#Afternoon Tearoom

[lifestyleofluxe]

[sentientcanvas]

[fayes-fics]

A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.” 

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.” 

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic. 

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade. 

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision. 

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him. 

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction. 

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.” 

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman. 

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first. 

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?” 

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now…. 

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his. 

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together. 

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly. 

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk. 

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member. 

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip. 

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!” 

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense. 

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race. 

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss. 

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside. 

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently. 

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing. 

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body. 

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever. 

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

[ohisms]

↪     𝑺𝑬𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 , HISTORICAL 〳 FANTASY edition !   (  a  collection  of  25  settings  based upon the period 〳 fantasy genres ; meant  to  inspire  drabbles  or  be  used  as  prompts . WILL be updated .   )

001. the interior of an elegant carriage .

002. seated at a large dining table set with an elaborate meal .

003. the shadowy corner of a lively tavern .

004. the top of a light house during a raging storm .

005. along the dimly lit corridor of a large manor .

006. the damp , dark brig of a pirate ship .

007. the ruins of an ancient structure lost to time .

008. a theater hall brimming with attendees .

009. the bustling streets of a market town .

010. a sun - drenched vineyard .

011. along a boardwalk overlooking the sea .

012. a moonlit cemetery full of weathered graves .

013. on horseback , deep in the woods .

014. a luxurious drawing room smelling of tea .

015. a sprawling dragon roost , hidden atop craggy mountain peaks .

016. a war - torn battlefield .

017. a beautiful cathedral bustling with churchgoers .

018. within a crammed opera box during a performance .

019. an elegant tearoom serving afternoon refreshments .

020. a lakeside pavilion on an especially hot day .

021. a sprawling network of underground catacombs .

022. a hidden glade in the middle of the woods .

023. the deep , dark dungeon of a castle .

024. a market square full of fruit and fineries .

025. a baker's shop smelling of wonderful pastries .

026. the quiet stables of a large estate .

027. on the outskirts of a magnificent water fountain .

028. in a dimly lit library , hidden amongst the books .

029. among the high walls of a hedge maze .

030. at the front desk of a warm , homey inn .

031. under the protection of a gazebo as it rains .

032. on the landing of a busy train station .

033. a gambling hall alight with raucous laughter and drink .

034. a pristine infirmary , mostly empty .

035. on board a huge ship making a long voyage .

+   20  more  setting  prompts :    6 / 01 / 2024

036. in a sunlit garden adorned with blooming flowers .

037. at the edge of a serene forest lake under a starry sky.

038. within a quiet corridor of a castle during a lavish ball .

039. in a bustling blacksmith's forge , sparks flying .

040. on a rocky cliffside overlooking a vast ocean .

041. in a quaint village square during a festival .

042. within a secret chamber hidden behind a bookshelf .

043. in the grand atrium of a luxurious hotel .

044. along a narrow brick alleyway in a crowded town .

045. within a busy marketplace in a desert town .

046. on a tranquil beach at sunrise .

047. in a cozy cottage with a crackling fireplace .

048. at the helm of a majestic airship soaring through the clouds .

049. in a grand library filled with ancient tomes .

050. on a bustling harbor dock as ships come and go .

051. within a magical forest where the trees glow softly .

052. in an apothecary's shop filled with herbs and potion .

053. at a secluded cabin by a dangerously quick river .

054. within the opulent throne room of a powerful ruler .

055. in an enchanted glade where fairies dance in the moonlight .

[lvoryingrid]

Arrangement

Rengoku Kyojuro x fem!Reader

Synopsis: Kyojuro and (Y/n) were childhood friends who grew up together, sharing dreams, laughter, and memories. As time passed, they were pulled apart by the responsibilities and expectations of their families. Now, years later, they are reunited by an arranged marriage, destined to rekindle the bond they once shared.

Warning: 🔞 minors do not read/interact: contains 18+ content, smut/erotica,

The cicadas sang in the late summer afternoon, their song mingling with the distant rustle of leaves as a soft breeze passed through the sprawling courtyard. The estate was grand, yet there was a sense of old-world elegance that made it feel timeless. The garden was filled with lush greenery, flowers in bloom, and a koi pond that shimmered under the dappled sunlight. It was the kind of place where time seemed to stand still, yet today, it marked a pivotal moment in two lives.

(Y/n) stood at the edge of the garden, her thoughts drifting to memories of a time when the world seemed simpler, a time when she and Kyojuro were inseparable.

She remembered the way they used to race through these very gardens, their laughter echoing through the air as they chased each other, pretending to be mighty demon slayers defending the world from the flesh-eating demons. Kyojuro, with his boundless energy and unwavering determination, always declared that he would become the strongest Hashira. And (Y/n), who admired his spirit, always promised to stand by his side.

But childhood dreams often gave way to reality. The responsibilities of their respective families and the expectations placed upon them had pulled them apart. It had been years since they had seen each other, and now, fate had brought them together once more.

"Lady (Y/n), the preparations are complete," a voice called from behind her, pulling her from her reverie.

She turned to see one of the attendants bowing respectfully. "Thank you," she replied softly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within her.

(Y/n) quietly sat in the tearoom, her hands folded delicately in her lap, though her heart was anything but still. She had known this day was coming for months now, ever since her family had informed her of the arrangement. An arranged marriage—a union forged not by love, but by duty.

As she waited, she couldn't help but wonder what Kyojuro would be like now. Would he still be the same spirited boy she had known? Or had the years changed him, just as they had changed her?

The door to the tearoom slid open, and (Y/n) looked up, her breath catching in her throat. There he stood, tall and proud, his golden eyes alight with the warmth of a thousand suns. His haori, emblazoned with fiery patterns, fluttered slightly as he stepped inside, his presence commanding yet gentle.

When their eyes met, time seemed to stand still. The years of separation melted away, and for a moment, they were just Kyojuro and (Y/n) again, two children with dreams too big for the world.

"(Y/n)," Kyojuro greeted her, his voice warm and filled with a sincerity that touched her heart.

"Kyojuro," she responded, her lips curving into a small smile.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them and kneeled in front of her. "It's been a long time," he said, his gaze never leaving hers.

"It has," she agreed, searching his face for any sign of what he might be feeling. But Kyojuro had always been difficult to read, his emotions often hidden beneath a mask of strength and optimism.

"I am glad to see you again," he continued, his tone earnest. "I have thought of you often over the years."

His words surprised her, and she felt a flicker of hope. "I have thought of you too," she admitted, her voice soft.

A moment of silence passed, but this time, it was not so heavy. There was something about Kyojuro’s demeanor that made it easier to breathe, easier to accept the reality of their situation. He was kind, even in his strength, and there was no trace of arrogance in his gaze—only a genuine interest in getting to rekindle their shared bond.

“I understand that this marriage was arranged,” he began, his tone gentle but direct, “but I want you to know that I do not take it lightly. I will do everything in my power to ensure your happiness and well-being, (Y/n). You have my word.”

His words were sincere, and they eased some of the tension in her heart. "Thank you, Kyojuro. That means a lot to me."

He smiled, the warmth of it reminding her of the boy she had once known. "We were close friends once, (Y/n). Perhaps we can find that friendship again."

"Perhaps we can," she agreed, feeling a spark of hope.

Before they could speak further, the shoji doors slid open with a soft, almost reverent sound. The presence of their parents and the elders immediately filled the tearoom with an air of solemnity and purpose. Kyojuro’s father, Shinjuro, stepped inside first, his imposing figure softened by the formal attire he wore. His face, weathered by years of battle and responsibility, showed a rare calm, though his intense gaze remained fixed on his son.

Following Shinjuro were (Y/n)’s parents, who moved with a grace that spoke of years spent in refined surroundings. Their expressions were poised, but the faintest glimmer of concern lingered in their eyes as they took in their daughter’s face. They knew the weight of the duty they had placed upon her, and yet, there was an unspoken hope that this union might blossom into something more.

The elders entered last, their presence dignified and commanding. They took their places around the room, their hands folded within the sleeves of their robes, ready to officiate the ceremony that would bind the two families together.

Kyojuro rose to his feet as the elders began to speak, their voices low and resonant, reciting the ancient words that had joined countless couples before them. (Y/n) followed suit, her movements measured and graceful, though her heart beat wildly in her chest. She stood beside Kyojuro, feeling the warmth of his presence as they faced the elders.

The ceremony proceeded with a quiet reverence, the traditions unfolding with a precision that spoke of centuries of practice. (Y/n) and Kyojuro listened as their respective family histories were recounted, their ancestral lines entwined through words and ritual. The significance of the moment was not lost on either of them—this was more than a marriage; it was a merging of legacies, a pact that would shape the future of both families.

As the final prayers were uttered, Kyojuro took a small, intricately carved box from one of the attendants. He opened it, revealing a delicate, gold ring adorned with a single flame-colored gemstone. The sight of it took (Y/n)’s breath away. The stone seemed to flicker with an inner fire, reminiscent of Kyojuro’s spirit.

“With this ring,” Kyojuro began, his voice steady and filled with resolve, “I vow to protect you, to honor you, and to cherish you, (Y/n). May our union be as strong and enduring as the flame that burns within this stone.”

He gently took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. The metal was cool against her skin, but the weight of it was reassuring, like a tangible promise.

(Y/n) looked up into Kyojuro’s eyes, and for a moment, the world around them faded away. She could see the sincerity in his gaze, the depth of his commitment to making this marriage work, not out of obligation, but out of a genuine desire to build a life together.

“I accept your vow, Kyojuro,” she responded, her voice soft but unwavering. “And I, too, vow to stand by your side, to support you, and to honor the bond we now share.”

The elders nodded in approval, and with that, the final blessing was bestowed. A sense of finality settled over the room as the ceremony concluded. The union was complete.

For a moment, there was silence, a brief pause in which the reality of what had just happened sank in for everyone present. Then, Kyojuro’s father spoke, breaking the quiet with a firm but gentle tone. “May this union bring strength to our families and honor to our ancestors.”

The tearoom, now filled with murmurs of approval from their families, suddenly felt too confined. Kyojuro, sensing the need for some fresh air and perhaps a moment to collect their thoughts, turned to (Y/n) with a gentle smile.

“Shall we take a walk?” he asked, his voice soft enough that only she could hear.

(Y/n) nodded, grateful for the suggestion. Together, they bowed respectfully to their parents and the elders, then quietly slipped out of the tearoom. The cicadas’ song had grown louder as they stepped into the courtyard, the late summer sun casting a warm, golden light over the garden.

The path they chose meandered through the estate, leading them past the koi pond that had shimmered during the ceremony, and under the shade of ancient trees whose branches swayed gently in the breeze. The atmosphere was serene, a perfect contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that had surrounded them just moments ago.

For a while, they walked in companionable silence, the only sounds being the rustling leaves and the distant chatter of birds. Despite the calm, (Y/n) could feel the tension in the air, a subtle undercurrent that neither of them had yet addressed. She stole a glance at Kyojuro, noticing how his expression was thoughtful, yet his shoulders remained relaxed, a sign of his unwavering composure.

After a few more steps, Kyojuro slowed his pace, and then, as if gathering his courage, he turned to her. His golden eyes, so full of warmth and sincerity, met hers, and she could see a hint of something deeper—perhaps a vulnerability he rarely showed.

“(Y/n),” he began, his voice low and earnest, “I know this has been a lot to take in, and I want you to know that your comfort and happiness are important to me.”

She listened intently, sensing that he was building up to something significant.

He took a deep breath before continuing, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks, a rare sight for someone as confident as Kyojuro. “If you don’t feel comfortable yet... if you’re not ready... we don’t have to... consummate the marriage tonight. We can take our time, get closer to each other again... I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

His words hung in the air between them, filled with a tenderness that touched (Y/n) deeply. She hadn’t expected this level of consideration, and it warmed her heart to know that Kyojuro was thinking of her well-being.

For a moment, she was at a loss for words. She had been prepared for the formalities, the duties, and even the expectations that came with this union, but this gentle offer was something unexpected, something precious. She realized then that, despite the years and the distance that had come between them, Kyojuro was still the same person she had admired as a child—kind, thoughtful, and deeply respectful.

“Thank you, Kyojuro,” she said softly, her own cheeks warming with a blush. “That means more to me than you know. I... I think I would like to take things slowly. There’s so much we’ve both been through, and I’d like to rekindle our friendship before anything else.”

He smiled, a look of relief washing over his features. “Of course, (Y/n). We’ll take this one step at a time, together.”

They continued their stroll, the tension easing with every step as they talked about the simpler things—memories of their childhood, the state of the garden, even the koi that darted through the pond as if unaware of the significance of the day.

