Potatothatcanwrite - Potatothatcanwrite - Tumblr Blog

Bewitched

˖⋆࿐໋ james logan howlett ✦ bridgerton au series

bewitched masterlist

cw: 1800s mentality on marriage and women, pinning, bickering, enemies to lovers

pairing: viscount!logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: as of right now, i'm not sure how long this series will be but i'm so excited for it! i tried to the reader as universal as possible but i did have to give her some sort of last name, so if that isn't your thing, you can always change it to fit. after the set up, i'll probably drop the last name.

bridgerton lore: ton (high society), debuting (when you begin dating/looking for a partner), spinster (an unmarried woman)

main masterlist

in early june, everyone returned back to england for this season and whispers of a french woman joining the ton spread around. one morning at breakfast, marie howlett was reading one of the gossip columns aloud to her family when her eldest brother, james walked into join them at the table.

"it says she's staying with her aunt, lady worthington. she is four and twenty and the only child. her passions are literature and painting. apparently, the queen has one of her paintings in her home..."

"she sounds lovely. doesn't she, james?" their mother said, hoping her boy was listening.

"she's a spinster." he says, eating some of the fruit on the table. "that's not viscountess material."

"the queen seems to find her to be diamond material." marie jabs.

james has never fallen for one of the diamonds. sure, their beauty is prominent and sometimes they can hold an intellectual conversation but for the most part they are simply shoved forward so the queen can take credit for their marriage.

"i have more important priorities this season."

"well, this season you should prioritize finding a viscountess." their mother bit at him.

during this time every year his mother gives james the same speech over and over again. the marriage speech. ever since his father died during battle, james has been plagued with not only his grief but also the weight of replacing his father and eventually having to find a replacement for his mother as well. instead of focusing on marriage, james kept himself busy either working or traveling and keeping his family afloat.

"mama, i promise i will find a wife at some point." james sighs. "i just haven't met anyone that can handle being my viscountess."

"what about the red headed girl from last season? you seemed to fancy her quite a bit."

"she married lord summers this past spring."

"and the munroe girl?"

"she's interested in mister brooks."

all his mother does is sigh in response to the news. he takes this as the perfect chance to escape the interrogation.

luckily for james, there was always an excuse to avoid marriage. in the past he's gotten close to making that walk down the aisle but something always held him back. he's never believed much in love or marriage past it's convenience. sure, he believed it was the blueprint of life, to take a wife and start a family but his marriage is seen as a much bigger deal.

all the mamas in the ton were practically throwing their daughters in his direction. at balls, he's always forcing marie to dance with him because if not, he will be forced to socialize with these young unintellectual girls who only value him for his money and title. james didn't want to have to nurture these girls. he would take care of his wife but he wanted someone who was independent from him.

ever since his father died in the war, james has always been guarded of his feelings. especially, when it came to love. when he went with his mother to identify his father's body, james swore on that day that he would never let love destroy him like it did his mother.

"remember, marie is debuting tonight at the first ball of the season." his mother called after him. "don't be late."

"i wouldn't miss it." he smiles at his little sister before dashing out the door and back to his study.

˖⋆࿐໋

a rainbow of silks are spread across your bed as you try to figure out what to wear tonight. if your mother was here, she would know exactly what would look best on you. it's only been three months since her passing yet the ache in your chest grows stronger day by day.

"what are you thinking of wearing tonight?" your aunt asks, lingering in the doorway.

"i'm not sure yet." you sigh, picking at the pretty gowns. "i like the light blue one."

arguably, it was the prettiest in the pile. so simple, you hoped to blend in among the wash of colors in the room tonight. the boning of the corset poked the left side of your ribs a little but beauty is pain.

as you got ready, the nerves started to kick in. by now you should be on your second or third child and pregnant with the next. why was love taking so long to find you?

ever since you were a little girl, you were a hopeless romantic. dreaming of your first kiss and getting married to your knight in shining armor. back home, there was a cruel joke that you were the girl before the wife. you get just close enough before they end it. afraid that the curse would travel with you.

"don't worry." you aunt hums, brushing your hair. "the queen picked you as her diamond for a reason."

"i know, i know." you nod, avoiding your reflection in the mirror. "i just wish mother was here with me."

"i do too, dear."

