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arcielee · 1 year

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dōna mandia

Summary: Her brothers convince her to play a game of hide-and-seek. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Reader, Aegon Targaryen x Reader Word Count: 4085 WARNINGS/THIS IS A DARK FIC: Targcest, with she/her pronouns, MDNI, 18+ Dubcon, inexperience, fingering, implied sexual themes, oral (m and f receiving), p in v, anal, double penetration, rough sex. Author's Note: Thank you @hamatoanne for being my muse and inspiring this depravity. Thank you to @sylas-the-grim for beta reading and perfecting. And a huge thank you to @aemonds-fire for helping me with my Tumblr settings that had me ripping my hair out. 💜 Anyway, this is what you wanted from this poll. I hope you are all happy with yourselves. 😂

Valyrian translations: mēre, lanta, hāre is one, two, three dōna mandia is sweet sister

Tumblr kindred spirits: @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @schniiipsel @aemondx @fan-goddess @babygirlyofthevale @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @hb8301 @lovelykhaleesiii

“Come, sweet sister,” Aegon whispered into the shell of her ear. She felt the warmth of his palms through the layers of silk worn, her robe and her nightgown, with his intimate touch to her lower back to guide her.

She paused for a moment and peered back at her twin. Aemond had covered his one eye, his sapphire glinting from the lighting of the room as his timbre rumbled the numbers off in Old Valyria. “Mēre,” he began, with a slight curl to his lips.

“With me,” Aegon urged, his other hand interlacing with her own to pull, and she could not help the giggle that slipped from her lips as she followed him.

Aemond continued behind them, a low echo against the cobblestone. “...lanta…hāre…”

It was childish, she supposed, but welcomed after the somber family meal earlier this evening. Her brothers then stole away to her chambers, the mischievous grin paired with the suggestion from Aegon that they play hide-and-seek, as they had as children.

But that had been a lifetime ago, long before the internal warfare of the House of the Dragon inevitably spilled its destruction across Westeros.

Her brothers, Daeron as well, had all fought valiantly and victory was had–but at what cost, she often wondered. Rhaenyra was dead, along with their uncle and nephews, and their dragons as well. The smaller children, the ones with the blood of Old Valyria apparent in their veins, had been sent to Old Town with the assurance to raise them with the absolute truth of what happened.

But she knew that the truth would be written by the victors.

Their grandsire served as Lord Hand still, an advocate to reinstate the peace disrupted. This burden shifted on her and her siblings, as Aegon was now king without question, and now the sole focus was to mend the rift between realms, a new age of serenity with his reign. As part of this, their grandsire announced her betrothal to a Northern house, as if she were an olive branch to be extended to the perpetual snow to never be retrieved.

Her pain was written plainly on her lovely features, but their grandsire spoke his words with a sense of finality; it seemed to be no hope to dissuade his mind.

This was how her brothers found her–“Sulking prettily,” Aegon cooed as her handmaiden finished braiding her silver tresses back, dressed already in a pale silk and ready for bed.

Once they were alone, Aegon had brought up this childhood game. What had convinced her, though, was when her twin, Aemond, who was the personified reason knitted amongst them all, seemed almost akin to the idea. His perpetual smirk played at his lips when he offered to be the seeker first.

And now she padded softly along to keep pace with Aegon, breathless, almost gleeful, as they tore through the empty corridors, hands held as they weaved through the silent castle before coming to a door she recognized all too well.

“This is Aemond’s room,” and her voice trailed off with its uncertainty.

Aegon returned his hand to her lower back, his other now grasping onto her forearm. There was a darkness that flickered over his features, but his smirk was quick to brighten, an emotion gone with a heartbeat before she could even register. A coaxing whisper to guide her across the threshold: “This is the one place he would not think us to go.”

It was a room she knew with an intimate familiarity, with an ingress that connected and weaved through the walls, leading back to her own. When they were children, Aemond often would slip into her bed at night, her honeyed tones to soothe him to sleep, and when he had lost his eye, she would go visit with him and listen while Vhagar’s roars reverberated throughout the Keep.

It was tidy, as always, maintained and meticulous, which suited her twin. His musk lingered over, something that was so uniquely his own: the hint of smoke with leather, his skin scrubbed clean with the bath oils gifted from Dorne, the amber and the ash.

It was something that held onto her clothes whenever she would return to her room in the early mornings.

Now, she followed Aegon with timid steps as he moved towards the wardrobe further back, standing tall and solid. He opened to be greeted with the smell of Aemond, mixed with the cedar chips placed to keep the moths away. He then stepped in first, turning to reach for her once he realized her hesitation rooted her to the cobblestone; his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her in, closing the door behind.

It was dark, save the crack between the paneled doors that allowed the bit of golden light from the hearth and the tapers still lit to spill in. Aegon nestled against her, a warmth emitting from him, and her backside flushed against his chest. His one hand moved to her hip while the other began to draw soothing circles against her stomach, an almost tingling sensation through her silk.

She squirmed slightly, an inadvertent hum from his touch; the close proximity and his clashing scent–a soothing mixture of lavender and tea tree oil–caught her breath in her throat. She blushed, her hand fumbling on top of his own, so small in comparison, and he pressed the imprint of his palm to her stomach, the other gripping into her hip bone.

She shivered from his hold, from the warmth that began to pool between her thighs. “Aegon,” she breathed.

He moved to place his hand over her mouth. “Quiet, sister,” and his chin pressed onto her shoulder, his hot whisper tickled with his low baritone and his hold tightened around her waist.

She paused, alert for an indication that Aemond had finally come to the room to find them, but there was only a heavy silence punctuated by the crackle from the fireplace. Aegon burned against her, a pillar of warmth that settled over like a fog, thick with the quiet, almost suffocating in the enclosed space. His hold on her hip loosened and his hand began to trail the flow of silk to the soft divot between her thighs, his fingers moving to trace the outline of her cunt against the thin material.

“Sister,” his tone was dark, but she felt the curl of his lips against her ear. “You are bare beneath this.”

Only his hold on her mouth kept her from reminding him that she had meant to go to bed, but instead she had been caught up in this insipid game–but the thought choked on the fog from his continued motion. His fingers deftly found her slit and he dragged his center digit upwards between, a featherlight touch that seemed to scorch through the length of her spine. She moaned, soft and muted, against his palm.

“Pull up your skirt,” he hissed, moving to cup her cunt fully.

She jolted from his touch, scrambling to bunch the fabric around her hips; the air was cool against her thighs and the wetness between.

Aegon groaned against her skin. “So wet for me, sweet sister,” and he pulled her closer, grinding against her backside, his defined hardness pressing into the softness of her arse.

She mewled and it was muffled still, drawing a dark chuckle of satisfaction from Aegon. “You like that?” and he repeated the movement, his fingers now spreading her silken folds and the silver hair that lined them. “If I remove my hand, will you be a good girl and stay quiet for me?”

His hold only relaxed with the frantic bob of her head and his hand moved to push aside her braid to allow his tongue to run the column of her neck to behind her ear, almost panting against her skin. She shuddered against him. “So soft,” and her skin prickled with the low rumble of his praise, “so wet,” and his one finger curled within, searching until she began to melt, arching against him with a desperation to feel the friction again, his length hard and heavy against.

She pressed backwards and Aegon drew a sharp intake of air before he tilted his chin, his teeth sinking into the junction of her neck, suckling until she left out a small whine, “–Aegon.”

“Quiet,” he hissed again before returning his focus to the curl of his fingers within her velvet walls, to the movement of his hips grinding against. His touch was practiced, precise, and he was now knuckle deep, which allowed the ridge of his palm enough pressure that further ignited the coiled passion building in her lower abdomen.

She gasped with each stroke as he continued his simultaneous ministrations, the mixture of his kisses and nibbles on the curve of her neck, the love bites that would linger but right now brought her to the precipice of something she had never felt before–

–and the doors swung open, where Aemond stood, arms wide, his hair disheveled and his expression unreadable.

Her eyes widened, burning from her embarrassment, burning from her release; she tried to close her thighs, but Aegon pulled it from her, against her own volition and with a startled cry. She trembled from her peak, the flush of color that spilled from her cheeks, to her neck and to her chest, her nipples pressing against the silk and her chest heaving with her labored breath.

Aegon wore his smug satisfaction, pressing a soft kiss to her neck and his eyes never leaving Aemond.

But his sharp features seemed unsurprised by the spectacle. “You are insatiable, brother,” and he grabbed her, pulling her from the confines of the wardrobe. “Your impatience knows no end.”

The silk spilled to cover her leaden legs, her steps staggered but he was quick to catch her. His large palms held her steady, to meet with his bicolor gaze; his sapphire gleamed and his lavender eye trailed her curves, almost admiring. He then dragged her towards the bed, pushing her backwards against it.

“Oh, but I have only prepared her for you,” Aegon continued as he stepped out, his silver hair mussed and his satisfaction bold on his features as he licked his fingers clean.

She wished her voice to not sound so childish with her question. “P-prepare me?”

Aegon tutted condescendingly. “Just as we did with Helaena, and she took us both so well,” he grinned, relishing in the new flush of color that stained her cheeks with the implication of his tone. “You cannot truly believe we would ever allow you to be off to some Northern house as a prize?”

Her heart fluttered with hope, like a captured bird against its cage, and her fingers pressing into the mattress to hold herself upright to look back at Aemond. He stepped closer to touch her, his hand large and warm, his slender fingers sliding to hold the back of her neck, to hold her attention. “I would never allow that,” he vowed, and then he pulled her to stand again.

She had always considered her twin to be handsome, as breathtaking as the sapphire stone he had placed in his scarred socket. It was his melancholy mien that called to her heart; there was a severity that lined his features, that sharpened as the years passed and chiseled away at the remains of his boyhood. After the war was won, she often wondered, she hoped, that she would be given to him, as Helaena had been given to Aegon…

Her eyelashes fluttered when she looked up at him, warming from the close proximity. “Aemond…”

“Trust me,” and Aemond pressed closer.

It was her first kiss and it swept the air from her lungs, his mouth soft and warm and wanting against her own. A soft moan spilled from her and his tongue curled against her own, his gradual pace to allow her time to taste, to allow her own want to begin rekindling within.

Her hands trembled when they reached for his collar, pulling him closer, and he hummed his satisfaction, a vibration throughout; his arm wrapped around the small of her waist, a guiding press back against the bed edge. Her layers of silk were disrobed and puddled on the cobblestone, a heat radiating from her bareness now shown to Aemond and she saw how his pupil swallowed the color of his eye.

Aemond discarded his tunic, his long and lithe form decorated with scars from the Dance of the Dragons, bold colors with some fading to silver. He pressed between her plush thighs, his slender fingers now digging into their softness for hold, pulling her towards the edge until her cunt pressed against the bulge of his trousers.

Another moan spilled from her kiss-swollen lips from the clothed pressure, and Aemond dipped forward, the soft tickle of his silver hair against her skin and his lips trailing the curve of her jaw with an open mouth kiss to the soft divot beneath her ear.

“Lay back on the bed,” was his breathless command.

She trembled to move herself but paused when her eyes darted back to see Aegon in the shadows, still standing, still watching rapt. His tunic was now untucked and showed off the hard peaks of his chest beneath, his hand dipping past his waistline with a slow palming of the length of his shaft, with wine stained blotches on his cheeks.

Aemond captured her mouth, pushing her back onto the bed, his kiss searing with his desperation, his hunger, with the clash of teeth and his tongue curling against the roof of her mouth. She panted, flustered from the attention, flustered with the echo of Aegon’s words–she took us both so well. Even then, plumes of pink bloomed on her pale skin as his kiss stoke the embers of her passion. “Aemond,” she breathed him in, her head light.

He hummed against her neck, moving lower so his mouth could appreciate her curves. He paused at her chest, his tongue flickering over the peaks of her nipples before trailing lower to the soft of her stomach with hot, wet kisses moving towards her core.

She sighed, she squirmed with each placed kiss and as he nestled between, his breath warm against the glisten from her first climax, and her arousal from his touches.

“She tastes so sweet, brother,” Aegon rasped.

Aemond hummed against her cunt, his fingers soft to touch, his lips pressing an intimate kiss to the bloom above her entrance. She arched her back with a sharp cry, sensitive still, and he pinched her thigh.

“Dōna mandia,” his husky tone sent bolts up her spine. “Be quiet.”

Her hands clamped over her mouth as he began to lap the bundle of nerves discovered this night, and he drank her essence unabashedly. His fingers curled within, his touch somewhat similar to Aegon’s but thoughtful, searching until he felt the beginning flutter of her walls. There was the sinful squelch of her wet cunt and she let out a choked sound against her palm, the threat of tears pearling in her eyes–

Then he stopped.

She let out a whine and pushed to her elbows, the flush of rose that tinged her intimately in all the right places, the rise and fall of her chest and her nipples still peaked with her denied pleasure. Aemond watched her, removing his trousers, the hint of satisfaction fleeting with how her eyes widened at the sight of him bare; he then moved to the cradle of her hips, his head dipping with the glisten on his lips and chin, an unfamiliar taste with his sweet kiss.

Aemond pressed against her, hot and heavy. “Sweet sister,” and he sounded apologetic. “This will hurt.”

Once again a hand clamped over her mouth, halting her gasp as he lined to press against her entrance. Aemond groaned into her neck with his gentle thrusts that burned, that stretched as he pushed into her and she writhed pitifully beneath him, the tears now spilling with her muffled sob.

“I know, I know,” his low tone was soothing, his breath tickling the curve of her neck as he continued the slow rut of his hips against her, his hold relaxing for a chaste kiss.

She gasped against his mouth. The burn, the ache dimming with his each thrust and she felt the blossom of a newer sensation that began to trickle through her veins, a coiling passion as he filled her; It was something deeper than neither his hands of Aegon’s reached before. She shuddered against him, her cheeks wet and her fingers curling into his slim hips, his pace rhythmic to her internal flutter pulling her towards an edge.

She let out a soft cry: “Aemond.”

His lips curled and he praised her. “Yes, just like that,” his pace continued, unrelenting. She felt her muscles clenching, spasming with the bloom of her climax spilling through, her sweet moans mixing with his sharp intake of air through his clenched teeth. Aemond stilled his hips, savoring how she shuddered beneath him, her rapid heartbeat and wet eyes that watched him intently.

A whine cut through them both. “Aemond,” and only then did they remember Aegon.

She felt empty when Aemond pulled away, her cresting pleasure fading. The bed dipped as he shifted, his large hands now moving her, coaxing her onto her hands and knees so she now faced the edge of the bed to watch as Aegon moved closer.

He had shed the last of his clothes, his swaggered step that showed his length, his girth, that hung heavy between his thighs. His touch felt clammy against her skin, cupping her jaw and tilting her head back to meet with the glitter of his lilac eyes. “Will you return me the favor?” he mused, his thumb pressing to her lower lip.

Her older brother always held a haunted beauty about him. There were splotches of wine stains, bold on his porcelain skin, and something almost sinister that brimmed beneath the dark shadows that framed his lovely eyes. Aegon watched her, his digit stroking underneath her chin as he watched for her to acknowledge his words.

Behind her, the bed dipped again as her twin moved to place his hands on her hips. Her grip balled into the linen, to try and hold her trembling still; he dragged the tip of his cock through her folds to coat himself in her release, allowing an easier glide as he sheathed back into her cunt; his groan reverberated throughout them both.

She shuddered and felt Aegon squeeze her jaw, looking up at him through the new tears that clung to her eyelashes. “Open your mouth,” was his low command, his hand wrapping around his base and pressing his swollen cockhead to her lips.

It was a tentative taste before she opened to take him bit by bit. “Watch your teeth,” and she widened her jaw, her tongue flattening against the underside of him. “Yes, good girl,” Aegon hissed, his head tilting back.

She gagged when Aemond slammed into her, his hip bones digging into the softness of her arse–this new angle choked a moan from her, and its vibration had Aegon almost giggling. His fingers combed through her silver hair that spilled from the braid, holding her head as he now bucked his hips into her mouth. She gagged again, hollowing her cheeks, saliva spilling from the corners of her mouth and dripping down the sides.

The brothers were in tandem, the brutal pace of her twin and the sensual pull of her hair by Aegon and his large hands. She trembled as she tried her best to balance on one hand, her other trying to wrap around the last bit of Aegon she could not swallow, flushed from the lack of oxygen and her muscles tensing again.

Then it stopped, the satisfying pop as Aegon removed himself from her mouth, an emptiness as Aemond pulled away. She wished to melt into the sheets, but felt hands pulled to straddle the slender waist of Aemond, who was now splayed against the pillows, the flush of color bright on his sharp features. She saw his erection pressed up against his stomach, a glossy sheen of her arousal coating him.

She sighed from his touch, lifting her hips with a soft mewl as he dragged his tip through her silken folds again, allowing her to slowly sink on top with her soft cries. He bucked beneath her, a slow pace to fill and it plumed new pleasure that sparked at her spine, fluttering throughout. Her nipples were rosy and pebbled, her small hands bracing against his chest with the imprint of of red, half-crescent moons littering on his skin.

Aemond moved his hands to cradle her lower back and pulled her forward until she was flushed against his chest. He captured her lips with a renewed fervor, biting her bottom lip, and she whimpered mercifully against his mouth. He broke away and she buried into his neck with a soft kiss, while Aemond gave a silent gesture to Aegon, who retrieved a small vial and palmed himself as he continued watching them.

