Over The Garden Wall - Chapter Ten

Over the Garden Wall - Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten - Tricked by the Past

A.N.: ...I did warn you all that this fic would be heavy, right? I'm pretty sure I did.

Title is from Spectre by Radiohead

Benedict Bridgerton Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Warnings: depression; forced medicating; not eating; anxiety; fit; panic attack; kind of a physical fight?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 4.0k

As always, 18+ Minors DNI!

Benedict rode home with a smile on his face. He could not stifle it no matter how hard he tried. He knew there would be questions the second he stepped foot back into Bridgerton House, but he knew he could side step them if need be. 

He expected to be accosted the moment he entered, but that was not the case. There was a rather somber feeling in the house. Something felt wrong. 

He stepped into the drawing room to see his family pacing around, his mother talking to Mrs. Wilson about flowers.

“What has happened?” he wondered from the doorway.

Violet’s eyes widened. “Benedict, where have you been?” 

“Out,” he said with a shrug. “All is well. With me, at least. What has happened here?”

“Oh,” Violet said, placing her head on her forehead. “Miss Kate Sharma has had a terrible accident. She was out riding and fell from her horse. Thankfully, Anthony was there. He might have just saved her life.”

Benedict’s eyes widened as he looked around the sullen room. Eloise was slumped on the chair. That was when he remembered what had happened at the ball the night before. He had pushed it out of his mind the second that Marietta had arrived with the letter. Eloise seemed rather dejected. 

“Will she be alright?” he asked.

“The doctors think so,” Violet said with a nod. She walked over to Benedict and spoke softly. “Would you please check on your brother? He seems…quite shaken by the turn of events.”

“Yes, of course,” Benedict nodded.

“And after, we will be having a discussion about what exactly that was last night.”

Benedict’s lips tightened and he nodded. Finding his way out of the drawing room, he knew that Anthony would be in only one place. The study. Benedict never went in there unless he had to. The image of their father’s portrait looming over them was always a bit too much for him. 

He cleared his throat and knocked on the door. There was a choked, “Enter,” so Benedict pushed open the door. Anthony sat in the chair behind the desk, his fingers pressed to his temples. “You’ve returned,” he said quietly.

“I heard,” Benedict said, walking in. He shut the door behind him and made his way in, avoiding the burning gaze of their father’s portrait. “How…are you?” he wondered. Benedict plopped down in the chair opposite the desk and watched Anthony as he scrambled for what to say. 

“I am fine, Brother,” Anthony said with a sigh. “It is Miss Sharma with whom my worries lie.”

Benedict nodded. “Mother says that she will recover.”

“Yes,” Anthony breathed. He cleared his throat. “She…I hope she will.”

“Brother…” Benedict said, leaning forward. “I know we have not spoken much this season, but I see that something is troubling you. It has been since well before the wedding. You…love her…don’t you?”

Anthony pursed his lips and turned his head. He had not yet even looked at Benedict, almost like his emotions were so raw that he knew one look would be the end of him. He took a shuddering breath. “Where were you last night?” Anthony wondered.

“Brother, we are talking about you right now,” Benedict said.

Anthony sighed heavily and finally looked in his brother’s eyes. What Benedict saw there was an anguish he had not seen since their father’s death. It stopped Benedict’s heart for a moment. “I do not know what else to say,” Anthony replied with a shrug. “I do not know what to do.” His bottom lip trembled and he looked away again. 

“Be there for her,” Benedict said as though it was the easiest thing in the world. “If you truly love her then…the opinions of others should not matter.” Anthony looked at his brother, seeing something else in his eyes. “If people oppose it, then they simply do not understand what it is like to love someone so deeply that you will never shy away from them. That you will never let anything or anyone come between you.”

“That is how you feel about your woman, then…” Anthony said. “I see it in your eyes.”

Benedict nodded. “That and more.”

Anthony sighed and leaned forward. “I know that there are…expectations, Brother. But that does not mean we, as a family, will stand in the way of you marrying anyone you wish. Mother wishes love matches for us all.”

“So you will finally admit that you love her, then? Miss Sharma.”

Anthony sighed. “If you will admit that you love this woman.”

“I have never said anything to the contrary,” Benedict responded. “And while I do appreciate your support and understand your position, I must say that my…situation…is a bit more complicated than you might believe.”

“She is not with child, is she?” he asked, panicked.

“No! No,” Benedict said quickly. He cleared his throat. “No.”

“Good,” Anthony replied with a relieved sigh. “That would be another matter altogether, one I do not believe I have the temperament to handle currently.”

“Do not worry, I am handling it all on my own. I have to.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed. “I have never known you to keep such secrets, Benedict. You are usually more open and honest. Brutally so, in fact.”

“I hope that one day, after we marry…I will be able to tell you. She will tell you herself if she so wishes.”

“So you are engaged?” Anthony asked, his eyebrows flicking up.

“Not in so many words,” Benedict responded. “But in all things less concrete, yes…I have promised myself to her and her to me. Though, there are a few…” he trailed off with a laugh. “Obstacles to surpass.”

Anthony nodded and sat back. He was silent for a moment before he spoke in a quiet voice. “Is it worth it?” He turned to see Benedict’s questioning gaze. “Loving someone so deeply that you are terrified of losing them. Is it worth throwing caution to the wind?”

“Yes,” Benedict responded with ease. “Every day makes it worth it.”

Anthony gave him a tight smile. “Mother was worried when you did not return home,” he said. “We were all quite…confused.”

“I am sure,” Benedict said. “Though, as I said, there is not much I can tell you. All I can say is that…she is fine. I am fine. We are happy. As happy as we can be whilst still not married.”

“I hope to meet her one day soon,” Anthony said.

The smile that broke out on Benedict’s face made one grow on Anthony’s. “You will love her. The whole family will. She is an amazing artist. A brilliant mind.”

“An artist,” Anthony hummed. “I must say, I never expected you to fall in love with an artist.” His words were sarcastic, of course, making Benedict chuckle. “Is there anything I can do to rectify your situation?” he wondered. “I need to…do something. To get my mind off of everything.”

“No,” Benedict responded honestly. “As I said, it is complicated.”

“More complicated than being left at the altar by the sister of the woman you are in love with?” Anthony said.

Benedict laughed. “Was that a joke, Anthony? God, will wonders never cease.” Benedict’s laugh forced one out of Anthony. They sat there for a few minutes, heads in their hands, trying to quell their laughter. 

“Yes, though,” Benedict said, finally answering his brother’s question. “It is more complicated.”

“Good God.”

----------

Y/N sat in her room at Kew Palace, as she did almost every day. Still, she was only ever allowed to leave for meals or, on the off chance that her father requested her, she was allowed in the observatory.

It seemed that nothing had changed since Benedict left. Everything went back to normal. 

Her father would ask her about “Farmer Ben” during meals, but she rarely had any updates. They were few and far between because, according to Benedict, his family was going through something. Or, at least, Anthony was. Y/N did not fault any of them for that. In fact, she admired Benedict for standing by his brother through everything. Hearing the news of Miss Sharma’s accident did frighten Y/N. It surprised her that Anthony’s reaction was so strong. Benedict said that Anthony was actually in love with her and not Miss Edwina. 

That was a piece of gossip she knew better than to share with her father. 

Besides that, their correspondences focused solely on proclamations of love and plans for the future. She had promised him that she would speak to her mother as soon as she was able. The Queen seemed rather busy. Or rather reluctant. Y/N really did not know which it was, nor did she care to discover the true answer lest it hurt her heart. 

“Your mother should be visiting tomorrow,” The King said. That pulled the princess out of her haze. She smiled widely at her father. “We shall speak to her.”

Y/N's smile never faltered. “Thank you, Father. Oh, I must write to Benedict.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Her chair was pulled out for her and she ran out of the dining hall and through the halls of Kew Palace. She had finally been given some parchment and quills at the behest of her father, so she knew they would be waiting there. She was actually happy to find that her bedroom was blissfully empty. She ran to her desk and immediately started to pen the letter.

My love, 

Father has informed me that Mother is to join us at Kew Palace tomorrow. He is hopeful that he can convince her. It is all he talks about at meals these days. In between talks of the planets and the stars, it is always Farmer Ben. 

I fear you shall never get rid of that name now that he has branded you with it. 

His Royal Highness, Farmer Ben does have quite a nice ring to it. 

Have you thought about that? It just crossed my mind. When we marry, you will technically be a prince. That shall be quite fun to tell your siblings. 

I cannot stop dreaming of it. Our wedding. I had never been one to dream of such things before. As a child, perhaps I did imagine myself walking down an aisle toward some faceless man, but after everything, that dream vanished.

I fear it has returned tenfold. 

