#Dining Etiquette Skills | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fanaticsnail · 1 year ago

Text

Waltz

Song Reference: Indila - Love Story (English Lyrics)

Word Count: 4,400+

Masterlist here, Dance Series synopsis here.

Themes: hurt/comfort, dancing, cuddling, pining, angst

“One, two, three, one, two, three- Ouch Luffy, that was my foot!” your voice echoed above deck, a slow tune reverberating from a large mouth of the gramophone trumpet with a tri-fold beat.

“Square your shoulders,” Nami ordered, her voice commanding with a small amount of humourous disinterest at the display, “raise up your elbow.”

You two had been at this for little under an hour, listening to the same song on the gramophone repetitively as you attempted to teach Luffy some classic ballroom steps.

“Why don’t you give it a go, Nami?” you sighed while breaking your arms away from their current position; reclaiming your left hand from within Luffy’s right, and your right hand from his shoulder. Although it was not proper dance etiquette for a woman to lead this style of dance with a male partner, you thought it would be a wise choice; considering he had never danced this style before.

“Absolutely not,” she half-chuckled, reclining her back against the wooden steps leading to the navigator’s position.

Zoro was laying down on a wooden pew, resting his eyes with his swords laying perpendicular to him on the floor. Usopp stood against the wooden wall of the ship, his eyes full of humour at your prior methodological dance technique with your Captain.

Holding a large, steaming plate balanced atop his hands; Sanji emerged from within the kitchens; declaring: “time for a break, come and get it.” His smile as he presented the food was contagious, proud of his dish and so eager to present it to his crew.

Luffy immediately perked up and sprinted to the outdoor dining table, plonking himself at the head and awaiting the food to be placed down in front of him. Sighing again, you shook your head and went to stifle the machine by releasing the needle-point from the record.

“That’s better,” Zoro sighed in slight relief as he moved to bring himself to the table, “if I had to listen to that song one more time, I would’ve thrown myself overboard.”

“Agreed,” you uttered, dragging your right hand over your head and soothing your brows with your thumb and index finger. You shook your shoulders, followed by your hands as you brought them down. Clicking out your neck and swinging your arms out to break away from your rut, you turned to smile warmly at your crew as they began to eat the food Sanji had prepared for them.

Before you made to take a step over, you began to roll out your ankles, starting at your left foot before raising your other.

“Remind me again why none of you know how to dance?” you chuckled to yourself while stretching, “it’s an important skill, especially as a negotiation aid for the upper class.”

Nami rolled her eyes before reaching for a small slice of bread to accompany the seafood Sanji had so dutifully prepared for the past few hours. Luffy was too preoccupied by bringing as much food into his mouth to pay heed to your words. Usopp laughed at your expression while Zoro continued to remain unamused as he reluctantly released a sigh of enjoyment as he tasted the seafood.

Sanji’s eyes darkened a little at your comment, pausing his next action of ladling some of the tomato stock braised mussels into a bowl. His hair shrouded his expression from the view of his crew as you walked over to the troop. You noticed the tension resonating around Sanji, prompting you to reach your hand up to soothe gently over his shoulders.

“Are you ok, Chef?” you asked him softly, turning your face away from the others to single out Sanji in front of the others. He tilted his head back to pull the hair away from his eyes and put a forced smile on his face as he nodded at you, continuing his ladling.

Reaching out the freshly filled bowl, he gestured for you to take it from his hands and into your own; uttering: “for you, love.”

You furrowed your brows and flickered your eyes to search his eyes for reason for his earlier apprehension, prompting him to sigh before a true smile appeared; his eyes softening under your inspection. Taking the bowl from his hands, you made to move your hand over to the outdoor chair to remove it from its position against the table. Before you had the opportunity, the chair had been moved outwards by the blonde chef to make way for you to sit atop the stool.

“A gentleman as always, Sanji,” you cooed at your crewmate, accepting his gesture and sitting down at the table.

“Only for you,” he smiled before looking to Nami, “and you, of course, Nami.”

Nami again rolled her eyes for seemingly the hundredth time in the span of an hour, this time the object of her displeasure being the chef instead of you. You giggled at her reaction before turning your attention to the retreating form of Sanji as he made to make a plate for himself from the range of seafood he had prepared.

You took the time to study him; from the way his arms moved beneath his half-rolled shirt sleeves to the way he expertly maneuvered his body around the table to retrieve his desired dish. You narrowed your eyes at him, furrowing your brows in deep thought.

Trailing him the entire duration he selected different samples of food onto his plate, your gaze held firm until he took a seat at the end of the table; directly next to you. He smiled at you, before noticing you hadn’t touched your plate and his head tilted to the side.

“You don’t like seafood?” he asked, nodding his head to the dish in front of you. You pushed the bowl of mussels to the side for a moment and leaned towards him; your elbows falling to the wooden counter top as your right hand cradled your chin within its palm.

“You dance, don’t you?” you narrowed your eyes further, accusing him with your knowing gaze while completely disregarding his prior question regarding your meal. His eyes widened a little before a broad smile fell over his face.

“Are you asking me to dance?” he taunted as he leant in a little towards you, quirking an eyebrow upwards at the suggestion. You softened your hard gaze slightly, a smirk pulling at your lips as you continued to lean towards him; releasing your chin from your hand and leaning fully into him. You traced your gaze over his shoulders and chest, noting the way he held himself in perfect posture.

“How many styles can you do?” you questioned him, bringing your face closer to his own while your eyes widened in complete joy. He chuckled and leaned himself closer to you, spooning some of the jus from the mussel dish between his lips; prompting your gaze to flitter down to watch his mouth claim the spoon. A small piece of metal flickered slightly in the light beneath his tongue as he trapped the object between his lips, removing the spoon; now empty from the stock.

A small blush rose to your cheeks as he playfully quirked his brow upwards at catching you studying his lips.

Although nothing untoward had happened between you both, you could always find yourself returning Sanji’s flirtations specifically because you found it fun to do so. It had been difficult to find entertainment as you flittered from port to port; the only joy you truly found aboard is the splashes from the wildlife below the ocean, the subtle shift in waves clapping against the stern, or interacting with your crew mates.

Sanji has always been a curiosity to you; the disclosure of his tragic past while stranded on a rock with Red-Leg Zeff had peaked your interest in him. You continued to study his features, noticing his charming smile remaining on you as you did so.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, nodding his chin back down towards the dish you cast aside, “you finish that first, then I’ll waltz with you.”

Your eyes widened in glee, keeping your eyes on Sanji’s as he laughed at you, “that’s what you were doing, right? Waltzing?”

You nodded profusely, retracting from your prior position and resting your back against the chair as you placed the bowl in front of you once again. Sanji chuckled and brought his spoon back into his bowl and fished out the shell of a mussel.

“One condition, though,” he smirked, raising the shellfish to his lips and placing the small piece within them. You watched him in anticipation of his conditions, eyes again trailing to his lips as you watched him flick his tongue over the shell and retrieve the meat before casting aside the empty shell.

“And what might that be, Sanji?” you asked him, breath hitching slightly as you said his name.

He chuckled as he swallowed the meat, tilting his head backwards to shift his hair from shrouding his eyes; “I get to pick the music.”

You smiled as you reached your hand out as an indication to seal your accord with a shake. He looked down at your outstretched right hand before reaching his own out to clasp your fingers within his own, turning your palm towards the floor as he gently raised your knuckles to brush against his lips.

“We have a bargain,” he whispered against your knuckles with a playful grin, releasing your hand to return back towards your meal. A warm blush rose itself to your chest, prompting you to quickly stifle it with a shake of your head.

Trying as you might to stifle your hastiness to finish the meal in front of you as quickly as possible, your thoughts became overwhelmed with anticipation at the prospect of classically dancing with someone who knew how: not someone you had to actively teach to do so. A quiet moan released itself at the flavour of the meal Sanji prepared, prompting him to bring his gaze back to you; a small blush creeping up his neck and cheeks at your reaction to the meal with a sense of pride at the fact he was the one brought that sound from your lips.

Luffy continued to wholeheartedly consume the majority of the contents atop the table, leaving a trail of: husks of corn, discarded shells from the shellfish and completely drained jus from the pot Sanji had prepared the products in. You shook your head at a story Usopp was relaying, lips pulling to the side in amusement at the utter nonsensical nature of the tall tale as laughter resounded throughout the crew.

As the family meal came to a close; Sanji began stacking plates and bowls within themselves to ensure ease in carrying them from above deck to the kitchens.

“Leave it, love,” you said to him, gesturing your right hand out to halt his actions, “you go get your music and I’ll wash up.”

He looked down at your hand before turning back to meet your gaze with a warm smile. You stood to your feet and reached out both arms to claim the dishes from within them, continuing to clear up after the lunch mess on the table and bringing it to the kitchen.

As you washed the dishes in warm, soapy water; sounds of the gramophone began to echo throughout the room, drawing your attention towards it. Shaking the bubbles from your fists as you released the plug from its socket, you wiped your hands on a tea towel to dry them before scuttling above deck.

It was there where you were welcomed with a sight of Sanji re-fastening the navy and white sleeve above his left elbow with his right hand before trailing the hand to his neck and loosening his necktie. He rolled his neck and shook the nervousness away from his hands in a swift motion while rolling out his ankles to limber himself in preparation to dance.

He turned to look at you as you approached, a smile quickly forming on his lips in acknowledgement. You noticed Nami was sitting down at the navigators post as she peered down at the deck to watch your interaction with intermediate interest. Zoro brought himself back to recline beside his swords on the large, wooden pew from earlier while Usopp manned the gramophone. Luffy plopped himself onto the floor beside Zoro, clapping his left hand over his stomach in satisfaction at his former meal while looking at your approach to Sanji with a broad smile.

“Are you ready, Mademoiselle?” Sanji asked you, bowing and extending his hand out for you to take. You smiled at him and quirked your head coyly at the side before reaching your hand out to clasp his.

“Are we thinking Viennese,” he asked you with a grin, drawing you into him and placing your left hand upwards onto his right shoulder, “or true classical?”

Your heart began racing within your chest as you processed his words, noting his stance as he reached for your right hand with his left and held your grasp.

Before you could halt the words, they slipped right out from between your lips in adoration.

“Oh, Sanji,” you gasped in a breathy sigh, “I think I’m in love with you. You have no idea.”

“The feelings mutual, Dear,” he smiled down at you, his eyes slightly closed and his nose scrunched in teasing, “now, which style?”

You could barely comprehend what he was saying to you before Usopp began cranking the handle to play the music on the gramophone. Your ear quirked up at the music choice, your brows furrowing before a wide smile appeared on your face.

“Classical, I think,” you cooed at him, eyes half lidded with a playful smile, “it’ll give Luffy something to easily understand and follow later.”

He nodded his head and you watched him begin counting behind his eyes, nodding slightly to the counts.

He sighed a long breath as he began to spin with you, using his feet to effortlessly sweep you over the deck in time to the music. A giggle of delight withdrew itself from your lips in delight as he continued to spin with you, leading you throughout the deck in a circular motion.

Closing your eyes, you focussed on the words; the language foreign to you but the emotion depicted was more than enough to move you with it. You felt him release your left shoulder and twinge his wrist to direct you in a spin before reclaiming your shoulder and drawing himself closer to you. You sighed in contentment at the fluidity of his action, noting he began to relax himself into the music and trail you on deck with ease.

Zoro peaked at you through his semi-closed right eye before shaking his head and reclosing his eyes with a smirk upon his lips. Nami leant forward on her chair, watching your fluidity in movements with more interest than she cared to truly show. Usopp and Luffy cheered at your movements, particularly the spins that Sanji made appear easy and effortless in beat.

The two of you paid them no mind as you stepped inward and outward of each other, gazing into each other’s eyes with contentment in your actions.

It felt as if you two were the only ones existing in the small world you had created for yourselves, counting ‘one-two-three’ in your minds with smiles and sighs falling between the both of you. Your breaths became one as your hearts began to beat within the same frequency; resonation to the music within your souls echoing in unison.

He released your left shoulder a second time; choosing to bring your right arm in front of your face. He held your hand above your head, with his face almost touching your own with its close proximity. He then released you fully into an outward spin, stepping swiftly behind you to collect your back against his torso while linking his left hand against your right. He spun you again to meet with him and reassumed the classical position to continue leading you through the waltz.

He brought himself closer to you and held you against him; slowing his motion to a small sway while in your arms. He released your shoulder and hand from his grip and allowed them to fall against your hips as he continued to sway, hanging his forehead against your left shoulder as you brought your arms up to lace around his neck.

The embrace felt organic and natural, you held tightly within his arms as the music continued to crescendo. Although your movements were minimal, the music continued to build upwards; prompting Sanji to release his forehead from within its current position and reclaim your waist and arm once more; this time opting for a Viennese hold; keeping his face away from your gaze and leading you with greater strides.

You kept up with his movement, allowing him to lead you throughout the movement and keeping your own face away from his. He brought you in closer to him before thrusting your body away from his in a twirl; your body deciding to complete three swift twirls away from him before you felt his arms hold firm to your hips once again. You reached your left hand upwards, caressing the left side of his face and neck as you faced away from him.