“You wish to make me feel as good as I made you,” Aegon asked and the bed sank as he climbed onto it, “isn’t that right, sweet sister?”

She twisted to face him, an unintelligible moan to reply as Aemond continued his languid pace beneath her. Her eyes were glassy, soft noises spilling, and there was a movement of silver when she nodded her head.

Aegon hummed with a curl of his lips, moving behind her, pouring more from the vial into his palm. Aemond reached to find her lips again, tightening his hold as she jerked from Aegon’s touch. He made a soothing sound and she relaxed as he slowly circled her rim, a genial coat of oil, so tender it almost tickled.

It stopped and her trepidation fluttered her spine as his thick head pressed against her hole, a searing burn that speared the base as he began to push until he was fully sheathed and flushed against her ass. She trembled and Aegon let out a low groan as he leaned over her, a soft bite and kiss to her shoulder blade. “So tight,” he gasped.

Aemond had stilled his hips, swallowing her cries with his kiss, and only pulling back to lick her tears, his soothing words muted from the roar of blood that was rushing to her ears. He continued to sing small praises while Aegon moved agonizingly slow, his thrusts eventually coaxing a heat in her lower back that began to spread and press to her seams.

Aemond cupped her face to reclaim her attention, her breathy moans fanning his cheeks and her fist knotting into the linen as she shuddered against his chest. He moved his warm palms to her sides, slowly rolling his hips at an alternating pace with Aegon.

The fullness from their hungry, cyclical pace continued the crescendo building in her lower abdomen. It came with sparks of white that flashed before her eyes, the release of that coiled passion flushing her skin with their rhythm. Her tension snapped, painfully, pleasurable, sharing her bones beneath and leaving her weightless with a sobbed release.

She shuddered from the crests of pleasure that continued to crash against her, feeling Aegon’s hips stuttering with his own peak before pulling out his softening cock. And then Aemond gripped into her hips, a biting hold as he rutted upwards to chase after the high, his cock pulsing inside her velvet walls and her lips parting with a wordless cry.

She then crumpled against her twin and he moved her carefully to the side. She was breathless and could feel their pearly seed spilling from her holes and seeping into the linen. Aegon was first to move, to dress and leave the room, but Aemond took a moment, washcloths rung to wipe her clean, taking the time to blow softly on her skin and watch it ripple with gooseflesh.

When he finally finished, he crawled beneath the covers and pulled her against his chest; she sighed as she melted against him, her fingers moving to play with the silver strands of his hair. Her lips pursed a moment. “What do we do now, brother?”

His fingertips stemmed pleasantly against her ribs and she flushed from the vibration of his low hum. “I intend to speak to the Lord Hand tomorrow about making you my wife,” he said as if it was already decided.

Her tongue wet her lips. “What if he is adamant to send me to the North?”

His grin was almost wicked. “Then I will parade these corridors with these very sheets to show you are no longer a maiden,” and he pushed her as she giggled, rolling her onto her back and enjoying the natural spill of her breasts; his narrow waist knitted between her thighs and she sighed, feeling him pressed against the inside of her thigh, heavy and ready once again.

Aemond captured her mouth and his kiss heated her cheeks. He stopped a moment, his tone dark and heady, “I will not be denied. Iksā ñuhon, dōna mandia.”

You are mine, sweet sister.

#hotd au fanfic #dark!aegon targaryen #dark!aemond targaryen #aegon x ofc #aemond x ofc #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #aemond x reader #aegon x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #updated

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vagabond-umlaut · 7 months

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hey, where is the pomegranate tree?

unstoppable force, aka kore, aka gojo, meets immovable object, aka hades, aka you— nothing can ever go wrong from this collision, trust me— n-o-t-h-i-n-g.

▸ gojo satoru x fem!reader; hades and persephone retelling [with a twist ;))]; 1.2k wc; stubbornly persuasive gojo; the reader is js so tired and annoyed [and tired]; enemies to lovers vibes[??]; talks of marriage and children; gojo thinks you are a fool, he is the real clown here

▸ pls don't glare at me if there is more than one inaccuracy here, haha. anyways, the header is from pinterest, the divider is by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ update: this fic is now part of a series!!! wreaths of asphodel 😊😊

"you shall spend the rest of your days in tears."

you're foolish; woefully so, gojo thinks, carefully observing you from his place on the chaise lounge, smiling while you continue seething, "and there will be no one who can save you. neither a hero nor a god. neither demeter nor zeus. no. one."

"but why do you think i will need saving, my rose?" the endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, the taste sweetening at the way your pretty lips dip into a deeper frown, "you're not a monster, are you?"

"no!" the defensive reply comes in less than a beat. though the words following it sound a tad less bold; it seems as if you're trying to make yourself believe and not scare him.

"i'm someone far fiercer— hades. the goddess of the dead. the queen of the underworld— and the cause for your misery should you choose to vex me any further."

"aw, no," gojo cries, decidedly making a show by slapping a hand over his eyes and faking a sniffle, "why must the only woman i want as my wife see me as an annoyance?"

then lets his hand drop down to the cushion, willing his eyes to well over with pitiful moisture. "as the god of life, i've only ever given and given– be it grains or fruits or vegetables or flowers– without asking anything in return— yet the first and only time i ask..."

he doesn't bother finishing his sentence, choosing to sob to add to the tragic atmosphere— though that doesn't mean he doesn't note the war of emotions on your face:

pity, confusion, anger, again confusion— you're so easy to read, to steer. very foolish, really.

"you'll not like living here," you eventually break the silence hanging within the room. your voice is much softer now; the god wonders if you sing. if you do, the muses will certainly be put to shame... "your days will be spent in utter boredom and gloom and tears–"

"– and no one can come to my aid then: yes, thank you," he interrupts you, more than a little tired, "you've driven the points too well into my head– so much so that i'm surprised there isn't a gaping hole in there, oozing blood and my brains. but why must you think i'll need rescue, huh??"

if a smidge of force escapes into his words, gojo decides not to pay it any mind— though only until he notices the small flinch you give– his insides twist and torment, quite inexplicably, thereafter.

"okay, look," he says, getting up from his slouch to move near you, but stops on catching the warning glint in your eyes.

"first of all, i'm not some damsel in distress being whisked away in a chariot here– i came here by own volition. and i'm offering my mind, body, heart, soul– the special package that i am, in fewer words– to you, by my own volition. why shall i want anyone to rescue me then?"

"besides," he proceeds to add, allowing an easy smirk to form on his face, "you're just the cute little goddess of the dead– not at all scary like your brother used to be; though i guess you try to imitate him in your glares, don't you? sukuna was quite notori—"

"don't you dare utter my brother's name, foul olympian," a quiet growl slashes gojo's comment, sending it plummetting to the ground— and making him understand why you, the inconspicuous, sheltered sister of the vicious former holder of the name 'hades', was given the crown, in the aftermath of your brother's banishment– instead of the several more well-known candidates...

"i apologise," gojo offers in the very next instant, making it as genuine as he can, "i never meant to upset or offend you. i'm sorry if i did."

you just stare at him for a beat, gojo watches, before your shoulders lift then fall in a sigh. the fire burning in your aura abates by a pinch.

sighing once more, you finally break your silence, "It's okay, and um– suppose i too should apologise. you might be an olympian but you're not as foul as them, no. please forgive me for calling you so."

"no problem, my rose," the god is quick to accept your words with a wave of his hand and a beam, further widening when he notices the sliver of smile on your countenance, "but does this mean i appeal to your tastes? i mean, you called me 'not as foul as them', didn't you?? did you just accept my hand in marriage, then???"

"no, i didn't..." your subtle smile disappears swifter than it appeared. a half of gojo's floral crown, quite inexplicably, wilts on the table before. he watches your eyes fall to it, then snap up to meet his.

"do you love me?"

not yet, but he thinks he can. you might be an idiot but you certainly aren't an unlovable idiot— and one voice in his mind murmurs, those precious, innocent looks of yours aren't even the main reasons why...

the god shoots back a languid smile. "if you want to see me in love with you, so be it."

"that's neither 'yes' nor 'no'," you point out, frowning, before vaulting your second query of the evening, "if we get married, do you want to have children?"

it won't be very unfavourable, if you both do... with the vivid colour of your eyes, or the adorable shape of your nose, or the radiance of your skin, or the— "if you want, i shall be happy to assist," he ekes out with a meaningful wink, albeit he doubts how much of it reaches you.

you're very foolish, after all... and no– it's not because of the awkward way he says it– no! not in the slightest! he wasn't fumbling at all!

you wrap the shawl tighter around your shoulders but don't move any further away, gojo notes. the same way he does the slight tint in your cheeks when you roll your eyes with a scoff.

"you're unbelievable, kore. truly, terribly unbelievable." you press the pads of your thumbs over your forehead before releasing it, gaze an unprecedented mark of sharp when it settles on his face.

"is there nothing you want from our union, eh? i refuse to believe you wish to marry me without any demands, as if on a mere whim– but if it is so, i ought to warn you, kore: my answer is and will always be one firm 'no'."

your words mustn't ignite this odd restlessness in him. they certainly mustn't— still, gojo finds his chest tight and the air heavy as he grins back and says, "i only want to be your husband, your majesty... but if that is too much for you right now–"

the stretch on his lips simmers down to something smaller. yet truer.

"i want you to call me by my name. my real name. can you do that, my rose?"

you don't say anything in response for a long while. so long, in fact, it makes the god wonder if you are ever going to reply to his request.

perhaps not, he thinks quite a bit down-spirited when you suddenly turn on your heel and with a swish of your long shawl, stride out the rooms– o-oh.

you stop just as abruptly at the threshold. a complicated grin shining on your face as you twist to look at him over your shoulder then say:

"good night, gojo satoru. pray the ghosts prowling these halls don't eat you up ere dawn."

you're gone not even few feet away from the door, before gojo falls face-first into the bed, the entire room suddenly erupting into thousands of roses in all colors ever seen. [lolol, he is such a loser for you! xD]

▸ masterlist

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #kit posts 📝

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oneweirdbookaddict · 2 months

Note

Are you still doing fic requests? I've always had this weird headcanon that Four eats four times as much as a normal person (cuz he's four people lol). What if he was too shy to tell the others that he eats the equivalent of half the team's food so he's starving himself? What if he and Wild were buffet buddies? The possibilities are endless! Feel free to go angst or fluff or humour, or to ignore my ask altogether! Love your work~

Hey fun fact this was supposed to be fluff 😂

I’m always doing requests! I love doing them, so if anyone has any I’d be thrilled to write it!

Thank you, lovely anon! I hope you like it!

1695 words, warnings for malnutrition? Kinda? Accidental but not really starving yourself? Eating issues? And one (1) very brief, undescribed mention of vomiting. Let me know if anyone wants me to add something!

~~~~

Four hides it well, in the beginning.

When they’re still fresh in supplies, coming across towns on a regular basis, they’re in the woods where he can sneak off and find some berries or fruit if he’s lucky.

The others catch him snacking, and he shrugs it off as a personal preference to snack during the day instead of having full meals.

And it works.

For a while.

Until they stop coming across towns, they leave the safety of the woods, and they’re running low on supplies.

At first, he tries saving the food Wild makes from breakfast, stretching it and eating on the road until lunch, doing the same with his lunch, and then stretching out dinner until he goes to bed.

But then he’s aching with hunger all day.

So he tries eating the full meal, which… well, helps for a little bit. Then he’s starving again.

Either way, he’s practically starving himself.

He didn’t think the effects would be… this bad.

But he gets lightheaded, dizzy, any time he moves quickly he’s convinced he’s going to either pass out or throw up for a second.

Once, in the middle of the night, he woke up shaking uncontrollably. Blankets did nothing- he was shaking until his muscles ached and he was so nauseous.

Somehow, he’d managed to crawl out of his bedroll, stagger far enough away from camp to throw up his dinner, swear Hyrule to secrecy, and go back to sleep.

The others notice, of course. He must look terrible, he feels terrible, he’s so hungry, all the time, and the lack of proper nutrients to his body makes him exhausted.

They’re convinced he's sick- which… maybe he is. Technically. He’s not… healthy.

Wars always looks at him with an understanding glance when it comes up, never arguing with him.

Just always finds a way to sneak him an apple, or even an orange if they find a tree across the massive plains of Wild’s Hyrule.

So he’s not surprised, that when the awful shakiness comes back again, this time in the evening as they’re getting ready for bed, Wars knows what’s going on.

He’s leaning against a tree, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach, fighting to focus on the book in front of him.

His head keeps drooping, though, eyes falling shut, until he dips too much and jolts right back awake.

“Goddess, Smithy, just go to sleep. You’re clearly exhausted.” Legend jokes softly, sitting next to him.

His stomach growls. Loudly.

He doesn’t feel well.

“Hey, you hungry? Four?” Legend feels his forehead, arm wrapping around him when he groans softly.

Wars glances up at them, standing.

The veteran digs in his bag for a moment before sighing. “I’ve got nothing to eat.

Wars produces an orange from out of nowhere, peeling it and handing him a slice. “You alright? Just hungry?”

He accepts the orange, popping into his mouth with a shrug. “I… just feel… weird.”

Wars nods, handing him another couple slices. “I get that too. Low blood sugar- your body isn’t able to release enough glucose into your bloodstream, causing all sorts of adverse effects.”

He nods, finishing up the orange.

“Sugary foods help. Pretty much any fruit, juices, honey. Oranges are my go to.” The captain smiles gently, handing him a cup of water.

“Thank you.” He says quietly, already feeling a ton better.

Wars nods, patting his shoulder before moving away again. “I’m off to sleep, need anything else?”

He shakes his head, getting another smile.

“Alrighty, if you need anything, you can wake me up. I got another orange or two in my bag, too, if you need.”

“Thank you.” He says again, and gets a salute from his friend, making him smile.

~~~~

He’s a nauseous, shaking mess the entire next day.

He manages a few bites of breakfast, giving up when he feels like puking and gives the rest to Legend.

When the shaking starts right before lunch is served, his heart sinks.

But he hands Wind his lunch with hopefully unnoticed shaking hands, the sailor accepting it without too much questioning.

They continue walking, after their lunch break, and he’s shaking so much he keeps stumbling.

The sun bears down on them, the day warm though there’s a nice breeze.

“Wild?” He manages, drawing unwanted attention to himself. Wars is already making his way toward him. “How long until we reach that stable?”

“If we go fast, we can make it tonight.” The champion says confidently.

“Are you alright?” Time asks, voice ever so steady.

“Just a bit lightheaded. I’m alright. We can keep going.”

Everyone just stares at him.

“Four-”

“I’m alright. I’m fine- not even dizzy. I swear. Wild said we needed to get going, let’s go.”

Though they’re concerned, the thought of a real bed and maybe a warm meal pushes them to accept his request and continue down the road.

“Do you need to eat something?” Wars asks softly, hand reaching out.

He bats it away, stomach growling as if on cue.

He feels his cheeks flush up to his ears, not meeting Wars’ eyes.

“He didn’t eat lunch.” Wind rats him out, frowning at him. He throws the sailor a scowl.

“Why not?” The captain asks immediately,

“He’s been shaking all day, too.” Hyrule points out softly.

“I’m fine. Really. Just-”

“Smithy, I need you to be honest.”

“Hungry. I’m hungry.” He sighs, fidgeting with his hands.

“Well… yeah, you skipped lunch, Four. Why’d you do that?”

“We don’t have enough to feed us all.” He mumbles, not looking at the captain. “I wanted Wind to eat.”

“And breakfast?” Legend asks with a raised eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer that one.

Wars gives him an oddly gentle look, reaching into his bag and sighing slowly. “I’m out of oranges.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Four, you’re really pale. You sure you’re just lightheaded?”

His feet drag, Legend gently wrapping an arm around him. “Easy, Smithy, you need to sit?”

“No- no, I’m fine-”

“I think your blood sugar is low again, buddy.” Wars says gently, taking his hand.

Feeling his pulse, he realizes.

He frowns up at the captain, pulling his hand back. “I’m fine.” He repeats for what feels like the hundredth time.