Although, I think I would rather enjoy a quieter wedding, that will not be possible seeing as how royalty is. I fear it shall be grand and opulent and gilded and obnoxious yet no less wonderful. For now when I picture myself walking down the aisle, I see you at the end of it. 

That is enough to keep me happy for years to come.

I will send word as soon as I speak to Mother. Please, keep me in your thoughts. I have doubts that she will be amenable. I do have hope still.

I love you so much. 

Yours,

Y/N

She sealed the letter with a ruby colored wax, actually meaning it this time, and ran out of her room. She was determined to send the letter out with the nightly post. She knew she had little time seeing how correspondence left right after dinner. She had to make it in time.

Y/N skirted down the halls with the letter in her hands. She jerked to a stop when Mrs. Willoughby rounded the corner. 

“Your Royal Highness,” she said with a curtsy that contained little feeling other than contempt. 

“Mrs. Willoughby,” the princess responded, tasting blood in her mouth. She tried to move around the woman in the middle of the hallway, but the space was tight. It was filled with paintings and stools and suits of armor. 

Mrs. Willoughby narrowed her eyes. “What is that in your hands, Your Royal Highness?”

“Nothing,” Y/N said, quickly putting the letter behind her back. 

“Your Royal Highness, I hope you are aware that Her Majesty, The Queen has forbidden you from sending and receiving letters.”

“I am aware,” Y/N responded. “It is simply a note for my father.”

“Then you will not mind if I read it.”

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise. Not only was this the longest conversation she had ever had with Mrs. Willoughby, she was also surprised at the woman’s tone. No one, outside of her mother, had ever spoken to her in such a way. 

“I do not believe that will be necessary,” Y/N said. She felt her hands start to shake and tried with everything that she could to force it back. This was not the time. It was the worst time, in fact. 

“I must insist,” Mrs. Willoughby said. Her hand reached out and Y/N jerked back. “Your Royal Highness—”

“Exactly,” the princess hissed. “I am Princess Y/N. You will not tell me what to do.” She took a shuddering breath, the force behind her words lost in the sinking feeling of her chest. She stumbled back, hitting the wall, rattling the picture frame.

“Your Royal Highness,” Mrs. Willoughby said in a harsh voice. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pursed. Y/N thought she looked like a bird. She reached behind the princess again to grab the letter.

“No!” Y/N shouted. She turned on her heel and started to run, but her vision was growing spotty and blurred. The lights started to streak and turn. She stumbled to the side when she felt a hand on her. “Stop!” Y/N shouted.

“Your Royal Highness!” Mrs. Willoughby shouted back. “You will give me this letter!”

“I w-will n-not!” she responded. Y.N took a deep breath, trying to move away. “No, no, no,” she whimpered. “Please…” Mrs. Willoughby grabbed the letter and Y/N lashed out. Before she could even stop herself, she was swiping her hand in the air, not really knowing what she was doing until she connected with skin. The fear inside her increased tenfold as she looked at Mrs. Willoughby, seeing scratch marks on her face.

The woman stumbled back, grabbing her face. Y/N noticed that she had somehow still gotten the letter. She made her way for it, but tripped over the edge of the rug, tumbling to the ground. 

“G-Give…” she said, trying to take a breath. The breath rattled in her chest. She could almost hear it. She turned over, trying to pull herself to the wall, but her shaking limbs made it almost impossible. 

Then she tasted the bitter liquid. 

Y/N had no idea how it had happened. She knew that time stopped making sense the moment her hands started to shake. Hours could pass in a matter of seconds and she would not know. 

The world started to turn, her head started to throb. Through her blurred vision, she saw Mrs. Willoughby opening the letter.

“Stop,” she tried to say. She was not really sure if her lips had even moved. Her eyes weren't open anymore, she knew that. At least, she thought she did. Right before she succumbed to the darkness, she thought she felt someone grabbing her, but she couldn’t be sure. 

She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. 

----------

“This is most improper, Mr. Bridgerton,” Marietta said as she stepped into the back entrance of the house. Benedict stood in the middle of the small courtyard surrounded by discarded pails of water and broken farming equipment. “My mother will think poorly of me.”

“I apologize, Marietta, it simply could not wait.” 

He had been filled with anxiety all day. Well, he had been for the past few days in fact. Ever since the letters stopped. He still had Marietta’s address from the letter and decided to take a carriage out there. It was a bit outside of London. 

“Is it the princess?” she wondered. “I thought…from your letter…that all was well?” she said it with hope in her voice. Hope that was almost completely clouded by worry.

“It was,” Benedict said, his jaw tight. “It was. I saw her that night and I met The King.” Marietta’s eyes widened. “He seems rather open to our relationship, in fact. However…We have been writing back and forth since I came back to London. We are trying to figure out a way to convince her mother—”

“Her Majesty—” Marietta corrected. 

“Her mother,” Benedict countered. “We are trying to find a way to convince her to allow us to marry. The King has said that he will help. The last thing I heard was that they were figuring out exactly what to say but that there had not yet been any plans for The Queen to visit.”

“How long ago was this?” Marietta wondered.

“Three days,” Benedict said. “It is not abnormal for there to be a day or so in between letters. I understand if she is not feeling alright. But…Marietta, I am worried.”

Marietta took a shaky breath and nodded. “I understand,” she said. “Although she is plagued by these fits, they rarely last longer than a day. The majority of that time is just spent recovering.” She turned back to the door behind her, wondering if her mother was listening to the conversation, then turned back to Benedict. She took a step forward and ushered him to the other side of the courtyard. He followed with ease. “I have not since found a job, Mr. Bridgerton. I have no access to other servants in the royal households.”

“What about Reynolds?” Benedict wondered. “Was he not the one to write you that letter?”

“If letters from you are not coming through then surely letters from me will not either,” she said. She crossed her arms and sighed. 

“Do you think something is wrong with her?” he asked in a quiet voice. Marietta looked up to see the pure dread in his eyes. Dread that she, herself, felt. 

“I…” Marietta started, then stopped. She did not know exactly what to say. She did not know the truth or if she should tell Benedict her fears or keep them to herself. “Her Majesty is intent on keeping Y/N a secret. You now know…everything. That puts you in danger.”

“I do not care,” Benedict said. “I love her, I would do anything for her.”

“Even risk hanging?” Marietta asked. “Beheading even, if Her Majesty sees this as treason.”

“I would risk anything.”

“Benedict,” she said. He looked at her, wide eyed, surprised at her use of his first name. He knew that this was serious. “I know that you two love each other. Believe me, I have heard nothing other than talk of you for months. But this is putting you and your family at risk. This puts Y/N at risk. Do you think isolation in Kew is the worst place for her? Her Majesty has threatened to send her to Bedlam in the past.”

“I will not let that happen,” he said through clenched teeth. “I will not.”

“You may not have a choice,” she said. “I wish this for you both. Truly, I do. The princess deserves nothing but happiness. Happiness that she has only ever found in you. But I cannot sit by and be silent while her life hangs in the balance.”

“You care for her more than I would think from a lady’s maid,” Benedict said.

“Well, you have not known many lady’s maids, then. But, yes, Y/N and I are very close. Despite our disparity, we are friends, I think. Were friends.”

“Then as her friend, what do you suggest I do?” he asked pleadingly. “I do not want anything to happen to her nor my family. But I refuse to let her disappear.”

Marietta took a shuddering breath. “I will see what I can find out. Carefully. I will write to you if I hear anything. But…Mr. Bridgerton…You cannot go to The Queen.” He looked surprised. “I see it in your eyes, that same defiance that the princess has when she stands up to her mother. Her Majesty is her mother, you are simply her subject.” 

Benedict took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. I cannot promise that I will not do anything though. I cannot sit still and wait.”

“I know,” Marietta said with a nod. “I understand.”

He gave her one last tight smile and went on his way. After he closed the gate to the courtyard behind him, Marietta ran her hands over her face. She looked up at the sun shining bright in the sky and glared at it. 

----------

Everything in that room was limp and lifeless. There were no paintings on the stained white walls. The door was old, the paint chipped. The handle and hinges were rusted. The window looked out over a green field, nowhere to run for miles. 

The bed was small, metal, and it creaked with every movement. There was one singular wooden chair. 

That was all. 

Y/N stared at the patterns the light created on the white walls, her mind not completely there anymore. There was a cup of water next to her, but it had been left untouched for days. At least, she thought it had been days. The sun rose and set. Yet, she was still there.

Time meant nothing anymore. 

Her eyes fluttered shut as she tried to keep her breathing focused. But there was nothing for it. No one came to visit her. No one wrote. No one called on her. She didn’t even know where she was.