"she should've seen me married."

a small tear rolls down your pink painted cheeks. it feels like you let her down by not taking a husband before her illness got worse.

men have it so easy. there's no pressure from society put on them. you can marry at fifty to a nineteen year old if you so please because you know that they will marry you out of fear and desperation.

"who says she can't?" your aunts smile reflected in the mirror. "she's still looking down on you, probably working on sending you a lord or a duke for a husband as we speak."

"amusing." you giggle.

"imagine a viscount or a prince!"

both of you laugh at the possibility. viscounts and princes were usually swept up quickly in high society. all of them probably have pregnant wives by now.

"don't get too ahead of yourself."

˖⋆࿐໋

the queens ball was unlike anything you had ever seen. beautiful gardens, bright lights, and people gathered everywhere. inside the ballroom, the chandelier lights almost blind you.

like a hawk, lady chamberlain spots you two. she is an older lady and a close family friend. you haven't seen her since you were a little girl, surprised that she was able to recognize you.

"lady worthington and miss bowery, lovely to see you here!" the woman smiled, wrapping her arms around both of you.

"hello, lady chamberlain." you smile, feeling slightly at ease seeing a familiar face here.

"you look marvelous, sweetie." she smiles, taking in your appearance. at least someone appreciated all the bells and whistles that went into your dress for this evening. "truly like a diamond."

"thank you." you curtsy. a warm rose color rises to the surface of your cheeks at her compliment.

"let's go find that viscount i've told your aunt about." she says.

suddenly, she's pulling you and your aunt over to meet everyone.

quite some time has passed and yet you've only met barton's and a few lords. from one eligible bachelor to the next, it was the same process. you introduce yourself, dance, ask a bit about each other, jump into talks of marriage and children. it was all a bit overwhelming to say the least.

there's no news on a prince yet but lady chamberlain was holding out for a viscount while your aunt held out for a duke. meanwhile, you just needed someone with charm and charisma to save you from these godawful men of the ton.

"i'm going to get a drink." you announce, one the music ends.

in one of the dim corners of the room there was a refreshment table where you poured a hefty amount of wine into your glass and down as much of it –in a very unlady like manner– as you could before another person could find you.

it wasn't long until someone behind you clears their voice loudly.

"i was unaware that they taught women to drink like soldiers in france..."

you spin around quickly to face the man in front of you. he is gorgeous and... huge. dawned in white puffy shirt and a tight black vest with detailed buttons. he towered over you intimidatingly with a small smirk creeping on his lips from shocked expression.

"i-i deeply apologize, my lord. it was just grape juice." you laugh nervously, avoiding his piercing stare.

"hm..." he hums, lifting his hand up and letting his thumb swiftly glide under your lip to catch the bit of liquid there. you watch in awe as he licks the bit of wine off his thumb with a soft groan. "they must make 'grape juice' different in france."

never in your whole life have you been left so speechless. a gentleman has never done more so than touch your hand, let alone act so scandalous. with a satisfied smirk, the man walks away to join a small group of young women. thank goodness that no one seemed to have noticed.

"miss bowery!" lady chamberlain called after you. "i want you to come meet the howletts."

swiftly, you get back to her as she approach a mother and daughter. both of them were stunningly and wore expensive looking gowns with luxurious jewels. lady chamberlains wide smile only made you grow more anxious.

"meet lady howlett and her daughter, the honorable, marie howlett." lady chamberlain introduced.

"lovely to meet you." you say, bowing gracefully before them.

"where is viscount james?" lady chamberlain asks.

"oh! he should be around here somewhere..." the woman looked behind the two of you until she flagged someone down. “there he is!”

the moment that you looked up at the viscount, you feared your heart might explode right then and there. silently pray to the gods above that he won't mention your previous encounter.

"miss bowery, this is my son, viscount james logan howlett." lady howlett announces proudly.

"what a pleasure to meet you, miss bowery." james smirked, trying to get a rise out of you.

"as is it for me, my lord." you curtsy politely, feeling hot under his gaze.

a cloud of lust fogs james mind at the words, my lord fell from your pretty, slightly berry colored lips. the lower his eyes drift from your face, the tighter his trousers get. every exquisite curve is highlighted by the way that the silk fell on your frame, reminding him of the goddesses he had only seen in the finest of paintings.

"might you wish to accompany me to a dance?" he asks, extending his hand to you.

you nod, offering him your gloved hand in return.

the two of you make your way to the dance floor with everyone else. the orchestra begins and you quickly fall in sync with each other.