He gently pushes away from Legend, stumbling immediately, both the veteran and the captain jumping to steady him, and he sees the twin looks of concern before he hits the ground and passes out.

~~~~

“Four, time to wake up, bud.”

Pain. Throbbing behind his eyes, skull pounding.

“You need to eat something, or the medic is gonna shove a tube up your nose to feed you. That’s going to be very unpleasant, Four.”

“Speaking from personal experience, yes. Very uncomfortable.”

Even with his eyes closed, he can tell it’s bright.

Painfully bright.

“Link, kiddo, we need you to open your eyes.”

A gentle hand in his hair.

He squints in the harsh light, eyes watering immediately.

“Hey… there ya are, you scared us pretty good, kid.”

He blinks, still squinting.

Eyes finally finding the rancher, who looks worried.

“ ‘m’nota kid.” He slurs out, hearing a small laugh.

“Yeah, he’s alright.”

“We’re gonna prop you up, can you drink some water for me? Wild’s making some food, we managed to find a deer to hunt for some stew.”

He obediently sips the cool water, the light slowly turning less painful.

“Small sips.” Wars reminds him gently, taking the cup away for a moment. “Eyes on me? Good.”

The captain eyes him, looking for something that he doesn’t care enough about to find it odd. He’s hungry and he’d like the water back.

“Four. Where are we, do you know?”

He blinks, wondering if this is a trick. “Wild’s world?”

A nod. “Remember what happened?”

“I… erm. Passed out.” He does remember that. Oops.

He tries to reach for the water Wars is still denying him, though the limb feels much too heavy to lift.

“Water?” He asks weakly, getting awarded another drink.

“Four, don’t chug it, you’re gonna make yourself sick.” Wars chastises him softly, taking the water again.

He makes a protesting noise that makes him sound like a child.

“Food’s almost ready, bud, can you wait a minute?”

His eyes flick to Twi, nodding.

Which makes his headache worse, slowly rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“How you feeling, Smithy?”

“Tired.” He mumbles honestly, leaning back against Twi’s chest. “Head hurts.”

“Hungry?” Wars asks gently. “When’s the last time you’ve eaten enough food to be sufficient?”

His eyes flick away despite himself.

“I need… more food to… suffice.”

Wars frowns.

“That’s why I had snacks all the time.” He explains, still looking at his knees. “Then… I ran out. And we got low on… everything, so-”

“You haven’t had enough food to suffice you in weeks?” Wars interrupts, giving him the water back when he reaches for it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He sighs slowly as the group all glances up at him.

“I didn’t… want to cause problems. We’re all hungry, making sacrifices.”

Wars nods understandingly, patting his knee awkwardly. “I understand.”

“He does.” Time agrees, shooting a glance at the captain with a small smile. “And you’re a hypocrite, Captain. You’ve skipped more meals than he has.”

“That was different!” Wars defends himself. “We were feeding an army, not nine people!”

Time raises an eyebrow.

Wars looks away, ears flushing.

“Ignore him. He’s lying.” The captain mutters, and he manages a shaky laugh.

“He’s not!” Wind calls, making the group laugh.

“Here, this is ready.” Wild says gently, approaching him with a bowl of stew. The look he gives is all too understanding.

“I had to eat a lot more than your average person after I woke up. Guess it was a side effect of not eating for a hundred years.” The champion says, though, pressing a bowl into his hands.

He nods, looking down at the food. “Thanks, Champion.”

“Anytime, Smithy. Now eat- you need it, man.”

“Goddess knows that right- there’s no way you weigh any more than forty five kilograms.” Wars chimes back in with a grin.

He has to smile, rolling his eyes as he takes a bite.

~~~~

Thanks for reading! Any interaction is appreciated :)

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sytoran · 7 months

Text

𝟒𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | milestone event

hey! to all followers new and old, thank you for your support in reblogging 💞 i've recently hit 4k followers, so i'll be having another milestone event celebration! if yall have stuck around since the previous 2k one, you'll know that we have a poll that will decide what fic i'm writing next!

as always, all fics will be dom!reader. i'll try to keep the fic as a oneshot, but things spiral out of control sometimes, and word count is subject to change.

poll will be up for one day only, so make your decision quick!

‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚🎧 see: main m.list

── #01. knight!stark!reader x princess!rogers!wanda

a pair of star-crossed lovers meet at a ball. romeo and juliet, but make romeo a playboy knight lesbian who falls head over heels in love with the princess of her rivalled clan. a classic shakespearean tale, but make it sapphic literature + angsty love + horny queers + u-haul lesbians in medieval times.

── #02. mortal!reader x goddess of lust!natasha

the fifth instalment of the 'my divine goddess' universe. timelines and lifelines have torn you and natasha apart, but the two of you are bound by the child you have created. though subjected to earth, loki, god of mischief, dangles the possibility of a future with natasha by making you a god.

── #03. a kinktober fic - up for your decision!

there are quite a number of kinktober 2023 fics that i have left unfinished, and now is a chance for me to finally finishing writing them... but which one?? from hydra!reader to barbie!wanda, you guys can choose which tale i tell next. (if this is the most popular option, there will be another poll set up.)

#wanda maximoff smut #natasha romanoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff x reader smut #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #sytoran's 4k celebration #marvel smut #top reader #dom reader #marvel #goddess natasha #sytoran's kinktober 2023

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eleanor-bradstreet · 2 months

Text

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 17: The Country Visit

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 9.5k

Masterpost Previous chapter

Author's note: Thank you for your incredible patience, dear readers. I am still alive. Life has been life-ing me pretty hard but I think about finishing this fic every damn day. This chapter and the next one are the two big exposition bois that I hadn't written, hence the long wait for them but after that, several chapters are fully completed. I hope you enjoy the family shenanigans in this one. Also, I fully recognize that every time I mention Kate I simp for her ethereal beauty, for which I shall not apologize because she is a goddess and should be described as such. 😜 Enjoy! 💙

The endless procession of carriages marking the arrival of the Bridgerton family at Aubrey Hall brought with it an array of feelings for Benedict. An anxiety and sadness that his family would serve as a wedge between him and Sophie, and an undeniable eagerness to embrace them all, having been apart for so long. A familiar warmth flooded his heart as their voices began echoing in the entry hall and he dashed to meet them.

Anthony was the first to reach him, smirking. “Ah! Our invalid.” He hugged his brother tightly, leaving a possessive hand cupped behind his ear as he looked him over. “Are you alright?” The concern in his eyes betrayed how deeply the steely-faced Viscount truly cared.

“Never better,” Benedict grinned.

“Good,” Anthony clapped him on the shoulder and began to drift toward his study. “I’m pleased to see you haven’t burned the place down. I’m off to meet with Dewitt.”

His sister-in-law Kate glided along behind her husband, resplendent even in traveling clothes. Flashing Benedict a warm smile, she squeezed his arm as she passed.

Daphne and Simon had joined the throng and Benedict paused a moment to observe everyone. There was comfort in the chaos of the reunion. Seeing them felt like snapping back into reality, as if he had been living in a fantasy world tucked away with Sophie and her faerie-like enchantment over him. He wondered if anyone would be able to detect something amiss. Though he had managed to be discreet about all manner of outrageous activity in the past, he had never attempted to hide something so close to home.

“Benedict, dear.” His mother extricated herself and approached him with open arms.

“Mother,” He folded into her embrace.

“I have missed you.” She rested a hand on his cheek. “You are feeling quite well again?”

“Perfectly,” he smiled. “I’m the picture of health.”

She pulled back and appraised him, her eyes brightening. “I should say so. You wrote that you had hired a nurse to help you? We owe her our thanks, no doubt.”

Benedict felt the color rise in his cheeks. “Yes, well, not a nurse exactly. She is a very skilled maid and…”

“Well how serendipitous!” His mother exclaimed. “I must ask you, do you know if she has experience as a lady’s maid?” His stomach clenched, already apprehensive of where this may lead. “I don’t know. Possibly?”

“Oh, I do hope she does.” Taking him by the elbow, Violet moved to a corner of the hall and dropped her voice to the exasperated tone Benedict knew was reserved for bemoaning his siblings’ misdeeds. “Just before we left, Eloise’s lady’s maid took ill and stayed behind. Though in truth I wonder if she did not bow out so as to avoid your sister’s moods.”

Benedict couldn’t help but snicker, unabashedly proud of his sister’s obstinance.

“What is her name again?” Violet asked.

“Sophie,” Benedict tried to keep his voice from wavering. “Sophie Beckett.”

His mother’s face lit with a smile. “Excellent. I shall call for her during tea.”

“Oh…um…perhaps…” A dozen half baked protests swirled in his mind and he stuttered as he tried to land on one.

Her plan already happily cemented, his mother began to shoo him down the hall. “You should go and help Anthony, dearest. Oh, and make sure Colin stays away from the kitchen as best you can. We’ll need to have some biscuits saved for our guests. Plenty to do, dear. Off you go.”

Anxiety spiking through his every nerve, Benedict stumbled away blindly. He fought to find composure, reminding himself that if he and Sophie were to remain undiscovered, he must not get flustered over the details of her employment. He must act as if she were any other maid, though of course she was anything but.

___

The Bridgertons had only just arrived and Sophie was already second-guessing her decision to remain at Aubrey Hall. She had been so wholly focused on Benedict that she had failed to consider what risks there were in being seen by his family. When all of the servants had formed their customary lineup at the front doors to welcome them home, she had tucked herself behind Lizzie and admired each well appointed carriage and each handsome brunette Bridgerton that stepped out of it. Then he appeared and her blood ran cold.

Colin Bridgerton. The only other person with whom she had interacted at the masquerade ball. Living on gauzy dreams of Benedict for years, she had forgotten about it entirely. What if he had a keener eye than his brother? What if he remembered her voice? Would he be able to recognize her from that brief, masked encounter in a shadowed garden so long ago? Reason told her it was highly unlikely but she resolved to avoid him nonetheless. She turned her face as he jogged up the steps and he took no notice of her. Once everyone had gathered inside Sophie was introduced to the housekeeper Mrs. Wilson, an older woman of stern stature but kind eyes. Accepting Mr. Dewitt’s explanation of her employment, Mrs. Wilson’s first task for Sophie was to iron more linens for the guest bedrooms.

Hard at work in the belly of the house, Sophie’s mind raced. While in proximity to the Bridgertons she was at twofold risk of discovery. Discovery not only of her scandalous relationship with Benedict, but of her trespassing into their London home years ago. How would Benedict react if either came to light? Surely it would be the end of their trysts, the end of her employment, perhaps the end of her freedom if they chose to prosecute her. Perhaps she should remain in the servant’s level for the entirety of the country visit which effectively ended their dalliance anyway. She began to wonder if she had already shared her last encounter with Benedict. Had already felt his caress for the final time, had already tasted their last kiss…

“Staying on then, are you?”

Anne suddenly appeared in the doorway and startled Sophie out of her thoughts. Even after weeks of working alongside one another while Sophie extended every kindness, the fellow maid had never warmed to her. She wore a perpetual grimace and seemed immune to any kind of cheer.

“Yes,” Sophie swallowed and turned back to her ironing. “The family has permitted me to stay and assist with the visit.”

Anne smirked. “You mean Mr. Benedict has permitted you to stay.”

Sophie ignored the flutter in her stomach and answered matter-of-factly. “Yes, it was his decision initially.”

Blocking the exit, Anne crossed her arms, leering. “He seems quite taken with you. I’ve never seen any member of the family so invested in a maid before. Kindnesses exceeding what is customary.”

Sophie knew the steam from the iron was not the reason she felt flushed. But she had a lifetime of experience dealing with manipulation. She wouldn’t be shaken so easily. The trick was to answer with ruthless exactitude; never lying, but never giving her tormentor what she knew they wanted. “Well, my hiring was anything but customary. He was in need and I was available to assist. I believe he is only trying to express gratitude.”

“Gratitude, yes.” Anne arched a brow. “You spend a lot of time upstairs…accepting his gratitude.”

Stiffening, Sophie forced a breezy tone. “I am on hand if he should require anything. He often requests that I read to him.”

“I know how to read and in all these years he’s never once asked me.” Anne’s pout and petulant tone assured Sophie that she was none the wiser to the actual truth. She may have been ready to brandish threats but had no proof. This line of accusation was fueled purely by jealousy which she had been riddled with from the day they met.

Sophie pursed her lips. “Well, it does require a degree of wit and character to truly make the passages come to life.”

Before Anne could respond, Mrs. Wilson appeared at her side.

“Miss Beckett, if you would follow me.”

With a nod of assent Sophie brushed passed Anne, flashing her a warning look that dared another challenge.

Sophie’s nerves rose steadily as she walked silently behind Mrs. Wilson, the both of them winding their way through staircases and halls until they reached the closed doors of the drawing room. Sophie swallowed hard, wondering what awaited her inside. An array of accusatory scowls and a note of dismissal? A fuming Viscount shaking a piece of her waylaid clothing at a shame-faced Benedict? The sins they had committed in that room…

But when Mrs. Wilson pushed open the door she was met with the lovely tableau of ladies at tea. The Viscountess and Lady Bridgerton sat in all their finery on opposite sofas, sipping lightly from china cups. Miss Francesca played a flowery tune on the piano in a far corner. The youngest Bridgerton, Miss Hyacinth, was practicing her penmanship with a governess at a table. The room was sunlit and nothing but welcoming.

Mrs. Wilson ushered Sophie to stand before the sofas and she curtsied deeply.

The elder Lady Bridgerton rested her saucer and looked up.

“Ah, you must be Miss Bennett.”

“Beckett, ma’am.” Sophie dropped her eyes respectfully. “Sophie Beckett.”

“Oh yes, I’m sorry.” Lady Bridgerton chuckled and Sophie could not help but notice how the blue shade of her eyes matched Benedict’s exactly. “Miss Beckett. I must thank you for caring for my son during his illness. How fortunate that you were at hand in his time of need. Our family is indebted to you.”

Once again, Sophie was struck by the kindness that seemed inherent to the Bridgertons. She had never been treated so well by any employer. “No, I am indebted to him, ma’am. Your son…saved me from a most unpleasant fate, then gave me employment here while I am between positions. He has been more than generous and I have very much enjoyed the hospitality of your home.”

There was a world of story hidden behind her words, but she was confident it would remain there. Discretion was one of the many skills she had learned through the hardships of her life.

Then the Viscountess addressed her. “It sounds as if your debts have been mutually paid then.” She was so impossibly beautiful, Sophie found it difficult to hold her gaze despite her warm smile. “Miss Beckett, have you secured a new position yet?”

“Not yet, my lady.”

“Would it be your wish to remain in our employment?”

Benedict’s mother jumped in to explain. “My second daughter Eloise is without a lady’s maid at the moment. I’m afraid we are short-staffed to prepare her for the ball we are hosting. Have you any experience upstairs?”

Sophie’s thoughts began to race. She had intended to remain for the country visit, but as a housemaid relegated to the servant’s level. To work upstairs would complicate her plans to stay out of sight. And yet when she tried to dredge up the white lies she used to deceive the Cowpers, she found that she could not. The gentleness in both women’s eyes compelled her to tell the truth. “Yes, ma’am. It has been some years but I have dressed young ladies for the season.”

Lady Bridgerton beamed. “Excellent. I thought you might. You speak very well. You seem to be precisely what our family needs at every turn, don’t you? A blessing indeed.”

“If you should like to remain as a lady’s maid for Miss Eloise, we will increase your wages and keep you on during our visit,” said the Viscountess.

Lady Bridgerton nodded. “Yes, and we will provide a letter of the highest recommendation for your next position.”

Sophie paused a moment, considering their offer. Clearly Benedict had not told them of his own offer to refer her and pay her handsomely once she found a new position. An offer of employment had never materialized from the Stirling household in Scotland, something she had been quietly celebrating since mending things with Benedict. A recommendation from a Viscountess would carry more weight than that of a second son, and raised wages from a higher position could set her up nicely for the future when and if she ever needed to leave the family’s employ. Weighing the benefits against the risks, she reasoned that Colin Bridgerton and any other member of the ton were unlikely to recognize her for the same reason Benedict could not. Their own bias against her lowly position. If anyone questioned her, she had only to point at her servant’s uniform to undermine their suspicions. Who would truly believe the trajectory of her life? From faux debutante at a Bridgerton ball long ago, to a servant in the very same household. It beggared belief, sometimes even from herself.

Working upstairs also afforded her more opportunity to see Benedict, if not speak with him directly. She knew they were enforcing distance but her heart already ached to at least see him from afar. To see how he interacted with his family and how he navigated society. At Eloise’s side she could safely observe him without seeming out of place. She was resolved.

“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton.” She curtsied to the Viscountess and then her mother-in-law. “Lady Bridgerton…both of you. I should very much like to stay.”

Next she knew, she had been outfitted with a smarter uniform and marched back upstairs to the family wing by Mrs. Wilson.

The housekeeper bustled along in front of her, all business. “Mrs. Wiggin tells me that you have been of great help around the house. There will be no more cleaning and tea service duties for you now that you are to attend Miss Eloise. You will be responsible for waking her, dressing her, chaperoning her on outings and tending to her needs.”

“Yes, I understand.”

They moved past Benedict’s bedroom and rounded down another hall before stopping in front of a door. Mrs. Wilson turned to her with a serious look.

“I should warn you. Miss Eloise is…spirited. She has had four lady’s maids since her debut, if you take my meaning.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky that you are only standing in for the visit.”

Sophie felt a pang of apprehension. Benedict had not spoken much about his siblings during their time together, and certainly not in any way that would indicate they were anything but kind and playful. She had noted Eloise’s curious absence from teatime and had also begun to recall hearing her name in the Cowper household years ago. Cressida held a very poor opinion of her but then, that did not make Eloise more notable than any other young lady of the ton. There was certainly no way Eloise could be worse than Cressida.

After a quick rap on the door, Mrs. Wilson pushed it open and they stepped inside. Seated at a large and cluttered writing desk in the middle of her well-appointed bedroom, Eloise startled at their appearance and quickly shuffled papers over whatever it was that held her focus. She stood, trying to obscure the desk behind herself. Instantly Sophie understood why Eloise may be regarded as ‘difficult’. Prim and proper young debutante she was not. She had the stance and smirk of one who did not much care for etiquette and tradition. Her hair was unfashionably short and fringed and the jacket she wore over her pale sage dress had a rather masculine crop. The room was untidy and filled with the kind of ornaments one would expect in a man’s study - piles of books, ink stains on parchment, busts of authors, and a large telescope facing a window.