At first, she had tried to figure out where the field was. It seemed familiar, but her mind was too addled from the medication Mrs. Willoughby continued to give her. Gone was the useless Balm of Gilead. It had been replaced by something much more sinister. Something that she used to scream and fight against. Something that had only ever been used as a last resort. 

She knew that it was probably around sunset, because the light that shone in from the window was orange. It plastered itself on the white wall beside Y/N's rickety bed. She would crawl on the ground and pull herself against the wall beneath the window, using whatever strength she had left. 

If she positioned her hands just right, images would appear on the wall. Her father had done that when she was younger. Shadow puppets, he called them. Though, his stories were much nicer than the ones Y/N's brain supplied at that moment. 

A rabbit hopped along, enjoying its life, until a wolf came and swallowed it whole. The wolf spat the rabbit out, not liking its taste. The wolf toyed with the rabbit. The wolf let the rabbit run as fast as its little legs could take it, but the wolf ran faster. The rabbit’s head start meant nothing. Then the wolf would grasp the rabbit by its ears and tug it back to the starting line. 

The game continued over and over again until the wolf had enough. Then the wolf, hungry after its day of play, would eat the rabbit once again, suffering through the taste. 

She stayed that way until the sun disappeared. Then the room was shrouded in blue. Y/N liked blue. It reminded her of the sky, it reminded her of the vests that Benedict sometimes wore, it reminded her of his eyes. She missed his eyes. She missed everything about him. 

Just as her thoughts turned fully to Benedict, the door opened. 

Mrs. Willoughby came in with a tray of food. She set it down on the chair and walked over to Y/N who was still seated on the floor. The princess did not fight anymore. Instead, she tilted her head back and stuck her tongue out in an exaggerated motion. She did not shy away from the bitter taste of the medication. 

Mrs. Willoughby was silent. She seemed content with this situation. Of course, she was. The door closed before Y/N could even have another thought. 

It was useless to bring her food because after she had taken the medicine she had perhaps thirty seconds to make it to the bed before the darkness took her. 

More often than not, she did not move. She allowed the darkness to take her right on the floor, right under that window, the room still shrouded in blue.

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

A.N.: so like..I'm sorry?? I love angst!!

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist

Love always,

Alma xx

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Over the Garden Wall - Chapter Four

Chapter Four - As the Poets Say

A.N.: Heyyyyy so this chapter is mostly to move forward the timeline so you'll recognize a lot of the scenes and dialogue from the show. I wanted to change some of it but, to be honest, I cannot do a better job than the writers.

Yes, the title is a reference to Song of Achilles

Benedict Bridgerton Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Warnings: none? I think?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

As always, 18+ Minors DNI!

Y/N started to get herself ready the next morning, knowing that it was a bit earlier than normal. She was filled with a nervous excitement after the night before. She continued taking deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. 

The door opened and Marietta walked in, hiding something behind her back.

“Good morning, Princess,” she said as she walked over. With a dramatic curtsy, Marietta presented the princess with a folded pamphlet. She looked at it curiously for a moment, then turned her head to read the print.

“Oh!” Y/N gasped. “How did you get this?” she wondered as she took that morning’s copy of Lady Whistledown. 

“I am a lady’s maid, Your Royal Highness,” Marietta responded with a twinkle in her eye. She ushered Y/N over to the vanity to start on her hair as the princess started to read the society paper. “Read it aloud, I have yet to look at it.”

Y/N nodded and cleared her throat. “‘While this author finds Miss Edwina Sharma to be an exceptional young lady, it is about time I used these pages of record for something else: a shift.’” Y/N caught Marietta’s eyes in the mirror, they shared the same look of intrigue. “‘Is the entire practice of naming a diamond not, well, rather ridiculous?’ Oh, this is magnificent,” the princess chuckled. “‘Should a woman not be valued for so much more than her dancing or comportment? Should we not value a woman instead for her candor, her character, her true accomplishments?’ Whoever this woman is, she has a beautiful mind.” Her eyes widened as she started to read the next sentence. “‘Perhaps, if The Queen abandoned this absurdity that is The Diamond, we would all see that a woman can be so much more. That she can, truly, sparkle from within.’”

Y/N set down the paper and looked at Marietta. “Oh, Her Majesty will not like this,” Marietta commented.

“No, not at all,” Y/N agreed, though she could not hide the huff of a laugh in her voice. 

That was how it went for a couple of days—Marietta would come in to Y/N's room with the latest Whistledown and they would read it together. It drew them closer as friends. Y/N had always seen Marietta as someone who she was close to, but never a friend. There was a disparity of power between them. The princess tried not to use her standing as much as possible, she wanted them to be equals. 

Marietta sat on the armchair as Y/N paced, reading the latest copy. “‘Dearest reader. It has been said that competition is an opportunity for us to rise and stand ready before our greatest of challenges. Well, if what this author hears this morning is true, then a great challenge concerning this season’s diamond has been set forth indeed. Any suitor wishing to gain an audience with Miss Edwina Sharma must first tame the rather prickly spinster of a beast otherwise known as her sister—’ Oh, that is terrible,” Y/N commented. “Are we quite sure this Whistledown is a good person? I cannot decide if the way she casts aspersions at the members of the ton is entertaining or rather cruel?”

“Perhaps, both?” Marietta wondered. “From what I have heard, she speaks nothing but the truth.”

“I wonder what she’d say about me,” Y/N wondered.

Marietta’s eyes widened for only a moment. “If you know what is good for you, we shall never find out. Now, keep reading.”

Y/N clicked her tongue, but did as requested. “‘Of course, the only competition that compels my attention is the game of courtship. So, best of luck to this year’s players.’ I must say, I am quite excited to see how this season turns out. I have never found myself so invested.”

Marietta gave her a small, sad smile. 

Y/N threw herself down on her bed. “Dearest Reader. With the matches of the season well underway, it could be said that all is quiet in the ton. This author, however, has come across a scandal…of royal proportions.” 

Marietta sighed. “I am now invested.”

Y/N sat up, a glimmer in her eye. “How do you know that I am not Lady Whistledown?”

“You are not,” Marietta responded. 

The princess rolled her eyes and flung herself back down on the bed. “Imagine how Mother would react.”

Marietta hardly suppressed her shudder. “I should not like to think of such things.”

----------

Yet another piece of charcoal snapped in between Benedict’s fingers. He groaned and set it down in the case that laid open beside him. He smudged his hands on the paper, trying his best to get everything just right.

“Honestly, Benedict,” Eloise sighed. She sat by the window, the new copy of Whistledown in her hand. Penelope sat beside her, working on her needlepoint. “Must you make such noises?”

Benedict rolled his eyes and grabbed another piece of charcoal. He couldn’t get her lips just right. He realized that he hadn’t paid enough attention to them. Of course, that might have been for the best seeing as if he took one look he was bound to never stop looking until he knew what they tasted like. 

“Benedict!” Eloise shouted.

“What, sister?” he hissed. 

“I do not know what is plaguing you these days, but it seems as though it should require a copious amount of time alone and not in this room where we are forced to listen to your varying frustrations,” she snapped. “What is it you are drawing anyway?” She stood from her chair and walked around the couch. Benedict immediately hid his sketchbook. “A secret?” she wondered. “No matter.”

Eloise reached across Benedict for the sketchbook. He held it above his head as he all but tumbled over the back of the couch. 

“Good God, Benedict!” Eloise exclaimed. “Is it really that terrible?” She darted after him as he ran around the room, almost knocking over the tea tray that sat atop the piano. 

Benedict neared the fireplace, his back to it. He held the sketchbook to his chest and put his finger out. “Stay there, Eloise.”

Eloise crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “You should know that this does little to deter me, brother. I am simply even more intrigued.”

Benedict had a secret smile on his face as she spoke. That only made Eloise narrow her eyes further.

“What is the meaning of this?” Violet said from the doorway.

“Nothing, Mama.”

“Nothing, Mother.”

“Right,” Violet said with suspicion. She plastered her smile on her face. “Oh, hello, Penelope. I trust that my children have not been causing you too much distress.”

Penelope gave Violet a nervous chuckle. “No, of course not.”

Gregory and Hyacinth ran in at that moment, making Violet sigh. She pinched the bridge of her nose and turned away to the tea tray. Benedict ran over and poured his mother a cup. She gave him a grateful smile. 

“Colin!” Penelope gasped, they all turned to see him standing in the doorway, fresh off his travels. The Bridgertons all ran to embrace their brother while Penelope sat back with a smile on her face. 

“I did not expect you to return so soon, dearest,” Violet smiled. 

Anthony made his way into the drawing room, his eyes lighting up at the sight of his brother. “Colin! You are returned. Even better. Family, I should like you all to ready yourselves for the races today. We will be attending, united as one.” As quickly as he had come, he was gone.