As they reached a secluded part of the garden, where the path wound around a small grove of cherry trees, Kyojuro paused and turned to face her fully. “I’m glad we’re taking this walk. It reminds me of how we used to explore these gardens as children, finding secret spots to hide or making up stories about the demons we would one day defeat.”

(Y/n) chuckled softly, the memories of their shared adventures brightening her mood. “We were so fearless back then, so sure of ourselves. It feels good to remember those times.”

Kyojuro nodded, his eyes softening as he looked at her. “We were fearless because we had each other. Perhaps, as we walk this new path together, we can find that courage again.”

(Y/n) smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest that was different from the anxiety she had felt earlier. It was a warmth born of hope and the rekindling of an old bond, one that she realized might be stronger than she had thought.

“Yes,” she agreed, meeting his gaze with newfound confidence. “I believe we can.”

Days turned into weeks, and as the late summer slowly transitioned into the golden hues of autumn, (Y/n) and Kyojuro settled into their new life together. The initial formality that had surrounded them after their marriage began to melt away, replaced by a growing comfort and familiarity.

They spent much of their time walking through the estate gardens, often in the early mornings when the dew still clung to the grass, or in the evenings when the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Their conversations flowed easily, filled with both light-hearted banter and deeper reflections on their lives and responsibilities.

(Y/n) found herself drawn to Kyojuro in ways she hadn’t expected. She admired his dedication to his training, the way he approached each day with a sense of purpose and determination that never wavered. His mornings were often spent in rigorous practice, the echoes of his strikes against wooden training dummies resonating through the estate. She watched him sometimes, from a distance, marveling at how his movements were both powerful and graceful, a testament to the years of discipline and hard work that had shaped him into the warrior he had become.

It wasn’t just his skill that captivated her, but also his physical presence. Kyojuro had grown into a man who embodied strength and confidence. His broad shoulders, honed from countless hours of training, his strong arms that moved with precise control, and the way his haori clung to his muscular frame—all of it left (Y/n) acutely aware of how much he had changed since their childhood days.

One morning, after finishing his training, Kyojuro noticed her spying on him, his skin glistening with sweat, his breath slightly labored from the exertion. He smiled at her, his golden eyes warm and bright, as if he hadn’t just spent hours pushing his body to its limits.

“Good morning, (Y/n),” he greeted her, his voice as spirited as ever. “Have you been watching me train?”

“Good morning, Kyojuro,” she replied, her voice slightly higher than usual, betraying her sudden self-consciousness. “I… I was just enjoying the morning air.”

Kyojuro, perceptive as always, noticed the faint blush on her cheeks and couldn’t help but feel a similar heat rising to his own face. He wasn’t used to feeling flustered, especially not around (Y/n), but there was something about this moment—something about the way she looked at him, her eyes full of warmth and perhaps something more—that made his heart race just a little faster.

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck in a rare display of bashfulness. “It’s alright if you were watching. I don’t mind,” he said, his golden eyes meeting hers with a sincerity that made her heart flutter. “In fact, I’m glad you’re here. Your presence makes the morning even better.”

(Y/n) felt her blush deepen, and she looked down at her hands, trying to compose herself. “You’ve become very skilled, Kyojuro,” she said, her voice softer now. “Watching you train… it’s inspiring. You’ve truly grown into the hashira you always dreamed of being.”

Kyojuro’s expression softened at her words, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, (Y/n). That means a lot coming from you.”

He stepped closer to her, the air between them charged with a subtle tension. “And now that we’re together again, I feel even more determined to keep those promises we made to each other back then.”

(Y/n) looked up at him, her heart swelling with a mix of emotions—fondness, admiration, and something deeper, something that had been growing quietly in the back of her mind since they had reunited. She had always cared for Kyojuro, but now… now there was something more, something that made her heart skip a beat whenever he was near.

“I’m glad we’re together again too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It feels… right, somehow.”

Kyojuro nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. “Yes, it does,” he agreed, his tone gentle.

As they stood there, the world seemed to blur around them, leaving only the two of them in sharp focus. Kyojuro's golden eyes, filled with warmth and sincerity, held (Y/n)'s (e/c) gaze with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. The morning air, once cool and refreshing, now felt charged with an energy that neither of them could ignore.

Kyojuro took a small step closer, the gap between them narrowing until only a breath's distance separated their bodies. He hesitated for a brief moment, as if searching her face for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was a reflection of his own longing. Her eyes, wide and bright, spoke volumes that words could never express.

"(Y/n)," he murmured, his voice soft and full of emotion, "I've missed you more than I can put into words. Being near you like this... it feels like I've found something I didn't even realize I was missing."

His words, so tender and sincere, struck a chord deep within her. (Y/n) felt a swell of emotions rise in her chest, and before she could think twice, she reached out, her hand lightly resting on his arm. The contact, though small, sent a shiver down her spine, and she could see the same effect in the way Kyojuro's breath hitched ever so slightly.

"Kyojuro," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart, "I feel the same way. I’ve thought about you so much over the years, and now that we're here... together... it feels like we’re exactly where we’re meant to be."

Her hand slid up his arm, feeling the strength and warmth beneath her fingers, until it reached his shoulder. She could feel his heartbeat—strong and steady—echoing the rhythm of her own. Kyojuro’s other hand rose, hesitantly at first, before settling gently on her waist. The touch was light, almost reverent, as if he were afraid she might slip away if he held her too tightly.

Time seemed to slow as they gazed at each other, the world around them fading into a soft blur of colors and sounds. The cicadas’ song, once so prominent, now seemed distant, like a gentle hum in the background of this moment that belonged only to them.

Kyojuro’s hand, warm and reassuring, slowly trailed up from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her just a fraction closer. Their bodies, now almost touching, radiated a shared heat that mingled with the warmth of the late summer morning. (Y/n) felt herself drawn to him, as if some unseen force was gently pulling them together, guiding them toward an inevitable moment that had been years in the making.

He leaned in, his forehead gently touching hers, and she closed her eyes, savoring the closeness, the way his breath mingled with hers, warm and inviting. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, with the promise of what could be, and neither of them wanted to break the spell.

With a tenderness that belied the strength he was known for, Kyojuro tilted his head, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was as gentle as a whisper, a soft, tentative connection that sent a surge of warmth flooding through her body. The world around them seemed to disappear entirely, leaving only the sensation of his lips against hers, the softness of his touch, and the overwhelming sense of rightness that filled her heart.

(Y/n) responded instinctively, her hand sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath her palm. She kissed him back, allowing herself to be lost in the moment, in the feel of him, the taste of him, the undeniable connection that had always existed between them, now fully realized in this tender embrace.

Kyojuro deepened the kiss slightly, his hand on her back pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing gently against her skin as he poured all the emotion he had kept locked away for so long into this one, perfect kiss.

When they finally pulled away, it was only by a breath. Their foreheads rested together, eyes still closed as they savored the moment, the closeness, the connection that had just been forged between them.

(Y/n) opened her (e/c) eyes slowly, her gaze meeting his once more. In his golden eyes, she saw everything she had ever hoped for—kindness, strength, warmth, and a deep, abiding love that had quietly grown over the years they had been apart.

"Kyojuro," she breathed out softly, her voice trembling slightly with the weight of her feelings. "I've never stopped thinking about you, even when I thought I had to. I've carried those feelings with me every day."

He searched her eyes, the depth of his own emotions mirrored in hers. "Neither have I," he confessed, his voice husky with longing. "I've tried to ignore it, to focus on my duties, but it's always been there."

They once more closed the gap between them. Their kiss grew more intense, their bodies responding to the unspoken confessions of their hearts. The softness of their lips grew more insistent, more urgent, as if they were trying to convey every unsaid word, every unexplored feeling through this single point of contact.

Kyojuro's hand traveled up her back, his fingers threading gently through her hair. He cradled her head, tilting it to deepen the kiss, and she sighed into his mouth, her body melting into his embrace.

The heat between them grew, and their kisses grew more passionate, the gentle brush of their lips now replaced by a hunger that had been building for years. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, sending shivers down her spine, while her hand gripped his uniform shirt, holding onto him as if he was her lifeline.

He broke away for a moment, just long enough to gaze at her again, to make sure she was ready for what was to come. Her eyes, filled with desire and trust, gave him the answer he needed. He leaned in again, capturing her mouth in a kiss that spoke of all the moments they had missed, all the love they had denied themselves.

Their breaths melded together, their hearts racing as one. The hand on her waist grew more possessive, his fingers digging in slightly as he pulled her even closer. He could feel the softness of her curves pressed against him, and the heat grew, a fire that threatened to consume them both.

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the strands of his hair. Her own need grew with every touch, every caress. She wanted more of him, all of him, and she wasn't afraid to show it.

Kyojuro's hand traveled down her back, coming to rest at the base of her spine, his touch burning through the fabric of her clothes. He pulled her hips closer, the evidence of his desire clear as he held her against him.

Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as their bodies seemed to speak a language of their own. Her hands roamed his shoulders, exploring the muscles beneath his shirt, feeling the power and warmth of his body. He groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her, setting her ablaze.

They stumbled backward, and she found herself pressed against the warm, rough bark of the tree, Kyojuro's body caging hers protectively. His kisses grew more feverish, dropping to her neck, where he placed open-mouthed kisses that left her gasping for air.

Her own hands grew bolder, sliding down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. She could feel his breath on her skin, hot and uneven, and she arched into him, seeking more of his touch.

Their bodies moved in a silent dance, a symphony of passion that had been waiting to be played for far too long. The whispers of the wind in the leaves above them seemed to cheer them on, as if nature itself was celebrating their reunion.

Kyojuro's hand slid around to the front of her shirt, his fingers brushing the skin just above her waist, causing her to shiver. He paused, looking into her eyes again, questioning.

"Don't stop," she whispered, her voice thick with need. "I want this. I want you."

The words were all the encouragement he needed. He unbuttoned her shirt, exposing the soft, delicate skin beneath. He kissed her collarbone, her shoulders, his mouth leaving a trail of fire wherever it touched. She leaned back against the tree, her eyes closed, lost in the sensation of his lips on her skin.

Their kisses grew wilder, more frantic, as the passion between them reached a boiling point. They were no longer just two people reunited after years apart; they were two souls finally finding their way back to each other, ready to embrace the love that had always been there, ready to let it consume them completely.

Kyojuro broke away, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with desire. "I want you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I need you."

(Y/n) nodded, her own need clear in her eyes. "Take me, Kyojuro," she urged, her voice a soft plea. "Make me yours."

With a groan, he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to the soft, moss-covered ground beneath the tree. He laid her down gently, his eyes never leaving hers as he removed her shirt, his gaze drinking in the sight of her bare skin.

He kissed her again, his hand sliding up to her bare breast. He took his time, worshiping each inch of her body with his mouth, leaving her trembling and desperate for more.

Their clothing fell away, piece by piece, until they were both naked beneath the warm embrace of the summer sun. Kyojuro took a moment to look at her, to appreciate the beauty that had haunted his dreams for so long.

He leaned over her, his body a delicious weight that felt comfortable to her. His kisses grew more insistent, his hands exploring every inch of her, relearning the contours of her body. Her own hands roamed his back, her nails digging in slightly as she urged him closer.

With a primal growl, Kyojuro claimed her mouth once more, his tongue delving deep as he felt the warmth of her body beneath him. Her legs parted willingly, inviting him in, and he settled between her thighs, feeling the heat of her core against his erection.

He took a moment to breathe in her scent, a heady mix of sweat and arousal that made him dizzy with need. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her breasts, his tongue swirling around her hardened nipples, making her gasp and arch into his touch.

(Y/n)'s hands slid down to his waist, her nails scraping lightly against his skin as she urged him closer. He complied, his hips moving in a slow, sensual rhythm that had her hips rising to meet him. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the connection between them palpable.

Kyojuro reached down, his hand sliding between their bodies to stroke her slick folds. She was wet and ready for him, her arousal a testament to the depth of her feelings. He groaned, the sound resonating through his chest as he felt her heat against his fingertips.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "So beautiful."

"It's because of you," she breathed, her eyes never leaving his. "Because of how much I want you."

He slid a finger inside her, feeling her tighten around him. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. He moved his hand in a steady rhythm, watching her face contort with pleasure.

"Kyojuro," she whimpered, her hips bucking against his hand. "Please…"

With a gentle nod, he positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against her. He paused, looking into her eyes, ensuring she was ready. She nodded, her eyes glazed with passion.

Slowly, he pushed inside her, feeling the tightness of her pussy as it stretched to accommodate him. She gasped, her nails digging into his back, but she didn't protest, didn't ask him to stop. Instead, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper.

