previous game, i know zelda games always have their regions and thats where stuff happens, but they REUSED THE SAME WORLD, you CANNOT repeat the exact same points in the same world, you just cant, its the same places, the same characters, the same structure (aka dungeons being less interesting/easier titans (divine beasts) with a paint job in structure), you basically erase the well integrated ancient tech civilization to replace it with another, not well integrated, more boring and overly pushed into your face, ancient tech civilization and make them the answer to everything that ever was (BORING), the same story structure (but worse, like the memory system but remove what made it work in botw)- AND THEN repeat the same points in the underground too? thats bonkers, literally baby bananas

dungeons/puzzles - worse than botw by FAR, as mentioned above, dungeons are less interesting titans with a paintjob (plus an extraordinarily awful cutscene, which is repeated like FIVE TIMES almost word for word), they serve no purpose but to act like they are totally real traditional dungeons when they are not, they are laughing at you, shrines are back with a paintjob with less interesting puzzles (if they even have one given how many just give you a spirit orb knock off) that can all be skipped, though the puzzles can often not even be called that (put log over gap WOOOAH puzzle) among many awful and unecessary tutorial ones (its not bad to have easy ones, but aside from the few ones that take all your stuff away -omg restrictions in MY freedom tm game??- which are the best ones, to have none be even a little challenging or not utterly skippable without even using glitches, its like they didnt even try to stop you from cheating, which is like being given a skip button with no strigns attached, doesnt even let you feel smart bc you dont have to try to cheat)

UI/controls- awful, you cant tell me this was tested by real people playing for longer than 10 minutes at once, how did the ghosty sage control scheme and arrow/weapon fusing get through this, HOW, its unbelievably tedious and detrimental to any fun (as im doing with my rewrite, a crafting system would have been so good here ..... like a proper simple crafting system, have the materials, craft your new arrow types in stacks etc) the ghost sages are not only utterly useless in combat, but clog your screen, play distracting animations as soon as you look at a slope, you constantly accidentally activate them or the wrong one bc its mapped to the main interact button!!! if you use them say goodbye to your framerate, fights are now spent chasing after some ghost guy whos actively running away from you, they do not invoke a feeling of 'connection' to my 'friends', they are invoking feelings of hatred and frustration

performance- ... passable (if you dont have the sages out .... well, it runs better than pokemon scarlet so i guess its fine, the lag when closing and opening the menu is rly annoying, especially combined with the finger and patience breaking menues and how often you need to open a game pasuing menue, but fights with a monster horde AND the sages out? yeah no its as bad as pokemon scarlet at its worst, not to mention the chaos of having five useless ghost scramble around you getting knocked around by enemies)

price- a scam, this game is not worth 70 bucks, its just not, if you get a used copy and dont spend more time in it than it takes for you to just go straight to the main points, or if you dont care about anything else but dicking around with a clunky building system ... then you can have some fun with it yeah ..... still not worth 70 money, theres probably better building games out there for less too

it jsut feels not done, not finished, its presentation and some parts are highly polished and their marketing for it is unlike anything i have ever seen, but its so .... unfinished, no amount of epic visuals is gonna let me not think of this game being half done at best, after what, 6 years of development no less? with most assets already being there and being reused unaltered??

(i am holding tightly onto the theory of it either having an extremely troubled development that is being hidden bc of their reputation, or some sort of neglect in order to focus on other more lucrative projects, this is just all too weird to me)

[marlynnofmany]

Early Efforts

 I was keeping Wio company in the cockpit, because piloting can be boring in empty space, when an alert dinged. Wio paused her story about an underwater race she’d won on her home planet. I held my questions while she tapped the controls, tentacles dancing across the console. Finally she sat back and relaxed.

 “Nothing big,” she told me. “Just a bit of metal junk among the rock.” One of the smaller screens zoomed in on a patch of space that turned out to hold a tumbling asteroid. “It doesn’t register as any known weapon, so it’s probably not a lost mine or what-have-you.”

 Surprised, I looked around the cockpit as if it would give me a view through the walls. “Is this area known for those?”