“Eloise!” Benedict shouted, seeing her attempting to slowly pick up the sketchbook where he had left it upon Colin’s entrance. She had already opened it, her eyes gazing at the drawing. Benedict snatched it from her hands, but she just looked at him with surveying eyes.

“Is everything alright, Eloise?” Violet asked, watching her two children hesitantly.

“Of course, Mama,” Eloise said. “I am just shocked that Benedict seems to have a bit of talent.”

His shoulders relaxed and he gave her a small smile. He made his way out of the room before anyone else asked him what, exactly, he had been drawing. 

----------

Y/N stood in the green drawing room, her face partially hidden behind the curtain as she watched the gardens. Her mother was outside with Lady Danbury, Miss Edwina, and Miss Kate Sharma. It was not abnormal, by any means, the Diamond of the season often sought the Queen’s counsel. Though, this year, Y/N found herself even more interested.

Marietta walked in and closed the door behind her. She walked over to the princess and stood on the opposite side of the window. 

“She is showing them the zebras,” Marietta commented.

Y/N chuckled. “I do not see the point of them,” she said. “It is not as though one can ride them. Mother has always been a fan of the outlandish and extravagant.” 

“Her Majesty’s lady’s maid seems to think that your mother intends to use Miss Edwina to lure out Lady Whistledown.”

Y/N turned to her with a gasp. “I did not realize their rivalry was anything other than well-mannered fun. Do you truly mean that Mother wishes to punish Lady Whistledown?” Marietta nodded in assent causing the princess to huff. “It is not as though members of the ton do not say such things in quiet corners or with harsh whispers. Why should it be so different when someone has the gall to say it to their faces? Or…at least…well, you know, in print.”

“Your Mother does not enjoy being defied, Princess,” Marietta said. “You know this better than anyone.”

“Too right,” Y/N sighed. “Still…” She turned away from the window and sat down on one of the chairs. She had a tendency to sit in a rather unladylike fashion when there was no one else around, something her mother absolutely detested. “I should think Mother would appreciate the battle of wits. She would have done…in the past.” 

“Things change, Your Royal Highness.”

Y/N heaved a sigh and nodded. “Believe me, Marietta, that I know all too well.”

----------

Benedict sat back in the gardens as he watched his brothers practice a round of fencing. Anthony was, for all intents and purposes, enraged. He spewed vitriol with each swing of his blade. Kate—the sister, as he put it—was constantly standing in his way. Anthony wished to court Miss Edwina. Not for purposes of love, oh no, that would be a great ask, but for the sole reason that she checked every item on his list while adding some of her own. 

Even Benedict had to admit that she was a rather solid match and would, as Anthony had claimed, make a wonderful Viscountess. 

“Less talking, more fencing,” Anthony commented. Though, he really had been the only one doing the talking. “Brother,” he called out, alerting Benedict. He got to his feet and readied himself as Anthony took the first swing. 

It was a dance of sorts, the only dance that Benedict truly enjoyed. He, however, was unable to keep his wits about him. With all the talk of love and marriage, his mind constantly wondered. 

“Brother,” Anthony sighed, setting his blade down. “We should not get any practice done with your head in the clouds.”

Benedict cleared his throat and nodded. He readied himself once again but took the first swing himself. Anthony and Colin continued their banter. Benedict chimed in whenever it suited him which was rare considering he could hardly focus on more than two things at a time and he refused to let thoughts of Y/N slip through his grasp.

That is how he found himself on the ground with Anthony standing over him. Benedict sighed and reached out a hand. Anthony helped him to his feet and then, strangely, hugged him. Benedict looked on, rather confused. 

“Thank you, gentlemen, for the bracing exertion,” Anthony commented as he patted Colin on the back. “Now it is time for me to secure my final victory for the day. Wish me luck.” He stalked off, leaving Benedict and Colin to watch one somewhere between confused and exasperated. 

Benedict took his glove off and poured himself a glass of lemonade.

“Anthony is right,” Colin said as he approached his brother. “Your mind does seem to wander.” Benedict simply sighed. “Is something troubling you, brother? You know that you can tell me.”

Benedict looked at Colin with a slight smile on his face. He looked around, his shoulders deflating. “I have…” he trailed off, not sure if he should say anything or what he would say in that case anyway. 

“Are you in love with Miss Edwina?” Colin chuckled. “Or worse…Is it the sister?”

“No, of course not,” Benedict scoffed, though a chuckle left his lips as well. “Not either of them.”

“But you are…” Colin surmised. “In love, I mean.” Benedict gave a sad smile. “Eloise mentioned that you have been disappearing and you have been less than present recently. She believes you are hiding something.”

“Eloise should learn to mind her business,” Benedict commented with an airy tone.

“You and I both know that is impossible,” Colin said. “We are Bridgertons, it is one of our family’s defining traits, is it not?” Benedict gave a slight shrug. “I assume that since you have been less than forward about your feelings this…woman…is not someone you should be courting.”

“Well spotted, brother,” Benedict said with a tight voice.

“Is it the modiste?” he wondered. “I thought that had ended last season.”

Benedict rolled his eyes. “No, Colin, Genevieve and I were compatible but never in love.”

“Then who is she?” Colin asked rapidly. “I wish to know of the woman that has caused my brother to act so strangely.”

Benedict sighed again. “Her name is Y/N. I met her just…in the middle of the street one night. We spent time together, just talking. She paints. For a few nights after, when I returned, she would be there as well. But I have not seen her for over a week. I thought I saw her at The Queen’s Ball. But, I believe I was imagining things.”

“You do not know who this woman is or where she came from?” Colin asked, surprised. “Do you even know her last name?”

Benedict thought for a moment. He opened and closed his mouth. “N-No, actually. I do not.”

Colin huffed a laugh. “You must be quite taken then.”

“I am,” he responded. “I really am.”

“When will you see her again?” Colin wondered.

“I do not know,” Benedict whined. “I have been out to the same spot every night and she has not been there. I…I will continue to go until I…well, until I cannot anymore. I cannot just let this go, Colin. It is…consuming me. She consumes me. My every waking thought. My every dream. Every sketch, every painting.” Colin’s eyes were wide as he listened to his brother’s words. “This must remain between us,” he pressed.

Colin simply nodded. “I understand.”

----------

Benedict stepped into Mondrich’s new club to find it rather empty. Will greeted him at the door with a jovial smile. 

“I must say, I am impressed,” Benedict said as he followed Will through the club. Despite its rather scant audience, it felt comfortable. Will led him over to the bar and poured a drink for the two of them. 

“I heard a rumor that you are an artist,” Will said.

Benedict seemed to stammer for a moment. “I…dabble.”

“Then, you must meet Mr. Cruikshank,” Will send, pointing toward a man leaning against the mantle of the fireplace. “He’s a talented illustrator with many connections amongst artists and patrons.”

Benedict couldn’t stop the warm smile on his face. It was admirable to see someone succeed by means of their own hard labor rather than handouts like so many of the people that he knew. Even Benedict admitted that he was one of those people. 

After they shared a drink, toasting to the success of the club, Benedict found this Mr. Cruikshank and was immediately swept up into a conversation about art. So much time had passed, in fact, that he had not even had a moment to think about how he hadn’t been thinking about Y/N. By the time he realized that, he checked his watch. He wondered if she would be there. He desperately wanted to tell her all that he had learned. 

Of course, he tuned back into the conversation, unable to truly leave it. 

“I saw that Gerard painting,” Benedict said, leaning forward, his eyes wide with awe. “It was a marvel.”

“A vision, in fact,” Mr. Cruikshank agreed. 

Benedict sat back, his head shaking, trying to clear away the hundreds of thoughts passing his mind. “So you’re telling me that he, along with Leighton and Turner, all studied at the same academy?”

Mr. Cruikshank affirmed his suspicion with a nod and told him that there was a vacancy at that same academy. Benedict had no idea if he was good enough, but thought he should apply, at the very least. He was enraptured in the conversation, about to move it forward, when the doors banged open. 

Anthony strode in and pointed at Benedict. “Brother. I need you.”

Benedict looked at him as if he had grown two heads. “I am in the midst of a conversation.”

“Outside. Straight away.” With that, Anthony turned on his heel and rushed out of the building. With a small sigh of apology to Mr. Cruikshank, Benedict followed his brother out. “I need you to teach me how to read that out loud,” Anthony said, handing Benedict a book of poetry. Oh, his brother truly had gone mad.

“Byron?” he asked with a look of disgust. 

The next moment made Benedict wonder what he had done to truly deserve such treatment as Anthony tried to recite the already nonsensical words. 

“How does one make that sound good?” Anthony wondered.