"how are you enjoying england?" james asks.

"it's quite lovely." you lie.

"better than france?" he questioned with a small tilt of his head.

"no." you giggle softly. "nowhere on earth is better than home."

"i suppose i cannot argue with that."

"have you journed to france?"

"once. when i was younger, i went with my father. he loved france."

"that's why my mother left england. she fell in love with my father when she visited france."

"they must be true romantics."

"oh, most definitely." you smile.

carefully, logan spins you twice. never letting you stumble over your own two feet like most men would.

"i truly am sorry for earlier, my lord. that was completely unacceptable for a–"

"it's alright, sweetheart." the viscount cut you off with a chuckle. "your secret is safe with me."

james looks down to see your big round eyes sparkle up at him with great appreciation. there's a unique feeling blooming deep in his chest that he can't quite put his finger on.

"i heard from some mamas that you are seeking to wed this season." you say, looking elsewhere as the two of you pull apart.

"seeking is such a complex word." he sighs amusingly.

"i imagine it would be difficult to find a future viscountess."

"you have no idea."

all around you, you can see the women openly fawning over the viscount. some fan themselves while other clutch their jewels with either anger at you or lust for him. any of those women would duel to be in your shoes right now.

"do you have a desire to be viscountess?" his question made your heartbeat increase, pounding in your chest.

as a young girl, you watched your family struggle in order to survive so it would be a lie to say that you don't dream of having a tittle. you have a father back in france to take care of in his elder age. but love was your main desire. you would marry a sweet common man as long as he loved you.

"i desire to be loved." you tell him.

the answer caught james off guard. the women of the ton had no issue telling him to his face that they want his tittle or money. none of those women actually cared about love.

"well, my darling, you are quite the fool to be seeking out something as pure as love in a place such as this." james says, pulling you so close that you can feel his heartbeat in his chest and his eyes darken.

"don't be so cock-sure, viscount howlett. i am no fool at all." you glare angrily up at him. "i wish you well on your journey to find such a bird-witted viscountess."

the song ends and you are quick to make an exit. hot on your heels, james follows you outside. perhaps you shouldn't have insulted the viscount to his face but you didn't quite care anymore. this night has been a bust and you aren't any closer to marriage then you were before walking in here.

"miss, bowery..." a man calls, capturing your attention. "would you accompany me to a dance?"

based on the man's appearance, he seems even more important that the viscount. he was definitely the opposite of james. this man wore light grey in places where james wore black. this man had a sweet smile where james had a scowl.

"her dance card is full." the voice behind you threatened.

the gentleman's face fell a little.

"actually, i have one last spot open on my dance card." you smile, showing him the tag tied to your right wrist which had exactly one spot open. "i would love to accompany you..."

"prince harrison." he grins.

you hum, offering your hand. the prince leans down and kissed your gloved fingers before sweeping you off to the dance floor again.

james fumed as he watched you walk away with the prince. lady howlett spots her son alone and walks over to him.

“please tell me that you did not scare off this seasons diamond, james.” lady howlett asked in a low whisper.

“i’m gonna call a carriage” he growls, annoyed.

“dear!”

his mother called after him but he couldn’t care to turn around and stay here any longer.

˖⋆࿐໋

on the carriage ride alone, james is stuck with the image of you. your beauty and the pain in your eyes when james called you a fool. oddly enough, james enjoyed the way you bit back at him. he just wishes that he hadn’t offended you.

apparently you must not be that hurt if you accepted a dance from harrison of all people. not because he wanted to court you but because harrison was barely considered a prince and was a poor excuse of a man. never having to lift a finger a day in his life. never knowing a single struggle. the prince was insufferable.

perhaps it was in james best interest to forget about the beautiful woman he met this evening. she is this seasons diamond after all, desired by too many. james wasn't known to chase the things he desired.