He captured your right wrist with his hand and pulled it out to the side to lay horizontally with his own before swaying the arm down; movement as fluid as the waves crashing against the wooden hull of the ship you were sailing against.

As the song began to teeter off, he turned you to face him again; your feet moving in sway with your hips as he held you against him. He released the small of your back from his grasp, feather-light touches of his fingertips against your back. He twirled you outwards one last time, releasing you fully from his grip as you came to a graceful halt facing towards him as the music teetered off to conclude your dance together.

You curtseyed low to him, him bowing to you in return before rising back up to bring his gaze to meet you. You raised your head, your eyes remaining half-lidded and slightly glazed over; barely out of breath from the prior exertion. Your heart continued to hammer in your chest as you reminisced the tenderness of his touches and subtlety in queuing you with his turns and strides.

“That was-,” you began to say to Sanji, having your words cut off by your captain loudly hollering a booming and gleeful cheer.

“-That was amazing!” He cried in glee, rising to his feet and capturing Usopp’s shoulders within his own as he embraced his torso beside himself, “I have to learn how to do that!”

Sanji placed his hands in his pant pockets and shyly smiled to the floor, his hair again falling over his eyes to shroud his irises from your view. You giggled at your captain, walking over to meet Sanji and bringing him into a warm embrace; soothing your arms over his shoulders and rubbing small circles into his skin.

He retracted his hands from his pockets and laced them around your back, pulling you closer into him as you felt him sigh against you.

“Thank you, Sanji,” you whispered into his ear before pressing a chaste kiss against his cheek. You brought your lips away from your crewmen’s cheek and scrunched your nose at him in teasing.

He mimicked your expression, almost overdoing the nose-scrunch to mock you. You playfully tapped your right hand against his left shoulder to chastise his teasing before lacing it around his neck once more.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?” you uttered, floating your gaze between each of his eyes, “you made me feel like a princess.”

You giggled at your own comment, halting as you witnessed his playfulness flee completely from his face.

“I’m sorry, Sanji,” you quickly corrected yourself, bringing your right hand to rest against his left cheek, “it wasn’t meant as an insult. You just dance like a royal, is all.”

Your words of praise and reassurance continued to fall from your lips, which in turn continued to unintentionally darken Sanji’s gaze as he turned away from you. He reluctantly pulled himself from your playful embrace, a small smile toying at the side of his lips as he again nodded his head to you.

“I’m sorry-,” you began to say, your words being halted by the blonde chef in front of you.

“-Any time you wish to dance,” he smiled, bowing his head to the floor, “all you need to do is ask, and I’ll twirl you to your hearts content, Mademoiselle.”

He rose from his bow and turned away from you, swiftly walking toward the kitchen and away from the crew above deck without another word. Your jaw began to slack, your mouth slightly ajar as you followed his retreating form with your eyes.

“Was it-,” you started, turning to the captain and shaking your head with furrowed brows, “-was it something I said?”

Luffy shrugged with his arms out to the side, with a quick: “beats me?”

You hummed, creasing your brows further and turning back toward the kitchen. You huffed out a quick breath, hardening your resolve and trailing after him toward the kitchen.

Once there, you noticed Sanji hunched over the sink; his hands resting either side of the countertop and his face fully turned from you. His shoulders seemed to be shaking slightly as his knuckles turned white in his firm grip. His breathing was rapid and intense in emotion, seemingly panicked and weighed down with an aura of anxiety.

“-Sanji?” you cautiously whispered in your approach, holding out your hands defensively.

His body stiffened at your addressal, his right hand reaching up from the counter to cover his lips; stifling a sound being released from it. You continued your approach of him, cautious and slow in your movements to not stifle him.

“Honey, are you okay?” you asked him, reaching your hand up to his shoulders. Hesitating slightly before your brought your hand upon his back and creasing your brows in thought, you decisively pressed on; bringing your hand to rest against his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” you said to him once more, not truly understanding where this emotion he was experiencing originated from; but wanting to support and reaffirm him never the less.

You watched his breathing continue in its rapidity, prompting you to ask: “would you prefer to be alone-.”

“-Please stay,” his words hurriedly expelled themselves from his throat before his mind could truly keep up with them. You brought your body beside his, your eyes being drawn to his frantic expression.

You immediately drew him into you, pulling his shoulders against your own and soothing him with your actions and a verbal: “shushing” sound. He wrapped his arms around your waist once again and buried his eyes into your neck, allowing him to fully express his pent up emotion as he began sobbing into your neck.

Wordlessly, you held him to you as you both sunk to the ground beside the sink and countertop; you holding him against you and rubbing a horizontal stripe back and forth between his shoulder blades.

His sobs began to teeter off as a sigh was released from his lungs against your shoulder. You brought your hands up to lace them within his blonde locks, massaging his scalp while cradling him against you. He inhaled a shaken breath before releasing it slowly, pressing a small kiss against your shoulder while steadying himself.

Bringing his face away from your shoulder, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his right forearm to clear it from any remanence of the prior release of emotion.

“I’m sorry, love,” he chuckled, releasing his eyes from his forearm and meeting his eyes with your own, “I’m not really sure what came over me.”

He brought a false smile against his lips, more so to encourage positivity and reassurance to himself rather than to you. You brought your left hand to rest against his cheek, prompting him to lean his face into your touch and close his eyes against it.

“Sanji,” you whispered softly, bringing his attention back to you through reopening his eyes, “I’m sorry. Whatever darkness that brought this on, I’m truly sorry.”

“No apology necessary, love,” he chuckled, leaning his lips into your palm and pressing a small kiss into it, “it’s not your burden to bare.”

You watched as his face became sorrowful, a smile continuing to tug at his lips as he shut his eyes once more into your touch.

“This was meant to be a fun exercise,” you chuckled darkly, bringing his gaze back to you.

He released you from his embrace and grasped your left wrist that was holding his cheek within his right, turning your hand over in his grasp to press his lips against your knuckles.

“It was, love,” he reassured you with a small chuckle, “I just got in my own head, is all.”

Your expression softened only slightly under his confession, noting there was only a half-truth within you discerning his words. It was only then you truly noted your proximity with the chef: your legs both splayed out against each other, arms entangled within your bodies to hold you closely together.

As that knowledge eclipsed your thoughts, a deep and fiery blush crept up your chest, your cheeks and tips of your ears. Your breath caught in your throat, alerting Sanji to your current predicament: his face immediately mimicking your own. Although you both became slightly embarrassed at your current position, neither of you made to flee from the arms of one another.

“I-I,” Sanji began falling over his words, not really making much sense within his own mind to relay any clear intentions to you. His stuttering prompted you to begin an uncomfortable giggle; bringing a small smile to Sanji as he began a laugh of his own. Both of your chests began to chortle, as a rich and contagious laugher fell between you both; as you continued to hold to one another.

Both of you began to teeter away from your laughter as you drew your body in to lace around Sanji’s neck once more, bringing him to you in an embrace on the kitchen floor. He returned your actions, again lacing his arms around your waist and nuzzling his chin into your neck; inhaling and exhaling in comfort and relief.

“Thank you again,” you uttered into his hair as you turned slightly into him, “for the dance, I mean.”

“Any time,” he repeated into your neck, pressing his lips against your sensitive skin, “my dancing skills are at your beck and call.”

#one piece #opla #x reader #opla fic #one piece live action #sanji x reader #black leg sanji #sanji opla #sanji fic

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monsterfuker3000 · 2 years ago

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A Lesson in Dining Etiquette ₊˚⊹♡

This is technically a part two to Training Room but can totally be read as a standalone! It took me so long to write this I’m so sorry to my little rats. I love sucking dick. You’re all lucky my boyfriend lives far away because if he were any nearer I’d be busy sucking his dick instead of writing.

Warnings: sub-ish!Leon, afab reader, oral (m and f receiving,) cum eating, Leon wants to be a good boy for you so so bad please tell him he’s been good, not proofread we die like men, I’m sure there’s errors and I’m so sorry but I write with my pussy and not my brain. @cherrifunk babe so sorry this took so long please forgive me. I wrote this with RE2 Leon in mind bc he strikes me as a mf that would love to eat pussy but has no idea where to start.

Word count is 2.7k of Leon being my little honey bear pookie pie

“You want what?”

“Um. . . I’d like lessons, I guess?”

It had been a month since the fateful evening in the training room, and you and Leon were officially dating. In an unexpected twist of events, Leon couldn’t get enough of you after that night. He wanted his cock in you, his hands on your body, his lips and tongue on yours like he needed to fuck you to live. He was needy and whiny, but still impossibly shy. He still had doubts about his own skill, no matter how much you reassured him or reminded him that he made you cum the very first time the two of you had sex together.

Leon’s apprehension paired with his desire to constantly be buried inside you forced you to take the lead most of the time. You’d introduced him to a small handful of positions, but only a couple of them and nothing too crazy. Cowgirl was still his favorite, and he told you that he expected that to stay the case no matter what you showed him.

He’d been especially needy today. The two of you had the day off and decided to make the most of it by going on a date. You’d started the day simple, going to a mall where he promptly dragged you to the bathroom to fuck you from behind as you held on to the sink for dear life, rocking back into his thrusts and cumming down your legs. At the beginning of your relationship, Leon had expressed a worry that he may not be able to keep up with you considering the difference between your experience and his. As you clung to the sink as he rutted into you, you wondered if instead you might be the one to have trouble keeping up with him.

“Fuck, baby, thank you, thank you for letting me fuck you and your pretty pussy, need it all the time, feels so good,” he’d whined, his needy cries contrasting sharply with the way he used his tight grip on your hips to yank you back into each of his thrusts. You were sure that even without the loud moaning from the two of you, just the sharp slap of skin on skin would have still been audible through the bathroom door.

One thing you wished for him was that he would let loose a little. You hadn’t sucked his cock since that first night, and he was terrified of eating you out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, God did he want to, but he was embarrassed. He still knew very little. He was fairly certain he knew what to do with his fingers, but he wasn’t sure how to translate it to his mouth.

Tonight, however, he had a couple of beers in him with the pizza the two of you were splitting while sitting on your living room floor. He was tired of waiting.

He finished chewing his last bite of pizza, wiping his hands as it caught in his throat a bit. He was nervous, but he had to do this. He cleared his throat and you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye.

“You okay?” you questioned.

“Can I ask you something?” he countered.

You turned to face him head on and nodded.

“I want. . .” He took a deep breath. “I want you to teach me how to eat you out.”

You choked on your own pizza. “You want what?”

His cheeks reddened. “Um. . . I’d like lessons, I guess?”

You choked down your pizza and softly smiled. “I’d love to do that sweetheart.” You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, tasting the beer on him as he whined into your mouth. He grabbed at you a little clumsily, fisting his hands into your shirt. You laughed lightly and took his hands in yours. You felt them tremble in your grasp. “Hey, baby, you okay?” you asked.

He nodded and tried to lean in for another kiss but you leaned away. “Are you sure? You seem nervous.”

His blush deepened, if it was at all possible. “I just don’t want to disappoint you,” he mumbled. You smiled fondly at him.

“I think I know a good way to calm you down, hm?” His eyes widened as you pushed him to move off the floor and sit on the couch.

“But, but I wanted to help you-“

You cut him off, settling on your knees on the floor in front of him between his legs. “Now, honey, what kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t teach the whole curriculum, hm?

He inhaled sharply and seemed to melt into the couch, making you laugh again. You reached for his belt buckle, seeing that he was already hard beneath his jeans (he’d been hard for about a half hour as he wrestled with his own insecurity, but there was no way in hell he was telling you that.) You undid his belt, hearing it clank as you pulled it free, and signaled to him to lift his hips as you pulled his jeans down just under his ass.

You reached into the fly of his boxer briefs, squeezing his cock and making his hiss as he arched his back.

“Fuck, baby, you trying to kill me?” He ran a hand through his pretty blond hair, mussing it up. You laughed, pulling his boxers down to where you’d left his jeans, leaving him fully exposed.

“Now,” you began, trying and failing to keep the mirth from your voice, “my mouth is going to be full for most of this, so this will be more of a demonstration than a lecture, okay?” He nodded, eyes wide, and you laughed again. You took him in your hand again, lowering your head to gently lick the tip of his cock, making his leg twitch. You then let your mouth fall open, sticking out your tongue to take him fully into your mouth, pressing your tongue to his balls.

“Jesus fuck, babe,” he breathed, one of his hands fisting his own hair and the other digging his nails into his own knee. You pulled off of him.

“Now, Lee, what have we talked about?” He knew you wanted him to let loose, but how were you supposed to tell him you didn’t like something if you couldn’t talk? He asked you as much, and your expression softened at his words. He had his cock down your throat and was still more concerned about your comfort. Still so cute.

“How about this? You let loose, and I’ll tap your thigh three times if I need to stop, okay?” He nodded. “Okay baby, how’s this?” You pulled your hair away from your face, taking his hand in yours and wrapping it around your hair so you could have both hands. “I want you to fuck my throat, Lee.”