“I am afraid that is not possible,” Benedict said, handing the book back. “That is the opposite of good. It is nonsense.”

“I thought this sort of thing was supposed to be your pleasure,” Anthony said. 

Benedict rolled his eyes and shook his head. Byron? How could anyone ever believe that he sought pleasure in the works of Byron? Anthony, seeing his brother’s distaste, sighed and started to depart. Benedict wracked his brain, trying to think of what exactly to say. His mind raced, as it found itself to do these days. Before he could stop himself, he was blurting out at his brother. 

“What is it, truly, to admire a woman?” he said. Anthony turned to him, eyes wide. But Benedict could not stop. He thought about Y/N waiting for him under the warm lamp light. About how her trembling hands fit perfectly into his. “To look at her and feel inspiration.” The countless paintings that littered his room. The unfinished sketches that he could not get just right. “To delight in her beauty.” The way her eyes gleamed when she smiled at him. “So much so that all your defenses crumble, that you would willingly take on any pain, any burden for her.” He thought of the pained look on her face when she told him they could not be together. He was all that was standing in the way, wasn’t he? She was not a Lady. It did not matter to be respectable when he could not breathe when she was not around. “To honor her being…with your deeds and words.” He looked up to see Anthony staring at him in shock. “That is what the true poet describes.”

----------

After that, Benedict could not stop himself. He said his goodbyes to Will and Mr. Cruikshank, promising to be in touch in regards to the academy, and rushed out of the building. The air felt more fresh than it ever had for some reason. 

Talk of art. Talk of love. 

It was all he needed. 

He assured himself that if Y/N was not there, he would not be heartbroken. He had hope, somewhere in his heart, that she would come back to him someday. He knew that she felt the same way. She had all but said as much. 

Since The Queen’s Ball, when he thought he caught a glimpse of her, it was as though she followed him like a ghost. His thoughts had constantly wandered to her. 

He had inspiration now. Should she not be there, he was certain that he would be able to replicate her likeness. 

The breath in his lungs threatened to stop as he neared the lamp post. She was sitting there on the bench. On their bench. She wrung her hands and tapped her foot. Finally, she looked up after hearing his footsteps. 

The smile on her face was intoxicating and contagious. 

“Benedict,” she said. 

“You’re here,” was all he could say in reply. 

She watched him carefully as he sat down beside her, his eyes never leaving her face. He was determined to commit it to memory. “I am so sorry that I have not been here,” she revealed. 

“It is alright,” he responded. He heard her words, of course, but he was so taken by her beauty that they mattered very little. It was alright, in the end. 

“I hope I have not kept you waiting all these nights,” she replied hesitantly. It was a subtle way of asking if he had waited for her. If he had spent his nights pacing beneath the lamp post, waiting for her return. 

“I knew you would come back.”

Her face broke into a grin again. Shyly, she looked away and nodded. “I really wanted to but there were…well, circumstances outside of my control.” He was silent, so she turned to him again. He was still looking at her, watching, and surveying. “What?” she wondered in a quiet voice.

He just smiled. “I’ve missed you.” To anyone else, he would be rather ashamed to admit that, but not to her. It was the truth. Her face softened and he wanted nothing more than to just let her consume him. “I fear you’ve begun to haunt me,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

“Haunt you?” she responded, a laugh on her lips.

“I was at The Queen’s Ball and I…I thought I saw you. A mirage, I suppose. Wishful thinking.” He turned to see her wide eyes. “It…was you.”

She took a sharp intake of breath and looked off into the distance. “Yes,” she responded. It was so quiet that Benedict hardly heard it.

“What…What were you doing there? Do you work there? At Buckingham House?”

She paused for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. I am a lady’s maid.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “I now see how that can be…difficult.”

Y/N chuckled. “I do not attend to The Queen. But one of her daughters.”

“I hope she treats you well. I hope they all do.”

“I am allowed to keep to myself mostly,” she responded honestly. “It is usually just the two of us.” Her heart was pounding. She didn’t want to lie to Benedict, but she had already gotten this far hiding her identity. “I do wish I had more opportunity to see you, though.”

His grin took up half of his face and he blushed wildly. “I wish we could see each other more as well. Every day, in fact.”

“Every day sounds lovely.”

“I will take whatever you can give me, Y/N.”

Her breath hitched in her throat and she nodded. Simply, she would give him everything if she could, but she knew she could not. “All I can give you is this.”

“Then I shall take it,” he responded. Her hands were trembling and he reached over. He did not take her hand, however. “Is this…alright?” Instead of responding, she placed her hand in his. He took it with a smile, keeping it safe between his palms. “I am going to the countryside with my family for a few days,” he said. “If I could get out of it, I would. But…Well, my brother is courting Miss Edwina Sharma and would like to show her our family home.”

“I am sure it will be enjoyable,” she said. “Getting out of the city.”

“But I will not see you,” he replied. “Therefore, I will no doubt be a distracted mess.” 

Y/N chuckled. “I am sure I will think of you often.”

His lips quirked and he nodded. He looked down to their connected hands, his thumb rubbing over her gloves. “Would you write me?” he wondered. 

She hesitated. She had never thought of that as an option. “I will try,” she responded. Because, truly, she would. Truly, she wanted to. She was sure that Marietta would help her in any way possible. 

His smile was worth it. She would burn the world to see his smile. 

Consequences be damned.

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

A.N: not you lying! They are both so pathetically in love and I love it but...you know...if you've been here before, you know I'm kinda mean sometimes....oops

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist

Love always,

Alma xx

Taglist: @imdoingbetternow @dd122004dd @soulmates8 @aureolinb @poppyalice2001 @thatgirljas13 @sunnygrey99 @frogsandhomicidalducks @dreadity @psychomanias @muxshwriting

Falling For Fairytales (5)

Anthony Bridgerton x black!Reader

Series Summary: Taking a slight twist on your classic Cinderella story, you are the daughter of a Marquis who died when you were 18. Several years later, you are told by your stepmother that you must marry this season, or she will engage you to her elderly Uncle. Having no money of your own, you realize you are going to have to strategize if you are going to avoid such a fate. So it's a good thing you run into a Viscount who sees marriage as a battlefield.

Chapter Summary: You (annoyingly) have tea

Word Count: 1684

A/N: Hi people! Any feedback is welcomed! I hope you enjoy :) And shoutout to @gxlden-honey for leaving such kind words. You're the reason this chapter was written.

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Plans for tea were set for as early as the next day as you four discussed it. 

The excitement you and Daphne felt at being reunited was palpable and could not be contained! Rather than force you to wait till the next social affair of the season to meet up, both Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton agreed that such a reunion should take place sooner rather than later in the privacy of your homes. Since you were simply borrowing Lady Danbury’s lodgings, it was the Bridgerton’s who decided to extend an invitation to come over for tea. It was an invitation you were happy to receive and one you eagerly waited to use as night turned into day. But in your excitement, you forgot one thing.

You had been named the Diamond of the Season.

As such, you should have been expecting the number of bachelors that arrived at the Danbury Estate to call on you the next day, but you were still taken aback when you saw how long the line of men truly was. While a part of you wanted to find a way to get out of speaking to so many people, the bigger part remembered that your future was on the line here, so it was in your best interest to find a way to get through this instead.

Realizing there was no way for you to make it through the queue of potential suitors and make it to the Bridgerton’s for tea, you quickly composed a note explaining your situation and sent your regrets to Daphne. 

Knowing she would understand, you settled onto one end of the couch in the drawing room and began to slowly make your way through the line of gentlemen. Each man entered the room holding a gift for you that was meant to be a token of affection. But as the room filled with flowers and chocolates, you knew that their affection had to be false when each man sat down next to you and only took the time to talk about himself. 

Your mind had started to become increasingly numb as you lost count of how many esteemed members of society you had been forced to converse with when there was a sudden commotion at the door. 

Turning your head to see what was going on, you could only allow your jaw to drop the slightest bit when the butler announced to the room with a hurried touch,

“Viscount Bridgerton.” 

And in an almost bizarre fashion, the man who owned the name quickly pushed his way into the room. 

Seemingly out of breath from getting here in such a rush, Anthony had to take a couple of deep breaths before he addressed the room that was staring at him. Turning to your Aunt after composing himself and giving a quick bow of his head, he said,

“Lady Danbury,” In a greeting voice before turning towards you and doing the same.

“My Lady,” He finished by looking directly at you.

Sending an apologetic smile to the gentleman seated next to you (who had been going on and on about something you could not remember), you stood from the couch to give the Viscount a respectful curtsey.

Before you could open your mouth, Anthony cut in and said,

“I hope you are well?”

Giving a grateful nod at finally being asked about yourself, you simply replied with a slightly timid smile,

“Yes, I am well.”