Mrs. Wilson regarded her with exasperation. “Miss Eloise, this is Sophie Beckett. She will be serving as your lady’s maid while we are in the country.”

Sophie curtsied and smiled.

“Excellent. Pleasure to meet you.” The sarcasm was thick in her voice. She forced a grin as Mrs. Wilson bowed out of the room. Her affectation continued as she rolled her eyes. “I am so delighted that a stand-in was found to assist me with the crucial undertaking of buttoning my frocks.”

Sophie quirked her lips, entertained rather than daunted by Benedict’s rebellious sister. “I am certain you would be capable of managing such a task yourself, Miss. But is there not some pleasure to be found in conversation with a confidante throughout your day?”

The young woman cocked her head, assessing Sophie carefully. “Confidante? I’ve never had a lady’s maid describe herself as such before.”

“What are we for but safeguarding the secrets of our ladies?” From the smell of tobacco in the air, she deduced what Eloise had been doing at her desk. She jutted her chin knowingly at the mess of papers.

A wry smile began to spread across Eloise’s face as she sat and uncovered the tobacco pouch and collection of rolling papers. Sophie felt a surge of victory at already winning a degree of trust.

Eloise toyed with the half-rolled cigarette she had been making. “I know ladies should not smoke, but if I will not be allowed more privacy while we are in the country, at least you could spare me a little indulgence.”

Sophie moved to her side and delicately plucked the cigarette from her grasp. “I believe you should roll them more tightly. Like this.” Carefully, she worked at the paper until it was shaped securely.

Eloise’s eyes boggled. “Do you enjoy them yourself?”

Sophie shook her head. “Not me, no. But I have worked with many people who do.” She handed the token back.

“Thank you.” Eloise could not seem to look away from her remarkable new lady’s maid who not only failed to chastise her for unladylike behavior, but even assisted her with it. She tucked the cigarette safely into a case on her desk. Her posture eased and she leaned back to get a better look at this rare woman. “Where do you come from?”

“North of London originally, but I have lived many places and worked in many houses.”

Eloise’s eyes lit with recognition. “Are you the one my brother hired recently?”

Sophie tried not to blush at the mere mention of Benedict. “Yes. Mr. Bridgerton assisted me in a difficult situation then fell ill. I was able to return the favor by ensuring he recovered here.” Considering what a rulebreaker Eloise appeared to be, Sophie wondered what such a woman would think of her brother’s salacious dalliance with a maid. She would never reveal it of course, but she got the impression that Eloise may not be scandalized by the concept.

“And now I am your problem in place of him.” Eloise smirked.

Sophie chuckled. “I would not use that word, Miss. I have enjoyed his company and look forward to getting to know you and your family better.”

To demonstrate her readiness she began tidying, brushing loose tobacco dust from the desk and dropping it into the fireplace. She moved to the vanity and began straightening the hairbrushes and tincture bottles which were woefully disarrayed.

“Well I doubt there will be much time for chatter with the guests inbound in two days. This Hearts and Flowers ball always brings chaos to the house.” Eloise groaned from her seat.

Sophie already anticipated her answer but asked. “It sounds as if you are not looking forward to it?”

Eloise shrugged. “There are some acquaintances I am eager to see, but plenty that I would rather avoid. I’m not even sure I know who is on the guest list this year.”

“Could you ask the Viscountess?”

“I fear she would misinterpret my intentions and believe I was searching for an eligible suitor, which is a conversation I’d like to avoid entirely, thank you very much.”

Sophie had to keep from laughing at how utterly dejected Eloise looked, arms crossed and posture slumped. Then she had an idea, a way of both solving the conundrum and earning more trust.

“Copies of the list are provided to the staff so that we might prepare rooms and meals. Would you like me to secure one for you?”

Eloise brightened, once again agog at her new companion. “That would be helpful, thank you Sophie.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss.”

The smile they shared was filled with affinity. Here was another woman who kept secrets, who broke rules. A woman not unlike herself, Sophie thought, yet also similar to Benedict in her ease and good humor. Working for Eloise was a world away from working for Cressida. Sophie could not imagine two young ladies at further ends of the spectrum regarding propriety and appearances. Like her brother, Eloise’s disposition was rare within society and Sophie began to wonder if every last Bridgerton was so uniquely charming.

Sophie spent the evening acquainting herself with Eloise’s wardrobe and toilette, straightening her room as she went. She had half a mind to call Anne upstairs for the task so that she might acknowledge Sophie’s promotion, but it seemed too spiteful. She still aimed to keep a low profile among the staff and family both. She was able to procure a copy of the ball guest list from Mrs. Wiggin and on her way to deliver it to Eloise, she made sure to scan the names herself.

The Cavenders had not been invited, which she suspected Benedict had a hand in. The Cowpers were also noted as sending their regrets. Just seeing their name in print made Sophie break into a cold sweat, but she remembered that they often visited Penwood at this time of year which likely explained their absence. Fortune seemed to be on her side for avoiding any risky encounters, and there was a spring in her step as she returned to Eloise’s room to prepare her for bed.

The next day was for the Bridgertons to enjoy the estate before guests arrived. Eloise proved difficult to rouse but quick to dress in the morning. Caring very little for ostentation, she was satisfied by the simple frock and hairband which Sophie supplied. After breakfast Eloise requested her company for a walk through the grounds. Sophie took the gesture as one of generosity and trust. As they walked through the gardens where she and Benedict had shared so many passionate moments, she fought to concentrate on what was being said. Eloise was an effortless companion in that she never left a lull in the conversation. Indeed, Sophie spoke very little except to express her general support of Eloise’s many plans for reforming society and her own path in life. She longed for an education, for adventure, for advocacy. She fretted for the plight of women, though Sophie suspected she had little understanding of the tribulations faced by the working class. Nonetheless, she was impressed with the young woman’s drive and eager to have further conversations on all Eloise had read and experienced. The spirited nature she had been warned of was proving to be nothing but charming.

The highlight of the day was the family’s annual pall mall game, which Eloise explained the rules of as Sophie accompanied her to the back lawn. They arrived at the site of the game before anyone else and Eloise unabashedly outlined her devious plans. Grabbing the fifth wicket from a stack, she hitched her dress and began marching across the grass to place it in the most inconvenient location possible, somewhere between a dense thicket of bushes and the infamous ball-pit of the lake. She assigned Sophie to stand guard several paces away and then disappeared into the brambles, wicket in hand.

Sophie kept her back to Aubrey Hall, snickering to herself as she enjoyed the cool breeze. She remembered Benedict’s retelling of last year’s game and now had a clearer picture of Eloise’s ruthless, even deceptive competitiveness. She also wondered when the last time was that she assisted in any task purely for the sake of fun. It was a light, sunny feeling. Which all came crashing down when a man’s voice rang out behind her.

“You there!”

She spun and saw Colin Bridgerton striding toward her, eyes stern. Oh god, he had recognized her. She could already hear the anger in his voice, could already feel his grip on her arm as he dragged her to the Viscount to expose her. She had been a fool to think she could stay hidden. She felt as paralyzed as a deer in the sights of a stalker.

All she could do was blanch, voice wavering. “Sir?”

He stopped short in front of her, eyes scrutinizing her face. “You…”

This was it. The end of her silly dreams…

“You’re not the lady’s maid from London,” he said at last.

Sophie nearly swayed on her feet as the wave of nausea halted. He didn’t recognize her. She was nothing but another nameless maid to him, just one he hadn’t seen before. Her assumptions had been correct. He was as blinded by her class as his brother.

“No, sir,” she affirmed, finding her voice again. “I am newly retained to see to your sister while you are in residence.”

“Ah.” A smirk crossed his face and she could see he held his hands behind his back, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He scanned the lawn around them, quipping. “Can you see her now?”

Sophie felt certain that this was all a ploy in the great pall mall rivalry. Well, her allegiance was set. Pursing her lips, she answered. “She is placing the fifth wicket, sir.”

“And she asked you to stand guard.”

“Yes.” Sophie sensed the budding good humor of their conversation. “Do you suspect me of underhanded behavior?”

Colin grinned. “I am accusing my sister of it. I’m sure you are innocent and have been lured into her deceitful enterprise unknowingly.” Once again he searched the horizon. “If you could just tell me where she is…”

“A lady is entitled to her privacy, wouldn’t you agree?”

Colin’s eyes snapped back to her, surprised at her direct tone.

“Do you believe I am so dimwitted as to allow myself to become embroiled in a scheme against my will?”

He bowed his head in apology. “I meant no offense. Most maids are unused to dealing with Eloise’s…spirited manner.”

There was that phrase again. Now it was Sophie’s turn to smirk.

“I have dealt with far worse than Miss Eloise, I assure you.”

Colin assessed her again carefully. “Well, you are clearly strong of spirit and quick of wit. What about sweet of tooth?”

Finally revealing what was behind his back, he held out a pastry. Something covered in chocolate and delectable looking. “Have you ever had an eclair?”

In truth, she had not, but her loyalty was not so easily bought.

She arched a brow at him. “A bribe? Is pall mall victory really so viciously contended for?”

He chuckled. “You have no idea.”

Their stalemate was broken by the reappearance of Eloise.

“What are you doing here?” Shaking leaves from the hem of her dress, she scowled at her brother. “Looking for the wicket? Well, you’ll have to find it during the game, along with everyone else.”

Nose in the air, she swiped the eclair from his outstretched palm, shoved it whole into her mouth and marched onward to the house. “Come on!” She ordered, her words muffled.

Barely containing her laughter, Sophie followed her mistress, leaving Colin gaping by the waterside.

Everyone had gathered in the sprawling back garden and were buzzing with the anticipation of play. Lady Bridgerton and a contingent of nursemaids were bouncing the grandchildren in their laps on a covered dais while the Viscount, his siblings and their spouses gathered to select their mallets. Eloise dashed into the crowd and secured the orange while Anthony and his wife seemed to bicker over the imposing black mallet. Sophie skirted the scene and started back up the large stone steps into the building but paused to find Benedict among the gathered chestnut heads. He stood slightly off to one side, hip cocked and hands rested on his lavender mallet as his eyes trailed up to hers.

It was the first time they had seen each other in two days and their shared gaze was heavy with yearning. In that moment, the noise and bustle of the Bridgertons fell away and they felt like the only two people on earth. As tenuous as their arrangement was, Sophie couldn’t help but feel magnetized to him; the only constant in her ever-changing circumstances.

Benedict stared at her as a man transfixed, his chest tightening in that indescribable way. She looked happy, light-hearted, and it made her glow from within. He wanted to capture that light, to infuse it into her portrait…

“Brother!” Anthony barked in his ear, startling him out of his reverie.

“Are you playing or lollygagging?” Eyes burning with signature intensity, the Viscount bade him follow and Benedict forced himself to plod across the grass and away from the captivating woman on the stairs. No one seemed any the wiser as to what had caught his attention, but he wondered how long he could try to ignore Sophie when a single glimpse of her caused such turmoil within.

Darting into Aubrey Hall, Sophie stationed herself by a window to watch the game unfold. Though she could not hear any of the exclamations from the field, it was evident how much joy and fierce competition it stirred. Taunts, encouragement, cheers, laughter. The grounds were alive with the fun of it all. Every sibling and spouse demonstrated their skillset, some adept at the technical approach and others more determined to settle grudges by disrupting their opponents’ efforts. They moved numerically from wicket to wicket, varying in pace, sometimes disappearing from view to find the far-flung goals. Sophie could only imagine where Eloise had hidden hers. Colin was disqualified early but seemed entirely content to join his mother for cakes and tea while wiggling his fingers at his nephew Edmund.

After nearly two hours, the finalists lined up at a hoop approximately five feet off the ground, which Sophie understood from Eloise was the last goalpost. To be deemed the victor, one had to shoot their ball through the hoop by any means other than their hands. The Viscount’s shot went wide. The Duchess’ did not achieve sufficient height. The Viscountess was prowling with anticipation for her shot but Benedict was before her in turn order. Sophie watched in delight as he took the unconventional tack of balancing his ball between his feet then jumping like a frog to launch it through the hoop. To everyone’s amazement - including his - it worked and he crowed with victory, running about and whooping in the faces of his siblings.

Sophie clapped from her spot at the window, laughing with glee. Of course she had been rooting for him and fate once again proved to be on their side. In the midst of her laughter she found that tears had begun rolling down her cheeks. Her joy was echoed by longing. Longing for siblings, longing for a family, longing for the kind of happy life enjoyed by the Bridgertons. But she wiped them away, recognizing that though she was still in the uniform of a maid, she was the happiest she had ever been. She still got to enjoy the beauty and comfort of Aubrey Hall even if she was not an esteemed guest from the ton. She still got to laugh at the shenanigans of the Bridgerton siblings even if she could not join in. And she still got to lay claim to Benedict as a lover, a man who pleasured and protected her, even in their odd arrangement. It was a happier life than she could ever have imagined while wretchedly scrubbing floors for the Cowpers. Tomorrow didn’t bear worrying about, because today she was happy.

___

At last the day of the Hearts and Flowers ball arrived. Carriages loaded with the top tier of society descended upon the house in waves. Aubrey Hall erupted with noise and movement as the guest rooms filled and the common areas became dotted with simpering debutantes, weary bachelors, drunken fathers and scheming mamas. The flower arrangements chosen by the Bridgerton women were dazzling. Garlands and swags of roses, lilacs and lilies. As she made her way to Eloise’s room, Sophie felt as if she were walking through both a verdant garden and a fine parfumerie.

As she picked out a shawl to match Eloise’s dress, trying to skillfully combat the young lady’s protestations against joining in lawn games, there came a knock at the door. When she opened it to find Benedict, her breath caught in her throat. He too seemed taken aback, stumbling over his words about lending his sister a book which he held out in explanation. Eloise sat at her vanity, thanked him and blithely waved him away. Turning to Sophie, Benedict pressed the small volume into her hands, his touch lingering too long on her bare fingers, eyes burning. Then as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

Examining the book, Sophie saw a sheet of parchment jutting from the back cover. Clearing her throat, she slipped it quickly into an apron pocket and carried the gift to Eloise. As she finished dressing her for the day, it was all she could do to keep her fingers from trembling with anticipation.

The day passed in a blur, with the Bridgertons and guests mingling in every corner of the house and grounds. Sophie joined the cadre of ladies maids who bustled between the bedrooms, stitching loose threads, buffing shoes, polishing jewelry and trading rose water as they coordinated for the evening ball. Stealing the occasional glance out the windows, Sophie eyed Eloise chatting in an animated fashion with a young lady in yellow. She also heard through the servants’ chatter that the men had returned from a hunt with a stag and two does felled. She wondered if Benedict had made any of the killing shots. If only she could catch a glimpse of him in his hunting ensemble, with a long coat and top hat astride Danae. The mental image gave her an undeniably carnal thrill.

In what seemed no time at all, she and Eloise were stationed back at the vanity, dusk falling purple and soft outside as Sophie lit candles and proceeded to pin the young lady’s hair into a stylish coiffure. In a cluttered drawer she had found a bejeweled hairpiece in the shape of a geranium and nestled it gently within her upswept tresses. For her gown, Eloise had chosen one in a modest style, mint-toned and glimmering with silver accents. Sophie thought it suited her perfectly - beautiful but understated. Style with wit rather than ostentation.

As she dotted rouge onto her cheeks, she asked an amiable question to which she already suspected the answer.

“Are you excited for the ball, Miss?”

“Not particularly.” Eloise’s voice was tight.

“You’re not one for dancing?” Sophie wondered if Eloise was also cursed with two left feet like her brother.

The young lady rolled her eyes. “I’m not one for listening to stodgy men prattle on about how many carriages they own as if that will enamor me enough to marry them.”

Sophie grinned. Eloise’s frankness was unfailingly refreshing. But she knew better than most the discomfort of feeling out of place, and she disliked the thought of sending her off into an evening of drudgery. However, this was Eloise’s role; to attend balls and interview suitors, the same way her role was to primp her to do so, and they had to proceed no matter how much they both longed for something different. All she could offer was her own commiserating perspective.

“If I may be honest, in my experience it is rare to find gentlemen among the ton who are both kind and interesting.” Then she caught herself. “Of course, I am counting your brothers as the exceptions.”

Eloise scoffed. “Well, I’m not certain about that. You don’t really know them.”

Sophie felt the blush rise up her neck and turned to hide it, busying herself with the face powders. But it was too late, Eloise had noticed.

“Though I suppose you’ve come to know Benedict.” She smiled wryly, now even more curious about her new lady’s maid. “I will say, it’s not a secret that he is my favorite brother.”

Sophie continued to fiddle with the contents of the vanity. “Oh? And why is that?”

“I suppose of anyone in my family I can be my true self around him without fear of judgment or reprimand. He is supportive. Since our father died it’s as if he has been the eldest brother to us all, while Anthony became our father more or less.”

At last Sophie turned and met her gaze, impressed by the first genuine show of emotion she had seen. She moved to affix Eloise’s earrings, smiling wistfully. “It is wonderful that they have been there for you.”

Eloise nodded. “Mmm. And we are quite similar. Benedict also disdains balls and playing the marriage mart.”

As she worked at the small fasteners, Sophie pondered for the first time how odd it was that Benedict remained unmarried. Considering he had been deemed the most eligible bachelor in London years ago when they first met, he must have gone to great pains to avoid the throng of ladies throwing themselves at his feet. But why?