 “Nope,” said Wio. “But space is big and time is long. It wouldn’t be the first time idiots fighting each other didn’t give a flip about the rest of the universe.”

 “Yeah, or the last,” I agreed. “So what is it, if it’s not dangerous? Can we tell?”

 Wio turned a few knobs and flicked a switch. “Not from this distance. The readings I’m getting are of common ship-building materials.”

 “So it’s from a crash? Do you think it was that crash?” I pointed over my shoulder, again as if we could simply look back to see the wreck I meant. I probably wasn’t even pointing in the right direction. We hadn’t seen the joyriding accident in person, just heard about it when we picked up our latest cargo.

 “Ehh,” Wio said, studying a complicated set of imagery. “Don’t think so. Pretty sure the angle’s wrong. Possible, but unlikely.”

 “If it is, do you think they’ll want their part back?”

 “Depends on what shape it’s in,” Wio said with a wrinkle of her octopuslike forehead. “We’d have better odds selling it for scrap at the next station with a good mechanic’s sector.”

 I scanned the many screens and readouts, trying to get a feel for how much of a detour it was. “Do you think that’s worth checking?”

 “Sure do,” Wio said cheerily, tapping buttons and touchscreens, adjusting dials and fiddling with a couple odd bits on the console that I’m pretty sure were there just for fidgeting purposes. Wio was rarely still.

 “Should we — oh, you already pinged her.” I spotted the little red light that said the captain had been called. I expected a comm call as soon as Captain Sunlight got a spare moment, but she must have been nearby, because she just showed up at the door.

 “Yes?” asked Captain Sunlight, posture as regal as ever and scales a slightly brighter yellow than usual. I still hadn’t found a polite way to ask if the Heatseekers on the ship polished their scales or shed them in privacy for that occasional fresh look. Now certainly wasn’t the time.

 Wio spun in her chair. “Permission to make a minor detour for potential salvage?”

 “Show me.” The captain walked over for a better look, about head height since I was sitting down. She peered at the various readings and gave permission.

 And, since it really was a very minor detour, she just stood there and waited while we closed in on the lump of rock and metal. Soon enough we could see it on the main screen: turning end over end, traveling in roughly the same direction we were, just much slower.

 “No radioactivity,” Wio reported. “No air pockets either, and the chance of germs is near-zero.”

 “The components seem relatively straightforward for a bit of simple machinery,” said the captain, reading a chart that I’d thought listed something else.

 While they went over the analysis, I reflected that I really should ask Wio to teach me the basics of the controls in here. Not enough to fly — I was fully aware of how much training went into that — but just enough so I didn’t feel like an idiot Earthling who’d never been to space before when more than one screen was active.

 “Let’s use the grabber,” Captain Sunlight said. “I’ll prep the cargo bay.” She made several calls to different parts of the ship while Wio unfolded a portion of the controls that I hadn’t seen yet. It was labeled “Grabbing Arm.”

 “Ooh, how’s that work?” I asked.

 “It’s nice and intuitive for once,” Wio said as she ignored it for long enough to steer us right alongside the spinning lump. She locked the speed in (but didn’t make us spin to match it, thankfully. That would have been a bit much). Then she turned her attention back to the panel. It held several regular-sized buttons and one large black one — oh wait, that was a hole.

 When Wio stuck her tentacle in to manipulate the grabbing arm, I quietly shook my head. Of course it’s that kind of arm, I thought as a mechanical tentacle uncurled into view outside. Why would I expect anything with fingers on a ship made by Strongarms? 

 Captain Sunlight finished talking to whoever was in the cargo bay, and gave Wio the go-ahead. I watched the main screen as the grabber lined up carefully with the spinning mass of rock and metal, then gave it a calculated whack. A piece broke off and it stopped spinning.

 Wio peered at a readout. “Nonvaluable mineral,” she said. “I’ll just get the big part.”

 “How big is it?” I asked belatedly, not sure of the grabber’s size for reference. One of the screens probably said.

 “Small enough to fit!” Wio said. With a look of intense concentration (and several tentacles fidgeting behind her), she wrapped the metal grabbing arm around the asteroid and pulled it in.