You both stared at one another for a moment before Lady Danbury promptly cleared her throat.

Clearing your own, you finally said,

“Forgive me, my Lord, but we were not expecting you today.”

The lord in question had to pause as if he had not considered that before he found his words. 

“Yes, well, I was breaking my fast with my family when we received your note. I am afraid my sister insists you keep your appointment.”

With a look of confusion, you could not help curiously asking,

“...and she sent you here to relay that message?”

Like the older brother he was, he scoffed lightly at the idea of his little sister commanding him to do anything. As if begging you to never think such a thing again, Anthony said, “Please,” before he finished by stating what really happened.

“I volunteered to make the trip.” And allowed a small, confident smile to remain on his lips after his declaration. 

You could not pretend that your stomach did not instantly erupt with butterflies when you heard his words, so you had to remind yourself to try to hold onto your decorum-dictated poise. Still, Anthony could not pretend he did not see a small smile of your own growing on your face. 

Bringing you out of your musings, your Aunt voiced the very question you had been about to ask.

“May I inquire, Lord Bridgerton, why such a busy man would take the time to do such a time-consuming thing?”

Though, perhaps you would not have asked it in that way.

Having seen the way he looked at you the night before, Lady Danbury assumed that whatever excuse he came up with, it would be one that hid his true feelings.

And Lady Danbury is nothing if not always right.

So when he said, “Frankly, I felt duty-bound to come.”

Your Aunt did not keep the knowing smirk from greeting her lips as she gave an intrigued, “Oh?” With a raised brow.

Taking that as his cue, Anthony began to explain.

“Yes. You see, I have a great love for my family. So if any opportunity to bring them happiness presents itself, I feel obligated to take it.”

Locking eyes with yours, he revealed a truth he had known for a while,

“Your presence would bring great happiness.”

Although it was understood your presence would bring happiness to Daphne, Lord Bridgerton knew he had included himself in that statement, whether he acknowledged it or not. 

But with that statement, your stomach began doing flips. You were grateful that your complexion did not allow you to blush as it would have been a dead giveaway as to how you felt in this moment. But as your body began to fill with giddiness at Anthony’s words, the gentleman whose name you had forgotten chose that moment to stand indignantly and sharply say with an exasperated whine,

“The Lady is already occupied!”

Neither you nor Anthony appreciated the way the man spoke of you as if you were a toy about to be taken away from him, but it was Anthony who said something about it.

“Good sir, the Lady, as you put it, promised to have tea with my sister. Since the Lady is as honorable as they come, I am sure you would not want to be the cause for why she has to break her word.”

You could not help but notice the way Anthony’s eyes darkened as he came to your defense. Looking at the gentleman with almost hidden contempt, the thunder on Anthony’s face made you glad you were not on the receiving end of such a look. In fact, when the Viscount’s eyes landed on you again, his entire expression unexpectedly softened.

As the man next to you started to sputter while trying to come up with a retort to such a clever verbal trap, your Aunt came to your rescue.

“I shall have no one question the honor of my niece!” 

Turning toward her butler in the room, she decisively, and a tad dramatically, said,

“Prepare a carriage! We are going to Bridgerton House.”

But before the butler could leave to make the arrangements, Anthony cut in once more.

“Actually Lady Danbury, there is no need,” he said with a triumphant smile. “I have come in a carriage of my own with the hope that you would allow me to bring you both to Bridgerton House myself.”

Turning back towards you, he explained,

“There is more than enough room for you, your Aunt, and myself, so we should be quite comfortable on the journey there.”

Realizing that all eyes were on you as they waited for you to make a choice, you decided to turn back to what you now knew was a childish gentleman and apologetically said,

“Forgive me Sir, but it seems I am already engaged for the afternoon. Perhaps we can get to know one another at a later date?”

You ended it like a reasonable question, but you said it like a rhetorical statement that needed no answer and took joy in the way the man gave a huff and stomped out of the room past Anthony.

Telling the butler to inform the crowd of suitors still waiting outside the door that afternoon tea was over since you were leaving the premises, you could easily hear the symphony of disappointed groans echo from the hallway and shared an amused smile with the Viscount. Holding his elbow out towards you, he said, 

“Please, allow me.”

And escorted you and Lady Danbury outside to his carriage after they had all left. He waited for the footman to open the door before helping you inside. When he did the same with your Aunt, you expected her to get in on the same side as you. So when she climbed into the carriage and sat the opposite way, you could only send her a look of wide, questioning eyes as you wondered what she was up to.

So you could not believe that when Anthony climbed in and easily decided to sit next to you, she chose to reveal that it was all an ingenious plan by sending you a discreet wink from across the aisle. Shocked, but having nowhere to go, you tried to make yourself comfortable in your chair before taking a slight glance at Anthony. Having never been so close to a man before, you could only swallow inconspicuously as the Viscount settled into the seat. When he ended up consequently pressing his side into yours, you could only think, 

“Uh oh…”

Just as the doors closed and the carriage began to pull off.

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Taglist: @drownmeoutatsea | @easilyobessedbutflighty | @thatlizardlady | @gxlden-honey

avatar masterlist

*note- after ehfar is over, i won't write for avatar anymore. also, these avatar fics are the first fics i've ever written and i've improved a lot since then! please read some of my other works if you enjoy these<3

zuko

transferred ↳ 23k words, finished series | trying to run from your past is hard, but falling for your brother’s roommate is even harder. little do you know that he’s falling for you as well.

everything happens for a reason ↳ 114k+ words, in progress series | as a servant in the fire nation, you’ve learned that life is often unfair. but as you venture through a tumultuous relationship with a certain prince, you come to realize a very tricky lesson: everything happens for a reason.

eyes closed  ↳ 1.3k words | you know you should hate him. but you can’t stop thinking about him. 

falling ↳ .8k words | two idiots go hiking together, romantic chaos ensues

warmth  ↳ 1.6k words | the two times he notices her shivering and the one time he does something about it. 

empty ↳ 1.6k words | victory had never felt so empty.

reminiscence ↳ 1.3k words | just because you and your husband are retired doesn’t mean you don’t have amazing advice for the new team avatar.

right where you left me ↳ 2.7k words | after his betrayal in the crystal caves, zuko returns to the fire nation a hero, leaving a fallen ba sing se behind him. but what happens to the girl he left behind, a girl who only knew him as lee?

oh spirits ↳ 1.8k words | literally just the ‘there was only one bed’ cliche with zuko

sokka

talking to the moon ↳ 4.1k words | dealing with the aftermath of the worst event of your life. 

you look perfect ↳ 1.7k | sokka cheers you up before your anniversary.

night owl ↳ .9k words | when things get too overwhelming, your boyfriend is always there to pull you back, no matter how forcefully he has to do it.

neighborly things ↳ 1.6k words | reader can’t make things for shit. thankfully, she has a cute and crafty neighbor willing to help her. 

come back safe ↳ 1.2k words | you and sokka have to part ways in ba sing se, but he’s not letting you go without saying his piece.

fever ↳ 1.7k words | sokka’s convinced there’s a mystery illness keeping you from focusing, but somehow he’s completely oblivious that the only ‘sick’ you are is lovesick, and he’s the reason you can’t focus.

hold on to me (im a little unsteady) ↳ 1.7k words | a late night with sokka reminds you that even on the worst days, you always have someone in your corner.

asami

death by a thousand cuts ↳ 3.1k words | you and asami fall out of love.

korra

cold ↳ .3k words | not everybody can withstand freezing weather of the south all day. luckily, between all the jokes at your expense, korra can help.

Word count: 2100+

Warnings: mentions of killing - blood, wounds, pain, fear - I tried to be decent and as non descriptive as possible, but..👀

Second chapter this week because every voice matters and counts 😉

Anyway, this one is probably horrible 😅

Part XVI | Part XVIII

You were determined. Right that night after Lucien's visit, you looked up Rhys' office again. Inside you felt cold and empty, somehow disconnected as you knocked on the door. The answer came immediately. Being it other day you would laugh because it seemed as if Rhys lived in his office. When you needed you always found him there. But today wasn't the day.

You peeked in finding him seated behind his desk covered with different documents. At first he didn't pay you any attention, too busy with whatever he was reading. He was frowning at the paper in his hand, the other one played with the pen. You knew what this gesture meant. Something worried him. Or pissed him off. When he was younger he unconsciously played with different objects all the time. The habit almost disappeared as he grew older.

"May I?" Hearing your voice he jerked up and finally looked up from the papers. He blinked as if he didn't hear you come in.

"Y/N? Yeah.. Yeah, sure," Rhys stood up, offering you a seat. He checked the time "Something happened? It's quite late."