“So the two of you do not wish to marry?”

“Well, I don’t think Benedict is opposed to marriage. But he’s a romantic.” Eloise explained. “The only thing that motivates him are his passions. So he is waiting for a love match, I’m sure. Which is even harder to find than a good dance partner.”

She snorted in laughter which Sophie half-heartedly imitated. It was no revelation to her that Benedict had a romantic soul. He was an artist after all. But the thought of him marrying for love rather than duty, of being blissfully happy with a woman of society who would carry his children and walk on his arm, it made her stomach turn. It was everything she wanted and precisely what she could not have. It was why she would eventually have to leave.

Eloise carried on, completely oblivious. “I certainly do not want to get married or bear children. Though I am struggling to determine what kind of life is available to a woman otherwise.”

With this comment compounding the sting, Sophie could not help but make a sour face and look away.

That was enough to draw Eloise’s attention. “I’m sorry Sophie, that was insensitive of me. Of course there are plenty of unmarried women who work, and working for a livelihood is…”

“It’s just that you are not of the class that is required or even allowed to do so.” After a steadying breath, Sophie turned back. Her woes were not of Eloise’s making. If anything, they made her see how they were similarly caged at either end of the social spectrum. Perhaps in the world the young woman envisioned, they would both have been able to break free.

“You have not offended me. I understand. I understand very well how the circumstances of our birth can restrict our path in life and I do not think that applies only to the lower classes.” Bending over her shoulder to meet her eyes in the looking glass, Sophie gave her a reassuring smile. “There are a great many injustices in our society, Miss Eloise. It seems like you may be of a mind to help resolve some of them.”

Tears sparkling in her eyes, Eloise’s voice was raspy but sincere. “Thank you, Sophie.”

With continued words of encouragement Sophie gave her a handkerchief, helped her to pull on her gloves and sent her down to the ballroom looking as polished as an emerald. She would wait eagerly to hear how the evening progressed, wondering if she would return as dejected as she set out. As she straightened the bedroom, the murmurs of the gathered guests grew louder downstairs, followed by the first strings of music. It was joyful, romantic, and she was instantly transported back to the night of the masquerade ball. The first and only time she had been able to experience such magic firsthand. A night where she held Benedict’s undivided attention, twirling in his arms despite not knowing how to dance. With a moment of privacy at last, she fished the parchment out of her pocket and unfolded it. It was a painting, a simple watercolor of delicate blue flowers with their name written neatly in a corner - Forget Me Not.

Clasping the paper to her chest, she fell back onto Eloise’s bed, beaming. Her mind flooded with images of Benedict and the hope that his love match would continue to elude him that night. He was only downstairs and yet he felt worlds away. But no matter the distance, she was incapable of forgetting him.

____

In the rose colored ballroom below, everything was progressing with the signature elegance of a Bridgerton event. Candles twinkled from every sconce and surface, reflecting the crystal of the champagne flutes and the embellishments of the ladies’ attire. Flowers trailed along every railing and entryway, lending a sweet fragrance to the air. Dancers twirled expertly in the center of the room while guests in all their finery moved between clusters of conversation and towers of brightly colored confections. The Viscountess, dowager Lady Bridgerton and Duchess of Hastings stood regally near the double staircase, surveying the scene with pride.

The Viscount found himself among a group of gentlemen listening to the details of a business proposition laid out by Lord Fife. It was unlike Fife to have anything worthwhile to say, but his latest venture sounded promising. Even Simon was showing interest, as he elbowed his way in and they sipped their brandies together.

“Where is my brother?” Anthony muttered, scanning the faces of the men gathered. “God knows what he’s been up to these days. He should hear this.”

Simon sighed. “You should know by now that you need to be more specific than that. Which brother?”

“Benedict.”

The Duke’s brows shot up. “Ah. I haven’t seen him tonight. Though I have some idea where he might be.”

Anthony knew to be wary of that smug tone. Tapping his eldest friend on the arm, they steered away from the crowd. “What do you mean?”

Simon kept his voice low, turning his back to the room. “It’s none of my business but…in his convalescence he seems to have taken up with one of your maids.”

“Oh god,” Anthony groaned, eyes rolling. “How do you know this?”

“We have seen it, Daphne and I. I’ve seen his eyes follow her out of a room and Daphne said she has seen…”

The Duke paused, trying to tread lightly. He knew how easy his friend was to anger.

“What has she seen?” Anthony pressed him, teeth clenched.

Simon took a deep breath. “She has seen them touching. More than would be appropriate. On more than one occasion.”

Anthony’s eyes went wide, his nostrils flared. “Unbelievable.”

Hoping to avoid a public outburst, Simon tried to calm him. “Come now, Bridgerton. He’s a man. Let him have his fun.”

Anthony’s jaw locked, telegraphing his aggravation. “True, we all have our fun wherever we find it. But it remains unbecoming of a gentleman to flaunt it in one’s own house.” His eyes darted to ensure no one could overhear them. He leaned closer, hissing. “I knew he was…eccentric, but I didn’t think his tastes would extend to the help.”

Simon rolled his eyes, knowing this was a far lesser scandal than many they had faced together. Such as the one where they found themselves on opposite ends of dueling pistols. “I didn’t mean to sour your mood, I only wanted to keep you informed.”

Hands on his hips, Anthony steamed for a moment before acknowledging that it was neither the time nor place to address the matter. In their new chapter as relations, Simon had developed a knack for dissipating the Viscount’s untimely frustrations.

Anthony clapped him on the shoulder. “And I’m grateful that you did. You are a true friend. Although, should I call you brother now?” He smirked.

The Duke pointed a wry but warning finger. “Don’t push your luck, Bridgerton.”

___ After three glasses of champagne, two hours of inane conversation, and one good-natured turn with his mother across the dance floor, Benedict had endured about all he could take of the ball. While he has happy for his family that everyone was enjoying themselves, his heart was not in the event. Indeed, it felt somewhere else entirely. As he mumbled pleasantries with the same tired acquaintances and ducked around corners to avoid the fawning advances of Miss Dolores Stowell, he began to wonder what exactly the point of his attendance at such events was anymore. His peers were all there to ostensibly find their spouses and their elders were there to supervise the chase. But he would not find his wife in that ballroom or any other.

The lady in silver was long vanished and even the memory of her was starting to feel as insubstantial as gossamer. For how long could he keep searching in vain? For how long could he pin all hope on an imagined future with her? One full of the passion, happiness and companionship he longed for? Then Sophie flashed in his mind and he wondered if he was truly longing anymore. Thoughts swimming, he snuck unnoticed out of the ballroom and made his way to a secluded spot where he could think undisturbed. The portico roof over the front doors of Aubrey Hall rested just beneath an array of windows that one could easily climb through and drop out of sight as they sat with a panoramic view of the grounds. It had become a secret, almost sacred place for both heartfelt conversation and mischief which he had only shared with Colin and Eloise, the latter of whom he was surprised to see had beat him to the punch and was sat on a corner of the roof, smoking.

She looked up in alarm as he clambered out of the window and dropped beside her, but on recognition she smiled and wordlessly offered him her cigarette. He took a drag, settling beside her, the two of them staring out at the parade of carriages in the drive and the shadowed hills of the lawn beyond. The stars were bright and the air was peaceful, a stillness in sharp contrast to what Benedict felt within.

Eloise smirked at him. “No one catching your eye, brother?”

He handed back the cigarette and took note of her appearance. It was still odd for him to see his little sister grown and out in society. In his mind she would always be stubborn little El, smudged in dirt and tromping around with a slingshot in hand and one of Colin’s hand-me-down caps. But here in her gown and jewels with her hair pinned beautifully, she rivaled the elegance of every young lady within.

“I should ask you the same. I’m surprised the men aren’t falling all over themselves to dance with you. You look very lovely tonight.”

She smiled, straightening a bit. “It’s all thanks to the new maid, Miss Beckett. I like her very much.”

He felt the heat rise to his cheeks and the grin that broke across his face was entirely too large and entirely uncontrollable. Perhaps his sister wouldn’t see it in the low light, but his hopes were dashed.

“Benedict?” She studied him, cajoling. “You apparently like her too.”

He swallowed, speaking the truth aloud for the first time. “I do.”

He was surprised to find that he was not nervous about dropping his ruse. Not around Eloise. If there was anyone in the family he could be honest with, it was her. While they had always been close throughout their childhoods, it was when they confessed their shared disdain for the confines of society that the bedrock of their adult relationship had been formed. Whether on the swings in the garden of Bridgerton House or here on the portico roof of Aubrey Hall, they confided in one another about their desires and their struggles. Sometimes explicitly but more often simply through a silent, innate sense for when the other needed support and they never failed to provide it, in blanket sentiments or merely in physical presence. Benedict had escorted Eloise to many a ball she did not wish to attend and had pulled her briskly from the orbit of unsavory suitors. He had sat outside her bedroom door to stave off reprimands after Lady Whistledown had exposed her unsanctioned visits to political rallies and brought scandal down upon her head. After he had left the Royal Academy in shame, fresh sketchbooks, charcoals and paints continued to appear on the desk of his bedroom though he had not purchased them. And when he sulked in heartbreak and frustration for months after losing the lady in silver, Eloise would prod him for walks in the sunshine or games of chess, anything to keep his mind off of his pain without ever ridiculing his behavior, while the rest of his family were convinced he had gone mad. If anyone would champion his pursuit of happiness despite the risks it incurred, it would be Eloise.

True to her character, she did not blink at his confessing attraction to a servant, but she did keep his feet rooted on the ground. “Be careful there. I can only imagine what the family would say about a dalliance with a maid.”

She was right, of course. If his family were to find out and reproach him, it would be easy enough to terminate a frolic that was just for the fun of it all. And yet, as he quested through his feelings, the odd sensation in his chest affirmed that he could not walk away from Sophie so easily. He was approaching something. Something he knew the name of but could not yet admit, not even to himself. But he knew it would rise to the surface soon enough.

“I don’t know if it’s a dalliance, El.”

“What?”

He twisted his fingers as he sought for the words. “A part of me feels…I don’t know. Happier than I have felt in years.”

Eloise was quiet for a moment and then bluntly asked him the question he could not pose to himself. “You’re finally ready to give up on your lady in silver, then? For a servant?”

Her shimmering image rose in his mind, smiling coyly. He’d spent the last two years with one eye on every door, always waiting for her to enter the room. He felt silly sometimes, even stupid, but he’d never been able to erase her from his thoughts. Or purge the dream - the one in which he pledged his troth to her, and they lived happily ever after. It was a silly fantasy for a man of his reputation, sickly sweet and sentimental, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. That’s what came from growing up in a large and loving family - one tended to want the same for oneself. But the woman from the masquerade had become barely more than a mirage. Hell, he didn’t even know her name.

“Maybe,” he exhaled, feeling a barrier begin to crumble. “She is at least here. I can see her and talk to her and I know who she is. But I also know what a scandal it would all cause.”

Then he tried to envision a future with Sophie. A life with her would be different from the picture of familial bliss he had imagined, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t forge their own kind of happiness. He couldn’t marry her, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be together. It would mean compromise, but they could do it. And they’d certainly be happier than if they remained apart.

“So what are you going to do?” Eloise asked.

Benedict’s eyes darted over the horizon, dozens of possibilities tumbling through his mind. Anxious, joyful, heartbreaking, ecstatic.

“I don’t know yet.”

His sister rested a hand on his shoulder and gave him a light squeeze before she stood, dropped her cigarette and stubbed it out with her toe. She brushed off her dress and smoothed her hair, then looked down at him.

“A word of advice. Don’t fear what others may think. When you find someone, whoever that person is and wherever they come from, if you feel drawn to them, hold onto that feeling. Nurture it. You are a man, and I dare say it would be easier for you to get away with than me. So do it. Live your life and don’t give a damn about society.”

Then the fire drained from her voice as it became shaky with emotion. “It’s something I wish I had done long ago.”

Turning on her heel, she pulled herself back into the house through the open window and left Benedict alone in the night air, contending with his thoughts.

Marching back through the halls, Eloise wiped a tear from her cheek as her mind replayed her own flirtation with a different life. One that would have been harder, but also simpler than the one she was born into. A life of action and activism. A life of work but fulfillment. A life as the wife of a printer, filled with literature and love.

Any chance at that life had been dashed not only by her own fear of pursuing it, but by the acid pen of Lady Whistledown who had exposed her unchaperoned excursions and scandalized her family. That had been the hammerblow of certainty that if a young lady were to step one toe out of line from society’s expectations, woe would befall her. So ever since, Eloise had done her best to content herself within her gilded cage, waiting for the day when she would either be old enough to break free without censure or meet the man who miraculously defied her abysmal appraisal of his sex.

This was her destiny, one that must find her. But with Benedict able to navigate society more freely due both to his charismatic nature and his gender, surely he had a much greater chance of defining destiny on his terms. She would never forget how dejected he had been after the masquerade ball where he alleged to have met the love of his life. As he quested for her in the months that followed, Eloise watched the light of humor and charm that she so loved in him grow dimmer and dimmer until it almost seemed extinguished. But in recent days it had undeniably returned and she felt as if she had the old Benedict back. If Sophie was the cause of this change, then she would do everything in her power to support their secret romance.

Stopping in front of a mirror she dabbed her eyes, set her resolve, and returned to the ballroom.

“Kate!”

The Viscountess stood near a throng of mamas, graciously accepting their compliments for the hostess. Wrapped in a shimmering sari of ombre blue and purple, she matched both the colors and grandeur of the decor perfectly.

“Are you enjoying the evening, Eloise?” She smiled as she turned to her sister-in-law.

Adopting a cheery tone, the younger exaggerated a smile. “Oh yes, my dance card is full.” She shook the card on her wrist rapidly, trying to obscure the fact that she herself had penciled in all the names, including Robert Burns and George Washington. Clasping her hands behind her back, she continued.

“I’ve met so, so many wonderful bachelors tonight, thank you. I am here to ask you a favor.”

“Yes?”

“My temporary lady’s maid, Miss Sophie Beckett. I have grown quite fond of her and she is very skilled, as you can see.” She pointed proudly to her bejeweled coiffure. “Can I ask that she accompany us back to London? I know that the other maid will return, but she can take care of Francesca and Hyacinth.”

The Viscountess balked, stunned to hear Eloise express any praise for a lady’s maid, let alone the request to retain one permanently. Her sister-in-law was single-handedly the cause of the majority of staff turnover for the Bridgerton household. Whatever magic Sophie Beckett possessed, she was now determined to secure it for as long as possible.

“If you both desire it, yes, we can take her on in London.”

Eloise beamed with excitement. “Thank you!”

Returning her smile, Kate wondered how far she could push her luck. “Now, would you like to meet Lord Gloucester? He is…”

“No!” Eloise nearly leapt away from her like a cornered animal. “Sorry, I’m incredibly parched. I must get a glass of lemonade.” Waving her off, she nodded her thanks once again and then disappeared into the crowd.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc198n @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

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lemon-russ · 2 months

Text

sorry, I was going to write the Russ fic from the poll but I am being actively haunted by the gay lady Custodian. She must be freed.

Thank you @squishyowl for the divider :)

Emperor's Saint (Pt. 2)

Pt. 1 || Pt. 3

Fem!Custodes x Fem!Reader

CW: GAY, SUPER SAPPHIC GAY

Summary: Diplomat does her job, more gay pining.

Word count: 2,188

You managed to at least get into your slip before Hera returned from her prompt 6 and a half minute walk. After you finish dressing proper in your fine diplomatic gowns, you show Hera your dress with a turn.

“Am I good?” You ask, mostly to make sure you dont have anything amiss or stuck.

She smiles down at you, eyes dragging up and down your body in a way that makes you blush a little.

“Very good.” She agrees after an eyebrow rasing-ly long assessment of your person. She smiles and picks up her spear, then holds the door for you with a playful bow.

“After you, my Lady.” She says sweetly, and you try to shake off the thoughts popping in your mind about the way she's looking at you as you leave.

She draws a lot of attention from the townsfolk, even with her helmet off to reduce her height and flamboyantness, she still was massive and in shining gold armor. She ignores the stares though, checking the area now and then and sometimes walking ahead if you to check allyways before you pass them and the like.

All is done with practice, like it's muscle memory for her. You frown as you have a thought.

“Heraclast, how many charges have you watched over?” You ask. Something bothers you about the thought of her being this close and protective of someone else. Well, not something. You're jealous. But that's a silly thing to be, her whole job is to guard people.

She smiles, falling in step behind you. “You're my third.” She says.

You raise your brow. “I thought it would be more than that.”

She gives a small shrug. “Aquillian sheilds aren't needed very often, and I'm not the only one. Most of the time we're just at the palace, or nowadays out on missions. But we go years without a charge.” She says casually, stepping protectively closer and staring down a man walking by who got a little close to your path for her liking.

You knit your brow as you watch the man nervously beeline to the other side of the road, then look up at her. “So, what happened to your other charges?” You ask.

“They finished what I was sent for them to do. So I left.” She replied, putting a hand on your shoulder to guide you out of the path of a cart. “Please watch your feet and not me, my Lady.” She says with a smirk.

You blush and look back at where you're walking, trying not to get captivated by her face again.

“So, when I do… whatever it is you wont say, you'll go?” You ask, glancing up at her.