──★

tag list: @v3rdee @squishyfruitloop @caswithdasas2021 @espressopatronum454 @brittdead @fake-bleach @blossoming-hotch @hotbisexualmess @imaginecrushes @wh0re4steelblue-eyes @b0nes-n-all @tvdelrey @prettyoatmeal @speedyvoidlove @lunavelha @merrul @bubblegumholland @divinesols @seasonofthenerd @adoredire @gl0wingsl0wtown @imithicwolf @charityjoy22 @sun7lowxr @melsunshine @internetitgirl17 @tsumukei @dolliestprncess @st4rrlighttt @crypticcowboys @mirrorballpalo @princessanglophile @planetxella @battieshroomz @tonyhawkstits @shinyshayminflower @babey-fruit-bat @oraclic @glnnnhaps @criminaly-supernatural @pxrwinkle @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @tighrenicotine @midnightvitality @loonalockley @notbaldy420 @squishyfruitloop @summer-343 @reidshearts @marii-ren @fictionalmen-dilflover @brisingamenwearer @pedrohoe04 @taextannie @jrihensjd @tumharisakhi @readerofallthingss @etmoisara @paladinshenanigan-blog @hauntedwombateggmug @i-am-not-a-morning-person-83 @zaggprincess2 @atjlovverr @fallingfromjupiter @cards-and-daggers @reidsworld @imsuperbored @golden-ebony @joyfulpeanutsalad @mysticalmarvelousmagpie @thighridinglogan @pieuui @fanficcrow @alsoprettyinpink @rooroen @barbecuetiddy @potato-painter @milfhunter69sstuff @bel20blog @hypermarvellove @modicum-ofnothing @gemofthenight @laureniswolverine @d3ad2you @goldphish @mxtokko @ovohanna24 @i-voluntears @cherrypieyourface @petrichor-incorporation @csigirl3137 @justannie18 @yxtkiwiyxt @maddielovesurmom321 @madscape @mesopotamism @multifandom-boss-bitch @tecolote2755 @ririkacchi @crownofdecit @snow30285 @lenoradarkstriderr @willybillyletsgetsilly @sleepilysworld @mynatureworld @biiolumii @phantombaby @natlovesu @tumharisakhi @lokiswify @saph-cyare @burntsaltsblog @shedobeclownin @itsjuwulia @hazelwebster @cake-and-umbrellas @aureliusbrutus @loving-barnes @valorant-v @annagraceevanss @opheliaas-stuff @louisymomo @midnightvitality @ricespy123 @livingonsillylovesongs

CHAPTER VII.V (BONUS)

A Kili X OC fic

Previous chapter // Next chapter

Tw: Slight (playful) violence, literally that’s it

————————————————————————

Will someone please teach Bilbo to defend himself

As much as she hated being back, Rivendell held a certain magic to it. Even now, as cold midnight air flew over the gardens, it felt peaceful. The entirety of Middle-Earth could be at war and you wouldn’t be able to tell it from here.

She had returned to her chambers shortly after her talk with Kili, needing some time to cool off. Perhaps she had overreacted. He was right to question her, but part of her was reluctant to share too much about herself. Especially considering his kin was the one who had made her life the hell it was. But Kili did not deserve the anger she had directed towards another.

Farris had visited Raewyn’s balcony once before taking off for the rest of the night. This was customary for them. Owls were, after all, night animals.

Peaceful as it was, the Asha could not find rest that night. So much was wrong. She shouldn’t have left for the Shire, and she most certainly should not be here. Frustrations and doubt kept her off. She must have spent at least an hour tossing and turning before finally jumping off of her bed. Maybe a midnight walk would clear her mind.

It came as no surprise to her that most halls and gardens were deserted around this time. A handful of elves stood watch at the gates, but most of them had long returned to their chambers. Even the singing, laughing and belching of the dwarves could no longer be heard. Perhaps they finally decided they would need time to rest too.

As if it was natural, her feet led her to the main hall, where Elrond had led the company to the dining area only hours prior. It would always be a rare sight to see a hall as such completely void of life at night. Candles were still lit, but no voices nor music could be heard. No sound, but the soft patting of footsteps.

But not hers.

Turning towards the source of the noise, she found Bilbo entering the hall from the south entrance, across from her. A slight smile built on Raewyn’s face as she saw him.

“You should be sleeping.”

“As should you.”

She sniffled at that, turning around to face Bilbo. “Ranger,” She stated. “Never truly asleep.” 

He nodded at her words, staring around the room as if he was lost. Raewyn followed his eyes for a short second.

“What are you doing up?” She wondered. Bilbo didn’t answer her immediately. Instead, his eyes slowly met her, before wandering around again.

“I’ve been told of this place ever since I was a child,” He began. “Being here…it doesn’t feel real.”

She didn’t really have a response to that. She didn’t grow up on tales about kingdoms and houses, except for when it was of a concern to her family. She hadn’t even heard of Imladris until Gandalf had taken her there. She couldn’t place herself in Bilbo’s shoes. 