He thrust into her, the sensation of her warm, wet heat around him almost too much to handle. Her walls clenched around him, and he had to fight to keep from coming right then and there.

They moved together, their bodies fitting perfectly, as if they had been made for this very moment. Each thrust was a declaration of adoration, each kiss a promise of forever.

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs tightening around his waist as she met his every thrust. Her breasts bounced with every movement, and he couldn't resist the urge to lean down and capture one in his mouth, sucking gently as he fucked her.

Her moans grew louder, her breathing more ragged, as he hit that perfect spot inside her. She writhed beneath him, her hips matching his rhythm, her body begging for release.

"Kyojuro," she screamed his name, her nails scratching down his back as she reached the peak of pleasure. Her body tightened around him, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave.

Her moans echoed through the quiet garden, a testament to the passion that had been secretly building between them over the years. Kyojuro felt her pussy spasm around his cock, her body shuddering with the force of her release. He groaned, his own orgasm approaching like an unstoppable storm.

He quickened his pace, his strokes growing more powerful as he claimed her fully. (Y/n)'s eyes met his, her gaze full of trust and love, and that was all it took for him to lose control. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside her, filling her with his warmth as he reached his peak.

Their bodies trembled together, the aftershocks of pleasure rippling through them as they clung to each other, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the morning. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their hearts beating in sync, the feel of their skin pressed together, and the knowledge that they were finally where they belonged.

As the intensity of their union began to wane, Kyojuro pulled out of her gently, his eyes never leaving hers. He leaned down to kiss her again, a soft, lingering press of his lips that spoke of the love and tenderness that had grown from the friendship of their youth.

They lay there for a while, the warmth of the sun and the gentle rustle of the leaves the only companions to their shared silence. The world around them had not changed, and yet, everything felt different. They had crossed a threshold, one that would shape their futures and the bond they shared.

(Y/n) rested her head on Kyojuro's chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It was a sound that had been absent from her life for too long, and now it was the sweetest melody she could imagine.

The warmth of his embrace was like a balm to her soul, and she felt a sense of belonging she had never known before. This was more than just the culmination of an arranged marriage; it was the reawakening of a love that had never truly been extinguished.

"(Y/n)," Kyojuro murmured in between pants, his voice thick with emotion. "I never imagined, it would be like this."

"Neither did I," she replied, her voice just as raw with feeling. "But I'm so glad it did."

He leaned closer to press a soft kiss to her forehead, his arms tightening around her slightly. "We will make this work," he promised, his voice filled with determination. "Together, we can conquer any challenge that comes our way."

Her eyes searched his, and she knew he meant every word. The bond they shared was unbreakable, forged not just by the vows they had exchanged earlier that day, but by the years of friendship and longing that had brought them to this moment.

They lay there for a while longer, the only movement the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed in unison. The scent of damp earth and blooming flowers filled the air, mingling with the lingering scent of their passion. It was a heady mix that seemed to anchor them to the moment, to each other.

As Kyojuro and (Y/n) gathered their discarded clothing, the quiet rustle of fabric was the only sound that broke the tranquil silence between them. Kyojuro leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear, and whispered softly, "Tonight, we will consummate our marriage in every way." His words, laced with promise, sent a shiver down her spine, anchoring them both in the intensity of the moment.

Masterlist

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

a/n: 1.6k - immortal!reader asks zhongli to tell tales abt guizhong (this is technically a small blurb linked to my fic Dragonfly, however i've tried to make this so you don't *need* to read it to understand this, but feel free to do so regardless! note-the reader was 'dead' during a period of the archon war)

"zhongli, do you have some time?" you, after having just returned home, pop your head into the tearoom on the second floor of your shared home with zhongli. it was on the cusp of evening, the last light of afternoon shifting into deeper colors that will soon give way to nightfall. your partner in which you hope you aren't bothering after his own long day at work sits comfortably at the small round table with a pot of tea. It must still be fresh since the amount in his clay cup still wafts high with steam.

"always for you," he hums. he turns his neck towards the doorway and jerks his chin inwardly in silent invitation. you make your way to the table across from him as he begins to pour new tea into the spare cup he always keeps along with his kettle in case you join him. he has discarded his long-tailed coat and sits in his buttoned collared shirt that has wrinkles of the day creased into it. still, he even makes disheveled clothing look elegant.

he pours your tea and slides it towards you, along with any additives that you may use. honey, sugar cubes and the like. he never used to keep such additions on hand since he was never fond of sweetened teas. but he always wants to accommodate your presence.

"today, the traveler and i made a trip up to cloud retainers abode."

"oh?" he hums, taking a sip of his warm tea. "that is quite the journey."

"it's not so bad with the traveler's ability to access teleport waypoints," you muse, but quickly catch yourself from going on a tangent since that was not the purpose of your attendance of his time. "while she spends more time among humans as xianyun, cloud retainer was very accepting of us having a meal together aside her home at mt. aozang."

"she's become much more hospitable to humans lately. it is a nice change to witness in her demeanor since she was particularly adverse to mortals for so long."

"she's also quite the story teller. she spoke about so many things over such a short meal. i don't think I've quite seen paimon more confused trying to keep up with everything." you chuckle at the recollection and the dizzing swirls that clouded the confused fairy's eyes. zhongli chuckled in tandem.

a comfortable silence falls over the room like a warm blanket. the sun had changed and evening had begun with it's golden hue. zhongli's focus was pointed outside, watching the day's stragglers dot the streets down below. you tap your fingertip on the tabletop softly, wondering if you could really ask about what you want to. just from hearing second hand, you didn't know if it would be a sensitive subject for zhongli if you breached it.

"you're awfully fidgety," he flicks his eyes towards you as you sigh. tearing his face from the direction of the window, he returns his full attention towards you. "is something on your mind, my dear?"

"here sits rex." zhongli's spine locks his posture. "here sits guizhong." you whisper both short phrases. the small table you shared with xianyun, the traveler, and paimon today was the very table she used to share with her rex lapis and guizhong many, many years ago.

maybe this wasn't a good idea.

zhongli's face did not show any anger or resentment, but the way the aura around him shifted? it made you feel guilty for even bringing it up. you sigh, clear your throat, and shake your head.

"i... nevermind. i apologize for bringing that up. please, forget I said anything at all."

silence returned, but it was less comfortable than before. you take a couple sips of your tea, swallowing hard but the liquid warming your chest all the same. zhongli has not lifted his cup, but he has redirected his gaze outside once again. maybe he really would drop the conversation as you insisted.

half way through your cup, your tea started tasting too bitter for your liking and you thought it would be a good time to leave the room altogether. just leave zhongli to his thoughts and maybe preparing some food as another apology for prying into a past that had nothing to do with you.

you set your cup further away from you, a clear sign that you were finished. your chair pushes back and zhongli looks across the table to you. with your downcase gaze to make sure you didn't trip over any of the table legs, you miss the hard swallow of zhongli's that bobbed his apples adam and the near desperate look he shot towards you. like he was pleading with you not to leave him just yet.

"dear, wait-"

"it's getting late, so i'll start dinner."

"hold on," he breathes. joining you by standing to his feet and rounding the table so quickly his hip brushes back the corner. "please, y/n, wait a moment," he steps in front of you. his arms come up to gently rest his hands on your forearms.

zhongli sighs seeing your dejected look. one of his hands come to hook under your chin to bring your gaze up to his. seeing the sliver of guilt in your eyes made his heart ache. his thumb brushes over your cheek and you lean into his touch, making a weak smile run across his lips.

"please don't misunderstand, i'm not angry." his hand slips down your neck. "I'm not angry" -he reiterates with a sigh- "but could you tell me why you're interested?" his palm rests on the crook of your neck now, thumb absentmindedly rubbing softly back and forth across your pulse point. he's always enjoyed feeling your life under his fingertips.

"i've always been interested," you tell him solemnly. "knowing about the god who was at your side when i wasn't, taking care of you. i've always wanted to know about her." you advert your gaze elsewhere with a small pout on your lips. the silence in the room that follows your reply gives you time to clock how you sounded... and you gasp. with a quick motion that zhongli wasn't expecting, you whip your gaze back up towards him and grasp his wrist in your hand firmly. "i'm not jealous or anything!"

"i didn't think you were," he chuckles, continuing his soft thumb stroke across your neck. he wasn't sure if you heard him though since you continue trying to save face that you haven't even sullied.

"really, im not at all. whether you had any romantic feelings for lady guizhong or not has nothing to do with me- or us? this us, of today i mean. or... i guess of the past? i mean during that time i was dead- so to speak anyway- so, i really don't mind if you two were intimate. she seemed like a wonderful god, and so it-"

"y/n," his voice cuts through your nervous rambles as his second hand comes to rest on the opposite side of your neck. you stop speaking and he chuckles at the flustered expression you wear. using the heels of his hands, he lifts your face up by the undersides of your chin to kiss your cheek. you can feel the smile of his lips on your skin. "calm down," he whispers.

your racing pulse does as commanded and soon you were relaxing in his hold.

"guizhong and i were never lovers," he tells you. "she was a dear friend of mine, but even back then, taking a romantic route with someone other than you was never an option for me, rest assured."

"i was never worried about it," you pout again. "if you two were lovers, at least i would've had the satisfaction of knowing you were being taken care of. according to cloud retainer, guizhong was quite the mother hen."

"she cared deeply for others, that's true. still, nothing between us romatically ever happened."

zhongli should've told you about guizhong long ago. he knows this, but still, sometimes talking about his dear lost friend still stings. such a pure and kind soul didn't deserve the ending she got.

your free hand that wasn't loosely wrapped around your lover's wrist, comes to gently place itself against his chest. your palm resting against the center of his torso.

"you truly do not need to tell me anything. i understand." and zhongli knows you do. you're so sincere that sometimes he truly believes you're too good for him. still, he wants to tell you. zhongli wants to tell you, his partner in this long life of his, all about the lord of dust guizhong; about his best friend from an age long past.

zhongli slides his hands off your neck and down your arms to soon lovingly encase your hands in his. without his gloves, you can see the golden veins running through him. sometimes you wonder if zhongli secretly had the sun inside him. the god of old brings your clasped hands to his chin and kisses the top of them, eyes shut gently to take in the warmth of them against his lips and skin.

"please," he whipsers. "rejoin me for some tea? i'll tell you all about her." his eyes open and there's a shimmer of mirth behind their golden hue. he lowers your hands just enough to show off his mouth. his smiling warmly and nostaligically. "she'd surely give me quite the lecture if i did not tell my dearest lover all about her."

as he leads you back to the tea tables, he moves his chair to be beside yours so he can continue to hold your hand. entertwaining his fingers with yours, he strokes your knuckles as he weaves his words together as fluently and elgantly as possible.

telling you silly things, serious things, sad things, happy things. everything he could think about. he watches you laugh and your eyes mist over at her demise. he smiles as you listen to him so intivitely.

"guizhong would have adored you."

a/n pt.2: this was sitting in my drafts foreverrrr and i could never find a way to feel like it was written the way i wanted it to be?? but im tired of trying to fix it so into the wild it goes (i just really wanted to write about guizhong ;-; )

[ginandoldlace]

Lucy's Tearoom in Stow-on-the-Wold is a quaint and inviting spot, renowned for its delightful selection of homemade cakes, traditional afternoon teas, and warm, friendly atmosphere, making it a popular choice for locals and visitors alike.

[arteastica]

early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (29)

erwin x fem!reader

chapters: (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26) | (27) | (28)

summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)

notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?

content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters.) no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?

wc: 6.8k

“Lord Angert,” your father began, savoring the name together with his favorite black tea. “The renowned author. I’m sure you’re familiar with his work.” He continued, feigning modesty with a nonchalant flick of his hand, yet the gleam of pride dancing in his eyes betrayed his true intentions. “Even he couldn't resist my darling's charm. Oh, the poetry he must have penned in her honor... words cannot do her justice.”

Your father's words hung in the air, each syllable a heavy stone dropped into the once calm waters of your mind. The golden afternoon glow, not too long ago a source of comfort, was now a fading memory, casting long, distorted shadows as the impending dusk descended upon the tearoom. Outside, dark shades of blue took over the sky, and inside, a suffocating dread seeped into your veins as you recalled the events of that winter day Lord Koch had visited the base.

The Commander. You knew how he felt about Leon. He had made his stance clear that night in his office. And now, you could almost feel his gaze upon you, but you dared not glance his way. His eyes, you imagined, were performing a cold, calculating assessment on you, dissecting your every reaction to find an explanation he could take home with him tonight. And you wished you could provide just that, you wished you could explain that you'd carefully avoided mentioning Leon’s visit the previous winter, fearing the very misunderstanding now unfolding before your eyes.