 “I’m off to the cargo bay,” announced Captain Sunlight. “Keep it nice and gentle.”

 “Will do. No explosions of dirt on the floor if I can help it.”

 Captain Sunlight nodded, even though Wio was watching the screen, and she left. I looked between the two.

 “I’m going to see if I can help,” I said, getting up.

 “Sure thing. I’ll watch from here.” Wio gestured with another tentacle at a small screen on the side that had a great view of the cargo bay. Several crewmembers were waiting by the airlock.

 I hurried down the hall on my long human legs. I wanted to see what this thing was. Maybe it was important, or valuable, or both. Probably not, but who knew?

 When I got there, the airlock was already closed again, and Eggskin was putting away their hand scanner. Blip and Blop each had a hand on the lumpy rock about the size of a two-person hoverbike. They seemed to be the designated “hold it in place” team, which they were good at, because of all the muscles. The goggles they wore and the pickaxes shoved in their waistbands said that might not be all they hoped to do.

 Eggskin said, “No trace of anything biological,” and moved to stand beside the captain. The two Heatseekers were a healthy distance from the rock, clearly to give the Frillian twins plenty of pickaxing room. I thought I could see a bit of metal among the lumps, but it was hard to make out. The rock looked like several pieces had clumped together around it. I couldn’t say whether they were stuck with glue, welding, or just gravity and time. A smattering of gravel had already fallen to make the floor treacherous.

 Blip and Blop seemed aware of that, since they moved their feet by sliding instead of stepping. At Eggskin’s declaration, the captain nodded a go-ahead, and the Frillians grabbed their pickaxes.

 A voice from behind me complained, “I was going to watch…”

 I turned to see Zhee retreating back into the hallway, all gaudy purple exoskeleton and disapproval.

 He continued, “But I think I’ll wait out here.”

 I asked, “Do you think the chips are going to—” then the first pickaxe hit with a thunderous clang, and I hustled out to join him. Captain Sunlight and Eggskin had also backed up further. I was pretty sure one or both of them were saying words of caution, but I couldn’t make it out for sure.

 Zhee clicked his pincher arms and angled his antennae in disapproval. He probably had opinions about the best way to disassemble the chunk of rocks and nonsense. Zhee always had opinions.

 A concerned voice from down the hall asked, “What’s happening?”

 I called back, “Salvage.”

 Paint trotted up, her expression worried and her mottled orange scales less shiny than the captain’s. I’d definitely have to ask about the polishing sometime. Maybe.

 “What kind of salvage?” she asked.

 I told her, “Rocks and metal.”

 Zhee said, “Loud and messy.”

 Before Paint could press for details, the axe noises were replaced by a minor avalanche of rocks etcetera collapsing onto the cargo bay floor. The silence afterward made me rub my ears.

 Paint looked around the corner, then dart forward. Zhee and I followed.

 The pickaxes were already set down in favor of hands for picking through the mess. Blip and Blop pulled out something long and angular, each grabbing a different end and having a split-second tug of war like two puppies with the same stick. Then they held it up for the captain together.

 “Got it!”

 “Look at this!”

 We all looked. It was dented gray metal, long with a couple of joints, and with wires dangling out the bigger end. Straightened out, it would have been a little taller than the Frillians.

 I asked the obvious question. “What is it? Broken antenna?”

 Blip rotated it, peering at the wires, then the bent sections. “I don’t think so. These parts seem supposed to move.”

 “Yeah, and this end��s serrated!” Blop said, pointing at the narrow end. “It’s almost like…” He grabbed the last two segments and wrenched them together. The metal screeched. The serrations fit together perfectly, in a startling imitation of Zhee’s pincher arms.

 We all looked at him.

 Zhee hissed quietly and angled his antenna into extreme displeasure. “Keep breaking,” he said.

 “What? Why?” I asked.

 Zhee pointed a pincher. “It is old enough to be ugly. An embarrassment to Mesmers everywhere.”

 A few careful questions and one angry rant later, it became clear that this Mesmer at least was certain that every one of his species would be personally offended by the sight of this relic’s lack of vibrant colors and/or gemstone decorations.