And thus, instead of faking sympathy and agreement, she turned back to her earlier path, looking behind her to nudge her friend. “Walk with me.”

Wordlessly, Bilbo followed, his mouth half open as he took in all the sights, no unoccupied by its inhabitants. Even in the dark, Rivendell managed to take his breath. Raewyn seemed to know her way around surprisingly well for someone  who claimed she had lived on the road. Then he recalled her earlier words.

“You grew up here?”

“No,” The Asha laughed gently. “Gandalf took me here after he took me in. He wanted me to stay, but I wouldn’t have it.”

His interest grew with every word she spoke. So when she halted over only two sentences, he wouldn’t have it: “How old were you?” “Too young to be on my own. Though, I didn’t think so at the time.” 

That managed to get a laugh out of Bilbo. Of course she’d be as stubborn as a child as she is now. Raewyn appreciated his humour. 

“My family raised me with important values. One of which; hierarchy is about control, not order. We didn’t take kindly to monarchs or rulers. You can imagine my disappointment when Gandalf took me to Rivendell and told me to address a stranger as ‘lord’.” 

As she spoke, Bilbo noticed a figure lingering above them, blending in with the night, though not enough to not let him know he was being watched. When he was about to comment on it, he noticed the creature swoop down into the tall grass below. Naturally, Farris was watching over her companion. 

“Is that why you didn’t want to be here?” He asked uncomfortably, trying to keep on subject. 

“I don’t like people telling me what to do.” 

Once more, he laughed.

“Don’t laugh!” She scolded with a smile, before resuming. “Gandalf has learned to adapt to it. We’re equals. We don’t expect the other to obey us. It’s based on mutual trust and respect. It’s why he can talk to me the way he does.”

“Ah,” The hobbit nodded. “And lord Elrond doesn’t?” “Elrond is a lord. It is expected you respect him, regardless of how well you know him.” 

She was correct, Bilbo’d give her that. It didn’t mean it wasn’t right, but he was wise to keep his words to himself.

“I’ll be fair, he gave a good effort for us to be friends, it simply felt forced.” Raewyn continued before her friend could say something stupid. “It felt false and almost degrading. I was treated as a child who just learned to speak her first words. I’m sure he didn’t - and still doesn’t - mean to sound like that, but conversations with him were too difficult for me. I couldn’t stay in a place where I had to walk on eggshells every time I engaged with an elf.” 

That, he could imagine. Once more, he simply nodded in understanding and intrigue. She took it as her sign to continue; “Gandalf took me with him on his travels only days later. We’d return from time to time, but only for brief stops. He knew I hated it here. As I said, mutual respect.”

A shrug came from her as she halted on one of the upper gardens, overlooking most of the elven kingdom. For a while, it was silent. Bilbo was still marvelling at the sight, whilst Raewyn was off in her thoughts. She didn’t come back down until her friend called her.

“Raewyn?” 

It was the first time she heard her true name from his mouth. She tried to conceal her surprise, but seemed to fail once Bilbo elaborated; “That’s your name, right? I heard lord Elrond call you that.”

“It is.” She spoke. “Tolmiró is a name to keep myself safe.”

He was trustworthy enough.

“It suits you.” He tried to compliment. She could see through him.

“What’s wrong, Bilbo?”

Hesitantly, Bilbo reached for the blade on his hip. “Gandalf gave me this.”

“Clever of him. You should be able to defend yourself.” Raewyn hummed, taking the shortsword from him and inspecting it.

“Yes, well, that’s the thing. I have never held a blade in my life. I don’t know how to wield it.”

“Easy, stick it with the pointy end.”

“Ha ha,” He scoffed as his weapon was returned. “Could you help?”

The two fell silent again. Bilbo almost shrank under the Asha’s contemplating look. Perhaps he was too weak to be taught. He was stupid to ask her.

“Your opponents will always be larger than you,” She suddenly cut through his doubts.

Furrowing his eyebrows together, he uttered a meek “alright”.

“Assume the worst. Assume someone twice your size. That way, it can never be too bad. Confidence is half your work. You should never wield a weapon in fear. Never.” She spoke her last words so firmly, he didn’t dare forget it, nor question it.

“You’ll make stupid decisions,” She informed nonetheless. “And you’ll likely die.”

“Noted.”