“Fuck, you sure?” He asked, his cock jumping at your words and his eyes somehow getting even bigger. You nodded, once again taking him into your mouth and wrapping your tongue around the underside of his cock, hollowing your cheeks. He hissed and bucked his hips shallowly into your mouth, and you would have smiled had your mouth not been full.

You alternated between taking him all the way into your mouth and using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t fit comfortably into your mouth to give your throat a break. Leon looked down at you with that lost puppy look in his big blue eyes, tears pricking the corners.

“Please, please, n-need to cum, baby, feels so good.” You weren’t doing him any favors this time; he was going to have to take what he wanted from you. You pulled almost all the way off his cock sucking just the tip and making him whine in frustration, and something finally snapped in him. He gripped your hair harder, pulling it a bit, and used it to slide your mouth all the way down on his cock, gagging you. Finally. He fucked your mouth roughly, making tears gather in your own eyes, the lewd sounds of your choking filing the room. You could feel his cock twitch in your mouth and you knew he was getting close.

“Please, please please please, just a little more baby I promise, need to use your mouth just a little longer, s-so close” he begged even as he fucked your mouth under his own power. His breath caught in his throat and he came, crying out your name.

He pulled you off of him just enough for you to swallow his load but continued shallowly fucking into your mouth until he came down from his high. His breathing began to even out and became less ragged and he seemed to come to his senses, nearly ripping you off his cock by your hair to be met with your tear-stained cheeks and drool-covered chin.

“Fuck, baby I’m so, so sorry, did I hurt you?” You shook your head, even smiling and letting your mouth fall open to show him you’d swallowed his cum, making him blush. He wiped at your tears, still grimacing a bit.

“Well, Lee, if you still feel the need to make it up to me, we can always continue the lesson,” you teased. Leon smiled and nodded, hoping to God you couldn’t tell how sharply his heart rate had spiked. He pulled his pants and boxers back up, silently noting how easy cleanup had been since you had swallowed.

“So,” he began, "how do you want to do this? Would it be better to go to the bedroom?” You shook your head.

“I’ll just take your place on the couch, Lee. Besides, I think you’d look cute on your knees,” you teased. The light blush on his cheeks deepened significantly, making you laugh. He slid off the couch and onto the floor, allowing you to take his place.

He looked like a fucking vision on his knees in front of you; his hair still wild, eyes stil wet, his cheeks pink and his hands trembling. “Beautiful,” you whispered, and he looked up at you almost rapturously.

Coming back to yourself, you slid forward so your ass was right to the edge of the couch, and Leon reached for the waistband of your shorts without missing a beat. He slid them all the way off, throwing them haphazardly to the ground. You hooked a leg over each of his shoulders as he turned back to you, and he nearly did a double-take at your panties.

They were soaked all the way through, sticky with your slick. Did you get this wet just from sucking him off? Poor thing, you were getting him off but you were left to clench around nothing. He’d have to repay the favor. He exhaled shakily, pressing two fingers into the soaked fabric of your panties, making you gasp as he inadvertently pressed into your clit. His eyes flicked up for just a second to assess your reaction, quickly returning to your pussy. He slowly circled your clit through the fabric, the extra friction adding to the sensation. He pulled his hand away and hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties to pull them down, throwing them near your discarded shorts and returning to his original position between your legs.

All at once, he realized he wasn’t sure where to go from here. He hooked his arms around your thighs to rest his hands on the tops of them, and tilted his head at you, reminding you of a puppy. You thought for a moment.

“How about this, hm?” You asked. “I’ll show you a couple of things that feel good for me, and you put them together in a way that feels right to you, okay?” Leon hesitated for a moment, but nodded. How was he supposed to know what felt right?

You knew exactly what was going through his head, and smiled softly. “You’ll know what to do, Lee, it’ll be okay,” you reassured him, running your fingers through that fluffy golden hair. “Now, how about you start by just licking it, hm?”

He nodded, still at a loss for words, but obeyed. He lowered his head, never breaking his gaze from yours, and pressed the flat of his tongue over your pussy, dragging it slowly from bottom to top.

Holy fuck, your taste, the way you moaned and pulled softly at his hair. Leon was certain he could spend the rest of his life between your legs and never want for anything else. He brought his head back up for further instructions, absentmindedly licking his lips.

“Good boy, Lee,” you praised him breathlessly. “Now try sucking on my clit.”

He lowered his head back down, attaching his lips to your clit and sucking gently, making your toes curl.

“Fuck, baby, so good for me,” you moaned, tugging at his hair once more. Leon was fairly certain that if he had a tail, it would be wagging right now. This was going far better than he expected. If you wanted him to take the reins, he was going to fucking take them.

He immediately dove back in, taking you by surprise. He slid his tongue into you, fucking you with it and inadvertently pressing his nose right into your clit. He whined high in his throat when you yanked harder at his hair this time, using it to pull him into you harder.

“Jesus Christ, baby, so fucking good,” you whined. What Leon lacked in finesse he made up for tenfold in enthusiasm. Not done exploring yet, he switched courses.

He moved upwards to alternate between sucking your clit and flicking at it with his tongue, just the way he did with his fingers. You cried out loudly, knowing your neighbors wouldn’t be happy with you but completely unable to care. “F-fingers,” you pleaded weakly, hoping Leon would understand what you wanted.

My God, did he. He took one hand off your leg and slid his middle and ring finger into your pussy, curling them to press against your g-spot. He slid them in and out, never ceasing the attention he was giving your clit at the same time. You choked out that you were close, and Leon flicked his eyes up to yours for just a moment. You could swear that if his mouth hadn’t been full, he would have been smiling.

With a final few thrusts and a particularly hard suck at your clit, Leon pushed you over the edge. You came with a loud cry of his name and squeezed your thighs around his head, grinding against his mouth. He never stopped, and the sensation soon became too much. You used the hand you’d tangled in his hair to pull him away as you winced. He whined as you pulled him back, and God, he looked just as fucked out as you felt with his lips and chin covered in spit and your slick and his cock fully hard again.

He wiped messily at his face with his sleeve, nearly making you laugh as he pleaded with you, “Please, more, just one more.” You shook your head.

“Too sensitive right now, Lee. Maybe a little later, hm?” You bent down to press your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. “You did so good for me baby, I’m so proud of you,” you praised him, watching his eyes light up.

“Really? You liked it?” He questioned, once again reminding you of a puppy seeking validation from his owner. So cute. “When can I do it again?” He asked.

You laughed once again. “Give me some time to recover from that one and we can talk, okay?”

You’d taught Leon the importance of aftercare, and it soon became his favorite part of sex. He ran to the bathroom to wet a washcloth to wipe your slick and his spit off you, helping you back into your clothes afterwards. You laid down on the couch afterward, dragging him down with you so he could lay on top of you and bury his face in your chest. You could tell he was tired. He yawned, nuzzling deeper into your embrace.

“Thank you for teaching me,” he mused, the sentence feeling half finished as he started drifting off. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Of course Lee, now take a nap for me, hm?”

He nodded, the motion making his hair tickle at your face. “I love you,” he mumbled softly.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

AND IF YOU AIN’T A HOE GET OUT MY TRAP HOUSE

#Spotify #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #re4 leon #leon kennedy reader #re leon #re2 leon #smut #leon kennedy x reader

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somedaylazysomeday · 10 months ago

Text

A Grand Deception - Part One

As a seamstress, you know your way around a ballgown. A ballroom is a different story, but you are determined to experience it for yourself.

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Personal Disclaimer: I wrote this having only watched the Bridgerton tv show. About a week ago, I discovered that Benedict's book-canon love story shares some similarities with my fic. These similarities are coincidental. After posting a poll about the topic, I decided to share this work anyway. Please know I am aware of the situation!

Rating: Mature. Minors, do not interact

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: A lot of backstory, trespassing, lying about identity, alcohol consumption, flirting, references to Regency-era values. Author played fast and loose with rules of Regency dining etiquette.

Next | Masterlist

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It was of some comfort to you that - when the situation inevitably unraveled - you could not claim to have invented the idea yourself.

You were hardly the first seamstress who used her skills to disguise herself. Nor were you the first to use her overheard knowledge to learn who may be hosting a masquerade ball so she could attend.

To that end, Madame Delacroix had told you of her own experience infiltrating the ton’s events. You had learned well, but you were merely another follower, not a visionary. The penalty for your transgression would not change, but your conscience would be eased slightly with the knowledge.

The single inspiration you could claim as entirely your own was that of your shop. You purchased gowns at the end of every season, researched coming trends for the next season, and altered the gowns to fit.

Ladies of rich and respectable families were willing to part with gowns for a relative pittance, but most of your gowns were from society matrons. When their time playing chaperone to some wide-eyed miss had ended in a successful engagement, the lucky matron retired to a comfortable life in the countryside. What use did she have for extravagant society gowns there? And, with the style of gathers and ruffles for married women, you could easily fashion multiple gowns from one matronly dress.

Your shop was hardly the most popular one in London, but you ran a brisk enough business. There were no investors to keep fat with your profits, and you poured most of your money back into the materials and help you hired. It could tax the nerves to operate with such a small amount of money in your coffers, but such was the nature of the business. The lead-in to a season was incredibly busy and profitable, but the off season could ruin you.

But you were happy. Your work was varied and interesting. You worked with sumptuous fabrics in the richest colors. It was a necessity to keep abreast of the latest fashion trends. You truly could not have imagined a better life for yourself.

And yet… you were unbearably curious about how it would feel to wear one of your creations. You were occasionally hired to style a hopeful debutante, but you handed her off to a chaperone before she walked out through the front door of her own home. You witnessed all of the preparations and you had been party to the aftermath, but you had never had the opportunity to attend a ball.

It was a silly dream. You were the daughter of a tailor, and not one who served the upper echelons of London society. Your mother spent her time running the household herself - a necessity, as your family could not afford to keep servants. Your brother worked at a newspaper, operating the printing presses. Your sister had married well, wedding a butcher who lived above his shop in a respectable section of the city.

You had already achieved one silly dream when you had opened your own shop. Rather than satisfying you, that achievement only convinced you that you were capable of incredible things. Why should a ball be the exception?

Fortunately, the ton was an uninspired thing and thus wholly predictable. At least once every season, at least one family believed themselves to be the most creative souls and hosted a masquerade.

Your ability to foresee the trend had allowed you to plan far in advance. After the last season had ended and you made your purchases, you had bought just enough fabric to fashion yourself a dress. The material was simple, but of high quality, and you had embroidered beading and embellishment enough to allot the finished product an artistic simplicity rather than leaving it painfully plain.

The mask you had chosen only assisted the illusion of being understatedly gilded. It was a shining silver - not a true metallic mask, but a close enough facsimile that it seemed to be a choice due to the weight rather than the price of the silver. There was a delicate tracery over your brow and along the swells where the mask arched over your cheekbones.

The effect of the outfit was far from dramatic, especially when you very well knew the sort of dresses that the young ladies of the ton would be wearing at the ball, but you had been purposeful about it. You were trying to fade into the background, and it seemed likely that you would succeed.

One of your more clever ideas had been to cut the dress as a matronly garment rather than a daring one meant for a debutante. Doing so would relegate you to the realm of mamas, chaperones, and spinsters. Few bothered to steal a second glance at that foreboding cloud of judgment, disapproval, and eager plotting. You were too pragmatic to think your plan foolproof, but you had taken as many precautions as you could imagine.

The Lawsons had been the ones to secure a masquerade theme for the season, and you strategically arrived at the home at eleven, a full hour after the ball had begun. It was a simple thing to slip around the corner of the great manor house, entering through a side corridor. When you passed any of the house’s servants, you ducked your head and nervously arranged your hair.

With that attitude and countenance, they would likely believe you were returning from some secret tryst in a private place, not attempting to sneak in entirely. Servants were paid for their discretion - at least, in the eyes of the ton - so your exploits would not be disseminated until the following morning at the earliest.

Your matron-styled dress allowed for a more flexible corset than the most fashionable styles, but you still found that your breath was short as you reached the ballroom. You were thankful for the music, as it gave you a better idea of where your ultimate goal was.

The room was cavernous, yet filled to the brim with intricate details. A second-story balcony curved around the majority of the room, rather like the opera house you’d had the privilege to visit once. A grand staircase descended from the middle of that balcony, and it was full of still-arriving debutantes and their chaperones.

The orchestra was sat on the balcony along either side of the staircase, and you noted the way each instrument seemed to take precedence in turn as you walked along the length of the floor. They were playing a quadrille at the moment, and the dancing couples seemed as enamored by the music as much as by each other.

Above and all around, candles glowed and flickered, casting small pools of light across every surface. A chandelier hung overhead, eye-catching in its size and brightness. The crystals set among the candles sent tiny reflected rainbows dancing across the crowd beneath. The reflectors behind the candles on the main floor helped catch the brightness that would otherwise be wasted on the walls, throwing it out into the room until it looked near daylight. The effect was multiplied by an array of mirrors set around the room, refracting both light and the furor of activity in the ballroom.

Conversations filled any spaces left in the music. Everywhere, men and women chatted, laughed, and told stories. They were eye-catching with their grand gestures, only made more fascinating with their ornate clothing. You longed for a scrap of paper so you could make note of the styles of this season, and how they might be adapted to meet the styles of the next.