 No, it hadn’t lost its decorations; there were no sockets for gems. No, it hadn’t lost its paint; there were no traces, and paint was only for utter peasants who couldn’t anodize metal.

 “Ask Trrili,” Zhee challenged. “She’s from a different moon entirely.”

 Captain Sunlight quietly called Trrili to the cargo bay to give her opinion on something unspecified. Trrili arrived in a storm of shiny black and blood-red, taller than Zhee and curious why she’d been summoned. She caught sight of the relic.

 “Throw that out the airlock immediately,” Trrili hissed.

 Zhee said, “I suggested they break it.”

 “That’s good too.”

 I said, “I can’t believe no Mesmer ever would want to keep this for historical value, if it’s as old as all that. It’s a ship’s grabber arm, right? It might have broken off in some historical battle or something! It could be incredibly important!”

 They said, “It’s not,” in perfect unison.

 Wio’s voice came over the loudspeaker from where she’d been watching on the cameras. “There’s a Mesmer colony not far from here. Public info says it’s relatively new, so not the one that lost that, but it would take some detailed math and a huge map to track how far it could have drifted in that many centuries anyway. It can’t hurt to ask them if they want it for a museum, right?”

 Zhee said that would be deeply embarrassing to even ask.

 Trrili wanted nothing to do with it.

 Captain Sunlight decided it was worth a shot.

 Both Mesmers stalked out of the cargo bay with loud declarations that they would be on the other side of the ship, and not to bother them until the shame was done with.

 The captain asked Blip and Blop to clean the thing up as best they could. Paint volunteered to help, and ran to get brushes.

 I asked permission to be in the cockpit during the phone call. Surely that opinion couldn’t be universal. Surely.

 Or, I learned soon after, maybe it could.

 “A what?” asked the local authority, a pink-and-blue Mesmer with glittering chips of crystal forming intricate whorls on her exoskeleton. “I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

 Captain Sunlight addressed the screen with dignity. “A historical artifact of Mesmer design. It appears to be a mechanical version of your glorious blade-arms, made of gray metal.”

 “That’s disappointing,” the authority said with a flick of both antennae. “Kindly throw it into the nearest sun.”

 I blurted, “What?”

 Captain Sunlight gave me a look, but didn’t say to be quiet. I took that as permission to keep talking.

 “But this is part of your history! A record of how you got where you are!”

 “Ah, a human,” the Mesmer said with a sigh. “Tell me, when your offspring commit an act of art for the first time, you are proud, yes? And so are they, for a while? You might even put it on display. But then they grow up and never want to see it again out of shame? This does not deserve a place on the fridge. Into the sun it goes.”

 Nothing I could say would sway that decision, not that Captain Sunlight let me try for long. She turned the conversation to business, and ended up convincing the Mesmer authority to pay us a small fee for the inconvenience of going out of our way. (We were on official courier business, after all, and time was money.) (Yes, people say that even in space. The Mesmer didn’t bat an antennae at it.)

 The final agreement also included an escort ship, partly to make sure we really did get rid of the thing, and partly to help us do so. It had a tractor beam thingy that could be set in reverse to punt things across the starfield. Very handy for launching artifacts into the sun. No, I didn’t ask what they normally used it for. That kind of tech could easily have been an accidental discovery, and I wasn’t about to bring up any other possible sources of cultural embarrassment.

 But I was going to quietly give my respects to the ancient bit of machinery before it was atomized. I stood in the cleaned-up cargo hold next to the unassuming piece of dull, dented metal. Crouching, I ran my fingers over it, committing the feel to memory: from the torn wires to the crooked serrations. A couple of those little teeth were bent. I’d never know what bent them.

 Loud conversation approached, and my crewmates entered the room, bustling around to prepare. I stepped back as the captain arrived, and I took up a position by the door. I had a good view of the airlock from there.

 As Blip and Blop in their exo suits hefted it to throw, as Wio angled the ship to get us in line with the escort, as Captain Sunlight gave the command and the relic was launched toward the distant sun, I silently gave my respects. I sent mental appreciation to the ages-ago Mesmers who had made it.

 Great job, you guys. You must have been SO proud. 

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).