“Furthermore, your weapon isn’t an object. It’s your arm. When you’re holding this, you’re not holding a sword, you’re extending your arm. You cannot drop your arm.”

“That’s a charming metaphor.” Bilbo mumbled, swinging the blade loosely in his arm, away from Raewyn.

“Fighting is mostly done with mind and calculations. Stupid people rule, they don’t fight.” Again, not sure he agreed, but he could see it from her perspective.

“Drop the blade.”

“You just told me I can’t.” The hobbit squawked out.

“And now I’m telling you you can.” 

Before he could even try to sheathe his weapon, he found himself on the floor.

“Hey!”

“We’ll start with defence. Get back up.” Raewyn commanded. Bilbo left his weapon for what it was and pushed himself back on his feet. Then, before he could even realize it, he was back on the floor again.

“Stop it.” 

“Stop falling.”

A huff came from him as he looked up at the ranger, who was looming over him. “You’re stronger than me.”

“Assume the worst, Bilbo,” She reminded him. “You’re gonna defeat your enemy lying on the floor? Get up.”

Sighing, he got back up. He tried to steady his feet, but when rough hands pushed against his chest once more, he could do nothing but let gravity work its magic.

“Will you-“

“Up.”

“Stay back.” He begged, to which the ranger easily complied. Now having his room, the hobbit rose again.

And he fell again.

“Raewyn!”

“Up.”

She was smiling now. Only seconds ago he’d become excited once Raewyn offered him advice. Now, he truly wished he hadn’t asked.

Be that as it may, he carried himself up, shaking his arms lightly. It was futile of course. He was back down as quick as he’d gotten up

“Up.”

“Give me a second.” He huffed out.

Again, he rose and fell.

“Up.” 

This time, Bilbo didn’t comment, nor listen.

“Get back up.” Raewyn repeated, now more urgent.

“Will you just let me catch my breath?”

“Lesson one; don’t ever stop coming back up,” She scolded. “If you do, you’re dead. You get kicked down, you get back up. Always.” The urgency in her voice caught his attention. “Up.” 

And thus, with much reluctance, he stood back up. Raewyn stepped forward, her hands out, ready to shove him again. Only this time, Bilbo stepped aside, letting the ranger pass him. A satisfied ‘ah’ came from her, as if she had finally found a light switch.

Caught up in his victory, the hobbit didn’t see the foot swinging underneath his legs. Not until his back collided with the floor. Before she speak, he waved her off.

“Yeah, yeah. Up.”

Back on his feet, he repeated his tactic, succeeding once more. Then, he countered himself, trying to give Raewyn a shove. She easily dodged him.

“Defence, Bilbo. Not offence. If you do,” Her hands found his arm, bracing herself as she lifted the hobbit over her back and shoulder, onto the floor. “This happens.”

“Ow,”

“Up.”

“Am I gonna get any tips?” He sighed, heaving himself up.

“You’re clever enough.”

Shove, dodge, shove down again.

“You’re always the smaller fighter. Why?” She reminded him.

“Assume the worst.”

“Good,” She complimented. “Your stance won’t save you. Anyone could pick you up and throw you over their shoulder. It’s about dexterity, not strength. Don’t give them the chance to reach you.”

“So, your advice is run?”

“No.”

“What?”

Subconsciously, almost as if it had already become a habit, Bilbo found him back on his feet as he finished his question. He repeated the dodging, both of the shove and the tackle. When Raewyn reached out again, Bilbo duck down and ran to her other side.

“Like that.” She grinned.

“This is futile. We’ll keep doing this for hours.”

“Exactly.” Raewyn agreed. “The only thing you’re doing is dodging blows. I have to use strength to wield a weapon, advance towards you, miss, dislodge my weapon, and repeat the same procedure.”

And suddenly, the lights went on in his head. A tiny smile climbed atop his face as his eyes met Raewyn’s.

“I’m tiring you out.”

With new-found energy and determination, Bilbo and Raewyn managed to play this game for another hour, before the hobbit ultimately gave up in exhaustion. His freshly washed clothes were now covered with dirt and grass, whilst Raewyn still managed to look completely unscathed in her dress.

As compensation, she offered to walk him to his chambers. An offer he gladly accepted. Both out of companionship and because he had no idea where Raewyn had walked him to, nor where his chambers were.

“How do I hold my blade?” He asked, cutting through the silence. It was the question he had most wanted an answer too, but all she taught him was knowledge behind arms and how to not fall over.