A table at one side of the room was manned by a servant offering refreshments. You knew from the stories you had heard that a supper would be served at one, but there were beverages for any guest or dancer who may need one. You accepted a glass of iced punch with a grateful nod to the servant. It was remarkably hot in the room, especially compared to the chill of the January evening.

Sipping the strong punch - and abruptly understanding the wisdom of such small glasses - you ventured forth to find a vantage point for observing the crowd.

You found one buried in the crowd of matrons and chaperones. They were watching the dance floor with great interest, speculating about matches and comparing notes on how the gentlemen and young ladies had been occupying themselves during the season thus far. It was the perfect location - a view of everything and in earshot of all the information you could possibly desire. Some of the information was likely to be nothing more than rumor, but you cared little. It was entertaining enough to compensate for a lack of veracity.

“Benedict!” one woman called. She was a handsome woman, dark hair perfectly coiffed to match her elegant dress. You recognized her even from behind as the widowed Lady Bridgerton.

A man separated from a group of other young men and approached, smiling expectantly. He bore a strong resemblance to Lady Bridgerton, and was wearing the simple black mask that seemed popular among the men of the ballroom. “Yes, Mother?”

“Do dance with Miss Harper this evening,” Lady Bridgerton instructed. “She needs cheering after the loss of her uncle. And she would be quite an excellent match for you.”

You wrinkled your nose. Arranged marriages were less common than they had been when you were a child, but the aristocracy still tended to take a heavy hand in deciding their children’s future spouses.

Unfortunately, the young Bridgerton glanced over his mother’s shoulder and took in your expression. You hurriedly glanced down at your glass, as if your face had been a reaction to the strong punch, then applied yourself to staring around the room.

“I will take that under advisement, Mother,” Benedict said. Your wayward glance prevented you from seeing his face, but his voice was filled with laughter. “If you’ll excuse me?”

He departed then, retreating back across the ballroom. However, you were far from unobservant, and you counted the multiple times he noted your position from among the group of laughing gentlemen. You did your utmost to ignore him, taking solace in the knowledge that your mask protected your identity from whatever scrutiny he may choose to apply.

You could hardly pretend surprise when you found him standing beside you scarcely an hour after you had overheard the conversation between Lady Bridgerton and her son. He was facing quite the opposite direction, but you could not fail to miss the way he inched closer every time you took a step away.

At long last, he bumped into you with his broad shoulder, sloshing your punch onto the floor and still refusing to acknowledge you.

“And to think Bridgertons are said to be well-mannered,” you snipped waspishly.

He glanced back at you, eyes bright. “I beg your pardon, miss. I did not see you. Allow me to fetch you a new glass of punch in recompense for my rudeness.”

“No, thank you,” you said, the coldness in your voice detracting from the politeness of your words. “I would not take the risk of another incident.”

“Did it stain your gown?” he asked, taking your elbow and looking you up and down. However solicitous it may have seemed at first, the mischief in his expression belied the gesture.

You glared at him until he dropped your arm. “You need not feign concern, Lord Bridgerton. You have apologized, I have accepted it, and my gown escaped the incident unscathed. There is no need to continue our acquaintance.”

With a final frown for good measure, you turned away. Benedict seemed undaunted, keeping step with you as you found a servant to take your near-empty glass.

“May I ask your name, then?” Benedict asked, for all the world like you had not dismissed him.

“Lady Sharp.”

It was a falsehood you had planned well in advance. The Sharps were one of the largest families in London, some branches so far-flung that no one seemed capable of remembering who was who.

Despite your confidence in your assumed identity, Benedict paused for a moment and your heart stuttered. At long last, he smiled. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps if you continued to be short with him, Benedict would understand that he should leave you well enough alone.

And yet… The young Bridgerton continued to stay close as you watched the dancers, interrupting your overheard bits of gossip with remarks of his own. His commentary was amusing, but you continued to be irked by his presence. He was drawing attention by standing with the chaperones, dowagers, and doting mothers, and some of that attention was reflected onto you by virtue of proximity.

“You need not remain close as some form of apology, Lord Bridgerton,” you informed him at last. “You have more than adequately apologized for your earlier misstep, and I would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s scorn if you miss your dance with Miss Harper.”

Benedict shrugged. “Miss Harper is occupied well enough with other partners. It is my duty to see to it that every lady may dance if she chooses. Shall we?”

You frowned deeply, staring from his face to his proffered arm and back. “I do not dance.”

He paused at that. “Surely you are simply being modest…”

“I assure you, I mean what I say,” you told him, voice appalled, “I do not dance. If you feel a particular urge toward the dance floor, I urge you heed it and find a suitable partner before they have all been otherwise engaged.”

Benedict turned slightly, his gaze traveling from one end of the crowded ballroom to the other. When he had completed the visual circuit, he faced you, grinning engagingly once more. “I appreciate your concern, but I would rather continue our conversation.”

Your mouth fell inelegantly open. Thankfully, the room was called to attention before you could loose a scathing comment about your time together.

Lady Lawson stood at the bottom of her grand staircase, Lord Lawson standing attentively to her left. A servant you recognized as their butler announced in a booming - yet not abrasive - voice, “Lord and Lady Lawson invite you to adjourn to the dining rooms.”

To your dismay, the men and women of the ballroom paired together. The crowd moved steadily in the direction indicated by the butler.

Benedict offered his arm once more. “May I escort you to the dining room, Lady Sharp?”

You paused, frantically searching for a reason you might excuse yourself. If the Lawsons had arranged for their guests to sit in predetermined places, your presence would not only be marked, but commented upon and questioned. And yet, the gathered crowd meant that slipping away would be nigh impossible.

“Lady Sharp?” Benedict asked again, pulling you from your thoughts. “You are attending dinner, are you not?”

“Yes… yes, of course,” you said, immediately belied by your trembling voice. From a sheer lack of options, you accepted Benedict’s arm. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton.”

He inclined his head as if to silently acknowledge your thanks and steered you into the dining room.

Truly, there was far more than one room in which to dine. There seemed to be at least three hosting tables set with full arrays of silver plates and utensils. The dining areas seemed far less brightly lit than the ballroom was, the low lighting offering a soft intimacy that made the surrounding couples perk with excitement. Clearly, the flirtations of the dance floor would not be suspended due to a simple supper.

“May I help you find your seats, sir?”

You had been too entranced by your own thoughts - the sudden appearance of the servant made you start like a spooked horse. Benedict patted your hand. The gesture was a bit condescending, but you found it oddly soothing. Far more worrisome, however, was the sight of small name cards resting at every place setting on the tables.

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he said. “I believe I was to be seated with my family a few tables behind you. This is Lady Sharp. I will dine with her this evening.”

“But sir…” The servant looked bemused, white brows drawing together. “Lady Lawson was informed that the Sharps would not be in London for this year’s season. Lady Sharp reported that Miss Rosalie Sharp was far too ill to be moved out of her confinement in the countryside.”

You stammered weak protests, but Benedict smoothly interrupted. “Surely Lady Lawson is aware that Lady Clara Sharp decided to winter in London this year. The physician said that a change of scenery would be good after leaving a confinement of her own.”

“A confinement of her-?” The servant shook his head. “My mistress said nothing of this when she was preparing the ball.”

You gathered your nerve. If your ruse were to fall apart, it would not be at the hand of an overly curious servant. You drew yourself up to your full height, giving your best steely-eyed, matronly disapproval. “I had assumed that my lack of an invitation was no more than an ignorant oversight. However, I begin to suspect that it was something far more intentional. Perhaps it would be best if I departed…”

“My apologies, Lady Sharp,” the servant hurried to say. “Please, allow me to find a place for you.”

You inclined your head in the shallowest nod you could muster, watching imperiously as he rushed off to find a place setting for the fictitious Lady Clara Sharp.

“These events are growing less organized by the day,” Benedict confided, shaking his head in mock despair.

The servant returned, sparing you the effort of inventing a response. “I will guide you to your seat, Lady Sharp. Lord Bridgerton, you requested your seat moved beside Lady Sharp’s, did you not?”

“Yes, I believe I should like to dine with Lady Sharp,” Benedict said amiably.

“Very good, sir,” the servant said. “This way.”

You did not particularly enjoy the tone with which Benedict said ‘Lady Sharp’. In his voice, it sounded less like a title and more like a private sort of jest.

Fortunately, your arrival in a far dining room provided a much-needed distraction. This was clearly the last table to have been filled, and as such was seated with an interesting amalgamation of people.

A timid-looking young lady sat nervously adjusting and readjusting the skirt of her dress. Her watchful chaperone eyed the process with fascination and concern. Seated at the chaperone’s other side was an older gentleman who seemed to have overindulged in punch, if you were to guess from his flushed face and exaggerated gestures.

On the other side of the table was a young man who kept glancing at the young lady and pretending that it had been accidental any time he was caught at it. Beside him were two place settings. From the lack of name cards above the plates, you assumed they were meant for you and Benedict.

Abruptly, a wave of vertigo washed over you. You had accomplished so much to be here, yet how many accomplishments were too many? It was as if you had climbed something terribly tall - every time you moved upward, it only left you with further to fall. And if you were to be discovered during this dinner? You would have very far to fall indeed.

“Are you well?” Benedict asked.

You blinked. The servant was holding your chair, waiting to help you be seated. You weren’t hungry in the least, but there was no way to excuse yourself that would not draw more attention than was wise. The only way to return to safety was to continue on as if nothing were amiss.

“Yes, thank you,” you demurred, moving to your seat.

When the skirt of your dress was safely tucked under the table, the servant offered a slight bow and moved away. The first course was laid out on the table, a manservant lingering nearby incase someone required a dish from a different part of the table.

“What may I tempt you with?” Benedict asked. His smile was a touch too wide for the question to be entirely innocent. Before you could say something harsh, he half-stood, fork extended toward a dish holding chilled cuts of meat.

You took a moment to study everything. “Roast chicken, please. And perhaps a few prawns.”

Benedict took your plate and began transferring the items you had requested. “Soup as well?”

“Perhaps a little.”

You eyed the women across the table. The young lady was picking delicately at a few scraps of meat and you were concerned by the quantity of the choices you had made, but her chaperone was tucking into a plate piled high.

Benedict placed your dishes back in front of you and gathered his own selections. When you were both seated again, you cut a piece of chicken and ate it as delicately as you could manage. It was delicious and you congratulated yourself once more on choosing to attend the ball dressed as a chaperone rather than a debutante.

“So, a Sharp in London,” Benedict mused. “I rather believed you all traveled together. Like a herd or a pack.”

You gave him an unamused look at the animal references. “And you pretended to know all of my family’s concerns when we were finding our seats. Do you always lie to achieve your own ends?”

He gave a wince, but it was decidedly playful. “‘Lie’ is such a harsh word, Lady Sharp. I simply choose the path most likely to lead to my destination and follow it.”

“By lying?”

“And I suppose you are a paragon of virtue?” he asked, and you fell silent. It would be rather paradoxical for you to blame him for a lie when you were currently lying to an entire ballroom of people.

“That was not an admonishment,” he clarified after a moment. “Nor was it a bid to halt our conversation. I was enjoying myself.”

“From what I have gathered of your temperament, I doubt you often suffer from the lack of enjoyment,” you snipped. “You seem to find infinite amusement in everything surrounding you.”

Benedict’s eyes widened. “I… am flattered, truly, that you’ve taken such pains to truly detail my character. Perhaps I should return the favor.”

“Do not.” You regretted the warning a moment after you had issued it. Rather than looking dissuaded, Benedict seemed intrigued.

“Indeed, I may be unable to help myself,” he mused. “Your motivations are fascinating, and they would be even more so if you turned out not to be Lady Sharp after all.”

“I am Lady Sharp,” you insisted stubbornly.

“Of course you are,” he agreed easily. “But imagine if you were not. Why would you pretend to be?”

Your mind halted abruptly when faced with the task of imagining your own motivations as if they belonged to another. What should you say? What could you say? For all of his casually friendly demeanor, Benedict was not stupid. It was possible that your false theories of your own motivations would provide him with proof that you were the very person you pretended to understand.

But still, the rules of polite conversation required that you provide some sort of an answer. Your voice was slow as you asked, “Who can begin to guess at the motivations of the poor?”

It was more harsh than you had imagined it would sound, but Benedict did not recoil. Instead, he replied, “Motivations are mysterious, those of the poor and the nobility alike.”

The answer was vague, but you understood why - his eyes were fixed on the young lady at the end of the table and the young man seated across from her.

“Miss Barrett, I found the most interesting flower in the park yesterday afternoon-” he started.

He had the young lady’s attention immediately, a shy smile on her thin face, but her chaperone pointedly cleared her throat before the young lady could reply. “Elisa, it is not proper for you to answer him without being formally introduced.”

“Finnie and I have been friends since before we could walk!” Elisa argued.

“His name is Lord Finlay Spencer,” the chaperone corrected. “And your childhood acquaintanceship does not matter. You have not been officially introduced in the time since he returned to London.”

The young pair fumed silently, with nothing more than frustrated glances shared between them.