Your heart longed for clarity just as much as you imagined his did, but under your mother’s watchful, scrutinizing eyes you were trapped. You knew she had been piecing together the puzzle of your relationship, one carefully observed detail at a time, and that every breath, every movement you made would just confirm her suspicions about the two of you. Whatever those might be.

And like so, you became nothing but a mere spectator to your own demise. Sitting there in silence, as still as possible despite the tight knot suffocating your throat. Sitting there in uncertainty, silently praying for a moment of privacy with him, for a chance to explain, to clear this misunderstanding before he left. Before it was too late.

“Our daughter has had numerous suitors since she came of age,” your mother began, her voice surgically cutting through both, the silence left by your father’s monologue, and your distressing rumination, “however, she has consistently declined all their advances.” She declared calmly, while her fingers, steady as a painter’s, lifted the delicate porcelain cup to her lips, the controlled elegance with which she carried herself standing in stark contrast to your own trembling hands.

“Lord Angert, while a formidable prospect, was no exception.” She concluded, taking a sip from her cup, her movements as precise and calculated as her words. And maybe it was the sliver of relief you felt at her opportune intervention, but in that moment, you realized you’d never seen anyone drink black tea so gracefully before.

“Sometimes,” she continued after savoring her drink, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, a small gesture that made you hold your breath in anticipation of whatever words were about to leave her lips, “one wonders if her heart has already found a home somewhere else.”

A sudden, sweltering fever started to burn your face, threatening to consume you whole. Your heart pounded in your ears along with your mother’s last words, a deafening drumbeat against the quiet of the tearoom, drowning out the gentle chirping of night birds that had just woken up from their slumber. And maybe it was the open window and the cool evening breeze blowing against your neck, but despite being in your childhood home, you felt exposed and vulnerable; the urge to seek refuge in the Commander’s gaze, an overwhelming impulse. The need to meet his eyes and apologize for this whole conversation, from the marriage misunderstanding to your mother’s uncomfortable assumptions, was overpowering. Yet the fear of doing so, unintentionally proving her point, and making things even more awkward for him was even stronger.

“Who? A Survey Corps soldier?” Your father interjected, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and amusement as he began to pick up the clues your mother had not-so-subtly dropped. “Buttercup?” He questioned, turning his attention to you, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind as his keen eyes drilled into you, studying your features as if they would ever betray you and give away your little secret.

“But, aren’t romantic relationships…prohibited there?” He asked, this time turning to the Commander, seemingly begging him to soothe his worries away with a firm nod of his head, which you didn’t know whether he got. You still didn’t dare to look anywhere near the tall man sitting across from your father.

“I mean, I would bet there is no shortage of suitors back at the base,” he continued, his tone shifting to one of protective concern. “But I trust you to keep an eye on my little girl, Erwin. She's my most precious possession.”

“I promise to always take good care of her, Sir,” the Commander assured him, his voice firm as ever, yet gentle as it was on those intimate moments when it was just the two of you, alone in his bedroom, your naked bodies tangled by the crackling fire, his fingertips drawing random patterns on your sweaty skin, and his agitated heartbeat singing under your ear. And like so, in the sincerity of his voice, in the warmth of those shared memories, you found the courage to finally meet his eyes.

And to your surprise, there was no anger, resentment, or recrimination lurking in their depths. Instead, all you could see was a promise - a promise not just to your father, but to you as well. And, in that fleeting moment, as your eyes locked and his lips smiled reassuringly, you allowed yourself to imagine a future where those words were not merely a casual promise of temporary protection, but a sacred vow exchanged under the watchful eyes of your family.

“Alright, it seems dinner is ready,” your mother announced, a contented hum escaping her lips as she began walking towards the kitchen, where the tantalizing aroma of roast turkey was calling. Rising from your seat, you closed the window with a gentle click, blocking out the fading daylight and casting the room in a warmer, more intimate glow.

-

The clinking of silverware against porcelain echoed through the dining room, the aroma of roast turkey and creamy mushroom gravy filling the air as the street lights, now casting long shadows over the room, created a sense of comfortable intimacy.

Your parents, engrossed in their own world of high society gossip, didn’t seem to notice the moment your hand found its way into the Commander’s, your fingers intertwining with his beneath the table. The warmth of his skin sending shivers of delight all over your body.

Luckily for you, your mother’s favorite book: Other people’s personal business, was open in Frida Achterberg’s chapter tonight, and in this moment, with her attention entirely focused on Lady Achterberg’s children and not you, you felt a sense of freedom, a chance to connect with the Commander without fear of prying eyes.

“I heard it from Hansel today,” your father said, his mouth full of roasted parsnip, “he introduced Augusta’s niece to Lady Frida’s son. They’re tying the knot in Orvud this summer.”

“Miss Berger? Marrying that dreadful young man?” Your mother exclaimed, her voice dripping with disdain, as if the mere mention of Marco Achterberg’s name was a social sacrilege. “Can you imagine?”

Your father, ever the eager participant in such conversations, leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I heard it was a match made in the heavens,” he said with a mock seriousness. “Two peas in a pod. Hansel is an experienced matchmaker, after all. Ha ha”

You and the Commander exchanged a silent, amused glance, a secret smile playing on your lips as you listened to your parents' animated conversation. The warmth of his hand, clasped securely with yours beneath the table, reminded you of a comforting cup of chocolate on a cold, snowy day. And his thumb, tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand, was speaking in a silent, secret language only the two of you could understand.

“Can you believe it?” your mother exclaimed, still hung up on Miss Berger’s fate, her features contorted into a mixture of surprise and disappointment. “Young Miss Berger is to be married! Such a pity, really. She's barely out of her teens.”

“Well, someone has to inherit that fortune.” Your father chuckled, a hearty sound that filled the room. “She was Lady Marina’s only child. There’s nobody else to share those golden ingots with,” he replied, his tone laced with a hint of envy. “Let's hope the Achterberg boy appreciates her.”

As your father’s voice drifted into the background, you risked a glance at the Commander, your heart pounding in your chest when you found his eyes already fixed on you. Their deep, captivating blue, meeting yours for a fleeting moment before he turned his attention back to your parents.

“Isn't it scandalous?” you heard your mother say, the faux outrage in her voice making the Commander chuckle softly. But her voice was merely a distant, fading melody for you. Because, his smile… Goodness, you could stare at it for the rest of your days, forever lost in t-

“Buttercup,” your father’s voice interrupted the moment, breaking the spell, your heart racing as you reluctantly let go of his hand, forcing your attention back to the conversation. The Commander, ever the gentleman, mirrored your actions, his expression carefully neutral. “What became of the Achterberg girl you went to institute with? The one who tried to set Mr. Gunter’s office on fire?” He inquired, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Lady Frida’s eldest?” You asked, indulging in a sip of cider to wash any hints of guilt or discomfort from your face. “I heard she married Lord Koch’s cousin, and moved to Karanes.”

“Hansel’s cousin?!” Your father’s voice, as well as his eyebrows, shot up in alarm before turning back to your mother, “that can’t be right. I’m quite certain they’re all well into their fifties, and more importantly, married already!”

As your parents continued their lively discussion about the local aristocracy, you leaned in slightly in the Commander’s direction, your breath warm against his ear. "I believe you would be a far better match for Lady Achterberg's daughter," you whispered, a mischievous smirk tugging at your lips. “She’s a chess prodigy, just like you. Perhaps I should consider myself lucky Lord Koch didn’t introduce you first.”

A playful glint appeared in his eyes as he chuckled softly. “Perhaps.” He murmured back, his voice low and intimate. “Although, I believe Lady Achterberg’s daughter would be quite disappointed to learn that I don’t count setting things on fire among my… interests.”

You couldn’t suppress a giggle as you glanced at your parents, making sure they were still engrossed enough in their animated conversation.

“I’m beginning to notice a connection between Hansel and the ancient art of matchmaking,” The Commander continued, a hint of amusement in his voice, “I suspect he’s trying to take over the social scene one arranged marriage at a time.”

“Well, Lord Koch is a wealthy man with five married daughters, he has nothing to do but marry off everyone else’s. Try the cream of parsnip.” You suggested, serving him a generous ladle next to his sourdough bread.

“Lady Frida isn’t entirely without her faults.” Your father conceded, a hint of empathy in his voice. “Yes, a bit conceited perhaps, but there are far worse people inside these Walls. It’s sad to see the way her kids turned out.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge in her face. “Well, she did raise them, didn’t she, which is a questionable thing on its own. More bread?” She asked, an offer neither you nor the Commander could decline.

“It’s a beautiful house, madam,” he remarked, dipping the crusty bread into the cream of parsnip.

“Thank you, Commander,” she replied, a subtle nod of appreciation as she placed two additional buttery slices of bread on his plate.

“A townhouse in the heart of affluent Mitras, six bedrooms, three floors, and a private garden. What’s not to like?” Your father jumped unprovoked, unable to resist an occasion to display his wealth. His enthusiasm, however, quickly vanished in a matter of seconds. “Except, of course-”

“The shared wall,” your mother and you finished the sentence in unison.

“Exactly, I don’t like-”

“Sharing a wall with the neighbors,” you two said again, exchanging amused glances with each other.

“Exactly.” Your father conceded, a little annoyed at the two women in his life.

“A most impressive property, Sir,” the Commander remarked, his gaze traveling across the room, “I couldn’t help but notice the lack of staff. Is it only the two of you at home, Madam?”

Your mother chuckled softly. “That’s correct, Commander. I find joy in caring for my family,” she said, placing yet another serving of turkey on your father’s plate. “I enjoy cooking and they seem to enjoy my cooking, why would I let a stranger steal one of the highlights of my day? And what’s worse, pay them for it. Would you care for some more turkey, dear?”

You shook your head seconds before realizing it wasn’t you whom the question had been meant for, but the Commander.

The affectionate slip of the tongue sent a jolt of surprise through you as you glanced at your mother, her face betraying no hint of embarrassment. She hadn’t even noticed. The Commander, however, seemed to have caught the accidental endearment, a subtle smile playing on his lips as he gave her an affirmative nod.

Your mother, usually so reserved against visitors, was displaying an unexpected vulnerability tonight, the endearing mistake a silent confession of her growing fondness, perhaps? Or so you would like to think.

As she offered the Commander a generous serving of turkey, a pleasant warmth crept onto your cheeks, realizing the implications of her words. She had fallen in love with him even faster than you had.

“Family is really everything,” your father declared, randomly inserting himself back into the conversation after taking a long pause to sip wine. “Ever considered starting one of your own, Erwin?”

“In my line of work, sir, those are not the kind of thoughts one is allowed to entertain,” he replied, his tone polite but firm.

You lowered your gaze, feigning interest on the food, your face as hot as the soup you pretended to stir. The course of the conversation was clear, and you dreaded the uncomfortable territory you were headed for.

Your father, oblivious to the tension his interrogation was causing you, pressed on. “So you are not wedded,” he observed, more to himself than to the rest of you present at the table. “Have you ever been?”

“I haven’t, Sir.” The Commander replied, his voice steady.

A flicker of disappointment crossed your father's face. “How come? I imagine a man like you, with your masculine bearing and remarkable intellect, wouldn't struggle to find a partner, should you ever change your mind.” He suddenly turned to you, his wrinkly eyes twinkling with genuine curiosity, and perhaps, something else... “Right, buttercup?”

Feeling a blistering blush spread all over your face, you squeezed the Commander’ thigh abruptly, a little above the knee, forcing a smile to meet your father’s seemingly innocent one, and wishing to melt into your chair. With his inquiring eyes focused on you, you were suddenly flooded with flashbacks to that awkward moment in the tearoom from earlier, but at least now you had the warm, firm muscles of his thigh to hold on to for support.

“Your commander here is a fine gentleman,” he continued, stating the obvious, as if you’d never noticed yourself, “a man like him, in his prime, his wife will be a very fortunate lady.”

You smiled forcefully, unsure how to respond.

“Reminds me a lot of myself back in the day.” He sighed longingly, as if remembering a sweeter, more youthful past he could never go back to. “Like Erwin here, I was a man of substance, with a keen mind and even sharper wit.” He recalled, a touch of vanity creeping into his voice. “Tall, muscular, built surprisingly similar to one of those stone sculptures from the museum, if I do say so myself. Right, pumpkin?”

“If you cannot think of anything truthful to say, you will please restrict your remarks to the weather.” Your mother replied, and even though still a little tense, you couldn’t help but laugh. “Tea in the salon, everyone?” She asked, her joyful tone immediately warming the atmosphere.