Yes, you wanted to shout at him, but you wouldn't do so. A lot of things had happened, the conversation between him and Lucien that you overheard, was one of them. But you already made up your mind. You wouldn't mention Tamlin. He would refuse you as he refused Lucien. Your brother was too stubborn. You came to ask him for the last favour, for the last piece of puzzle. It was strange and hard to explain, but you knew you needed it. At last you were ready.

Your face had to give you away because his jaw tightened and he crossed hands on the chest. His piercing gaze scanned you, his shoulders tensed. Words weren't necessary, he understood.

"It.. it won't be easy," Rhysand spoke slowly. "I won't be able to take out one memory at a time. They are too tangled up. I'll have to break the barrier. The process can be quite unpleasant, maybe even painful and the memories will all come at once. It might be very traumatic experience."

He was trying to warn you, prepare you for inevitable. Of course he was worried for your wellbeing and how it could hurt you, yet he was impatient, too. Since you came he kept asking about that particular night, never really pressuring you about it. However Rhysand eagerly waited for this moment.

Straightening your back you stuck out your chin. Your gaze didn't falter. "I know." You were ready. You'd spent all afternoon preparing for the worst.

Rhysand curled his lip, thinking. "Fine," he spoke after a moment. "But there is one thing I want from you."

"What is it?"

"I want to see it. All. From the start to the end. Everything you remember, not just some glimpses."

You frowned. "Why?"

He pushed off of the desk that he was leaning against and turning away from you headed to the window where lights of the city on the other bank of Sidra shone. He was silent. Minutes passed. You waited.

"I-.. I need to know what he caused."

You swallowed watching his back. You shivered with cold even though the room was warm. "He?"

Rhysand slowly turned back to you, looking straight in your eyes. "Tamlin." His voice wasn't more than a whisper, but it was so harsh, so full of rage you winced as if he slapped you.

"What does he have to do with it?" Your voice was hoarse. Lump grew in your throat and breathing once again became laboured.

"He was the one who told his father where you would be."

"Why would he do that? And how could he know anyway?"

"At that time we were still friends. He knew it because I told him. It'd never occurred to me that something like that could happen."

You held your breath, still shivering. Rhysand watched your trembling hands with hardened expression. You clenched them into fists pressing them to your lap to hide the tremors. "And what will you do after you find out?"

He considered it. "I'll hate him even more," he said at last. "Our father made him pay enough already."

"You won't hurt him?" Rhysand just shook his head. "Can you promise it?"

"I can, but.. I know you care about him even though I'm against it. And I don't get it. Honestly. However I wouldn't hurt you that way. For me you are much more than a promise."

You pressed your lips together. You believed him, you really did. But if you managed to get back to Spring Court, there was no doubt Rhysand would be angry. Very angry. Then anything could happen and you didn't want to risk it. And so thinking about the future, you asked him to make a promise. He didn't hesitate for even a second and did what you asked him for.

You felt a prickling sensation on your right shoulder. Rhysand rolled up his right sleeve. With awe you watched as a tattoo of small rose appeared on his forearm and you knew that its twin was on your shoulder.

Now you could start.

It was just as Rhysand warned you. He couldn't untangle the threads no matter how hard he tried and to get them out he had to destroy the barrier. As soon as it was down the confused images that chased you in the nightmares came alive.

You were camping with your mother and a few other females and children on the rocky bank of the river in Illyrian mountains. It was peaceful time and you had a lot of fun sitting with them around the campfire, listening to the stories. After eating some more marshmallows you all retired to own tents for the night.

Several hours later you were woken up by screams and smell of smoke and something metallic. Bed next to you was empty. You crept through the tent on all fours and peeked out.

The ground was smeared with blood, some of the tents were burning, females protecting their children, were trying to hide or run away, but all of them were met with the same fate. Small group of males slaughtered them on the spot or hurt them enough, so they couldn't move, and dragged them to the center of the camp. Blood dripped from their swords, wild grins on their faces. They spared no one.

You were terrified, but you knew the second you would make any noise, even the smallest, they would notice you. Your muscles locked on the spot and only thing you could do, was watching the horror around.

Movement at the edge of the campsite caught your attention. A blond hair male appeared. Your eyes widened. You knew him. It was the young male from Spring Court who you saw with your brother once. His clothes were clean, without a single drop of blood. He was unarmed and looked around in horror. Your eyes met for a moment. His mouth moved as if he was telling you to stay hidden.

Then he grabbed one of the girls and.. in a flash of light her features changed. Now she looked exactly like you. Your heart painfully throbbed in your chest. What did he just do?

Another male with sword came into view, getting close to him. The male was older, his clothes and light colored hair were stained with blood, but that was all you could say about him. You didn't see his face.

The male laughed. "Great job, son! We were looking for this little bitch."

He grabbed the girl. "Now return home," he ordered to young male.

Tamlin didn't move, his eyes jumping between the male and the girl. He didn't dare to even look your direction. "But.."

"I told you to leave!" male snapped, authority of high lord in his voice. Tamlin gritted his teeth as his body bent and then he winnowed away.

You watched as male dragged the girl to the group gathered in the center of camp where you all sat around campfire only several hours earlier.

Then they took one person after another and cut their throats in front of your mother. She didn't cry, refusing to give them what they sought. Soon enough your mother and the girl were the only ones alive.

Females and children who survived cried in pain. The male tossed girl to them. A female reached for girl, tugging her to her chest to protect her. It was your mother. Her wings were broken, blood seeping from deep wound on her side. She was pale, but baring her teeth she said something. You didn't hear her through all the cries and crackling of the fire. All males boomed with laughter.

One of the males reached for the girl. Your mother fought him, but he was stronger. He punched her to the face and for a moment her grip on the girl weakened. Male snatched the girl, dragging her to the pile of bodies. Other two males gripped your mother's arms when she tried to get to her.

This time it wasn't fast death that waited for the girl. First, the oldest of them cut the membranes of her wings. Girl screamed in pain, but the male who dragged her there, held her in place. Then slowly they cut off her wings making it as painful as possible. At some point girls shrieks stopped as she fainted. At last they cut her head off, tossing it to your mother's knees.

Your mother screamed at the top of her lungs and cried this time. When the oldest of the males moved toward your mother you couldn't watch it anymore. You curled to ball, your body was shaking uncontrollably and not only with sobs. Closing eyes you pressed hands to your ears, but you still heard your mother's screams until they fell silent.

You didn't know how long you lay there. Maybe you even fainted for a moment. A strong hand grabbed your elbow, dragging you to your feet. It was one of the younger males.

"Look what I found," he grinned. Others were confused.

"Didn't we already take care of her?"

"I could swear I put her head into that box," the other said.

"How is it possible there are two of them?"

You wanted to fight the male who held you. However his grip was so strong you already felt the forming bruises.

Around you stood only the young males, the older one was nowhere to be seen. You managed to slap one with your wing.

"Bitch!" he shouted in anger.

A sharp pain shot through your body. You cried out. One of your wing landed in the dirt, droplets of blood rolled down your arm, clothes on your back became soaked, sticking to your body. Blood dripped on the ground, mixing with the others. Another wave of pain shot through your body as the other wing followed the first one.

You fell to your knees without feeling the impact or the sharp stones cutting into your flesh. It was the most agonizing pain you'd ever felt. Everything blurred before your eyes. Voices around you kept fading and coming back like echo, but you didn't understand a single word. Your world turned upside down.

You had to faint because you didn't remember much of what followed. At one moment you felt hands around your shoulders and under knees, blurred face of older male and night sky above you.

You awoke for a while in a room that looked more like a cell. It was dark and reeked with dirt, blood and magic. So much magic.

You were lying on your stomach, your back was burning. The older male was bending over you, doing something with your wounds. It hurt so much.

Your mind kept switching between unconsciousness and awareness. The buzzing in your head was driving you crazy. You heard muffled voices, but didn't understand what they spoke of. World was spinning with you too fast and you were nauseous. You remembered puking once, but that was all.

And then it suddenly stopped. Fresh air filled your lungs, stretching them delightfully. You opened your eyes, looking around.

Soft green light was penetrating through the windows. You were lying in a soft bed. You felt strangely empty and little confused. But there was no pain and that was the only thing that mattered. Who would care in that situation about not remembering anything, about not knowing where you were and how you got there. It didn't hurt anymore. And that mattered the most.

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot

Discipline

Ok guys so hear me out. Ardyn is our trash Jesus yes. But. Have you heard of Rufus Shinra? He is ridiculously hot. And we have to honor that. And that is what I intend to do.

With this... filth. Pure filth.

You've been warned. All chapters: Lesson 1 Lesson 2 Lesson 3

Lesson 1

The door clicks shut behind you, then, another click. Locked?