“All in due time.” Raewyn answered honestly. “Once you can stand against me for an hour without falling, I’ll teach you.”

“An hour?” Bilbo repeated incredulously.

“Attacks need to be placed precisely. One miss and you’re at a disadvantage. Trust me, dodging and keeping on your feet is the best tactic you have now.”

“Raewyn, when will you train me?” He asked exasperately. “We’re constantly travelling.”

“Every day. Until our quest is over.”

“What if I have to fight tomorrow?”

“You won’t. Not while I’m around.” She returned quickly, halting her steps. At first, Bilbo thought he’d be getting his speech, but once he noticed the door, he realized they had arrived. “If you want to learn to use your blade now, ask someone else. This is what I was taught. This works.” 

Ah yes, habits, rituals, circles, conservatism - this was how he knew Raewyn. Part of him understood that she wanted to keep her methods to honour her clan, which was in one way beautiful. But it also made her more stubborn than all thirteen dwarves combined.

He respected it, though.

“Please, get some rest, Bilbo. Thorin will want to leave at first light.” She gently offered, placing a reassuring arm on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Raewyn. For this entire evening.”

She smiled at him, turning around with a brief wave as he opened the door.

“Any time.”

——

covetous

a/n: Jesus Maggie, you really called me out on my bullshit for this one. Originally I want this story to just be a bunch of sexy encounters in a morally questionable world, now we're talking about feelings and love and how the hell did we get here? (This is how I would imagine him the first time he sees his Girl) Please enjoy this un-beta'd, barely edited request. All mistake and errors are mine! please enjoy

Warnings; 18+ no minors, Marcus pov, vague but big-legal age gap, there's no actual sex, but memories of it, vulgar yet romantic musings, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance) he’s still pretty possessive, Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus - let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 1.1k (😅)

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series masterlist

War is easy. It’s a language he’s fluent in, something he excels in. He is blessed enough to have survived more battles that he could count and has been more than rewarded for his prowess. Battle plans, marches and military strategy are almost second nature, the fury, the heat of battle, all that he can anticipate and it’s probably the main reason he’s come this far in his life. 

Soldiers, camp life and brutality, those things are easy for him to understand.

Other matters, love, affection, attraction; these things are…harder. 

Physically, he’s perfectly adequate. He's never been ignorant to his looks, or his build. He knows that he fills the societal ideal for a man. He’s broad, he’s strong, he has a good face and no physical flaws.

He’s never been short of attention from the fairer sex either but that doesn’t mean anything as far as he’s concerned. He’s had his trysts, and he thinks he might have even been in love before but his luck seems to stop, and stay within his vocation. 

In his younger days, he’d broken his fair share of hearts, he’d been gifted the virtue of many a virgin in hopes of tempting him into a marriage. None of them had held his attention for more than that one night, and sometimes, in the late hours wherever he found his rest he secretly feared the Gods might be punishing him. Withholding the partner he hopes to find as payment for those broken hearts left in his wake. 

As he grew older, wiser and more practical he learned to ignore that little emptiness. He saw it more as a blessing. Would he be where he was now with a woman waiting for him? Would he have hit his station with children bearing his name pulling at his thoughts in the middle of battle? Perhaps the Gods had simply made a trade. His life, or his heart. 

He’d been content with his lot in life, until he’d seen her. 

She’d served at a gathering he’d been loath to attend. His eyes tracked her, the shine of her hair, the curve of her hip, her pretty smile. Her eyes had locked with his for half a heartbeat and he’d felt it in his belly. A rolling, like waves in a stormy ocean. 

She’d gone about her business, efficiently fulfilling her duties while the guests all spoke animatedly around him. He’d joined in after reigning in his reaction, but she’d taken every ounce of his attention with her. 

He’d negotiated her purchase the next day. 

-

She was quick. She learned everything faster than a lot of the others in his service, and she seemed to anticipate his needs before he spoke them. Most of the time, he barely needed to say anything at all, and so he kept quiet. Kept his thoughts, and his feelings to himself. 

His biggest need though, was her. He wanted her bad enough to hurt, to ache.

He was well aware of the practices in other houses. Slaves were there to obey, and in most houses that meant obeying with work, and with their bodies. He saw no issue in this, it was the way of the world. No matter how badly he wanted her though, he couldn’t make himself order her to spread her legs for him. Maybe it was a foolish, childish thing but he wanted her to crave it just as he did. He wanted her wet, he wanted her begging for him, he wanted to see pleasure and lust on her pretty face. 