You exchanged a knowing glance with the Commander, the shared amusement in his eyes making you smile. In this moment, surrounded by the people you loved and the man you had fallen for, you felt a sense of peace and contentment.

-

“Unforgivable! I almost got you!” Your father exclaimed, his laughter echoing from the salon all the way to the dining room, where you stood at the table, clearing away the remnants of dinner.

You’d never seen him so engrossed in a game before. His competitive spirit paired with his complete lack of skill on the chessboard, had always turned the game into a source of frustration for him.

“Perhaps next time, Sir.” The Commander chuckled, making his final move, a calculated precision in his actions that together with the blue depths of his stare, was both captivating and intimidating.

You paused in your task, your gaze drawn to the two men. There was an undeniable affinity between them, a fresh bond forged in shared respect, or royal conspiracy theories, perhaps. Little did it matter, it was a precious thing to witness nonetheless, rare like the unusual moments of domestic tranquility the Commander almost never got, a respite from the complexities of his world. The realization filled your chest with warmth, as comforting as the soft glow the salon was bathed in.

“I won’t be so forgiving next time, Erwin!” Your father promised, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I will be ready then, Sir.” The Commander replied, his eyes meeting yours briefly before returning to the board, a soft smile playing on his lips.

The flames dancing in the fireplace behind him, the steam coming from the mug beside the chessboard, his relaxed, comfortable demeanor… it all took you back to that early winter night in his office, the first time he made love to you.

A warm smile spread across your lips, the memories from that night flooding your chest with a quiet joy, making your skin tingle with a delightful combination of pleasure and excitem-

“You love him.”

Your heart pounded in your ears, throat tight and dry as your hands stilled, the remnants of dinner forgotten.

“Mother?” Your entire face was burning when you met her gaze, surprise and apprehension battling within your chest as you wondered how long had she been observing you.

“You are in love with Commander Smith,” she stated plainly, her voice carrying a quiet conviction that sent shivers down your spine.

With your heart threatening to break your ribcage, you opened your mouth to deny it, but no words came out. Your mother, with a keen understanding of the situation as she always did, turned her attention to the men conversing animatedly in the salon, giving you a moment to regain your composure.

“Mother,” you began after a while, your voice barely a whisper, “you have an extraordinary imagination.”

Her lips curved into a knowing smile. “Perhaps,” she conceded, “but a mother knows her child, doesn't she?”

Her eyes, always filled with warmth and understanding, now held a knowing look as well, a look that said she had seen through you, understood you in a way that no one else ever had.

“I know you, my dear,” she continued, her voice carrying a quiet authority, “I saw you when Lord Wald’s youngest tried to dance with him,” she chuckled, her tone laced with a hint of amusement, “and I saw you dancing with him too. The way you blushed when his hand found your waist, the way you smiled with your head on his chest…” She paused, still looking at the Commander, whose eyes were crinkling with amusement at something your father just said. “The way you smiled at each other when you thought no one was looking.” She finally turned to you, her eyes softening when they met yours. “I’ve seen this before, you know.”

Your entire face trembled, your muscles doing their best to prevent any emotion from escaping. Looking away from her knowing gaze, you sought refuge in the sight of the man laughing with your father in the room next door. Your little secret should not see the light tonight. Not like this. Not when neither of you were ready.

In that moment, as if fate conspired together with your mother to prove her point, his eyes met yours, his lips offering you a sweet smile, filled with a tenderness that made your heart skip several beats.

“The things you say!” You exclaimed, looking away from him as fast as you could, your ears burning after realizing your mistake, your voice rising slightly in a futile attempt to mask your discomfort. “That’s nonsense, mother. The Commander- he-”

“He is a fine gentleman,” she interjected, her voice soft, “well-mannered, educated, hardworking,” she smiled reassuringly, her protective eyes wrapping you in her warm gaze, “and my daughter deserves nothing less.”

Your lips trembled, threatening to let a small smile slip, her words of approval caressing your ears like soft velvet.

“Not to mention,” she continued, her eyes momentarily traveling to the Commander before returning to you, “he’s also very well-favored, if I may add,” she conceded, the playful smirk tugging at her lips making you chuckle.

“I’ll take it from here,” she declared, taking the cleaning cloth from your hands, “now go, before your father embarks on one of those ridiculous theories about secret societies thriving beyond the walls,” she added, exasperated at the absurdity of such notion.

With the weight of your secret becoming a little lighter now that you had one less person to hide it from, you settled onto the couch, your body instinctively seeking the warmth of the Commander’s side. Your mother joined shortly after, just in time to witness your father challenge the Commander to a rematch. And for the rest of the evening, there were no more interrogations, no more inquiring eyes on the two of you. Only laughter, the gentle crackle of the fire, and poor chess decisions by your father.

-

“Sir, Madam, thank you for a most delightful evening,” the Commander said, his voice carrying a note of sincere gratitude, “your hospitality will be long remembered.”

Disappointment shot through you as you watched him rise to his feet, realizing the evening was drawing to a close. You stood as well, your feet heavy with the impending farewell.

“Anytime, Commander Smith. Do you have a place to stay the night?” Your mother inquired, her voice warm and inviting. “Why don’t you stay here? There’s plenty of space.”

The Commander hesitated, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before going back to your mother, and from that look alone you already knew what his answer would be, even though his lips were yet to make it official.

“I appreciate the offer, Madam, but I believe it best to arrange my lodging at a nearby inn.” He announced, a polite smile gracing his lips. “You’ve already been very generous with me, and I don’t wish to overstay my welcome.”

“Nonsense, we made you stay in Mitras longer than you intended to,” your father interjected, his voice firm but laced with warmth, a warmth that ignited a little flame of hope inside you, that maybe your parents could somehow convince him to stay, “the least we could do is offer you a warm bed for the night.”

The Commander bowed his head, a subtle smile playing on his lips, "your hospitality knows no bounds," he replied, his voice filled with sincere gratitude. “However, Sir, I’m afraid my answer should remain the same.”

Your mother's smile widened. "Of course, we understand. And we won’t delay your departure any further as you must be tired, but please, do visit again soon. You're always welcome here."

“That’s right, and before you go, Erwin,” your father began, his grip firm as he shook the Commander’s hand, “once again, thank you for watching over our girl.” A genuine smile graced your father’s features before they grew darker, a shadow of concern crossing his eyes as they scanned the room, seemingly expecting an unseen threat. “Be careful out there, Erwin,” he warned, “these are uncertain times and those who share our beliefs must be vigilant.”

A shiver ran down your spine as your father’s words sank in. He was not usually like this, and the seriousness in his voice was as unsettling as it was concerning. If he was this alarmed, then the world outside these familiar walls must be far more perilous than you had originally imagined, even in the ‘safe haven’ known as Mitras.

“I certainly will, Sir. Be careful as well.” The Commander replied, exchanging a serious glance with your father, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken danger. And something about their demeanor made you suspect that it wasn’t titans what they were worried about.

“Mother, Father, I’ll see Commander Smith out,” you declared firmly, a desperate last attempt to find at least a moment of privacy with him. A minute or two in the hallway, out of your parents’ sight, should be enough to steal a kiss from those sweet, indulgent lips.

“I will do it-” your father began, but your mother’s voice was quick to cut through his words.

“How come? Remember Doctor Spiegel said that people your age should be regular with their sleep schedule,” she declared, her tone unwavering yet playful, and with a final glance at you, she led your father upstairs.

“People my age?” You heard your father question, his voice, as well as their retreating footsteps, a fading echo in the now perfectly quiet house.

The Commander turned to you, his eyes holding a silent farewell. You offered a small, resigned smile in return, your hand reaching for his face as if by force of habit.

“Do you really have to go?” You asked, your thumb tracing the bristly skin of his chin. It was selfish, you knew, wanting to take even more of his time, to demand even more of his attention, and yet...

“First Lord Koch, then Lady Angelika, then my father…” you sighed, watching your fingers play with the collar of his shirt. “It seems everyone gets to have a moment with you today, except for me,” you said, your eyes meeting his as your lips uttered those last words.

He smiled, his eyes disagreeing with what you just said, yet regarding you with a tenderness that never failed to make you feel safe and protected.

“Princess-”

“I know I’m being selfish,” you confessed, putting on that same little smile you used when you were just a little girl, asking her parents for candy, “but I’d love to have you all to myself, even if just for a little while…” You paused to look up at him, your eyes crinkling in mischief, “do you think that would be possible…Commander Smith?”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as his hand reached for your face, running an indulging finger across your cheek.

“My lady,” he began, his voice low and intimate, “how could I say no to such a reasonable request?”

You smiled wider, excitement weaved into the little giggle you let escape, and linking your fingers with his, you led him back to the salon next door.

“Interesting piece,” he murmured as you walked through the doorway.

“Hmm?” You turned around, finding his gaze lost in the vibrant green fields of the painting above the fireplace, “oh, that. Mother fount it at a local fair,” you explained, guiding him to the couch, where you could share the warmth of the fireplace, “said it made her feel-”

“Free,” he echoed softly, his voice carrying a hint of longing.

You looked at him, his gaze still drawn to the painting in front of him. In the soft glow of the fireplace, his features were even sharper. His nose, in particular, was a work of art in and on itself, high and perfectly proportioned, the bridge prominent and the tip slightly downturned…

Goodness, he was so beautiful.

“Exactly,” you said softly, still admiring his profile, “Mother loved it at first sight. However, upon learning its true meaning, she deemed it too provocative for her taste.” You paused, your eyes momentarily shifting to the painting. “Life beyond the walls. That’s what the artist envisioned.”

His gaze returned to you, a silent question reflected in his eyes.

“Notice how there’s nothing on the horizon?” You explained, tracing the outline of the painting with your eyes. “No walls, no titans. Nothing but the bare blue sky.”

He nodded, his eyes following yours back to the canvas, where they decided to rest for the time being.

The room fell silent for a while, the only sound the gentle crackling of the fire in front of you, casting dancing shadows on the walls. You were mere inches apart, fingers interlaced, your body leaning into his, yet you could tell his mind was a world away, still lost in the imaginary realms of the painting. You stole another glance at him, and remembered about the earlier misunderstanding regarding Leon. Figuring this was the moment you had been praying for all evening, you opened your mouth to apologize.

“A provocative work of art, indeed.” He suddenly murmured, more to himself than to you, his expression still contemplative, his voice so deep and mellow, so husky and inviting… It was truly unfortunate that the object of his admiration was the painting, and not you.

Inside the dimly lit room, with the dying fire highlighting the sharp lines of his features in intimate shades of gold, and the delightful sight of his profile staring right ahead and not your way, you realized that the Leon matter could wait a little longer, because at the moment, you were incredibly tired of sharing his attention with the painting.

A quick glance at the lonely, sleepy corridors of the second floor sealed your decision. With your heart pounding in your chest, you took his hand and placed it on your thigh, where the thin tulle of your dress offered little resistance to his touch, your skin burning beneath his manly, calloused fingers.

His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, promptly returned to yours, a silent question lingering in their depths.

“Tell me, Commander Smith,” you started, your voice a whisper only he could hear, “and my dress?” You asked, his gaze lingering on your lips for a moment longer than necessary, “do you find it…provocative too?”

He looked down, his eyes resting on your thigh much like his hand was. And you could see the look of disapproval on his face, you too knew this was inappropriate. However, you could also see the battle raging within him, a silent war between reason and desire. You wouldn’t blame him if he pulled away, but you hoped the temptation was strong enough to make him stay.

Then, as if to help him make an informed decision, his fingers started tracing the delicate fabric of your dress, his thumb and forefinger studying it, feeling its texture, the warmth of his skin seeping through the tulle, burning the fine, very-easy-to-tear fabric.

“Very much, my lady,” he finally said, his voice a gift from the gods themselves, so low, so perfectly rough it caressed your skin in all the places you wished his fingers did. Under the intense scrutiny of his gaze, a strong wave of desire crashed between your legs, flooding your senses, soaking you entirely. And you wondered if he wanted it too. You wondered if he wanted to taste you, to feel you against him just as much as you did… And most of all, you wondered if he imagined tearing the dress from your body, just as much as you wanted him to.

“Distracting,” he murmured, his eyes tracing the lines of your body, lingering on your exposed shoulders and beauty bones, “a man can’t help but have dangerous thoughts when confronted with such a sight.” His fingers tightened around the fabric, your entire body trembling under his touch, the smell of burnt wood blending deliciously with his intoxicating cologne.

“What kind of dangerous thoughts, Commander Smith?” You dared to ask, your chest rising and falling in anticipation of all the promises his eyes were silently making to you.

A knowing smile played on his lips, and goodness, the things that smile could do to you. If only you could kiss it right now.