“Lady Barrett,” Benedict said abruptly, drawing the attention of everyone who longed to be distracted from the tension. “I understand you are a most loyal patron of the arts. Is that so?”

“It is so, Lord Bridgerton,” Lady Barrett confirmed. “I believe in the importance of preserving artwork for years to come.”

“As do I.” Benedict smiled at her… and at the red-faced man seated to her right. “And our sentiments are shared by our companion, Lord Hopkins. He has recently donated a number of works to your preferred museum. I believe they are to name a wing in his honor.”

Lady Barrett turned to Lord Hopkins, an expression of mingled surprise and admiration. “I recently took in the Hopkins collection. Most impressive, Lord Hopkins.”

Lord Hopkins blinked rapidly, clearly attempting to gather himself. He made an admirable effort as he returned her smile. “You are too kind, Lady Barrett. I mourn the loss of those works, yet they were wasted with only my family to appreciate them. And, if you will pardon my directness, I believe I may have been the only one of the Hopkins family to truly appreciate them.”

“I am certain the Hopkins family has an interest in art ,” Lady Barrett demurred, “though I understand the sense that one has a keener appreciation for art than those around oneself.��

With such a topic brought up, the pair slipped into conversation. Lord Finlay Spencer and Lady Elisa Barrett cast grateful glances in Benedict’s direction and began to speak in softened tones to avoid drawing the attention of the elder Lady Barrett.

“Neatly done,” you complimented lowly. “Yet it prompts me to wonder how often you concern yourself in the affairs of others.”

Benedict shrugged. “I simply enjoy pulling strings to see what unravels. Perhaps that is why I find you so interesting.”

You arched your brows. “And precisely what string of mine do you believe yourself to be pulling?”

“That you are not Lady Sharp, of course.”

He took a sip of wine as you fought to control your expression, and his utter lack of concern was infuriating.

“Are we to continue this thought experiment, then?” you asked at last. “In truth, I am beginning to find it tiresome.”

“I do not need you to confirm my theory,” Benedict told you. “I have gathered proof enough of my own since we met.”

“Proof?” you asked, attempting to sound skeptical rather than afraid.

“You did not wait for an introduction, you claim not to dance, and you did not shyly simper away when I touched your arm,” he listed. “You are no more a lady than I.”

These arguments were presented without censure, but you loosed an inelegant snort regardless. It was foolish and you knew it, but you could not prevent yourself from showing your own powers of observation: “You are wearing a fine silk shirt, a perfectly pressed cravat, and more perfume than anyone else in the room. I am a lady, so it follows that you may be one as well.”

Benedict - unbelievably - grinned at your insults, his eyes crinkling at the edges. You fought not to return the expression, though you found it remarkably contagious. “I believe it is called ‘cologne’ when it is worn by a man. I confess, I’ve never quite understood the difference myself.”

“If you believe I am a fraud, why have you kept me company all evening?” you asked. It was not a confirmation of his suspicions, but it was close enough to make your heart race.

“You are interesting,” he countered. “Certainly the most interesting person here, and among the most interesting people I have ever met.”

You would have found a reason to cut the conversation short if Benedict had pressed for any further information, but he did not. Instead, you continued speaking plainly together through the remaining courses. He wanted to learn your opinions on all manner of things, from politics to the latest fashions.

When the time came to return to the dance floor, he stayed close. He was charming and amusing, but refused to be parted from your side. It could have been cloying, but you privately thought him akin to a particularly amiable sort of burr.

After a few dances had passed, Lady Bridgerton approached, nodding to you with an assessing sort of look. However, she spoke to her son rather than question you. You were grateful for the slight. “Benedict, I believe I asked you to dance with Miss Harper.”

“You did, Mother,” Benedict agreed, “but Lady Sharp and I are speaking of important matters. I could not possibly tear myself away.”

Lady Bridgerton gave him a look filled with motherly disapproval and you cleared your throat. “Lord Bridgerton, we may speak at another time. The number of dances at this ball is limited and the hour grows late. I fear Miss Harper will be fully occupied if you delay longer.”

Lady Bridgerton turned, triumphant, to her son. Benedict sighed and bowed shallowly in your direction. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sharp. I look forward to continuing our conversation after this dance.”

He wove his way through the crowd, presumably in the direction of Miss Harper. Lady Bridgerton remained by your side, and you glanced at her in the silence. She met your gaze, tilting her head curiously in a manner that reminded you of her son. “I do not believe we have met, Lady Sharp. I am Lady Violet Bridgerton.”

You returned her nod with one of your own. “Lady Clara Sharp. Lovely to meet you.”

“I was unaware that any of the Sharp family were in London this season-” she started. Thankfully, she was interrupted by the arrival of a dark-haired young lady.

“Mama, I need to speak with you-”

“Eloise, I am not-”

“Mama, please!” the girl insisted, tugging at her mother’s elbow. Lady Bridgerton studied you for another moment before giving an apologetic smile and allowing her daughter to pull her away.

As cues went, it was a fairly clear one. You steadily worked your way through the crowd until you could slip into an unguarded hall. From there, it was a simple thing to leave the Lawson house, find the cloak you had stored in a disused shed, and travel back to your shop.

When you had removed the mask and the dress, you took careful stock of the evening. The dress and mask would need to be destroyed, and you regretted not bidding a true farewell to Benedict Bridgerton, but you considered the endeavor a success.

One that could never be repeated.

---

Author's Note - As usual with Fanfic February fics, this is a two-parter. Tomorrow's chapter will have spice in it, so please be warned.

Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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rocksibblingsau · 8 months ago

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Ngl when you finish your rock siblings au I’d love to see you write a fic about classical branch bc the posts you make about it are super cool and interesting!

also would Broppy happen in the classical branch au? Actually thinking about it does it happen in your rock siblings au? If not do you see branch getting with anyone else ( both for classical branch and rock branch )

Bc I can kinda see Minuet and Branch working for the classical au

Btw can you tell me more abt your hcs for a Branch Dante and Minuet friend trio dynamic? How do you think they met?

I might but it would be far in the future when I'd have the chance, and I'd worry about it being repetitive of Rock Sibblings.

I don't think Broppy would happen in Classical Branch. In Rock Sibblings I don't plan to feature any ships because I want the focus to be on Barb and Branch. There may be hints to the pairing I personally would like to see happen but they'll be vague and can be seen as a platonic bond.

So I personally think Dante was asked by Trollzart to tutor Branch to get him caught up on the curriculum and help him learn how to communicate the classical way. I think similar to in Trollstopia, Dante gets a little obsessed with Branch as a muse (which I always saw as sort of a crush).

Minuet I think he met in school and they were partnered together a few times. I think Minuet saw Branch's hobbies as new talents to master and she asked him to teach her. Dante was less receptive to actually doing them, but he did come around!

Branch initially thought both of them would be sort of snobbish about his hobbies and general 'I'm fine being in the dirt' attitude, and was VERY surprised by how open-minded they were.

Branch and Minuet in school end up as the best pair of dancers, Branch is especially fascinating to watch because rather than altitude and wing tempo, he has to move his legs.

Dante and Branch are the only two with perfect scores in fine dining, specifically in cutlery etiquette. ("It's very obviously the fish knife. The cheese knife looks NOTHING like a fish knife, really the notion is laughable.") Branch canonically ranked silverware in Trollstopia, you think he doesn't eat up dining etiquette? (Pun intended)

Branch starts using some of the sayings Dante says. "Chicanery up his blousy sleeve" absolutely catches on to Branch. He also, like Dante, will add 'as they say' to sayings. ("You do you, as they say")

He also helps Dante with Dante's issues over validation, teaching him how to accept if one person or even NO ONE likes what he makes. Branch is used to no one liking anything he does, so it comes easy to him. Meanwhile Dante is a little worried by the fact Branch goes into anything under the impression no one will like it, but impressed that he manages to create even with that belief.

Branch has trouble believing both Dante and Minuet are his actual friends, as Dante was hired to tutor him and Minuet is a school partner/interested in his skills. It takes time for him to accept they're his ACTUAL friends.

#sibblings au #sibblings qna #classical branch au #trolls branch #minuet sonata #dante crescendo

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silversoulcreations · 1 month ago

Text

DWC Nov 17 - Day 1 - Sexy/Hazy

Warnings: Sexual Themes/Acts - Alcohol/Substance Use - Eludes to Traumatic Past / SA. Forced Servitude.. probably others that I'm forgetting.

The pirate lay on his back, staring up at Beledar as it shifted dark. The night had been a strange sort of wicked to him, he'd meant to take a dip in for the sake of a drink, and possibly a touch of flirting.. but what he had seen... He couldn't stay. Not for the full show, not for the dancing afterwards. No, he'd nearly instantly shadow-stepped back to Dornogol, picking up a few things from his ship along the shore. A change of clothes, a large bottle from his personal stock... and a cigar box. These ones free of the poison that he knew those he had grown close to would scream at him for... these ones designed for one thing alone... make him forget who he was for a while... He'd traveled away from the town, along the rocky cliffs that overlooked the valley. Far out of the reach of Kobyss, of Nerubians... and even the Arathi or their other guests. Tucked up into an alcove, he stared at what amounted to the sky, removing the patch from his scarred eye, bright sapphire shining out next to it's jade twin. Popping open the cork on the bottle of whiskey, he poured himself a glass, swirling it, before setting it aside to pluck out a cigar with a dark purple wrap, smelling heavily of the opiates he used to oh so favor, along with a heavy currant undertone. Lighting the cigar, he took a deep drink from his glass... then raised the strongly scented object to his lips, Inhaling, sharply, before leaning back, glass in one hand, and cigar in the other, allowing his eyes to drift closed.

~*~ "Professor Duskember, so glad you could make it. Dining will be at eight in the Great Hall, followed by a Ball shortly after, which will last most of the night. This evening's entertainment will be provided by the Therandian Quartet, and my dear collection of hosts and hostesses." A figure comes into view in the haze of darkness, always the same bright smile, that so many warmed to, that sent a chill through to Jarethius's Core. A single gesture from the nobleman and he felt himself stepping forwards, offering a low, sweeping bow to the older gentleman as he was introduced. "Jarethius here will see to your every need during your stay, Professor. I assure you he is one of my -best-. Well trained and eager to please." Bowing at the waist, mismatched eyes met, and held the magister before him's gaze. The man looked to be an older elf, though not quite fully past his prime, he was beginning to show sign at the edges of his eyes. He had a kind face. From experience he knew that could be either good... or far more sinsiter than he dared think about. For now, he simply smiled, and with all the practice and precision he could muster, he slipped into the role required of him. "It is a pleasure to serve you this eve."

~*~

The memory was a dull ache amidst the haze, another drink, another deep draw on his cigar... The crack of a whip, the show he had run from.. and back to the memory...chasing the dragon to forget the present... ~*~ "Tell me about yourself, Jarethius..." The pair was walking through the large gardens of his master's estate, slow, calculated movements as the music played on within. The mage was looking at him with such a curious expression, he spoke in turn. "You have much potential beyond whatever this is, you know." "I am not certain what there is to tell, Sir. My name is Jarethius, though I have been referred to by many other things. I am trained in the use of swords, pistols, and on occasion bows. Daggers, too, come with ease. I am skilled in court etiquette and sentry work. I have been a body guard, a taste-tester, and of course, as with tonight, an escort." He paused in a particularly floral archway, the roses, black with crimson tips along their petals, towering around them. His voice lowered as he shook his head, a hint of reddened marks shining just above the collar of his shirt as his hair swayed, before he pulled it back over the marks. "I am in my place, Sir. I know this well. But I thank you, for the compliment." He had to make a good impression. It had been drilled into him that morning. This was the professor his master wanted to teach his children. Make a good impression. Don't swive it up. Make him pleased before the business dealings... or suffer the consequences of failure. ~*~

Jarethius shifted on his back, his gaze slowly opening once more to stare at the shadow-clad crystal in the cavern's ceiling. The opiates were doing their job... and he was sinking further into the memory, the cross-fading haze taking him after denying himself for weeks.

~*~ He trembled as fingertips brushed across the lattice-work of red marks, some entirely too fresh, upon his back, his eyes squeezing shut as the mage spoke quietly. "I could heal these for you... I've dabbled in the priestly arts, and alchemy both, in my day...Though with that potential for darker magics that's inside you.. it might hurt you..." "They don't bother me. Pain and pleasure... they are both.. attention." He lied, quickly, without thinking, as he turned to face the magister, slipping to his knees beside the bench upon which they sat, his hands sliding to rest lightly on silken robe clad thighs. "And... Please forgive me.. I do not wish to correct you Sir, but.. you are mistaken. I have no magical ability, trained or otherwise. My brother .. My brother received all of the ability of our line... and all of the privilege.. it.. It is why I serve. All that I am.. is a man.. The man you see before you.. who wishes to please you." His voice was soft, but strong, his gaze never looking away, not once. training keeping the mask heavily in place. This was his life now, and he was good at it.. if the professor would just stop digging and let him show him. Then, his master would be pleased.

~*~

Jareth groaned, arching slightly as the memories took a turn.. the pirate's breath catching as he envisioned hands upon skin, far less scarred then, save for his back.. the shadows around him moving, as he lay in the alcove, mimicking motions echoing in his drugged, hazy, half-dream.