She nods. “Though it's not up to me, you know. I don't know what you're meant to do either until you do it and the scriers tell me you're all set.” She says.

You frown a bit, and try to cover it, but are too slow. She laughs gently.

“Was that a pout, my Lady?” She says, grinning as you blush. “Don't worry, sometimes it takes years before I'm called back.” She says warmly.

That was not reassuring. Years. Years of not sleeping alone, not bathing or changing alone, years of constant companionship of the 9 foot tall warrior goddess.

You blush more. On one hand, you don't know if you can survive the embarrassment if you're so flustered after one day.

On the other hand… you steal another glance up at her. From this angle you mostly see her strong jaw, her eyelashes, the quirk of her lips as she passively smiles. Your heartbeat picks up a bit and you tear your eyes away, focusing on the road very hard. Years. Years of this.

Pull yourself together, you chide yourself. You can't become a gay disaster after a single day of being in the proximity of an attractive woman. This is sad even for your standards. You take a deep breath and focus on diplomatic thoughts.

You're here to work out a supply route with the local government. They have precious metals the Imperium needs. It's all very standard fare, and you wonder how you could end up doing something so important the scryers on Terra felt the need to send you a bodyguard to make sure it gets done.

In your thoughts, you trip a little over the cobbled road. Before you even register you've tripped, Hera has you, holding you under your arms again as she places you on your feet.

“Careful there my Lady, these roads are not well paved.” She says, frowning a bit. “I thought you were watching your feet too, and you're flushed again. Are you sure you're well?” She says, bending a bit to look you over.

You sigh. “Yes, just, um, embarrassed I tripped.” You squeak out.

She raised a brow, then nods. “Ohhh, right, blushing. You're not sick, you've just been blushing.” She says like she solved a puzzle, standing upright again and looking pleased with herself. “None of my other charges did that. I'll learn though.” She says as you start walking again.

“No seeing you nude, no watching you sleep, and if your face is all red you're just embarrassed.” She says with a smile, nodding to herself.

You frown and blush harder. “Hera, surely these aren't foreign ideas to you?” You say as you rub a warm cheek with your palm.

She smiles and tilts her head at you. “Well, my other charges didn't care about that stuff. They changed in front of me and stuff, and didn't get all red like that.” She says offhandly.

You raise a brow, then realize what you're missing. “Were your other charges women?” You ask, knitting your brow.

She nods, smiling. “They were. But they said oh it's fine, we're all ladies, you can see me bathe.” She said with a shrug. “I assumed that meant the same for you. I'm learning you're peculiarities though.” She said with a grin before turning her attention back to watching for danger.

Oh by the throne. Her other charges probably didn't like women. You rub your face in both your hands. You actually forgot that some women don't like other women. You let out a long sigh.

“Yeah, I uh, guess I'm a little shy…” you mumble, trying to cover the tracks you've accidentally left leading straight to a giant sign that says “I THINK YOU'RE SO HOT MY BRAIN IS MELTING”. Hopefully she doesn't start putting all the pieces together herself.

She smiles, stepping forward to open the door for you as you reach the meeting building. “I'm getting that about you. I may be out of practice, but I'm not that clueless about mortal emotions.” She chuckles. By the Emperor you hope that's not true.

She puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, urging you to wait while she scouts out the building quickly. You wonder if you can ask her to touch you less, every time she does your brain shorts a little, but dismiss the thought. If she touched you less… well. She'd be touching you less.

She returns to your side and gestures you forward, satisfied it is safe, and leads you to the large meeting hall. She opens the door for you again, and as you walk in the head of trade smiles politely at you, then his face goes a little pale as Heraclast follows you in.

“Ah- good to see you again, my Lady…” the elderly man says, eyes glued on Hera. She nods, puts on her helmet, and goes to stand at the side of the room on guard.

You smile at him nervously. “Oh, don't mind her. She's a bodyguard. The Imperium… insisted I have one all the time now, so it's not personal.” You lie. Easier than explaining scriers saw your future and deemed you important to Terra.

The man nods, still looking unsure, but moves on. You've worked with this man before, and quickly come to an agreement on trade routes and outputs from the planet. You smile and go to shake his hand, and Hera is next to you in an instant, gently moving your hand away.

The man frowns, confused and intimidated by her speed.

“Apologies my Lady, but please do not shake hands. Could be hidden weapons or poisons.” She says, gently moving you backwards from the table by the shoulders.

The man raises his brow and you fluster a bit, “oh- she doesn't mean you- I'm sorry, shes just very protective-” you say, trying to smooth over any offense.

He frowns but nods a bit, looking up at Hera. “Um, well then, a… signature, should do, then…” he says, signing a paper and pushing it over.

You sigh and sign it, and say your goodbyes as you leave with your papers.

You look up at Heraclast with a tight expression. “Please don't do that, you could get me in a lot of trouble.” You tell her.

She frowns. “You cannot get in trouble, I am here to protect you.”

You sigh. “Not- not physically, diplomatically. What you did could be really offensive.” You say with a pleading voice.

She frowns harder. “Ah. Apologies my Lady, but I cannot comprise your safety for manners. Though you are the first diplomatic person I've guarded, so, I shall try and be more clear.”

You rub your temple. “Ok, I'll just… tell them upfront I cant touch for safety concerns, I guess…” you grumble.

She looks conflicted. “You are upset.” She states.

You look up at her, but your frown falters when you meet her eyes. She looks upset, and it makes your heart skip a beat. “Ah- no, it's okay” you say, reaching out and patting her large armored arm. “I'll just warn them, I'm not upset with you.”

She looks unsure, but gives a small nod. “Alright. I'll try to be more… diplomatic about things. But I cannot risk your safety.”

You sigh, nodding. “Alright then.” You say as you make your way back.

She looks at the sun a moment. “It is past 6 hours from your last meal.” She states. You look up at her confused.

She looks down, pursing her lips. “You require a meal every y hours in the daytime.” She says.

“I mean, I guess? I never counted…” you reply, but she is already urging you- which is actually just gently pushing your back- towards a food stall you were walking past.

“Hera, I'm fine, I can eat back at the lodgings-” you protest, but she's already speaking to the vendor.

She drops a pile of currency you had brought with, and thankfully the vendor gives her back most of it, and she returns to you with some sort of pastry, smiling.

You smile and chuckle, reaching for it when she frowns and pulls it away. “Wait- I must taste it for poison.” She says, chomping it.

You sigh. “How would it be poisoned? We didn't plan to stop here, no one could plan that far ahead on a chance.” You say tiredly.

She swallows, then smiles and hands you the bitten bun. “You'd be surprised, my Lady. I've seen murder plots that were set years in advance that subliminally urged people to make seemingly random choices.”

You pout. “…this seems like you just wanted a bite of my food.”

She laughs sweetly, and the sound makes you smile and giggles under your breath.

“You're amusing. I will say you are my most entertaining charge yet.” She chuckles, moving you to a bench nearby. You chuckle too, and bite into the unbitten part of the bun. It's surprisingly tasty, and hopefully not made of anything that causes digestive distress to people from other planets.

She scoots closer to you, so her thigh touches yours, and you nearly choke, coughing as you try to swallow properly. She startles a little and pats your back.

“My Lady-?” She asks urgently, and you wave her off as you catch your breath.

She frowns, studying your face. “Ah.” She says, smiling. “Your face is red again! You are merely embarrassed.” She chuckles. Then scrunches her brow. “I did not do anything but get closer to you for safety though. What has you blushing?” She asks as you gulp down the rest of your bite.

“Um-” you squeak. “It's- It's nothing.” You mumble, rubbing your face.

She frowns. “Hm. That is fine, I will decode you eventually, my Lady.” She says with a sweet smile. “I have excellent pattern recognition, I'm sure in the next month I'll figure you out.” She says happily.

You groan into your hands. Months. Years. You're doomed.

#wh40k #warhammer 40k #my work #wh40k fanfic #female custodes #custodes oc #adeptus custodes #femstodes x reader #f!custodes x f!reader #OC: Heraclast Ossian #emperor's saint fic

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matrixbearer2024 · 4 days

Text

Based on poll, here's some stuff about Athena + sketchies of her that I will eventually finish digitally. I totally didn't stay up until 4 am to finish these doodles-

Audaces fortuna juvat

- Athena "F" Pines

Named after the Greek goddess of wisdom and war 'Athena' and the english scientist 'Michael Faraday', she is the youngest of Ford's triplets and inherited his polydactyly! (She also inherited his felony of a fashion sense but let's gloss over that.)

Compared to her siblings, she normally covers up entirely just by preference and not because she's hiding something(like Max is). No she doesn't die in the summer heat despite turtlenecks and sweaters because she runs cold and would sooner freeze than melt.

Teena's a daddy's girl through and through, to the point that she and Max would fuss on sharing papa Sixer back when they were babies. Thank goodness Fordsy had two hands!

She's likely the most pragmatic of her siblings but not the most cynical or paranoid. Her most common mood is just tired, since she mostly runs on energy drinks and pastries.

Teena's not really one for candy either so she doesn't even dive for the groceries when somebody brings home jelly beans like the men in her family. When she does indulge though, you can find her eating dark chocolate.

Is practically allergic to color and frankly her closet looks like it was meant for 20s television. Just blacks, whites, greys and some other muted shades. At least she doesn't wear the same thing over and over again compared to her father.

Doesn't denounce dresses but finds them quite impractical and would rather wear cargo pants. Again, pragmatic. She's also quite tomboyish in nature which Mabel finds odd and Dipper thinks is interesting. Her laid back nature reminds Dipdip of Wendy to a different degree but the semblance is so fleeting he just usually shrugs it off when he notices. (Planning to have Teena actually be Aro: Demiromantic, she just doesn't know that there's a label for that yet LOL)

I wouldn't say that she is the closest to Ford however, she used to be back when she was a kid- but as an adult it's a different story. With her fractured family and blatantly obvious mutation, by the time she left to pursue a doctorate in Biomedical Engineering at Duke University(North Carolina) she was already slightly harboring a sense of disdain for her mutation and anything odd.

The teasing and taunting only got worse in university as well, she wanted to become a medical doctor to practice orthopedics but made a promise with her siblings that they'd only pursue their dreams once they've gotten their dad back- hence the engineering bit and why she didn't even go through to med proper. She did figure out she had a passion for tinkering and robotics though.

Her peers were not kind, people were absolutely more accepting compared to Ford's time but she was still branded as weird or odd and the disdain for her uniqueness grew. She put everything off for as long as she could, only returning to Gravity Falls in 2010 after her siblings started calling and looking for her. At that point, Teena figured she couldn't just stay away forever so she bit the bullet and returned to gravity falls despite her hesitation. She was the last push they needed to completely fix the portal; problem being that they didn't have an iota of how the hell they would turn it on.

So yeah, that's why Dipper and Mabel are still pivotal in helping them all make amends as it stands(also finding the journals-). Haven't completely explained why for the other two yet, but that'll be in a separate post. Anyhow, enjoy and don't forget that my inbox is always open to asks or requests for fics or even about these guys!

#gravity falls #stanford gravity falls #gravity falls stanford #stanford pines #ford #ford pines #gf stanford #gravity falls ford #grunkle ford #gravity falls au #ford x oc #stanford x oc #stanford pines x oc #FordFamilyAU #Athena Faraday Pines

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intrepidacious · 6 days

Text

just fairer than death

summary: One night, you pull a dying sailor from the depths of the sea.

pairing: james norrington x siren!reader

word count: 2.3k

warnings: set right after james' canon departure; slight dubcon because sirens; brief blood licking; i think this qualifies as soft dark? please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: crawling out of my void with this fic that absolutely no one asked for 🫶🏼 i first wrote this in may so that's how i'm doing at the moment. @brandycranby and @scrumptious-delusion thank you for actually making me finish this story, i love you both so immensely x

masterlist | read on ao3

It was said, among your kind, that there was nothing more dangerous than a sailor; for you were destined to either love him or kill him.

That is, if he did not kill you first.

Your life had already been long, then, and you’d never even seen a human up close. You’d learned to understand how the seas would change when they had to carry a ship, how the waves would moan under its weight, and you’d taken great pains to avoid watchful eyes in the dark every single time. The odds were stacked against you, and you weren’t ready to risk your life for a notion as abstract as love.

Others, you knew, had been bolder than you. Several of your sisters liked to venture out to take a closer look at a passing vessel and its crew, and some of them had never made it back afterwards. You didn’t like to think what might have happened to them.

It was worse, though, when they did return. Blood on their gills and flesh still stuck between their sharp teeth, a mad, angry, horrified look in their eyes. See what they made me do, it seemed to say. See how they conjure violence from thin air.

Passion, you learned, was a dangerous current to get caught up in.

Night fell early that day, like the goddess herself wanted to hide what was about to happen underneath a shroud of darkness. The sea was quiet. The stars were hiding as you let yourself get carried by the waves with your face turned towards an empty sky, far enough from the cursed ship to stay out of sight. The Flying Dutchman made you shiver in your scales, no matter how many times you smelled her rotten wood from afar. There was nothing good on that ship; nothing good could ever come from it.

You never knew what strange tides carried you closer. These waters had their own sense of humour, sometimes, cruel and biting like medusa venom.

A shout cut through the night, clearly audible even from where you were floating at a distance. Normally, you would’ve taken this as your sign to leave, but for some reason, you hesitated. An icy chill went through you and stopped you from slipping away into the safety of the deep. Instead, you turned your head towards the source of the sound.

Something had plummeted into the water.

You squinted. Yes, you could see several figures, their heads just bobbing above the surface as they moved hastily away from the abominable ship.

Good, you thought. Not even humans deserved the likes of Davy Jones.

Then the wind picked up. It carried the coppery stench of blood and steel mixing with seawater, and the fine hairs covering your neck stood up in response. Every cell of your body was screaming at you to flee, and yet you were unable to move, the ocean gently pushing you closer still.

You couldn’t see anything else in this murky darkness, but a few minutes passed in tense silence before you heard a hollow, ghostly laugh followed by another splash. The sea tasted of iron, too, now; and of something else.

It was that other, undetermined thing that made you swim closer against your every instinct. You were still far enough from the Dutchman to be out of sight, the tides moving in your favour, when you saw the shape in the water.

It was drifting away from the vessel as well, but in a way much more uncoordinated than the ones you’d seen earlier, barely staying afloat for another moment before the ocean swallowed it whole.

You did not hesitate this time.

Underwater, it was much easier for your eyes to make out the shape, sinking heavily as the ship’s wake pushed it down, down towards the bottom of the ocean. A muscle strained in your tail, your gills protesting as you shot through the waters to get a proper look before it fell out of sight. You still didn’t understand why.

Goddess help you, you should’ve known.

For something as terrible as a sailor, he didn’t look all that intimidating. He only looked decidedly lifeless, his eyes closed, limbs floating loosely. Blood tinted the water around him, coming from a hole in his chest that probably wasn’t supposed to be there. Then again, what did you know about humans?

You wondered if all of them looked this beautiful.

Then, like a shockwave, you remembered that they needed air to breathe.

Before you could consciously decide on it, you had grabbed the sailor under his shoulders and dragged him back up. He was heavier than a grown reef shark, unresponsive dead weight, the ocean refusing to loosen her grip on him.

Finally, you burst through the surface again, a gasp of relief escaping you when you spotted a sandbank not that far away. The Dutchman, thankfully, was far off in the distance by now. No ghostly eye saw you taking off into the opposite direction with the lifeless sailor the ship had spat out.

You couldn’t help but glance at your charge every now and again as you struggled to keep him afloat. He had lost part of his hair to the currents, and the rest of it had another colour underneath, dark like sea weeds. You could only hope that he didn’t need the upper part.

But need it for what, exactly? This man was dead; or at least mostly so. He still smelled slightly alive, and his skin was warm against yours.

"What am I doing?" you whispered to yourself as you tightened your grasp around his shoulders.

Careful, sang the waves. Do not play with things you don’t understand.

But what a ridiculous warning that was. You knew this man was in no shape to harm you, so how could your curiosity be something terrible?

After what felt like hours, your hands touched rock and sand. With great effort, you managed to heave the sailor onto it. No matter how much you scowled at the waves, his head kept rolling back under water, until you lifted yourself up and carefully put it in your lap.

Your tail was aching with exhaustion and your uncomfortable position, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Breathe, you thought, holding his face in your hands, breathe.

The sailor didn’t listen, but then again, he was mostly dead.

You could feel your heart racing as desperation started to rise. What had you done this for, then, if he refused to cling to life after all? It was as if something had possessed you, and now that you were halfway through the motions it dictated, you’d been once again left alone with your thoughts and the rush of the sea around you.

Something compelled you to push a strand of wet, dark hair away from his face. No; he didn’t look intimidating at all.

Love him or kill him.

You were a simple creature steered by fate as much as anyone, and right now, you were a helpless guppy between her fingers. You wondered what colour his eyes might be.

He was so heavy on you, like his weight was trying to remind you of the odd reality of this situation. You had no idea what to do, and so you kept staring at him.

Like small fish lured in by photophore, your fingers trailed inevitably downwards to that strange hole in his chest. Human blood smelled the same as yours, and it had the same colour, as far as you could tell; but it was warm.

Hesitantly, you pulled your hand back and licked it up.

An involuntary sigh left your lips.