“The kind that are best not shared with a lady,” he replied, his palm, warm and firm, flat against your skin, “much less under her parents’ roof,” he said, his fingers sinking in the soft, tender flesh of your inner thigh, his grip gentle yet greedy, as to remind you that he could take you whenever he pleased.

It was not until you spoke again, and felt your breath warm against his lips, that you realized the proximity between your faces.

“Would you like to help me take it off?” You asked, the question dangerously tumbling out of your lips before you could stop it. As your heart pounded loudly in your ears, you realized the implications of your words. You hadn’t intended for it to go that far, yet you couldn’t say you were mad at yourself for that.

His eyes darkened, a dangerous glint flickering in their depths. “Very much,” he gave you his honest reply, his voice almost a growl, a raspy, delicious answer whispered against your lips. “However, circumstances dictate otherwise, and a man would be greedy to expect more from an already wonderful evening,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of regret.

“A man would be cruel, merciless even, to leave a lady in such distress,” you countered, breathing heavily against his lips, “all to herself…” You shifted in your place, pressing your thighs together, the need to touch yourself, an overwhelming desire.

“Tell me, Commander Smith,” you continued, your voice both a plea and a demand, “aren’t you going to kiss me before you leave?”

A storm of desire raged within his eyes, your question igniting a silent war inside him. From such proximity, you could see duty and honor trying to keep him from slipping, from making a dangerous mistake, from giving in to his most primal instincts… yet their efforts perhaps weren’t enough…

A dangerous smile took over his lips as he leaned in, his lips hovering a hair’s width away from yours. His hand rose to the nape of your neck, where his fingers, asserted a firm, possessive claim on you, securely tangled in your hair.

“Pretty princess,” he murmured, his voice a dangerous promise, his bottom lip menacingly brushing against yours.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of fear and anticipation. You wanted him to close the barely existent gap separating you, to claim you in that moment with a kiss. Yet, the thought of your parents returning filled you with dread. Should any of them come back down and see you like that… it would be the end of you. These were definitely not the activities their young, unmarried daughter should be engaged in this late into the night, much less under their own roof.

However, the man in front of you was too hard to resist. He was worth risking everything for.

And just like that, as temptation pulsated between your legs, you reached out, your fingers tracing the bristly line of his jaw as you brought his face impossibly close to yours.

When your lips finally met his, time seemed to stand still. Eyes closed, you brushed your bottom lip against his, a soft, tentative touch that was enough to make the world around you fade away, worries, fears, insecurities, and Marie Dok included. In that moment, when he held your bottom lip captive between his teeth, nothing else mattered but the connection between you. Every time your lips touched, you felt a sense of wholeness that was impossible to describe, as if it was only then that you were sound and complete.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you parted your lips, inviting him in, his tongue tracing delicate patterns inside your mouth, dancing against yours with a practiced skill. It was an area he knew very well, after all. And his hand, once gentle, now moved with a possessive urgency, tracing the contours of your body, roaming over your back, claiming the curves of your hips as his…

You moaned softly, your body arching against his as he deepened the kiss. And you felt him smile against your lips as you melted into him, your entire body trembling under his touch. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss, the taste of his lips, the feel of his touch, the intoxicating aroma of his cologne- it was all you could focus on, your senses completely consumed as you surrendered to the intensity of the moment.

As you surrendered to him.

You held his face with both hands as he kissed you deeper and deeper, pleased, contented hums escaping your lips as you enjoyed the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. His hand, meanwhile, traveled back down to your inner thigh, where it decided to rest for the time being, his fingers warmly tucked between your legs, dangerously close to your silky, drenched underwear. You felt a surge of delight that threatened to consume you whole, your body aching with longing, aching for him. You shifted in your seat, a silent plea for him to continue, to take you further. Yet you knew he would never cross that line without your consent, much less in the middle of your parents’ salon. He was a gentleman, a man of honor. But you… you weren’t that self-possessed, and your mind was already racing with forbidden fantasies.

You wanted to climb onto his lap, to feel him closer, goodness he must be so hard right now. But the knowledge of your parents, sleeping just a few rooms away, held you back, a cold chain binding you to your place. You knew the risks. A glass of water, a cup of warm milk, a late night stroll to fight insomnia… They could return at any moment, and an encounter like that would ruin everything, everything you had built that afternoon.

“Commander Smith,” you whispered, gasping for air as you pulled away.

His grip on your hair tightened slightly, a silent protest against your words, “a little more, princess,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire and his breath warm against your lips.

You leaned into him, taking his bottom lip between yours to reassure him that you didn’t intend on stopping either.

“Upstairs,” you declared, your eyes extending a very inappropriate invitation. Your faces so close you were surviving on each other’s oxygen. “Come with me upstairs.”

A wave of guilt washed over you as you uttered those words. A part of you felt bad about how much your parents trusted you, and how eager you were to abuse that trust with what you were about to do. But an even bigger, better part of you couldn’t stop imagining the things he would do to you behind closed doors, once you took the matter upstairs to the safe, intimate walls of your childhood bedroom.

He stared at you with a puzzled look in his eyes, surprise as evident as the blue in them. As if he hadn’t heard you correctly, you leaned in again, your breath a warm caress against his ear. “Erwin,” you whispered his name softly against the sensitive skin, “please take me to my room,” your cheeks burned with a delightful blend of excitement and nervousness as you continued, “and once there…” you whispered, planting a feather-light kiss down the side of his neck, “make me yours.”

-

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[mimisempai]

This unavoidable between us - Chapter 2/8

Chapter Summary

Aziraphale and Crowley meet, discuss boundaries and expectations. Crowley makes an incredible discovery...

On Ao3

Rating G - 2944 words

Masterpost here

Day 1

Location: The Ritz Hotel - The green park Suite - (2 bedrooms)

Activities: 

-First meeting for afternoon tea in Palm Court, the hotel's tea room 

-Getting to know each other

-Hotel dress code - No other requirements

-Dinner at the hotel restaurant

Crowley smiled as he checked the instructions for the first day one last time. 

He'd gone to the agency early this morning to pick up all the necessary documents for the week ahead, and now he was having a light breakfast before getting ready for the meeting ahead. 

When he saw the name of the hotel, he went to the official website to get an idea of the type of environment he would be staying in. It seemed that Aziraphale was quite well off to be able to choose a place of such standing. As for Crowley, he had never been in such a luxurious place in his life. He hoped he would make no mistakes. He had almost thought of giving himself an hour-long crash course in the rules of proper behavior, but in the end, he figured the customer knew what kind of person he was, and he wasn't going to force himself to be someone else either.

After breakfast and consulting the hotel's dress code for the various venues, he set out to find the perfect outfit for the first meeting. Crowley opted for a charcoal suit, the cut of which Nina found flattering to his figure, and a dark red shirt. He dressed, applied a bit of cologne and, satisfied with the way he looked in the mirror, grabbed his luggage and left his apartment.

When his taxi dropped him off in front of the Ritz, he still had almost an hour before meeting the customer, which would at least give him time to observe this unfamiliar environment and get used to it smoothly.

That didn't stop him from muttering as the meeting approached, "Why did I say yes? The client will see right away that I don't belong here, in fact, I'm sure he'll fire me right away. Why on earth did I stop smoking? I really need a cigarette. Come on, Crowley, get a grip. You've never backed down from a challenge, so today's not the day to start. Take a deep breath, this is for Nina and Muriel."

He gripped the handle of his suitcase, took a deep breath and walked confidently to the front door. 

**********

Aziraphale had arrived at the Palm Court half an hour early. Someone from the agency had picked up his suitcase this morning to drop it off at the hotel, and while he waited, he had taken the time to collect himself so he could make the most of every minute he had left. 

He had promised himself to focus on the present. 

To make the most of each day.

Carpe Diem. 

Never had those two words meant so much as they did in the dawn of the days ahead.

He looked at his reflection in the window of the tearoom.

He was wearing light linen pants, a light blue shirt and a matching blazer. It wasn't his usual "uniform", but it came close, while being a bit more casual. From time to time he found himself wanting to tighten a waistcoat he wasn't wearing and laughed at himself, realizing how ingrained certain habits were.

Looking out the window, he saw Anthony arrive.

It was impossible not to notice the distinctive hair.

Aziraphale had to admit that the man was even more alluring than in the photos the agency had shown him. In fact, he was absolutely striking.

He watched as he opened the door, then stepped aside to hold it open for an elderly lady who was about to leave. 

She thanked him with a smile, and Aziraphale could really see the smile on the man's face that had captured his attention since he'd seen the agency's photo.

Anthony went inside and chatted with a waitress who led him to the table where Aziraphale was waiting. Then he saw the red-haired man frown adorably before his face lit up with the same smile he'd had for the old lady when he seemed to recognize Aziraphale. He walked over to Aziraphale's table, who stood up to greet him.

"Hello, I'm Aziraphale, you must be..."

The newcomer, still smiling, replied cheerfully, "Crowley."

Aziraphale frowned.

"Crowley?"

Crowley sheepishly replied, "Oops, Anthony!"

Aziraphale nodded and replied, "Would you prefer to be called Crowley?"

Crowley shook his head.

"In fact, it doesn't really matter. I've been called that for a long time because people think Anthony doesn't suit me. 

So it's become a habit." 

Aziraphale replied gently, "I really like Anthony, and I think it suits you. May I call you Anthony?"

You can call me anything you like in that velvet voice of yours.

Of course, Crowley didn't say it out loud and just nodded.

Aziraphale held out his hand and said with a smile, "Nice to meet you, Anthony."

Crowley grasped the outstretched hand as he replied, "Nice to meet you, Aziraphale. 

In that moment, as his fingers closed on Aziraphale's hand, Crowley understood what it meant when the world stops spinning and the truth is revealed to you. He felt a great chill run through him, followed by a warmth that took root in his heart. 

He had found him.

His soul mate.

Aziraphale suggested, "Why don't we sit down?" then motioned for a waitress.

As they sat, Crowley had only one thought.

It's him, it's him, it's him... he's my soul mate... 

He was snapped out of his stupor by the waitress who asked, "What would you like to order?" 

Crowley, confused and still reeling from the discovery that the man in front of him was his soulmate, wasn't sure what to order.

He said in a slightly hesitant tone, "Aziraphale, I'm not too familiar with this kind of place and the others we'll be going to, so I trust you to guide me."

At this point, Aziraphale didn't know where the game and the truth would end, but he decided to leave it at that. After all, he'd always secretly dreamed of having a lover to guide, to show new things to. So if Crowley was happy in that role, nothing would stop him from enjoying it.

"I've never been here before either, but I hear the scones are excellent."

After consulting the menu, Aziraphale turned to the waitress and said, "We'll have freshly baked plain and fruit scones with a glass of sparkling tea."

As Aziraphale ordered, Crowley tried to come to terms with the fact that Aziraphale was his soul mate and wondered what to do.

Should he broach the subject like this, out of the blue, or...

"Anthony?"

Aziraphale's warm voice immediately brought Crowley out of his reverie and he apologized for his lack of attention. Aziraphale reassured him and said gently, "I took the liberty of ordering a non-alcoholic drink, for now."

"You did the right thing. I'll just let myself be surprised, and it's also good if we want to keep our ideas clear."

Then Crowley leaned forward a little and asked, a half smile on his lips, "So, Aziraphale, do you do this often?"

"What, eat scones and drink tea?" 

Crowley rolled his eyes, causing Aziraphale to chuckle softly before continuing more seriously, knowing full well what Crowley was getting at. 

"No, this is the first time, I've never done this before."

Crowley moved his hand toward Aziraphale's on the table, as if to grab it, but stopped himself and said quietly, "It's something I've never done either, I'll be honest, it's to help a friend that I'm doing this. That's why I think we should talk about boundaries right now. For example, what topics are appropriate to talk about or what you don't want to talk about at all. How much intimacy you want or don't want between us. Things like that."

Pleasantly surprised by the delicacy and maturity of the man before him, Aziraphale replied softly after a few seconds of silence, "I'll give you almost no limits as far as topics of conversation are concerned, except for one, which is without appeal, I absolutely do not want to talk or hear about soulmates." 

Crowley swallowed, feeling a great chill come over him as Aziraphale explained, "I have no need for soul mates, and that's all I'll say on the subject. As for the rest, I want to be myself for at least these few days, so we're really free to talk about anything."

Crowley, deeply saddened, quickly pulled himself together and replied, "I can only promise to reciprocate, it's the least I can do. Since we're pretty much on the same wavelength, shall we agree that if a subject can't be broached, is too sensitive or triggering, we'll tell each other and move on?"