~*~ "Down the side hall, back of the garden. He keeps me away from the others because of my prior status." The admission was quiet as he led the magister through the halls. Few along their journey bore similar marks, indeed, it seemed as if only Jareth held such 'gifts'... was he the only one the man struck? There was little time to express that question as Jareth led the man into his room. There was a large, round bed in the center, curtains hanging from the ceiling, barely hiding the chains that also hung there, the edges of the comforter hiding the ones that came out from under the bed. In the next room, left viewable from the bed, was the bath, a large number that one had to step down into, and a small porcelain toilet beside it, all viewable from anywhere in the room. To the casual observer, the idea of this room would be clear. If someone was in this room with the young man, they would see anything and everything he tried to do. It was an over glorified prison cell. "Do they chain you to the bed when you sleep?" "Not when I sleep, No."

~*~ The shadows removed what was left of his cigar and the drink from his hands, setting them to the side, before drawing the pirate's hands above his head, pinning them there as his memory played out the sensation of chains being wrapped around his wrists, the sensation of soft pillows beneath his form, legs splayed akimbo and pinned as.... Another low groan left him as his half lidded gaze stared into the open air above his form, hands bound, magic doing what those hands did not, raking and clawing, biting.. all without leaving marks, the *sensation* enough to send him into a wicked spiral as various figures appeared in that hazy vision... Recent faces seen.. The gentle touch mingled with wicked strikes, his breath catching again as he arched, a particular face clouding his drug-addled mind as the shadows brought that peak he sought... before collapsing back against the stone with a low growl. Laying, panting for breath, he hissed as Beledar began to shift to light and the darkness fled once more. Sitting up, he grumbled. He'd never get that with him... Lucien... The boy was too gentle.. too sweet.. an open heart and a helper's nature... and the kind of aggression that was so hard wired into Jarethius at this point was something so very few could give. He sighed. He was going to have to clean up and sober up before he could return to that inn room. Lucien didn't like the smell. But for now.... He peered to the side at the rest of that bottle. For now, another drink.

-----------------------------------

-- @daily-writing-challenge

#novemberday12024 #Sort of Solo - Not really?#Jarethius Nialo #Traumatic Bean #Shouldn't have relapsed #Oh well here we go.#IC Writing #Ravenwolf #He's a little broken.

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m1d-45 · 2 years ago

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I don't know when, i don't know how, but SOMEBODY has ruined my day by giving me flashbacks of my most embarrassing moments from years ago.

Tongue frozen on the iron bars, check, had to alert the peeps to get the teach to bring hot water and she kept giggling at me.

The first time i tried proper kissing? Fucken awkward.

Accidentally mixing my coca cola glass with dads wine glass, and spurting it out with ews in a FUCKEN BUFFET?! FULL OF PEOPLE?! WHO TURNED TO LOOK AT ME AS MY FAMILY LAUGHED AT MY MISFORTUNE?!

Getting whacked in the head by a ball during gym class when a classmate threw it? AND they had the AUDACITY TO LAUGH AT ME! (And people wondered why i skipped that class-)

But honestly, i want schadenfreude and a creator x a hot guy (you can choose who, i'll take anyone at this point to ease me) with just these scenarios in mind, if you could.

i have found that even forced exposure can help with younghood embarrassment.

-🥘Stew

tongue tied

a/n: maybe this isnt what you wanted. maybe it is. idk i have writers block like you wouldn't believe man.

word count: ~6.5k

→ warnings: none? mention of alcohol and injuries but nothing awful or severe. just nice :]

→ g/n reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me

< masterlist >

diluc is a man with many skills.

he’s led the dawn winery for many years and have taken hundreds of shifts at the angel’s share, every item on the menu practically muscle memory by now. he knew the regulars and their typical orders, he knew the quickest way to strip mint stalks of their leaves, how to stack wine barrels most efficiently and how hot he could make his flames without getting burned, practically every skill he could reasonably need mastered when he was young.

…practically was the operative word, of course.

in business, it was practical to learn how to perfectly sign his signature. it was practical to know how to be diplomatic, practical to know how to properly tie a tie or check if a suit was fitted properly, practical to learn all of the skills he’d need to be the head of the dawn winery when he was young, so that by the time it was him sweeping a heavy coat over his shoulders for a meeting, he’d have every ability necessary to tackle whatever faced him.

but of course, his “training” didn’t cover more… personal things. he was too busy learning dining etiquette to know how to make small talk—that didn’t revolve around one party trying to get something from the other, that is. he knew how to set tables and properly pour wine, but his greetings were industry-approved stiff, responses a standard dialogue that he had nearly memorized. everything he said was mapped out in his head far before he’d say it, neatly laid out in his mind as he guided the conversation where he wanted it to go. efficient for formal meetings, but it left him… he didn’t like the word ‘lost,’ but it was the only one he could reasonably apply.

diluc set down the glass he was cleaning, picking up another to keep his hands busy. yes, there was a formal dishwasher hired, but he didn’t like being idle. he didn’t quite know what to do or where to put his hands, feeling a bit exposed without his coat. the bar provided a wide berth between him and any customers, but he couldn’t quite get a handle on the easy banter charles had with the patrons during his shift. it was like he was locked in an odd limbo between work and rest hours; without his gloves, vest, or other protective layers, all shed to prevent them from being stained in the case that something went awry, but still needing to keep face in front of others. he didn’t have his gloves to pull down, no comforting weight of his coat, his vision on a clip on his belt instead of the knot it usually hung from. everything wasn’t quite where it should be, and he was reminded of that every time he reached or twisted in the right way and the small spikes on top of his vision pressed through his shirt and into his side.

he felt… exposed. lost. and he didn’t know what to do about it.

he looked up as the tavern door opened, whatever expression he had before falling away as he was brought out of his thoughts. relax, he tried to tell himself, but it’s hard to believe that when one of the worst reasons for his confusion just walked in.

you.

archons, diluc was awful when it came to interacting with you. his heart beat too quickly and a shockingly large part of his brain thought that this meant he was in some sort of stressful meeting, all of his words coming out flat. while in its intended environment that would keep him from losing his temper or showing any weakness, in here it just made him feel more weak.

your head dipped. “master diluc, captain kaeya.”

and his brother certainly didn’t help the situation.

kaeya had turned when you entered, and greeting you with a sweeping arm and a cheery call of your name. “i didn’t think i’d see you so late; how kind of the heavens to bless me with your presence once again.”

diluc’s jaw tensed, and he traded glasses again. the pile of dirty cups was quickly dwindling, in no small part due to his own thoughts. he tended to be a bit quicker at the rhythmic movements of washing when he was caught up in his own lackluster abilities.

you laughed, taking the seat next to kaeya at the bar. all at once diluc was hyper aware of every action he made, from the change of towels to wipe off the water lingering on the cup to the smallest twitches in his expression or shifts in his weight.

“got caught up in some last-minute stuff, a coworker needed my help. i do hope you weren’t waiting too long?”

kaeya’s eye flashed, and he downed the rest of his drink before launching into a clearly fake story, talking about how actually, in the half hour or so delay in your appearance, the angel’s share was stormed by hundreds of fatui.

as if either of them would let that happen.

you played along, though, asking questions in the right spots and getting him to spin the story further. diluc exchanged his glasses again, doing a double take at the empty rack once he did.

that was far from ideal.

“-right, diluc?”

he looked up in an instant, eyes flicking about as he assessed the situation. clearly, he’d missed some part of the conversation, but what?

you, blessed you, had noticed his confusion, a smile on your face as you rested your hand on your chin, leaning on the bar. “i don’t know, would you really waste a bottle of dandelion wine like that? surely your claymore would do just fine.”

with a sharp swallow and a quick prayer—not that that would do much, knowing the archon he was praying to—diluc took a chance.

“of course i would. one bottle is worth it to defend mondstat, and it’s quite unwieldy to use a claymore in such a confined space.”

he fought a grimace the second the words left his mouth. his tone was too flat, his words uninteresting, certainly less entertaining than whatever fantastical tale kaeya had spun.

you nodded, and he could thankfully see amusement in your eyes. “how noble, master diluc.”

kaeya cut in, picking up his empty cup. “if you can spare a bottle for the fatui, then you can spare a glass for the cavalry captain, can’t you?”

he took the cup, but added it to the dirty rack alongside the one in his hand, taking a new one and wiping it to remove any water despite the fact that he knew there was none. archons, when had he gotten so…

he pushed away that train of thought, pulling out a bottle as he set the fresh glass down. “certainly not. wine is to be drank and paid for, that bottle was… an unfortunate accident.”

“my my, you’re no fun.” diluc poured his glass quickly—”not too much, not too little, okay? a little more, a bit… there, that’s good. well done, son.”—and moved it in front of him, pushing the cork back into the bottle with the heel of his palm. he set it back in its place, and noticed kaeya’s eyes on him as he took a sip.

no, not him, on-

“not worth a bottle, but worth a new glass? perhaps i am a hero after all…”

why was he unsurprised he noticed?

“i don’t want it to stain,” he lied, knowing damn well that stained glasses was something he was more than capable of handling. kaeya hummed, swirling his cup once before you prodded him about his day and he was back to his usual self, talking with significantly less grandeur than his tale from before.

diluc tried to pace himself, being extra meticulous in his cleaning, but there was only so many times he could twist a glass before he had to accept that he was done with it. an odd sort of dread settled over him as he reached for the last cup. today was a slower day, and he normally didn’t run out of cups until everybody was too drunk to notice how awkwardly he stood behind the bar. but kaeya was too smart to get properly drunk, you’d just arrived, and the night was far younger than he’d like.

he was cleaning too quickly again. normally, getting everything he needed to done with fast was a good thing, but now it just left him uneasy. charles didn’t have this problem, and he didn’t even clean glasses during the downtime. no, he struck up conversation with every single person that sat at the bar, no matter how downtrodden or celebratory. he was naturally friendly, always knowing exactly what to say despite the fact that diluc would bet serious mora on the fact that he didn’t have the faintest idea what he’d say until the other person was done. if he thought about it… even kaeya had a script of sorts, a certain way to twist the situation back in his favor, but he managed to talk to people just fine. no, that wasn’t the problem.

the clatter of the cup in his hands on the drying rack pulled him from his mind. he shouldn’t be zoning out so much on the job, but what took his attention first was the fact that he was now seriously out of tasks to complete.

…beautiful.

“diluc? is everything alright?”

it’s your voice, surprisingly, that asks for him, and he fixes his expression in the split second it takes to look at you instead of the glasses. his mind reaches, grabbing the familiar sentence that must have left his lips a thousand times.

“everything is as it should be. why do you ask?”

a defense of his position, dismissing any ideas of weakness, and a prompt as to why that line of thinking was in discussion at all. part of him recoiled at the idea of treating you with the same recited lines he did a business partner, but he genuinely didn’t know what else to say. he was distracted, to come up with another acceptable response would make him hesitate, which would set off yours or kaeya’s alarms- or both, if he was particularly clumsy with his speech.

“did the glasses offend you, or something? you’re glaring.”

and yet, despite his prerecorded reliability, he is at a loss once more. genuine inquiries about his well-being were rare in the spaces he typically interacted in, and it didn’t help that he was still stuck in work mode.

“…they have not,” he decides, picking his language carefully. “i am simply thinking about something else.”

horribly vague, and would almost certainly warrant a follow-up question. before you even opened your mouth, he knew what you’d say.

“what are you thinking about? do you need help?”

the second part was a shock, but he blessedly had an answer for the first. “nothing important. it will be handled in due time.”

kaeya raised a brow, and diluc pointedly ignored his questioning look. it wasn’t often that he resorted to diplomatic language in the presence of civilians, but you… he could never quite think right when you were around. he could only hope you never misinterpreted his odd words as mistrust.

you hummed, changing the subject shortly after with a question about the vineyards, something about a particularly bad season for crops you’d heard from sara. he paused for a moment—an acceptable pause, he told himself, as most people did think before speaking—before settling on giving you an update on the winery as a whole. anybody that listened in would only find what they could learn by asking his workers, and no trade secrets were to be found in the fact that his grapevines were regularly checked.

with the slightest twitch of his hand, he realized he was speaking to you like a businessman again.

kaeya’s cup had emptied at some point, and diluc reached for the bottle of dandelion wine without stopping his sentence, a small nod from kaeya the only confirmation he needed to pull off the cork.

“the staff have been doing well, though this is shaping up to be a rather warm summer.” not that you asked, he notes, internally chiding himself as he pulls over kaeya’s glass. he considers swapping it for a new one to give himself something to do, but decides against it. he rattles off a few details about some dahlias that adelinde is trying to grow, how they keep seeming to wilt. he doesn’t stop talking to pour kaeya’s wine, eyes focused on his task as he continues talking nonsense about flowers. flowers. since when did he talk about the hobbies of his staff when asked about the vineyards?

he twisted the bottle as he pulled away—“this way any wine that drips will land on the back label. you don’t want the front to look messy.”—corking the bottle and forcing himself to finish this childish line of speech.

it wasn’t childish, not if you seemed genuinely interested, but any more and kaeya would have too much to leverage against him later. granted, he likely knew more about diluc than he’d like given how irritatingly good he was at reading people, but that was a problem for another day. for now, he let kaeya grab his cup on his own, wiping his hands of nothing as he waited for your response to what had certainly come off as nervous ramble.

your head tilted. “has she asked flora?”