Sweet. Maddeningly sweet. Even after just a few drops, you could see why your sisters would lose their minds over this. You could feel your mouth watering as you savoured the taste, your mind going blissfully blank.

This was like nothing you’d ever experienced.

Your heart was beating a frenzy as you heaved the sailor up in your lap and leaned over his chest, dipping your tongue against the hole. Each lick of blood intensified the gentle buzz in your head, a giddy lightness spreading through your limbs, your chest, your very core.

Just before you lost yourself entirely to this sensation, you heard a low rumbling noise. Gurgling, like stuck water. The sound faded again almost instantly.

Around you, the wind picked up, the waves rumbling menacingly, and you looked up to see the clouds darkening overhead. A storm was coming, after all.

You went to continue your meal and found that the hole had closed up. Soft, reddened skin covered it like it had never been there in the first place. Only a small, shimmering scar remained, and you traced your fingers along it in wistful wonderment, blinking as you wiped your mouth and came to your senses again.

How strange, indeed.

Still, your appetite had been wet, now. You looked at the sailor’s face again, craving more of his sweetness. Maybe …

Slowly, you brushed your lips against his, breathing into him as you carefully nipped at his flesh. He tasted like the sea, here, salt and brine and something else entirely, something that made you press closer as you exhaled into him.

Perfect, you thought because you’d never felt anything so true, all things falling into place for the first time in your life. It sent a pleasant tingle up your spine.

A sound again; this time, it reverberated in your mouth. The sea lashed at you but you ignored it, pushing into the noise as if going to smother it, and then something moved in your lap and the mostly dead sailor grunted weakly against your lips.

You flinched backwards as he sputtered before you, his entire body convulsing as he coughed up seawater and blood. Each rattled breath ended with another fit of coughs until finally, he calmed, slumping back into his previous position in your lap.

It was then, for the first time, that he opened his eyes.

They were green, green like the deep sea on a particularly fine day, green like a palm leaf on the beach at Whitecap Bay, green like shards of smooth seaglass, polished and shimmering. Even in the darkness, they were bright, and they were looking up at you in confusion.

You were confused, too. Something very odd was happening, and so you leaned in and you did the only thing your mind could think of at that moment. You pressed your lips against his once more.

Again, you were filled with that feeling of rightness as you pressed closer, as his mouth gently moved against yours as if in an unheard question before answering you in equal. Yes, yes.

You didn’t understand but this was the way things should be, how they were always meant to go, how—

Cool hands pulled your face away and an involuntary whine escaped you. The sea green eyes had darkened, softened, and they blinked at you several times before the sailor asked, "Am I dead?"

"Not anymore," you said, making to move closer again. He didn’t let you, his hand solid against your cheek.

"I don’t—I’m not sure what happened." His voice was hoarse with the salt of the ocean. His thumb kept tracing your cheekbone like he wasn’t able to comprehend you were actually here. "I thought I was dead."

"Does it matter?" you asked. Your voice was gaining a sing-songy quality entirely of its own accord, and it made his seaglass eyes glaze over a little.

He made to sit up and even though some deep, primal instinct didn’t want him to withdraw even a little, you helped steady his shaking arms until he was upright. Still, your tail was relieved at the lifted weight, giving an involuntary spasm that splashed in the water.

The sailor barely seemed to notice, even as he looked around at his surroundings. The wind howled and dark waves kept lapping at his legs as he tried to get his bearings.

It was a long time before his eyes settled on you again.

"Who are you?" he said, and there was wonder in his voice, incredulity.

Beautiful, you thought again.

You told him your name, quickly, without even thinking about it. Your kind wasn’t usually supposed to share this information; names held power, after all. But this was different. He was different.

"What about you, sailor?" you asked softly. "What do they call you?"

"I … James," he said, his brow furrowed in concentration, like he wasn’t all that sure at all. "Admiral James Norrington of the EC … the EITC. I think."

"Don’t think," you said, putting a hand on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat in there, fast enough for it to sound as if he, like some creatures, had three of them. Unlikely, of course, but what did you know?

In time, he might spare one of them for you.

For some reason, that thought didn’t shock you.

"I should …" he said, his eyes half-shut again. You wanted to kiss away that frown. You wondered if his smile was as magnificent as you imagined, hidden somewhere beneath that stern face. "There was something … someone …"

It broke your heart, the way that worry weighed on him. You needed to take care of him. Take him somewhere safe, somewhere he could rest.

"Don’t worry, James Norrington," you said gently, slowly leaning in once more; he didn’t stop you. "It’s going to be all right."

This time, when your mouths connected, he sighed, like he was letting go of whatever burden his memory was trying to remind him of. This time, his arms came around you and wrapped tightly around your shoulders so that when you slipped into the water, he clung to you, your lips still moving in perfect tandem. He tasted divine.

Yes, you thought, maybe there was a point to these stories about sailors after all.

But this one … he was good. He was yours.

And you intended to keep him.

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! remember to stay hydrated and reblog the fics you read to make a writer smile today 💛

#james norrington x reader #james norrington fic #james norrington x you #james norrington fanfiction #james norrington oneshot #pirates of the caribbean fanfic #potc fanfic

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wishingstarinajar · 7 months

Note

I know, I know I'm a scratched record

But I'm dying to hear your thoughts on the Wakfu finale when you get to it!

I just finished watching it and it's uuh... hmm. I read people saying the finale was "satisfactory" but I am not fully on board with that sentiment.

Too much left unanswered, not enough wrapped up, too rushed to get to the end.

I know the Waven game is a continuation of sorts, it takes place decades after Wakfu's conclusion so that game might hold some answers or closure, buuuuttt... I'm not interested enough in the game to play and find out. I guess I've grown a bit tired of the whole cross-media info/lore some franchises love to do (like Blizzard and covering important info across the Warcraft games, books and short stories).

Wakfu season 4 obviously has an open ending, no matter that it is the final season, so who knows what might follow. I'm just a little saddened that the story picked up a little too late this season but the animation, particularly during action scenes, was pretty great... when not using the same static images of characters xDD They loved that a little too much but I understand the budget wasn't that big so I can't really fault Ankama for it.

Did I like this season? Mmmyyeeaaah, it's a mixed bag. Better than season 3 but not better than the first two seasons or even the OVA episodes. Glad it exists but I don't feel super satisfied with its conclusion.

HEAVY SPOILERS ahead, so be mindful but gonna share some thoughts:

Seeing Joris play a bigger part in the second half of the 4th season, and him vibing with Adamaï made me very giddy and happy. Love that for them, hope they become good friends. And thank fek neither of them died. RIP, Qilby, Armand and Brakmar (maybe?). The guys who needed to redeem themselves got their chance, at least.

Goddess Eliatrope was a big disappointment and an unlikeable character but I guess that was kind of the point...? Angry that she totally ignored Chibi and Grougal, like what the fuck even? Didn't even show a hint of acknowledgment towards them. What if they wanted to meet mom, huh?? And what even happened to Baltazar and Glip, who were in Emrub with the same kids that were asleep in Goddess Eliatrope's belly? What did she do with them?

But hey, at least my headcanon that the Sadida and Eliatropes will combine into a single kingdom/people (which I also wrote about in my Rebirth fic) actually happening was pretty satisfying x'D It even has Wakfu-infused trees, om nom nom.

A little frustrated with Necroworld (not the same Necroworld from the Transformers: Lost Light comics) because it's supposed to be a different planet in some other universe but it had dofus (dragon eggs) and races of the Twelve like Sadida, Sram and Sacrier. It was pretty confusing... Imo, it should have been something similar to The Upside Down (Stranger Things), or an alternate version of the world of Twelve rather than a completely separate place. But eh...

Why did nobody care about the state Inglorium was in, or that the Gods have disappeared? That bothered me so so so soooo much during the first two episodes; nobody non-Eliatrope or non-demigod cared that their God/Goddess was... well... gone. Aside from God Iop, where are they?? Hated the disinterest, hated the silence around it. Guess that's a mystery that will be unraveled in some other media.

Yugo grew tall and handsome and I'm not afraid to say it. Happy for him, though him suddenly growing so quickly was a bit silly. I figured there would be a time skip to justify his 'growth' that we saw in promotional images and teasers. Won't complain though, he deserved to finally be in a body that reflects his actual age, it took him long enough!

"Bootleg Alys" from the Dofus movie made a cameo in episode 11 which made me snerk. (I noticed a few more background characters from the movie that were re-used in episode 11.)

And that's all I have to say, at least here on Tumblr. It was quite a ride.

A big thanks Ankama and all the Kickbackers that made it possible; this show had its ups and downs over the past decade but it was enjoyable and loved. It still holds a special place in my heart and I will keep a tiny eye out for more Krozmos stuff in the future (like Welsh & Shedar, gimme!!).

#wakfu #wakfu season 4 #spoilers #q and a

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forabeatofadrum · 10 days

Text

It's Wednesday My Dudes! Thank you @that-disabled-princess, @nausikaaa and @cutestkilla tagging me. Time is an illusion.

I was out and about, not doing much, since it was my birthday. I watched the digital ticket of Starkid's new musical Cinderella's Castle, and I enjoyed it, and I played some viddy games, namely Cult of the Lamb and Splatoon 3. Splatoon 3's come to an end with the great Grand Festival. I hope Kurt and Blaine are bopping to ANOTHER version of Ebb & Flow. Off the Hook keeps releasing new versions of that song and it still slaps.

And after last week's poll, I started The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker. So far, it's not going well for me, up to the point I'm looking into cheats. I can't believe I am unbelievably stuck on the first dungeon.

But because of Wind Waker, I have returneth to writing with the thing no one asked for, me included, namely a Zelda fic!

A little background, but back in 2021, I wrote Any way the wind blows, a fic that's set in Breath of the Wild and it's about Link reuniting with his sister after a hundred years. Then, fast forward to 2023: Tears of the Kingdom came out and the character of Purah has been doing scientific fuckery with her age. Maybe some of you remember this, but after that game came out I spent some of these SSS/WW posts talking about a possible sequel for Any way the wind blows. Welp, seeing the Link and Aryll of Wind Waker interact brought all of those thoughts back and last night, underneath my blanky, my mind started writing it. So under the cut there's some words of Easy come, easy go, will you let me go, because yes, I even came up with a title.

Kiana knows Aryll is old. Everyone in Lurelin knows Aryll is old. She's called the village elder for a reason. She'll be turning a hundred and twelve. If she manages to make it. Everyone's noticed that Aryll's grown even more tired than before. She spents most of her days inside, even though the villagers have made the outside more accessible. A few weeks ago, she only went outside when her brother came to visit. The two of them would sit by the ocean. But now, that's also stopped. To be fair, now that the Calamity is over, Link spends more time at Lurelin. Before, he would only visit once a week. After, he practically moved here. But Link and Aryll spend most of their time inside Aryll's hut and Link's also started roaming around Lurelin without her, because she's often asleep when he's around. Kiana knows Aryll's lived a good life without regrets. If it hadn't been for Link returning, she'd be at peace with Aryll slowly fading away, but Aryll's had to miss her brother for almost a hundred years and it feels cruel to have it end. Sebasto argues that maybe this is the way it is. The Goddesses have kept Aryll alive so that she could be reunited, but now that's happened, and it's time to move on, but Kiana cannot accept that. Kiana knows she can't stop death. No one can, not even the most advanced scientists in Hyrule, but when she overhears Zelda and Link discuss the aging experiments of one of their friends, Kiana starts to think.

I'd like to write this fic in the same style as the first one, which alternated between the present and Aryll's stories about the past, but I have no clue how to do that. Ah. We'll see. I gotta finish it first.

And now, the weather: @quizasvivamos @coffeegleek @caramelcoffeeaddict @raenestee @tectonicduck

@nightimedreamersworld @urban-sith @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @bookish-bogwitch @confused-bi-queer

@special-bc-ur-part-of-it @larkral

@artsyunderstudy @facewithoutheart @shrekgogurt @rockitmans @bitbybitwrites

@whatevertheweather @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion @esilher @kurtsascot @blackberrysummerblog

@nightimedreamersghost @ivelovedhimthroughworse @thnxforknowingme @martsonmars

#tagged in #wip wednesday #'the thing no one asked for including me' sounds bad i know #i don't mind it #i like having inspiration again #i just kinda wished the inspiration would come for existing WIPs not a new one lol

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musouie · 13 days

Note

letta, my love, the theme is simply divine. 🫵

woe of cimmerian kismet? i have not heard of this before, i must know what it means!! also demon!trueform sukuna? sounds very spooky, very splendid!

i love you, i hope you’re having a wonderful day, my beautiful siren.

THANK U MY SWEET ALBA 🩶!!

i am proud to say i had no clue what it meant until this evening #constantly learning new things! buutt, apparently cimmerian means intensely dark or perpetual darkness, which had me like ARGG i need to use it immediately. i’m thinking about changing it though, bc i want something that means ‘bad fortune’ and ‘unlucky’ more so than dark…but idk :,(. it’s a pretty word, i can’t give it up so easily…

and kismet means fate!! i learned that today as well! i saw it on my pinterest feed 😋

AHAHA and yes!! sukuna is very intent on haunting dear reader! very october i’ve decided. hopefully i finish it by then!

now about you!! sailor!suguru x goddess reader?? beautiful helen?? alba i’m frothing at the mouth! i must know how those are going so far!! i’m so intrigued about the sailor fic and what themes you explore. i have a feeling sacrifice is one? hmmm, idk but i’m super excited for that one!

#charming melodies ♪ ࣪ ˖#the sun to my moon ࿇ ࣪ ˖#sorry i yapped way too long 😓

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thecoffeelovingfreak · 2 years

Text

come & talk to me

Pairing: Rook Hunt x gn!Reader

Writing Genre: oneshot

Genres: romance, rom-com

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: arrows getting within 5 centimeters of reader

Notes: This idea came to me about two weeks ago, and I wrote it within the same night gfjfjfk. I hope you enjoy this Valentine's fic -- it's titled after one of my favorite songs! <3