Aziraphale nods in agreement.

"I think it's important for both of us to be honest about our own boundaries in order to make the most of this short time. While we're discussing boundaries, I'd like to ask you a question and know that whatever your answer, our time together will go as planned. It's just a matter of knowing where to sail."

"Go ahead," Crowley replied, looking him straight in the eye.

"What limits, if any, do you wish to place on intimacy?"

Knowing what he knew, the question was even trickier, so Crowley allowed himself a few moments of silent reflection before answering seriously, "Aziraphale, just to be clear, to be sure we mean the same thing," he paused and continued with a slight blush, "when you say intimacy, do you mean intimate gestures, like holding hands, that sort of thing?"

If Aziraphale hadn't been embarrassed himself, he would have found Anthony's discomfort adorable and coughed a little to compose himself before answering, "Yes, that sort of thing."

"Ah..." Crowley blushed even more, "Well, I don't mind if it comes naturally between us, but I don't feel very comfortable if I don't get to know you a bit more first, I couldn't do that if it's just to play a part, sorry."

Even if Aziraphale was his soulmate, Crowley wasn't going to trample who he was for a few kisses.

Aziraphale was touched by the disarming and refreshing honesty of the man before him, and it made him want to treat him with the respect he deserved even more.

He replied softly, "I'm glad to hear that, Anthony, let's use the same rule we use for topics of conversation. If one of us goes too far, the other has to tell him and we'll move on."

"That's fine." 

Crowley was relieved that things were going that way. He was glad to see that Aziraphale really seemed to be a good person. 

Aziraphale took a sip of tea and, leaning back in his seat, he asked, "You mentioned getting to know each other, so what do you want to know, Anthony?" 

Crowley asked his questions and Aziraphale answered, then asked questions in turn until the conversation flowed naturally. They shared their tastes in reading, music, and even painting. Crowley admitted that his knowledge in this area was rather limited, but that it was a subject he would like to explore when he had the time. 

Aziraphale kept that in the back of his mind.

They discussed their respective professions. Aziraphale elicited several smiles from his companion as he spoke passionately about his bookstore, and Aziraphale marveled at Anthony's passion for astronomy. When he talked about it, it was almost as if he was vibrating from within.

Then his admiration went up a notch when Crowley told him that the money he would make from this week with Aziraphale would allow him to spoil his sibling and their companion, who were about to move in together. He hadn't talked about what he would get out of it, just what he could give to his family.

Once they'd gotten over the initial awkwardness, the discussion had been easy and smooth, with no pauses, sometimes lively, sometimes quieter, and Aziraphale told himself he hadn't been stimulated like that in a long time. It was almost 6 p.m. when they went to the hotel reception to pick up the keys to the suite where they would spend the week, and a few moments later they entered with their luggage.  Then each of them took possession of his room, having agreed to meet an hour later for dinner in the hotel restaurant.

Entering his room, Aziraphale placed his bagaes in a corner and poured himself a glass of water, which he drank while gazing out of his bedroom window, which offered a beautiful view of the city at dusk.

He couldn't help but smile as he told himself that if the rest of the week was anything like this afternoon, it was going to be a wonderful seven days.

Anthony had proven to be a most pleasant partner. 

Aziraphale didn't know how long it had been since he could enjoy someone's company without having to pay attention to every word and attitude. His companion was so open that talking with him seemed quite natural. Not to mention the pleasure of being with someone whose emotions could be read on his face, which Aziraphale didn't have to decipher. He could see that what he had said about the topic of conversation he didn't want to know about had made Anthony a little uneasy, but since the man had managed to get over it, Aziraphale didn't dwell on it.

Aziraphale had sometimes felt like saying certain things just to see the reaction on his face. He wondered how Anthony would react under different circumstances... Blushing slightly at where his thoughts were taking him, he ended his reverie to freshen up before getting ready for dinner.

Crowley, in the next room, lay back on the bed, legs dangling, staring at the ceiling with a slight smile. He had replayed the afternoon in his mind and apart from the disappointment on the subject of soulmates, Crowley wasn't far from thinking that this first date had been the best of his life, if he was honest.

Aziraphale was everything he'd dreamed of in a man: intelligent, funny, thoughtful, and most of all, for the first time in a long time, Crowley felt treated as an equal and accepted for who he was. 

He didn't lose sight of reality, though; he knew it would only last a week. The fact that Aziraphale was his soulmate didn't change that. His tone had been unmistakable when he'd broached the subject. 

Crowley suspected he'd probably end up heartbroken. But he was determined to make the most of every moment he spent with Aziraphale.

Resolute, he went to get ready for dinner.

A few moments later, he knocked on his companion's door, and they walked together to the hotel restaurant, where the afternoon's discussion continued as if it hadn't stopped. 

The meal passed like a dream, and Crowley, far more interested in the man in front of him than in what was on his plate, would not have been able to say what he ate.

As they finished their desserts, Aziraphale's hand slipped to his, which was beside his glass, and the other man asked, "Is it too soon if..."

Crowley shook his head and replied gently, "Not for me," and it was his hand that came to rest on Aziraphale's. Aziraphale smiled before turning his hand under Crowley's and their fingers intertwined naturally.

Crowley continued, "Our circumstances are somewhat unique. Given the deadline on our time together, if you'll pardon the analogy, it's only natural that some things move faster. Besides, I don't know about you, but after half a day, I feel like I've known you longer than that."

Aziraphale nodded, and from then on the conversation continued as naturally as before, if not more easily, their hands never letting go. When the waiter came at one in the morning to tell them that the restaurant would be closing soon, they shared the same look of surprise. 

Both aware of the growing affection between them, they got up and went to their suite, still holding hands. Even the silence that surrounded them in the elevator was quite comfortable. When they reached the suite, they said good night and slowly, almost reluctantly, let go of each other's hands before Crowley finished breaking the spell and turned to go to his room. But just as he was about to enter, he felt his sleeve grabbed as Aziraphale murmured softly, "Anthony, wait..."

Crowley turned and Aziraphale laid a hand on his cheek before asking, his voice hesitant, almost shy, "May... May I kiss you?"

For a few seconds, Crowley wondered if it was possible to die of an attack of cuteness, then, seeing Aziraphale ready to pull away, he simply nodded before leaning down to Aziraphale, whose lips met his in the softest of kisses. 

It was perfect and lasted just long enough to end this exceptional evening.

Just before they both withdrew, Aziraphale cupped Crowley's head between his hands and, after pressing a kiss to his forehead, said in a husky voice, "Thank you, Anthony, and good night."

Then he stepped back, feeling the other man's gaze follow him as he closed the door behind him.

He prepared himself for the night in a kind of blissful haze, and as he laid his head on his pillow, he knew that sleep wouldn't be long in coming. 

When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Anthony and his gentle smile.

"Make your life a dream" 

It certainly looked like it.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[applejee]

bestie im going to melb and as a local do u have any recommendations for stuff we should do while were there?

FYCK YESSSSSS COME TO MELBOURNE!!!!!!! okay heres my exorbitant mostly food related list (note these places are almost all in the CBD):

coffee/matcha:

if you like coffee, best locations in the CBD are little rogue on drewery lane nearby melbourne central station, and tbh any coffee joint along flinders lane

if you don't like coffee but like matcha or houjicha, drop by little rogue or tori's on niagara lane!! puzzle coffee (there's one on swanston st and in melbourne central station) is also tasty

i've also heard good things about naau's matcha - they're off russell st but i haven't been there myself

breakfast/brunch/bakery:

if you want to try a classic melb brunch, try hardware lane! there's a few places in the laneway and it feels very melbourne

also on drewery lane is bakemono - an adorable little bakery that does amazing melonpan! but they sell out quick and get busy, so you want to get there by 10am at the latest

(can you tell laneways are our culture)

okay i know they opened elsewhere in australia now but LUNE is great... love the croissants....... JC patisserie boulangerie is further north but a quick train ride away - heard great things!

if you want a fun time........ hopetoun tearooms!! SOO CUTE even just the cake window is worth a look. if you want high tea you gotta book out ages in advance, but if you don't mind waiting a little they take walk ins! perfect for an afternoon pot of tea and tasty cake

more lunchy-places:

look, anywhere on degraves st will get you there, and it's also a classic tourist spot! walk down and see the most quintessential melbourne laneway there is!

if you want american-themed fare, bowery to williamsburg FUCKS i had a stunning reuben there.

tbh i rarely actually have lunch, i just get brunch... so all the recommendations above can double

dinner or lunch restaurants:

soooo i love ramen so if you do too, ikkoryu fukuoka ramen is top tier! i love their yuzu ramen. hakata gensuke is good if you like chicken ramen, and shujinko ramen (rip the flinders st store) is good if you're going up elizabeth st and want affordable

mensho tokyo ramen opened recently but uhhhhh the wait has been 3 to 5 hous somedays. ITS POPULAR. ippudo in QV is probably easier and more convenient

outside of ramen, if you want more fancy fancy farmer's daughters is STELLAR. delicious food, great cocktails, mm. nice modern aussie dining. longrain nearby is also very popular!

also vaguely upmarket is chinchin - good curry! the waiters market is a place that my mum hugely recommend before shows but ive never managed to get there myself lmao.

not ramen but still japanese is dohtonbori.. ever wanted to mix and flip your own okonomiyaki? now's the time

I WANT TO GO TO THE NATURAL HISTORY PUBLIC BAR. it's also a restaurant set to look like the american museum of natural history, if you go pls have fun

bubbletea, its own category:

this is just a list.

milksha, the alley lujiaoxiang, machi machi, coco. these are all good. chatime is fine but gongcha is better but theyre the chains so... i really want to go to choulee!! i heard theyre good

desserts:

hokkaido baked cheese tart, black star patisserie, pafu, kurimu, uncle tetsu's, brunetti's for cakes and later nights, sulhwa, and bingsu.

further out or more expensive but fun:

i need to go to milk the cow so BAAAD. there's one in st kilda, which is a short tram ride from flinders st station. if you go lmk

places to visit:

the botanical gardens!! pretty, always a nice time

the NGV likely has some free exhibits going on! always a nice wander

you gotta stop by hozier lane. you gotta. and wander around fed square while you're at it

drewery lane also has some artwork!

a walk down birrarung marr is also nice, sometimes there's night markets going on by the stadiums

the docklands has some alright places, but i know less about it... but they have a ferris wheel rn! check it out!

if you wanna spend thirty or more bucks, go up the eureka tower!! tallest building, and you can get a cool view of the city. the edge experience is a little lift that sticks out the building so you can stare down through glass to the ground below. fun if you aren't afraid of heights

if you like shopping, emporium is fancy and has a MEEQ store where you can buy jellycats

you can go to the queen victoria market if you wanna.... its a classic destination after all

THE LUME is a classic experience here too rn - more exxy but if you want a fun visual experience, do it!

if you want comics - check out all star comics! best LCS in the area.

other specific stores i recommend:

gewürzhaus! there's one in block arcade off collins st, i love it and the spices

not far from gewürzhaus is essensorie - they discon'd my fave handcream SOB but they have some nice things (this is all in the black arcade, same as hopetoun)

and with that, tbh check out all the arcades? they have fun things going on!! there's the block arcade, royal arcade with gog and magog, tivoli arcade... that is to say they're little indoor walkways with shops and stores, as in an arcade you walk through! they're cute

bourke st mall is worth a wander, and you can see the outside of the old post office that's now a H&M...

i know you said "things to do" but... all i do is eat mostly LMAO!!

really, the best thing to do is give yourself a day or two for the CBD. just wander, it's all a grid and easily navigable, and take advantage of the free tram zone!!!! it'll announce when it isn't so you know to touch on your myki or not, i'm not a cop.

you could also wander down to crown at night, southbank has many restaurants and also the flames outside crown fucketh severely

if you're going outside the CBD, its an hours or so drive but healesville sanctuary is soo fun.. and on the way there you can stop by kuranga nursery, it's a gorgeous little place and the paperbark cafe does a bunch of tasty meals with native flavours and bushtucker

if you'll be in the suburbs i have more recommendations too!! but for those just message ma and i'll share so this list isn't crazier than it is xx HAVE FUN!!!!!!!!

[naamahdarling]

This is Nubbin. He has a Nub In stead of a tail, and is a talky, shameless, fearless mommas boy who puts up with Sage’s hero-worship with admirable generosity. He greets strangers with the same warmth as longtime friends, and turns his nose up at wet food but eats lint and spiders off the floor.