“assumedly, or she had another worker do so for her. it’s not like her to let something rot like that.”

“that’s good to hear. and you?”

“pardon?” his hands had frozen, towel still in his hands, and he turned your words over in his mind. his reply had been instinctual, mostly to buy him time to think.

“how are you doing? don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to hear the winery is well, but you seem nervous.”

kaeya chuckled into his wine, and diluc’s jaw ticked.

“i am well, my apologies if i have worried you.”

“oh, alright… it can be hard to tell sometimes with you, i wanted to be safe.”

he knows. he’d meant his apology, but any sincerity was likely lost in whatever filter was placed between his mind and his mouth.

the air was awkward, and he didn’t know how to fill it. kaeya was looking at him, clearly expecting him to continue whatever tentative conversation was lingering, but he greatly overestimated diluc’s ability to do so.

he hung the towel back in its place, finally meeting his brother’s eyes. “behave.” they flicked to you, and his words were slower coming out. “make sure he doesn’t steal anything.”

you smiled, swearing on it even as the three of you knew kaeya wouldn’t do such a thing. diluc stepped out from behind the bar, grabbing a large serving tray and walking from table to table, collecting empty glasses.

maybe he was a coward for avoiding conversation- scratch that, he definitely was, but what was he to do about it? talk? that was already established to be off the table, and one could not typically make conversation without talking.

diluc shook off the topic, climbing the stairs to the second floor of the bar. all he could do was hope you didn’t hold it against him, or archons forbid think it were somehow your fault. hopefully you wouldn’t hate him by the time he managed to get his words in line with his thoughts.

diluc stared at the empty page in front of him, twisting the pen in his hand.

another skill he didn’t have. informal letter writing.

letters to merchants, fine, letters to buyers, he had a standard template for. letters to and from employees, informing him of upcoming leave or similar work related matters, all of this he was prepared for.

but this…

he sighed, watching as ink dripped onto the page, setting down his pen.

what did he say? what did he want to say? what was appropriate to say? you were rather close to his heart but how did he come across? would an inquiry about your well being be too forward? was a letter at all too forward? friends- no, you didn’t consider him a friend, right? or did you? how did people act around their friends? how did you act around your friends?

he tugged at his gloves, fiddling with the hem nervously. he’d finished most of his paperwork and had intended to take a break by writing you a letter, but… was it even a good idea? he- oh archons, he didn’t even know your address-

diluc crumpled up the paper in one hand, throwing it in the trash with the beginnings of an embarrassed blush on his face. writing a letter and not even knowing where you lived- he could count the amount of proper conversations he’d had with you that had progressed past basic small talk on one hand, and he wanted to write you a letter?

he covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his desk. papers shifted beneath him but he didn’t pay attention, his thoughts in circles.

he wasn’t an idiot. he knew exactly why his heart picked up when you were around, why he had to default to more familiar speech to not make an utter fool of himself. the entire reason he’d tried to write you a letter was because he wanted to clarify his behavior towards you, to hopefully build a prior relationship with you instead of learning about you by proxy from your conversations with kaeya. yet, in his hurry to fix what probably wasn’t even broken to begin with—he knew of his reputation, in reality you probably weren’t at all surprised at his inability to make small talk—he’d forgotten the most important detail.

on one hand, he probably could ask kaeya, or poke around in other ways, but that felt disingenuous. if he was going to try and… for now he’d call it making a friendship with you, then he wanted to do it right. of course, he didn’t know exactly what ‘doing it right’ entailed, but… he supposed he’d just have to guess.

diluc had learned a considerable amount in his childhood, yet none of his lessons taught him how to pursue a partner.

diluc swept his cloak around his shoulders, fastening the clasp with one hand and reaching for his vision with the other. with practiced movements, he undid the knot tying it in place, attaching it to the back of his other hand. he hooked his mask onto his belt and closed the door of his room behind him, walking down the stairs quickly.

“be safe, master diluc.”

“master kaeya has kindly informed us that the knights have a patrol for the whispering woods, so it would be wise not to stray too far.”

diluc paused at the door, mentally rearranging his patrol route with a nod. “thank you adelinde, elzer. pass on my gratitude, please.”

he pulled open the door to the manor, walking up the familiar trails and into wolvendom. his vision lit his path as his eyes adjusted, free hand affixing his mask to his face as he walked. since he couldn’t head as far north as he’d like, he’d settle for a loop around windrise and then one in wolvendom. not ideal, but it would have to do.

windrise was lighter than expected. a budding camp of hilichurls here, an abyss mage to the east (thankfully hydro, he’d been on a bad streak with pyro mages for a few days now) and a few slimes that got a bit too close to the merchant trails for his liking.

speaking of the trails, those were clean too. he snuck around springvale, keeping the hand with his vision on it tucked into his cloak to mask its light. hilichurls didn’t hang around this part of wolvendom, so unless he wanted to go shoving through wolf hook bushes for the chance to knock out a camp or two…

he looked between the two paths back to the winery. he could go through the gorge, or the typical way taken by his suppliers. the former was mostly guaranteed to have at least one or two monsters picking about, but it would be better if he cleared his trade routes…

it didn’t matter, in the end. he stepped out from the shadow of a tree, boot barely making contact with the dirt before he picked up the sound of another’s footsteps. heavy, quick, rapidly coming his way-

he summoned his claymore, turning north toward the sound, seeing a figure stumble from the bushes of wolvendom. they were wrapped in a too-thin jacket considering the weather, arm pressed to their chest. details were lost in the darkness, but he could see their head twist, how it snapped to him.

the figure waved with a shout to get his attention, and his heart dropped.

you. what were you doing up so late?

you jogged up to him, clearly out of breath, and he could see that you were holding an armful of unripe wolfhooks. “do.. do you know the way to springvale?”

by the archons, abyss, and celestia above-

“what business do you have there? it’s late,” he said, keeping his voice low. his hands trembled slightly in his gloves, eyes searching your figure for any injury. you had a nick or two on your arm, thankfully not bleeding, but everything else was obscured by shadows. you had clearly been running for quite a while, judging by how harshly you breathed, were you running from something? had you ran into trouble?

“i gotta get back to the city,” you explained breathlessly. “i kinda got lost in the forest.”

“lost?” his hand tensed around his claymore, the action reminding him it was still there. he dismissed it, crossing his arms to try and stabilize himself.

“long story, not worth telling.” you waved your hand, and he could see how it shook a bit. whether from adrenaline or exhaustion (both?) he knew he couldn’t point you toward mondstat in good faith. what if something happened to you? what if he’d missed a camp and you were attacked? you were weakened, tired, and his mind raced with all the potential injuries you could sustain just trying to go home-

“uh, stranger?” your hand waved again, this time to get his attention. “you with me?”

“the city’s too far. you’re better off seeking shelter at the dawn winery just up the road.” what was he saying? “besides, you could be injured, and not be feeling the pain due to adrenaline. let me walk you there.”

his heart hammered against his ribs, every single way you could reject him and then some swirling in his head. he was a stranger to you, you were clearly scared by something, and he directed you elsewhere out of what, selfishness? he knew that springvale was likely closer, that someone would be up and willing to help, and yet he was asking to walk you to the winery?

“are you sure? you don’t have to.”

“i’d rather not send you off when i’m not certain of your safety.” your eyes widened slightly, surprised at the care in his voice, and he forced his tone to flatten before you recognized him. “besides, the staff are friendly and willing to help. they’ll understand.”

you hesitated for a moment, then nodded, holding your wolfhooks closer. absently, he wondered if he had any at the winery. probably not, but he could likely ask-…

in barbatos’ name, how was he going to explain this to the staff?

“alright. lead the way.”

he turned before his expression could change, keeping his steps a bit slower than usual so you could keep pace easier. he wanted you inside as quickly as possible, obviously, but you had clearly strained yourself earlier. going quicker would only hurt you more, and it wasn’t as if there was any immediate threat. even if there was, he was confident in his ability to keep you safe. the trees lining the path were large, wide enough to protect you if trouble came up and he needed to use his vision.

he set aside that line of thinking, sparing a glance at you. you’d switched which arms held the wolfhooks, and in the more open light, he could see the small pricks on your skin where the points dug in. you winced when the fruit resettled, moving one away from your inner elbow, and he stopped walking.

“give me those. you’re hurting yourself.”

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it. we’re nearly there, right?”

“wolfhooks aren’t clean, you could get an infection. you’re supposed to harvest them with a basket and gloves, not carrying them bare armed.”

“you don’t have the thickest clothes either, what’s to say you won’t get hurt?”

diluc searched the small area of the path you were on, trying to find a compromise. his first instinct was to use his cloak, but his hair was tucked into the hood, and that with his silhouette would certainly give him away. his eyes caught on a tear in your jacket, just below the shoulder, and he held out his arms.

“use your jacket as a sling. it’s already torn from the forest, so it’s not the worst loss.”

firm solution, reasonable and immediate justification. he was doing it again, no matter how well it disguised itself as casual speech.

you gave in, thankfully, and he didn’t let the minor pain from the wolfhook’s points show on his face as you removed your jacket. it was as thin as it looked, and he found himself frowning as he helped you stow the berries inside.

still, it wasn’t his business. maybe if he were your friend he could suggest that you purchase a heavier coat, but… you were getting a new one anyway since this one was ruined, so that seemed like a null point to bring up.

he settled your stuffed jacket into your waiting arms, hands lingering for a moment to ensure your grip was stable. “better?” you nodded, and he began walking again. “good. and don’t forget to mention your wounds to the staff, the last thing you want is an infection from… why did you need wolfhooks?”

“bennett asked me to get some for him and his friend… i think razor is his name? but with bennett’s luck, he didn’t want to risk going in himself, so he asked me to help.”

diluc frowned. “why does he need wolfhooks?”

you shrugged. “he offered some mora in return, but i mostly accepted because i felt bad. his luck seems to ruin everything for him, the least i could to was try.”

“even at the risk of your own health?”

“the things you do for friends, you know how it is.” his hands twitched at his sides, curling into loose fists. did he? “but what about you? why are you out here?”

he thought over his answer carefully, mixing various bits of his typical sentences to craft a half-truth. it was getting easier, he noticed, but put that thought aside just as quickly as it came. “wandering, doing my part to keep the area safe.”

“that’s noble of you.”

it wasn’t. would you believe the same if you knew how selfish he was in his desires? he kept mondstat safe for himself, so that he could rest knowing he’d done what he could—he patrolled not out of some moral righteousness, but because it made him proud to know that he’d chipped in to the city’s safety, that he was handling threats the knights didn’t, that he could keep his staff, his brother, his life, keep you-

“have you considered joining the knights? i’m certain there’s some night patrols, and it would surely be nice to have backup.”

he almost responded, almost said that he was in the knights, at one point, before he remembered where he was. who he was. to tell you that would be too much, too much information and too much for you to identify him with.

when did he become so loose with his words? normally he was so uptight around you… was it the fact that you didn’t know he was him right now? did.. he seriously operate best under anonymity? archons, how weak was that, to only be able to say what he meant when you didn’t know anything? was he that socially inept? so desperate for a proper conversation that he’d nearly slipped a major part of his life to you, just based on an offhand comment? how pathetic was he?

he forcefully shut down that line of thought and grit his teeth, well aware it had been too long since you’d spoken. “i’ve considered it. it’s not for me.”

not an entire lie, at least.

you were silent, and he knew he’d ruined the atmosphere. crystalflies fluttered in the trees, lazily flapping through the air, but he couldn’t appreciate their beauty like he typically could. the walk all the way down to the manor was spent in silence, and aside from a minor stumble you had on a jutting rock, it was as if he was walking back on his own, as he typically would. he even began to reach for the doorknob, then caught himself and used the knocker instead.

it was weird. he knew the door wasn’t locked, yet he waited for footsteps to approach the door, seeing elder’s worried face greet him. “master diluc, are you-?”

elzer’s eyes found yours, a tiny hint of shock crossing his face before he settled it back into the same polite smile he always used when greeting guests.

“ah, my apologies. i wasn’t expecting visitors at such a late hour.”

diluc bowed his head in what he hoped came off as a thankful action. “my apologies for disturbing you.”

he explained the situation as swiftly as possible, elzer urging you towards adelinde to treat your injuries. the medical supplies were just inside, near to the door for the sake of diluc’s own health.

“and what of you, stranger?” elzer asked, a bit louder than necessary. “will you be staying?”

diluc sees you look up, understanding clicking in an instant. “no, i won’t,” he answers, “but i thank you for your hospitality.”

elzer reached for the coatrack, pulling down two, both his and diluc’s, keeping the door propped open and passing him his where you couldn’t see. “then let me walk you to the edge of the vineyards, in exchange for your chivalry.”

“it’s alright, thank you. have a nice night.”