Read it on ao3!

~~~

The fourteenth of February – Sweetheart's Day – as it’s known here in Twisted Wonderland. A day in honor of the goddess of love and beauty, where romance was around every corner and admirers prospered.

It seems I have one of my own, you thought, noticing the dazzling and voluminous bouquet sitting on the island of Ramshackle’s kitchen. A lovely little purple box was placed next to it, adorned in golden trim and a red bow. Peering through the window of the box, you saw an assortment of sweets. A few chocolate-covered strawberries still appearing fresh, heart-shaped macarons in various shades complementing the box, and finally petit fours decorated in the signature colors of your dorm. Upon closer inspection of the bouquet, you observed the selected flowers: traditional red roses, gardenias, jonquils, blue violets, and moss rosebuds. A note was nestled between your collection of nature’s beauties, and it read:

Your eyes shine like ever radiant starlight,

Will you choose to be mine tonight?

- ↣

A smile blossomed on your lips as you huffed, feeling as though you were the lead in a cheesy romance movie. Taking the box with you and keeping it away from Grim’s tired and hungry grabby hands, you left to attend your first period.

—

“Whatcha got there, Y/n?” Ace asked, jogging up next to you in one of the exterior hallways.

“A box of treats from an admirer.” you replied matter-of-factly.

He chuckled before speaking, “Any clue who it is?”

“Not yet. The note was only signed with an a–”

Your sentence was cut off as an arrow whizzed by only about 4 centimetres in front of your face.

“Arrow.” you finished, handing your box to Ace.

You approached the section of mortar where the arrow was lodged. Attached to its sharp end was a letter and another moss rosebud wrapped in purple striped twine. Recalling your flowers and note, you had no doubt as to who had sent their affection flying your way. Tugging the arrow out of the wall, you carefully removed the note. Lifting the flower off of the paper, you wordlessly gave it to the redhead next to you before opening the light brown letter.

Witnessing your joy is truly a treasure,

I hope my gift brought you pleasure.

Please do me the honor of accompanying me,

In the majestic forest beneath the trees.

Eight o’clock tonight,

Follow the lights.

- ↣

Excitement bubbled in you at the prospect of meeting your admirer, but it was slightly dispelled by Ace’s pessimism.

“How do you know they’re not going to murder you?”

—

Sitting down at the table of your merry little band of first years for lunch, you were immediately bombarded by statements.

“An arrow at your head?! It definitely sounds like they want to kill you.”

“Thank you, Deuce, very supportive.” you retorted.

“Letting treats and letters win you over so quickly?! Ha, what a silly little human!”

With a glare at the group, silence reigned. At least until Jack spoke up, “Do you know who it is?”

“I don’t.” you replied.

“What if it’s Henley?” Ace joked.

Your entire table groaned at the mention of the most cumbersome member of your class.

“What if it’s Rook?” Deuce queried.

Epel gagged at the idea, but you simply sat with it for a minute.

What if it was Rook?... No, definitely not. While you had been bantering more and more often, even borderline flirting really, there was no way. He had taken it upon himself to teach you archery, and walk you back to your dorm everyday after classes, and bring you dinner on nights where you were too occupied by your studies, and help you branch out in fashion, exploration, and… oh Great Sevens, it was Rook.

Noticing your sudden introspection, the first years slowly went quiet. As you fought to keep your cheeks from widening, Epel’s face looked aghast as he shouted “No!”

—

When the clock struck seven forty-five that night, you finished dusting off your outfit and left Ramshackle. As the poem said, lights outlined your path across the campus and through the forest. The little balls of light dissipated after you passed, most likely due to their magic origins. The woods near campus were truly beautiful – pines, oaks, ash, cedar, and even apple trees – created a lovely backdrop. As you got closer to the river, more lights appeared. The soft bubbling in unison with crickets enveloped you in nature’s music as your steps soon met various flowers that coexisted with the vast expanse of trees. A smile and ironic chuckle occurred on your lips as you realized they were the exact flowers from your bouquet.

“Thank you for joining me, ange.”

Your head turned to face the blond emerging from behind the large weeping willow bordering the river.

“Of course. It’s only fair that I come admire you as well.”

He winked before voicing, “You didn’t come see me out of duty.”

You chuckled lightly before replying, “No, I did not. I came to confess my affections for you… but I feel as though you already knew.”

He smirked and took your right hand, “What kind of hunter would I be if I didn’t?”

You followed him as he guided you to a small rowboat. He held your hand to provide support as you stepped in and sat down before sliding in across from you and grabbing the oars. He set a light pace as you traveled north, observing the various changes in your surroundings. While the silence was loving, you couldn’t help but ask a question drifting through your mind.

“I noticed you gave me moss rosebuds twice. Do they have a special meaning I am unaware of?”

“Indeed they do.” He began, focusing on you yet still rowing, “They represent confessions of love. Blue violets mean I will always be there, jonquils communicate a desire for affection returned, gardenias stand for secret love, and red roses are for your one and only love.”

With each addition to the list you felt giddy, and by the end like swooning.

Rook laughed at your visible reaction – something you decided was now one of your favorite sounds.

In two more rows, you arrived near the windmill. Beneath it was a perfect little picnic, set up with more magic lights and ravishing food. A large box also laid wrapped similarly to the one for your treats – minus the window. With your hands once again intertwined, you slowly approached the romantic setting.

When you sat down, Rook smiled brightly before handing you your gift box and saying, “Happy Sweetheart’s Day, ange.”

You eagerly unwrapped the Pomefiore-colored box and gasped at what was inside.

A breath-taking bow sat in red silk, it’s dark cherry wood a perfectly contrasting match. Patterns of nature were carved into the wood, and no matter how small the line or crevice they all appeared to have been sanded. Such a tenacious task done with so much care and tenderness brought forth strong emotions, and you found yourself thanking the hunter with a kiss. He seemed momentarily caught off guard before melting at your long awaited touch.

“I love it, Rook.”

“And I love you, Y/n.”

#coff writes for twst🍸#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst x yuu #twst x you #twst x y/n #twst rook #twst rook hunt #twst pomefiore #twisted wonderland x yuu #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland rook hunt

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spookyscarydemonbabe · 2 years

Text

C- Cum

A/N- For those of you who don’t know, this fic is part of a series of fics i’ve made based on my NSFW Alphabet for Eddie 🥰 i’m hoping to have one out every week, though that is subject to change based on how long or short the fic is.

Genre- Fluff, Smut

Warnings- Descriptions of piv sex (unprotected), mentions of pregnancy, reader has female anatomy

Tag List- @imagine-all-the-imagines @whiplaaaaaaaaash @ladyapplejackdnd @tayhar811 @wistfulwisteriawitch @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @zoeyquinn94 @eddiethesexy (crossed out names wouldn’t let me tag)

Words- 1.1k

It wasn’t often that you let Eddie go in raw, but whenever you did, god, it felt euphoric.

Yes, it did feel different than when you normally had sex with a condom, but what you loved the most was feeling so close to one another. Your bodies meshing together so perfectly that it always felt so much more intimate. He took his time with you, and he always made sure to be careful and hyper vigilant just in case he really couldn’t control himself with you. Though he had always wanted to cum inside and paint the inside of your walls with his seed, he would never do anything you weren’t comfortable with, especially when it came to sex.

There had always been the lingering fear of pregnancy, and though you were taking birth control still, he understood completely why you never let him cum inside. However, there was always other options.

He was always a gentleman whenever you had sex with no protection, making sure you always came first before he did, sometimes even multiple times just as his way of saying ‘thank you’ for letting him do something you weren’t always comfortable doing. Not to mention he loved the way you looked beneath him when you came.

Your high pitched whines and mewls, the way your legs tensed up around him and your toes curled, the way you always had the prettiest blush on your cheeks afterwards. You were like a work of art and he never wanted to stop admiring you.

And seeing Eddie after he came was your favorite way to see him.

The way his head tilted back, chest heaving, a few of his curls stuck to his shoulders and collarbone from the mixture of sweat and saliva that coated your bodies, and he always had a look in his eyes like he had been given the chance to be with a goddess that he wasn’t worthy of. But that’s exactly what it felt like to Eddie.

He was kneeled above you, his hands holding the backs of your knees as you laid beneath him, his hips slamming into yours and his pace was getting sloppier and more erratic as he came closer and closer to reaching his peak. Seeing you beneath him, your hair sprawled over his bed and your body moving with each thrust wasn’t doing much to help him last longer, especially with your hands gripping onto the pillow beneath your head to help keep you just the least bit stable on his mattress. God, he thought you looked heavenly, the sweat on your body glistening under the moonlight that creeped in through his window.

With a few final grunts, he slowly pulled out of you, using his hand in replacement of your cunt to finish himself off as he sat up between your legs.

“Where do you want it baby?”

Your chest was heaving as you caught your breath, eyes shut tightly as you tried to recollect yourself after your final orgasm pulsing through your veins.

“Wherever you want… Just be careful.”

You said quietly, relaxing yourself into his mattress, feeling his body shift to carefully move over you.

Eddie moved himself to straddle your waist, grunting a few times before letting out one final long groan as he came, thick ropes of cum painting your chest as you lay beneath him.

You jumped a bit at the sensation, not expecting it to be that quickly, and definitely not expecting for there to be that much. You slowly opened your eyes as Eddie moved himself off of you, laying at your side as you looked at the splotches on your chest.

You smiled seeing it start to dribble down as you slowly sat yourself up against his pillows, Eddie turning over to look at the mess he made onto you, though for some reason seeing you like that turned him on more than he expected.

Your chest was still slowly heaving as you caught your breath, your eyes glazed over with lust and a few strands of your hair stuck to your neck and forehead from the sweat that still lingered there. He didn’t even notice himself smiling as his eyes made their way to your breasts, shining under the pale light from his cum that painted your chest, slowly trickling down as you sat up, and he heard a gentle giggle escape your lips as you felt a few drops fall from your nipple onto your tummy.

“Fuck, you really made a mess.”

You sat up giggling, looking around for something to clean yourself off before Eddie slowly rose from his spot next to you, grabbing one of his dirty shirts from the floor,

“Oh no baby, i’m still a gentleman,” He smiled to you and slowly wiped away the mess on your chest with the dirty shirt in his hands, “and i couldn’t help it! I mean, fuck, have you seen yourself?”

One he had finished cleaning you off he placed slow, soft, open mouthed kisses onto your breasts before slowly moving up your chest, to your neck, and finally to your lips,

“Like an angel…”

You blushed and placed one more kiss onto his lips before he laid back next to you, his bare chest pressed to your back with his arms around your waist as he tossed the shirt in his hands back onto the floor, pulling his soft comforter over your exposed bodies. He placed one last kiss onto your shoulder as he brought you in close to him, keeping you held tightly against him like you were going to float away, and you could feel the gentle beating of his heart against you.

Your hand moved over his as it rested on your tummy and the image of your chest covered in his cum kept racing through your mind, the moonlight making your body shimmer as you laid there against his pillow, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm making your body shudder at the thought of how Eddie had made you cum not once, not twice, but three times in the span of only a half hour.

Though he sometimes got a little rough and a bit carried away with himself as pleasure took over, he always knew how to take care of you in all the right ways.

He was right, he was a gentleman.

You slowly turned your head to him with a smirk painted onto your lips,

“Cat nap, and then round 2?”

He smiled at you before placing a few kisses onto your shoulder,

“Absolutely sweetheart,” He laid his head back onto the pillow next to you, “but i want to hold you first.”

“Deal.” You said with a giggle before returning to your side, your back pressed against him and your ass playfully grinding over his cock, “But i want it on my back next time.”

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut

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softguarnere · 1 year

Note

Hi! An idea of something you could write, if you wanted to... George Luz x Reader, they’re really close friends who both want more and the rest of Easy Co notice this. Maybe it can include something to do with reader really liking his Rhode Island accent? It’s okay of course if you don’t want to write it though! Thank you :)

I Can't Stop Feelin', I Want Her Love

Or, 5 times that George wonders what exists between the two of you, plus the one time he knows for sure

George Luz x reader

A/N: Hi there, Anon! You sent this way back in January, but I've finally finished it 🤗 Thank you for your patience, and for the request - I hope you like it! Fic title comes from "She Wants Me (To Be Loved)" by The Happy Fits (This is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!) Warnings: smoking, mentions of war

One

The first time Luz sees you, it’s just a flash. Easy Company is running Currahee – again – and he’s got his eyes fixed firmly on the trail below him, careful not to let some sneaky tree root or loose rock send him sprawling onto the hard ground. He only looks up when the people in front of him migrate towards the right side of the trail as the heavy sound of footsteps approaches.

Easy Company can’t be blamed if they slow down a bit at the sight of the approaching group. In the few days since they arrived at Camp Toccoa, hardly anyone has seen the Parachute Regiment’s Women’s Division. Yet here they come, right down the mountain, with few of them bothering to send even so much as a passing glance at the men.

And there you come, your eyes fixed straight ahead. Your face set in a serious expression, George can’t help but picture you as the goddess of war. The thought has no sooner crossed his mind than you glance over at him – and smile.

His breath hitches in his throat. He returns the gesture, and then, in a split second, you’re gone as you and the rest of the Women’s Division pass. The only thing that stops George from turning to watch you go is that Captain Sobel is right behind him.

Out of sight does not equal out of mind. Your smile burns bright in his mind for the rest of the run. With it comes a question (Who was that?) and a determined thought (I’ve got to find out).

Two

And find out he does.

Several of the Easy Company men jokingly say that the day that the Women’s Division was absorbed by their company was the best day of their lives. When George says it, though, he’s being completely serious. Because that’s what brings you together.

“How do you expect to slay the Huns with dusty jump wings?” George asks in an imitation of Captain Sobel’s voice. Toye smiles, but George is more interested in the way that you press your lips together, trying to suppress a laugh. The effort doesn’t stop the smile that reaches your eyes, though.

“Oh, go on (Y/N),” he teases. “It’s okay to laugh. It’s not like he’s here.” And, more importantly, he wants to hear the laugh that he’s come to know so well since meeting you.

You shake your head, still smiling. “Luz, if I laugh it’ll only encourage you.”

“As if he needs it,” Toye mutters into his drink.

George takes a swipe at his friend’s arm. No malice in it, yet Luz tries for a serious expression. “Come on, Joe, you know you like my impressions.”

“I think everyone does.” You glance around the room full of paratroopers. “Or they seem to, anyway. The Captain Horton impression definitely won you some fans.”

Everyone. Does that include you? George is crafting together a sly sentence to ask when he notices Toye giving him an expectant look. He glances between Luz, who’s looking at you, and you, still gazing out at the room full of your fellow paratroopers.

What? George tries to ask with raised brows.

Toye only shrugs, expression inscrutable as always.

He doesn’t ask either of his questions. Knocking back his drink, he smiles and moves on.

Three

Meeting up with the others in the company after the jump is a weight off of George’s shoulders, but he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t the most relieved to see you.

You smack him on the shoulder as you approach, smile bright when he turns to face you. “Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

George cocks an eyebrow. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Hmmm, maybe. You look like someone I once knew, oh, about a lifetime ago, back in the States.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” He leans back against the concrete steps that other Easy men and women are lounging on. Opening his pack of cigarettes, he offers you one before placing his own between his lips and lighting it. “So, you come here often?”

Blowing smoke from the side of your mouth, you smile in a way that reminds him of a movie star.

This is a joke, George tells himself. A running gag. If only he could tell his heart that. Because you’ve got a mysterious look on your face that’s got him wondering what you’re going to say next –

“Je-sus Christ!” Guarnere sighs. Though he sounds frustrated, he laughs as he elbows Toye beside him. “Can these two kiss already?!”

Several paratroopers laugh. A few – mostly your fellow women – groan, telling him to mind his own business.

“What?” Bill, for his part, does seem genuinely confused as to where he’s gone wrong. “They’d be cute together.”

No duh, George thinks. He glances at you.

You’ve dropped the bit, though. Not looking at George any longer, you grind out your cigarette and strike up a conversation with the girl beside you instead.

The moment is gone.

Four

Jokes run dry in Bastogne. Luckily, smiles do not.

Despite it all, you somehow always seem to have a smile to pass in George’s direction. In those moments, it doesn’t matter if the frozen world of foxholes and artillery fire lacks blankets, food, and heating, because George is convinced that your grin could singlehandedly melt all the snow away and usher spring into the forest.

Today’s smile, though, doesn’t quite make it to your eyes.

You catch Luz’s eye in the miserable excuse for a chow line. He would usually smile back. He attempts to, at least. The corners of his mouth are heavy as he tries to lift them. The most he manages can only honestly be described as something of a grimace.

No one else is doing much smiling either, he notices. Ever since the night before, when Muck and Penkala . . .

That night, half asleep, when he feels someone drop down into the foxhole beside him, George sighs without opening his eyes.

“Lip, I said that I was okay to be left alone.”

“Well, Lip might let you get away with that weak excuse, but I won’t.”

George’s eyes snap open. The two of you stare at each other through the darkness that is settling over the forest.

“(Y/N)! I thought you were – “

“Sergeant Lipton? Yeah, I gathered as much.”

“What are you doing here?”

Upon entering Bastogne, it was made blatantly clear that fraternization would not be tolerated. More precisely, the explicit order was that male and female paratroopers were not meant to be sharing foxholes. For the most part, everyone has followed that order, or been willing to look the other way for those who haven’t followed this new rule. Yet here you are.

You shrug, like it’s nothing. “Didn’t think you should be out here alone. We don’t have to talk about it, or anything,” you’re quick to add. “I just – I wanted you to know that I’m here.”

Here carries more weight than your physical presence in this moment.

For the second time, George tries for a smile. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

You manage your own tightlipped smile. “Of course, Luz. You would do the same for me.”

He would. He’s glad you know that.

Five

Whatever higher power exists, They must be trying to make up for everything that happened in Bastogne. Having you placed on supply duty with George is definitely a start.

Things are different, for everyone, since coming out of the Ardennes. Whatever relationship exists between you and George – platonic or otherwise – feels altered, too. You’re seldom apart from each other. Jokes fly back and forth between you as you sort rations. Other paratroopers might exchange glances whenever they’re around the two of you, but no one makes any more comments about whatever it might be that the two of you have.

“Hey.”

Alone with you, George looks up from his clipboard, pen hovering over his list of provisions. You swing your dominant hand down and back, ready to toss something in an underhanded throw. George sets his clipboard aside just in time to catch whatever zips through the air.

A pristine Hershey bar. He gazes down at the wrapper in wonder.

“I thought that we were out of these?”

You shrug. “Don’t tell Liebgott.” Then, you go back to your sorting as if nothing has happened.

A girl who’s willing to break the fraternization rules of Bastogne, and who’s willing to sneak George one of the most coveted items from the rations? All for him?

If you both make it through the rest of this war, George decides, he’ll have to . . . To what, exactly?

Well, something. Once, way back in Toccoa, you said you liked the sound of his accent. Maybe he can convince you to move to Rhode Island with him and hear it all the time.

Wishful thinking. But later, when he catches you glancing over at him while he sorts through a new box of supplies, he amends that thought. Maybe not.

+ One

Winning a baseball game has never felt so good.

The other team doesn’t even really lose, as far as Easy Company is concerned. The war is over. They’re all going home. Everyone is a winner.

The obligatory shaking of hands and extolling of other players’ efforts breaks into all-out celebration. Wide smiles brighter than the afternoon sunshine warm the playing field. Men and women alike hug and talk a million miles an hour, planning for what comes next, planning for the rest of their lives – which suddenly span wide ahead of them, long, safe, and full of promise.

George’s smile only grows, if that’s even possible, when he sees you.

“Good game, (Y/L/N).” He offers you his hand to shake, trying to act goofily formal, just because he knows that it’s a voice that is sure to elicit a smile and a laugh from you; it always has before.

You smile, as expected, but take a firm grip on George’s hand, pulling him in for a tight hug instead.

The radioman’s brain takes a second to catch up to what’s happening. He’s only just started to melt into your embrace, to enjoy it, to realize that this is the first time you’ve ever done this, when you pull away all too soon.

It’s not the end, though. A gentle hand caresses the back of George’s neck. Your eyes close and you lean forward. Automatically, George does the same. Your lips collide. Thank God your eyes are closed, or you would see how pink his cheeks have turned.

“Finally!” Someone nearby cheers. Is it this that they’re talking about? Or the end of this long war?

When you pull back, you’re smiling wider than George has ever seen.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you admit breathlessly.

His heart trips over itself in his chest. Everything he considered back in Haguenau comes rushing back to him.

“Say, (Y/N),” George begins before he can stop himself. “Can I ask you a question?”

#george luz #george luz x reader #band of brothers #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers imagine #my writing

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