He wanted her to want him. 

A year passed, and every second in her presence was exquisite torture. A torture he submitted himself to freely and with a perverse pleasure. It was a test of endurance, until the fateful night she’d come to him with her wet tunic, all of her body on display through the sheer fabric. The shadow of her cunt had sent him into a frenzy and when she’d come back and caught him fucking his fist he’d thought it was just another form of punishment. 

It was that look on her face though, that heavy lidded, open mouthed way she stared at him, nipples hardening that had finally made him crack. 

That first night he’d taken her, he’d stayed up in his bed, almost blinded with want. Her body had not alleviated the craving for her, if anything, it’d only made it worse. He’d replayed their encounter over and over, obsessed with the taste of her on his fingers, obsessed with the feel of her lips on his. From then on, she’d only cemented her hold on him. Her quiet obedience, her subtle seduction, the way she’d managed to scrape the shape of herself onto his brain.

She’d made herself the figurehead in his mind, the holy place at which he prayed, the Goddess he served. If he could, he’d light a thousand candles at the altar of her cunt, and pray to them daily.

He fought harder to return to her, he took note of her wants, of her preferences, and made sure to cater to her, despite no one in the house, not even her realizing. He dismissed the younger boys that lusted after her, he was covetous of her to the point of violence. A small smile from her could dictate his mood. The thought of her in pain made him feel like some feral wolf caught in a trap, ready and willing to chew part of himself away to reach her. 

Sometimes, after he’d spilled inside her, he’d let her fall asleep in his bed and relish the way she clung to him in her sleep. It was a double edged sword though, their stations in this life. A part of him fears that her want is only an act, a way to endear herself to him, her Dominus. A foundation to earn her freedom, or coin, or influence through him but then he sees the shy way she smiles at him and his fears are silenced to nothing. 

She cannot fake the way she flutters around his cock, she cannot pretend to feel nothing, not when he sees the same jealousy he feels shining through her eyes at the mention of the mostly political proposals he’s denied. The things she says, the way she takes her pleasure from him, all of these things only compound his delusions that just maybe, she feels for him a fraction of what he feels for her. 

It’s a sort of madness, truly, how that part of him that was the perpetual soldier had in so many respects switched their roles, had given her a control–a power he was sure she didn’t realize she had. 

He was sick with want for her, ravenous, and yet unable to soften himself in a way that would make her see the truth, make her see just how much she truly meant to him. He couldn’t make himself show her, that whatever she asked of him, he’d do with a smile.

For now at least. 

- Tag list: @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi  @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed  @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy @mymindfuckery @its-nebuleuse @missladym1981 @inept-the-magnificent @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ladyofmidlo72 @greenvita @honey-on-your-tongue @ladylovesloki @alexiamargot06 @purple-fig @picketniffler @somedayheaven @flw3rrr

Fandom is so different now and it’s becoming un-fun with how quickly shit moves.

I just want to enjoy things. I don’t want to have to play a game of Artist-Race that seems to be afoot lately.

Ya’ll eat up fandoms, leave artists and writers bone dry and then move on so fucking quickly then fucking wonder where all the Good Fandom Stuff is.

Idk Maybe cherish some things for longer. Reblog stuff. Interact with people. Comment and share.

Fandom is Capitalism now and I’m not being nuanced.

˖⋆࿐໋ james logan howlett ✦ bridgerton au series

➳❥ summary: viscount howlett doesn't believe in marriage past its convenience. all his life, he's never felt the need to take a wife. far too consumed in his own desires to care for someone else's as well. it's not until his youngest sister, marie meets this seasons diamond, a young ambitious woman from france. does she have the ability to change the viscount's thoughts on marriage? or will he let the diamond slip through his fingers?

➳❥ cw: 1800s mindset on marriage and women, slight age gap (five years), flirting, logan being a bit of an ass, eventual smut. *i'll update the warnings as the story is written.

➳❥ coming soon! comment if you would like to be tagged when posted.

every mutual who wants to delete their blog should ask for my permission to deactivate and id take 3 business days to analyze their request and id always say no. i hope staff starts considering this improvement

"do you wanna add tags?" No tumblr, I wish for my words to be seen only by the mold in my walls and the dust bunnies I have yet to clean up