“the same to you, stranger.”

the door closed, and diluc relaxed, clutching his coat close as he turned away from the manor.

that was too close. he shouldn’t have suggested to bring you here in the first place, and thank the gods that elzer was so quick on his feet. he’d completely forgotten that he would have to return to the manor as diluc at one point in his rush to get you here.

he ducked behind a tree at the edge of the winery, exchanging his cloak for his jacket. he folded it neatly, stowing his mask and gloves inside. he didn’t have his usual clothes on, but… he could make do. he’d lied before, he’d lie again… even to you.

his grip around his cloak tightened. especially to you. you had no business in his shady practices, in what he did in the dark. it was impossible to keep you entirely safe and sheltered, nor was that healthy or his place to do, but he could at least keep his darkness from encroaching upon your light.

by the time diluc returned to the manor, you had already been sent on your way to a guest room. blessedly, neither adelinde nor elzer were in the front room to make a remark to him about it, likely busy with other work or asleep themselves. he locked the door and hung up his coat, heading up to his room after a swift double check of the first of those facts.

he went about his night, changing into sleepwear and setting his boots by his bed, his vision on his nightstand. it was admittedly a little more difficult falling asleep than usual—were you comfortable? did you like the guest room?—but he managed, waking up with the sun. his routine was the same, but when he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he paused, looking up at the guest rooms. it… was strange, to know you were here. he felt like he should be doing something, whether saying goodbye or good morning or-

he looked away and shook his head. or nothing. he wasn’t as close to you as you were to him, how did he keep forgetting that?

“is there a problem, master diluc?”

he turned, seeing adelinde setting down his breakfast on the table. “nothing at all, and thank you for the food. did you sleep well?”

“i was a bit late in going to bed, a strange guest brought us some worry.”

he smiled at the pointedness to her tone, “really? how odd, to have a visitor so late.”

her mouth opens, but another speaks before she does.

“sorry if i caused any trouble.”

he paused. blinked. took a moment to register the fact that he just heard your voice in his home.

then he turned, attempting a smile. “it’s alright. your being here is unexpected, yes, but not unwelcome.”

you had clearly just gotten up, clothes rumpled and pillow creases along your hands. you nod, stepping closer, and he grasps for any viable threads of conversation.

“is the manor to your liking?”

“it’s beautiful.”

pride bloomed in his chest. “i’m happy to hear it. come sit, have some breakfast.” adelinde excused herself with a bow and he moved to pull out a chair for you, praying the action looked as natural as it felt. you accepted with a smile, and he pushes you in with relief in his when he sits. “she should return shortly with your food, apologies for the delay.”

“it’s fine,” you said, looking around the main room. he tries to find something else to talk about, already feeling the awkward silence set in, but fumbles. the last time he had someone at his table was with the traveller for the weinlesefest, and they and paimon mostly carried the conversation along. he only ever heads business discussions, or staff meetings, or interrogations, and this was certainly none of those.

“are you alright?”

he blinked away his frown, realizing too late he’d been glaring at his cup of grape juice. an instinctual response rose to his tongue, but he hesitated. maybe it was the early morning hour, maybe it was the genuine concern on your face, maybe it was the light of dawn streaming in from the windows that fell across you so delicately, as if it knew how beautiful you were.

he discarded that response, but exchanged it for another. “are you? adelinde told me you were injured.”

a lie. he hadn’t spoken with anybody about your injuries. archons, was this worse?

your smile grows. apparently not? “just a few scrapes,” you say, lifting your arm to show where adelinde bandaged you. “wolfhooks are a lot sharper than they look.”

“wolfhooks?”

you waved a hand. “i needed some for bennett, long story. don’t worry, adelinde gave me a basket for them.”

“that’s good to hear.”

and just like that, the topic was exhausted. did he bring up something else? how much was too much? what was even an appropriate topic? what did the average person talk about? not that you were average, he’d never dare-

he’s talked himself into a corner in his own head. how in teyvat did that happen?

“you’re frowning again.”

“my apologies, i’m lost in thought.” he was quiet for a moment, then continued, “a problem i’ve encountered before is more prevalent now.”

…it wasn’t the most eloquent of phrasing, but it should do.

“do you want to talk about it?”

does he? how would he even put this into words that didn’t make him sound… is pathetic the word?

‘i can’t talk right around you because i’m not used to talking with someone that does so in good faith’? yeah, that’s something a well-adjusted adult says.

“i don’t have the words for it,” he decides. “the words…” he takes a quick glance at you to gauge your reaction but regrets it just as fast, whatever he had to say next vanishing into thin air. it’s unfair, really, how pretty you are, his eyes fixed to yours. “t-they-“

adelinde set your plate down in front of you, blessedly saving him from the situation. “thank you for your patience. please let me know if anything is unsatisfactory.”

diluc grabs his cup as you thank her, turning away to hide behind the grape juice. he can’t even really taste it, focused on how clumsily he had spoken. were he anywhere else he’d surely be laughed out of the room, and he’s certain adelinde’s going to tease him for it later as it is.

“diluc?” he looks over at you again, keeping his gaze quick before he fumbles again.

“what is it?”

too harsh, too cruel, he’s being cold to you again-

“are you busy today?”

he thinks over his schedule. no meetings that he can remember, nor any deadlines. he’d prefer to finish up some forms sooner rather than later, but if you need him for something…

“no, i’ve got time. what do you need?”

“would you like to go to good hunter for dinner later today?”

he can only hope you accept his nod as an answer because between the knowing smile on your face and the bright blush on his, there’s no way he’s getting a word out.

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neteyammeowmeow · 1 year ago

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helllooo jay its me i am like a little bug and i am asking u ... for ... bloyd hcs.. bc u get me so hard.... only if its not too much troubl...

HAIII OOMF, I GOT YOU💯 Most of these are set in the Monastery btw :3

This is after the Merge and after they reunite, errm, Benthomaar’s really clingy in the morning, when Lloyd wakes up he finds out he’s being hugged like he’s going to get squeezed to death, and Bentho’s excuse is that it’s really cold up when it’s still sunrise and Lloyd’s really warm (he’s just attached). Bentho also likes to give Lloyd forehead kisses with it, like he’d just savor every second they get to spend with each other because they’re usually busy after.

Based on Lloyd’s leaked outfit for S2, Benthomaar helps Lloyd wear his clothes before he starts the day, it’s not that Lloyd’s outfit has so much accessories or anything but literally just for quality time (they’re the married couple that never gets married). Benthomaar would stand behind Lloyd and help him drape the outer over his shoulders, and fix the sash around his waist, but right after he hugs him with his arms wrapped around him and Lloyd tries to escape his clutches by saying that the kids are waiting for him (his face is actually really flustered but he doesn’t try to break from Bentho’s arms either way).

Lloyd’s the one that cooks in the relationship, he learned his skills from Zane (and surprisingly Cole (HE’S LITERALLY INDONESIAN!)) and from the massive stack of recipe books scattered in the kitchen. Benthomaar loves to accompany him whenever he can, though he’s not that interested and is picky about surface dweller food, he’s curious on how to make them using so many varying essentials. When Lloyd’s by the counter chopping a dish, Benthomaar would hug his waist from the back (he loves doing that because his head can rest on Lloyd’s head) and either Bentho asks what Lloyd’s doing, or they just stay in silence. Either way, if it’s raw fish that Lloyd’s cutting, he’d just grab a chunk and feeds it to Bentho. They sometimes share small talk about anything in the kitchen, like it’s just one of their favorite places to be.

Lloyd sometimes likes to fidget by touching Benthomaar’s fingers because his skin texture is different than humans, he usually does it while they’re talking or just out of the blue, if he’s really nervous or anxious about something he’d grab Bentho’s hand really hard, Bentho’s concerned for him and also his own hand because it feels like it could snap.

Benthomaar is royalty, and it’s definitely more usual for them to have servants that aid them around, such as preparing food, or cleaning their rooms, and so much more. However, there are no servants to help aid in the Monastery, Benthomaar is entirely on his own when it comes to such things. Lloyd was one of the Ninja that helped teach him how to do mundane, day to day tasks and chores, it’s not much — but it mattered enough for Benthomaar, he wasn’t treated like a King when he’s around Lloyd, Lloyd treats him as Benthomaar, like a friend, a lover, and a partner.

The servants had always kept the palace spotless and the shine of the marble floor was like how the light glittered upon the sea’s surface, Benthomaar never had to bother to clean them, because it was not his task there, but in the Monastery, he has to take care of it, his role played just the same as the Ninja. So there he was, in the hallways of his surface home, with Lloyd’s hand on his, trying to teach him how to sweep properly with a broom, and how to make sure he doesn’t scatter the dust and dirt he had gathered with it.

Food was always prepared by the hunters, and prepared in the dining room neatly and tidy. Benthomaar’s only duty was to finish the food of his plate and leave politely, following the etiquette his father had taught him. But in the Monastery, he finds himself helping Lloyd read the instructions from the recipe book, learning of the unique edible flora of the surface world, and the variety of their dishes and spices.

And after, he helps Lloyd clean the dishes. Lloyd tells him that there are two soaps, one in the glass bottle is to wash his hands, and the other in the plastic bottle, was to squeeze for the dirty kitchenware — there were also three different sponges all in different colors. The pink one was to wash the plates, forks, spoons, or knives, the other types of tools needed to cook that Benthomaar struggled to remember the names of. The blue one was to wash the drinks, specifically only drinks, Lloyd told him it was because Jay one day brought up how it felt weird that they used the same sponge for everything, and it might “Make the water taste weird”. The yellow one was to wash the entire sink and other things that weren’t used directly for cooking, just to make sure it’s extra sanitary. Lloyd also taught him to put cloth around the sink so that the water wouldn’t splatter all over the counter, at first, Bentho was confuse because he assumed washing the dishes wouldn’t be such a struggle, but in the end it was rather challenging, because the water did in fact, get everywhere. It was a humbling moment, but the laughter and the exasperated sigh Lloyd gave Bentho was funny and memorable.

6. After the Merge, Lloyd was genuinely worried for Benthomaar’s fate, he wasn’t sure if he was alive, or he was hurt, what if something had happened to him and he never knew about it? What if Benthomaar ended up on the other side of the earth? Will they ever see each other again? Here’s another thing to mention, Lloyd never had the chance to truly confess to Benthomaar about his feelings, and now he doesn’t know if he’ll get one at all. It gave him a lot of time to reflect, he questioned himself if he was going to move on, he didn’t realize how much Benthomaar’s presence impacted him just as much as his family had. He finds himself anticipating a figure that fell asleep on his desk due to overworking, having to carry them into the bed so they can properly rest, he finds himself waking up and missing the sight of the color blue laying beside him, he misses the fingers that would thread his hair for comfort whilst sharing conversations about so many topics, odd ones, funny ones, all of it. He missed it, he missed Benthomaar so much, it was a while that he last felt his heart thudding weird that somehow brought a smile to his face, just as the smile he saw on the face of his friend — it was so bright and gentle.

7. But what about Benthomaar? Does he carry the same sentiment? Of course he does. However, whilst Lloyd had more time to spend alone and think, Benthomaar was always surrounded by persons and crowds, his duties as a King had only put more of a burden upon him as Merlopia grows stronger and bigger as time passes, there was so much that overwhelmed him than he expected. Benthomaar wonders if he’ll ever get to share another moment with Lloyd, he wonders if Lloyd were there with him, what would he do, seeing Benthomaar buried within a flood of letters and papers? Would he scold him? Would he drag him away from his seat to rest? Would he try to create a distraction as Benthomaar suddenly finds himself laughing and hugging the one that he loved dearly, pushing his worries for his kingdom another day? Benthomaar would grip his head tightly, suddenly exhaling and looking out the windows of his chamber, perhaps, once he can finally break free from his tasks, he’ll find a way to meet Lloyd again.

8. They don’t admit how much they were yearning once they’ve reunited, they end up being very awkward. Because they’re really happy and glad that both of them are safe and sound, but there’s so much left unsaid — left to be said. Do they share the same feelings? Have they changed so much after the Merge? It takes a while, but slowly they start to reconnect, and they are back as they once were.

9. It’s actually funny how they got together, because it wasn’t through a confession or a proposal, it wasn’t through words said during a beautiful sunset or sunrise, or during a rainy day where everything felt comfortable and right, or even during the midst of battle. It was because of Sora and Arin.

“What??”

“Well, you know, me and Arin don’t mind if we get another dad.”

“What— what makes you say that? Who’s your other dad?”

“That guy you keep hanging out with, his name’s Bentho, right? I mean, he’s a really fun guy and he’s nice, as long as it’s not anyone evil, right?”

“Sora, what are you talking about???”

And later, once Kai heard, he laughs so loud and pats Sora on the back while snickering, saying, “he’s always been that bad, kid.” Nya only rolled her eyes because they all knew that their youngest brother was truly dumb when it came to himself.

Thank u… :3

#ninjago #lloyd garmadon #benthomaar #ninjago lloyd #ninjago benthomaar #deepseaenergy #deepseaenergyshipping #bloyd #ninjago headcanons #ninjago kai #ninjago sora #ninjago nya #ninjago zane #ninjago cole #i know they’re like cameo mentions but they matter to me…

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