The manager of the tearoom. The house has been in the family for well over a century, and his solution to upkeep costs and repairs was to turn it into a lovely little place to spend an afternoon. He isn't stuck up at all, dresses like a bit of a dandy (has to look the part of someone who lives in a haunted Victorian house), and is glad to meet everyone. He often chats with guests about local history and the house's colorful past, and is a bit of a flirt, but not in a creepy way. Very cute butt. When he's off duty, he is a bit more disheveled and informal in his habits. Despite what one may think, he is not persnickety in his tastes, nor is he afraid of confrontation, and is known to pick arguments at town hall meetings in an effort to expose the hypocrisy of meddling HOA-types. Absolutely not afraid of the ghosts, knows them all by name.

[petalsandbonbonsstudio]

[kiiyoko-san]

🇬🇧 Relax in the tearoom after an afternoon at the museum

🇫🇷 Se détendre au salon de thé après un après-midi au musée

[biby-24k]

My first O!Cielizzy fanfic aaa >w<. Hello there! I've created numerous pieces of SmilexLizzy fan art, but I have never written anything about them before. I'm really excited! Please bear in mind that English is not my native language, and I use American English in my daily life, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes in my writing (i don't have betas ;w;). With that being said, I hope you enjoy my work!

Anime/Manga: Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji) Pairing: O!Ciel x Elizabeth Word Count: 2.225 Summary: On a beautiful sunny day, Lady Elizabeth unexpectedly arrived at Phantomhive Mansion to offer her fiancé a strawberry-flavored pastry tea. While reminiscing about old times, Lady Elizabeth lets slip something that should have been buried three meters under the ground.

Window

The warm rays of sun gently streamed through the window into Lady Elizabeth's chambers. When Paula, her maid, knocked on the door, Elizabeth was already awake.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. The day is truly beautiful today, isn't it?" the maid asked.

"Good morning, Paula. You're right, it's a beautiful day," Elizabeth's beautiful blonde curls reflected the lovely sunlight, and as she looked out the window and clasped her hands together in a show of excitement, she said effusively, "Paula, I will go to visit Ciel for teatime, please make the preparations and bring a basket of sweets for the afternoon tea." The maid nodded, but as she made a farewell curtsy, Elizabeth added, "Ah! Don't forget to pack strawberry cake, it's Ciel's favourite." Paula smiled and left the room.

It was a peaceful afternoon at the Phantomhive mansion. The young master was playing a soft melody on the violin while Sebastian conducted the song.

Ever since he had returned to the mansion, he had learned to play the violin. An earl of high society must know how to play at least one instrument. The young master liked the duality of the violin, where such rigid strings produced a soft and beautiful sound. It was difficult to learn with Sebastian, his butler and teacher, as his hands turned red from so many missed notes, but today he considered himself an advanced student. He was at the peak of the melody when a loud knock on the door interrupted him.

"Young master!" the absent-minded maid cried out.

"Mey-Rin! These are not the ways to interrupt the young master's lessons," Sebastian snapped angrily.

"It's just that... ah... Lady Elizabeth is here," Sebastian opened his eyes a little and looked at his apprentice.

"It seems that we will have to suspend the lessons," he said. The young master lowered the instrument and let out a long sigh.

"Lizzy is always like this, I have told her she must announce herself before coming" he resignedly looked out the window where the carriage stopped. Sebastian also seemed disappointed; he would have to reorganize the scheduled activities for another day. However, he said, "I know it's an inconvenience, but a true gentleman must attend to his fiancée as he should," Sebastian said as he winked at him.

Lady Elizabeth was waiting for her fiancé in the hall with her maid. Mey-Rin had suggested waiting in the tearoom, but it had been some time since the young couple had seen each other, so Lady Elizabeth was eager to see the young master.

As she saw him descend the stairs, Elizabeth could not contain her excitement and ran effusively to meet him. She hugged him tenderly, trying to contain her emotions. She was no longer a child after all. Her fiancé couldn't help a slight blush on his cheeks at so much emotion. He caught a whiff of the sweet notes of her perfume, and it produced a slight tickling in his belly. Sebastian arched the corner of his lips slightly when he noticed the young master's most vulnerable part.

"Ciel! How happy I am to see you. I haven't seen you in so long," said Elizabeth as she separated from him. When she saw Sebastian by his side, she bowed. "Ah, Sebastian, a pleasure to see you again too, thank you for taking care of Ciel."

"Milady, it is a pleasure for us to receive you in the mansion," said the tall butler.

"L-Lizzy, I told you to let me know when you visit..." He must admit he was annoyed when Mey-Rin announced her, but when he saw her, his emotions changed.

"Forgive me, Ciel, I couldn't resist coming on such a beautiful day. Don't you think?" said the young lady. "I promise I'll give you advance notice next time, okay?" Elizabeth took the young master's hands gently, as a slight sign of apology. Her fiancé lowered his gaze to her hands; they were so soft. Only when he was with her did he allow himself to be in that vulnerable state. It angered him in a way, but on the other hand, he could not help himself.

"I brought cakes and sweets! Shall we go outside for tea while we talk about what has happened in these past weeks?"

The young master could not say no. He never said no to his fiancée, it was part of his duty as a count to make his future wife happy. He nodded his head and looked at Sebastian to take care of the preparations. Sebastian nodded.

"Young master, Lady Elizabeth, I invite you to wait in the parlour while the necessary preparations are made," he said, gesturing for them to go to the room.

It wasn't long after they had been in the room when Sebastian came to tell them to please go outside the mansion as the afternoon tea was ready. The young couple stepped out of the mansion and were temporarily blinded by the sun's rays. It was a warm spring day.

The place was perfect under the shade of a tree. A perfectly smooth white blanket was spread out on the lawn. On top of it were the cakes that Elizabeth had brought on a silver tray, as well as ceramic plates and silver cutlery for serving. The young master sat in one corner while his fiancée sat in the other. Paula was not far from them, contemplating the flowers, while Sebastian pulled out a violin to play a soft melody perfect for the occasion.

The young couple were silent. They hadn't seen each other in weeks and yet nothing came out of their mouths. Suddenly the teenager remembered when Edgar Redmond had asked him if he had already kissed his fiancée. He instinctively looked at her lips, soft and small. Elizabeth fixed her gaze on him, to which the count looked away and his cheeks took on a pale pink colour.

"Lizz-"

"Ciel-"

The two young people interrupted each other. Elizabeth began to laugh; she was more nervous than usual because they hadn't seen each other in so long. However, once she started asking Ciel about his adventures at Weston College, they didn't stop talking. The young man only told her about the superficial adventures of course, the prefects, the tournaments, and his discovery about his father's attendance. Trivial things he could tell his fiancée. She was amazed, so many adventures he had to tell. Her brother had told her some of them, but he didn't have the same perspective. Ciel is a much more interesting person than his brother. She knows he is not very social, so him making friends is a great surprise for her. They also talked about what Elizabeth had been doing. Her fencing classes and chess classes.

"This time I'm going to beat you, Ciel!" she said confidently. Her fiancé always beat her no matter how many times she tried. But she was better than her aunt Ann, so she had a chance.

Elizabeth gazed upon the tray still filled with strawberry cakes that she had brought for Ciel. The only ones missing were the chocolate ones. Something stirred in her mind, but she brushed it aside, as always. Suddenly, a memory shook her mind.

"Ciel, do you remember that spring day we spent here with Aunt Ann?" The young man looked into the distance, trying to hide his expression, knowing that he could be in trouble if he answered incorrectly or expressed his true feelings. Every time his fiancée reminded him, he tried to ignore the question for obvious reasons.

"Ah, of course, how could I forget?" he replied, avoiding her gaze, and trying to conceal the evasion in his voice.

"That day I baked cakes for you, but they turned out really bad, fufu," the young woman chuckled softly as she looked at her fiancé. "It was right here where you tasted them and said they were really bad." Her fiancé turned to look at her with a smile.

"Yes, and then Tanaka brought us some very delicious cakes for eat instead," Elizabeth was a little startled. That indeed happened.

"Exactly! Then mother scolded me because my stomach hurt from so many cakes we ate, haha," Elizabeth laughed softly, "it was a wonderful day."

He had not been with them in person of course, but he remembered that day because he always observed them from afar. Just behind his fiancée was the window through which he watched them play. As a child, he longed to play with his brother and his fiancée, but because of his weak body, he had to stay at home most of the time. He was just like his mother. But he was grateful to have watched them from the shadows of the mansion, so he could always imitate Ciel almost perfectly. Besides, his brother always told him what happened during the day, so he always ended up hearing all the details.

"Ah, and through that window he was watching us--" Elizabeth interrupted herself, then immediately regretted bringing up the topic. She knew she shouldn't have talked about him, but she missed him too. She wasn't going to marry him, but they still spent a lot of time together. Both of them easily beat Elizabeth at chess. He understood Ciel much better than she did. She was even a little jealous, but he was family, just like Aunt Ann, who had taught her so much. An uncomfortable silence fell. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." Elizabeth twisted her hands in the handkerchief on her lap and bit her tongue.

"My brother? I didn't know he was watching us," he lied.

"I-I'm so sorry, Ciel. I didn't mean to..." Elizabeth said, looking down.

"Don't worry, Elizabeth, he's not here anymore," the young man said, looking intently at her. "But I am," he said, placing his hand on his chest. "Ah, Lizzy, don’t cry" he noticed that a couple of tears were falling down her face. She hated herself for opening old wounds. She just wanted to create new memories with Ciel, not make him remember the bad ones.

He took out a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped his fingers on it while passing it over her face. She felt his fiancée's hand on her cheek, wiping away the tears.

"How do you remember that Lizzy?" the young man asked.

"I-I always saw him watching us through the window, even though he would hide every time I caught him spying," Elizabeth let out a small nervous laugh. The young man smiled. Perhaps it was one of the few stories they had together as kids, and the young master being, well, not Ciel.

Elizabeth ceased her sobbing.

"Forgive me for crying so much," the blonde said.

"Forgive me for making you cry," the young man replied.

"No, it's not your fault," she said while shaking his head in denial mode, then she smiled at him. "Thank you for sharing this day with me, Ciel," the young man smiled back. Sebastian witnessed the situation with curiosity. He learned something new about the young master, something that he could use to bother him later if needed.

"Should we get going, Milady?" Ciel said, noticing that a cold breeze was starting to blow.

"Ah, yes," the young man stood up first and then helped his fiancée to her feet. Sebastian headed to the spot to pick up the picnic things with Paula. On the way back to the mansion, Elizabeth stopped to look at the window where the younger brother used to watch them. Her fiancé was a little ahead when he noticed that Elizabeth had stayed behind. Turning around, he saw the young woman with a nostalgic and sad look. The Earl felt a strong heartbeat in his chest. Perhaps it was because he never thought she noticed him. She missed him. Really missed him. He felt a small emotion. But then he remembered where he was, he was no longer the replacement for his brother, he was his brother. He was Ciel, Ciel Phantomhive.

"Lizzy," he said. The young woman snapped out of her thoughts and ran to his side. As they reached the mansion's stairs, Lizzy made a small farewell bow, but before she could turn around, the Earl stopped her.

"Are you leaving so soon? I thought you intended to show me what you have learned in chess, did you not?" The young woman's face lit up and she joyfully hugged her fiancé.

"Gladly!" his future wife replied.

And so, they spent a wonderful afternoon at Phantomhive Manor. His fiancée left late, and she had drained all his energy to continue with his duties. Because only when he was with her did he relax to the point of exhaustion. While Sebastian changed his clothes, the young man brought his fingers to his lips, gently touching them. Sebastian noticed this and smiled.

"Thinking of someone special, young master?" The young man snapped out of his thoughts and blushed violently.

"W-what are you saying, Sebastian! Don't be insolent, finish quickly and let me rest." The black-clad butler couldn't help but chuckle.

"Ahh, this is so annoying." The Earl jumped onto the bed and covered himself up to his forehead. Sebastian didn't stop laughing until he closed the door to the young master's room. Deep down, he knew he had a good day.

Thanks for reading, you can find this work on AO3!

[haveyoubeentothiscity]

Population: 91,867

Urban population: 397,237

One submitter commented “I’ve been here many times whatever it’s driving through from the BC ferries on my way to my Nana’s further into Vancouver Island, or going out on day trips with my Nana to various areas in the city. They got a fantastic harbour, the Royal BC Musuem is fantastic, and the architecture style is really interesting as there are a lot of Victorian buildings (such as the Empress Hotel). There’s a lot of outdoor stuff to do, nice beaches (although it’s nicer further away from the city) and lots of cool tea houses (RIP Twisted Sisters Tearoom) to have afternoon tea. I also know a lot of people who went to UVIC (the university in Victoria) that really enjoyed it. It’s a great place to stop on your way to visit the rest of Vancouver Island!”