You gaze around the room, the leather and mahogany,  the marble pillars, the big windows giving a view of the upper plates of Midgar. The city below is almost balck, and in front of you, Rufus Shinra in a white suit, sitting on the corner of his desk, the top two buttons of his shirt casually opened, looking at you with a hint of amusement.

"Please, make yourself comfortable."

You have no idea why you're here. All you know is you were sent for, called in from the crowd by your boss, in the middle of those oh so boring but absolutely compulsory company parties Shinra loves to throw. 

"Would you like a drink? Or have you had enough?" "Yes please," you clear your throat. "And may I also ask, what gives me the honor?"

Rufus turns to look over his shoulder as he picks up a crystal decanter, the liquid reflecting from the window as he pours.

"Oh,  I thought I would give you the honor of offering to fulfill your wish." "My wish?" You try to think back on what you've wished for. A raise? A holiday? "Yes. If it's still a thing you wish for, or course." You chuckle. "I'm not quite sure..." "Let's see... To be bent over the desk of the vice president and be fucked, hard, I believe it was?"

Your heart drops to your stomach and you swallow, loud, nearly chocking. How did he hear that?! Did you write it in an email? No, you're certain you only whispered it. When you first saw him. You said he was tall and unfairly handsome and... but did you say that? Yeah, you did. Whispered it very quietly to your colleague at the event where you say the VP's speech for the first time. You think you were quiet. There's no way anyone could have heard it. You were tipsy, but not that tipsy...

"The walls have ears," he smiles, passing you a glass. You take it, silently cussing under your breath. "I'm so sorry, it was completely inappropriate." "Oh?" He sips his drink. "So you've changed your mind?"

You laugh, dropping your gaze. Suddenly it's way too hard to look at him. You don't quite know what to do with your drink, either, so you half sip it, then just play with the glass, swirling the liquid around.

"I'm... I..." "That's fine. You're free to go then." He gestures at the door.

Embarrassed, you nod, placing the glass next to him on the desk and whispering an apology, still avoiding his gaze. You make your way to the door, legs shaking from sheer shock.

"It's a shame," you hear him remark, still sitting on the desk behind you.

With your hand already on the door handle, you pause for a moment. You turn to look at him, now in turn twirling the liquid in his glass. He looks nonchalant, almost bored.

"Sir, are you playing with me?" "I don't know. Are we playing? I thought you said no."

You gasp, unwittingly. Could he be serious?

"Well what if... I said... yes?"

He takes a sip of his drink, putting it on the table and looks at you. A moment passes in silence, except for the sound of blood rushing in your ears. Your heart is pounding. Your mouth is dry. His eyes remain on you.

"Come here." His voice is soft, and the words make your spine tingle. You let go of the door handle, and like a puppy who's been scorned, return to him gingerly.

You pause a few feet away from him, and as he pats the space on the desk next to him, you move closer and sit on the edge. He turns to look at you and gently places his hand on top of yours. You peek at him from under your brow, unable to hide your smile. This is cute, you think, not quite what I expected. Taking your hand in his, he lifts it up to his lips. Gently, very softly he brushes the back of your hand against his lips, giving you little shivers.

Then, standing up, he moves to face you in front of the desk, his fingers now brushing your hair behind your ear. You stare at the open buttons on his shirt, his neck, his chin. He lifts your chin with his other hand and you close your eyes as his face comes close, so close you can feel his warm breath. He places his thumb on your chin, pulling your lower lip and you part your lips expecting to feel his touch yours at any moment.

He chuckles, pleased, as you feel his breath move away and down to the side of your neck. He takes in a deep breath.

"Your hair smells beautiful," he whispers just below your ear, and you breathe him in, in return, the smell of perfume and alcohol intoxicating you. You feel his knee pushing its way between your legs, and you allow it, slightly parting your legs and leaning back more on your arms. Suddenly his hand is massaging the underside of your breast, his hot breath tickling your neck, and then, a warm wetness as his tongue glides along your main artery, earning a little gasp from you.

Your chest moves up and down slower, and you feel fingers gliding up the inside of your leg, pausing just short of your underwear. Then, slowly, gently, they move on top of your panties, just barely touching, so softly, feeling the outside of your labia through the fabric. You know he can feel your arousal, you've been exposed. He laughs, his chuckle tickling your skin, and stands up straighter, moving his other hand to the back of your head, grabbing your hair a bit too firmly.

"So you do want it." "Yes."

He holds your head, his blue eyes staring straight at you from behind strands of blonde hair. His hand is commanding, holding your hair in a tight grip, while below, his fingertips tease you ever so softly, frustratingly so, making you ache.

"Say it." "Please." "No. Say what you want." You pause for a moment, gathering your courage. "Say it." His fingers glide over the wet fabric of your panties, pressing harder, but only for a moment as he takes the pleasure away again, and you moan. "Fuck me." "What's that?" "Please fuck me. Please."

Hearing you say it makes him smile. "You're bold. I like that." He looks you up and down, reveling in your request.

"But why should I give you what you want." His voice is low, and for a moment, you realize you're scared.

You don't have the time to process it though, as he grabs you by the waist and turns you around, pushing your upper body down on the desk.

"Bent over," he declares, positioning himself behind you. You long to feel him and push your ass against him, feeling his erection pressing against his pants. He chuckles as you desperately try to rub yourself against him, moving his hips further away, while still pressing your back against the desk.

"Maybe I should teach you a lesson in discipline." He lifts your dress, and proceeds to pull down your underwear. 

"I can give you this," he continues, his two fingers sliding along your wet opening and over your clit, now pressing firmly, and a slow moan escapes your lips.

"Good. As long as you make it known how much you enjoy it, you can have more. Understood?" "Yes," you answer, a bit more quietly than you intended as your voice has escaped you. "I'm afraid that's not loud enough," he responds, withdrawing his hand. "No, please!" you cry out, and soon enough you're rewarded with the firm touch of his hand, rubbing against you. Not so cute anymore... but, better.

You don't want it to stop, so you make sure he hears every drop of pleasure you're experiencing as his hand moves up and down your area. You lean your forehead on the back of your wrist as you arch your back to give him more access, and he takes up the offer, sliding two fingers inside you. Deeper. You know what to do, and let our a cry of pleasure.

"Good girl, that's it." His fingers are deep inside you now, reaching close to your g-spot and rubbing with a slow but intensifying pace. You moan and whine constantly, scared that the pleasure might stop if not given the constant reassurance that you love it.

"I didn't know you were such a dirty girl," he continues, bringing a finger to gently tickle your anus as he fucks you with his other hand. You're dripping wet, drops rolling down your leg. Teasing around the rim of your anus, the tip of his finger slides in, aided by your own juices, and your muscles instantly tighten and grip around him. He forces his finger a bit further, and you're starting to feel a fullness, an intense pleasure as he takes control of your both openings. Everything is warm, round, full, pulsating. It's too intense, too much, too wonderful. He slides a third finger into your pussy and starts rubbing firmly against your spot.

"Now cum for me. Cum loudly."

He doesn't need to tell you again. You've barely held it together this long, and your whole body shakes violently, your knees buckling, drool falling on the desk, tears rolling out of your eyes as you let it all out, your cries, your juices, your utter surrender. Tears of pleasure turn into actual tears as emotions take you completely by surprise and your start sobbing, shaken to the core by the ecstasy you just experienced.

Rufus withdraws and watches you as he dries his hands on a white towel. You cover your mouth and try to hide the fact that you're crying, but do a poor job of it. The crying turns into laughter. You don't know what you're feeling, but it's magnificent. 

After a moment of gathering yourself, you finally lift up from the desk to wobbly legs, and turn around to face him. He extends his hand, presenting your underwear. You take it, letting out a little chuckle.

"Thank you." "You're welcome."

You clear your throat and put on your underwear while he watches.

"Can I-" you're about to suggest you return the favor, but he cuts you short. "No need. We're done here."

You blink your eyes, surprised.

"We are?" He nods. "For now."

He steps closer and looks at your face to check that you're decent, then wipes the corner of your eye with his thumb.

"Makeup." His hand smells of you. It's crazy. What just happened?

You look at each other for a moment. Then, he moves to his desk and reaches under, pressing a button. Almost instantly the door to the office opens from the outside and the leader of the Turks steps in wearing his immaculate dark blue suit. Was he waiting outside?

"Please escort my guest back to the party" Rufus instructs him. "Sir," the Turk agrees with a slight bow, and gestures at you to lead the way. 

You turn to look at Rufus one more time and he smiles, running his hand through his hair.

"Tseng will look after you. Now, please enjoy your evening."

"Sir," you nod, smiling, and make your way out of the room and to the elevators, suddenly painfully aware of how damp your underwear still is. If the Turk heard your little scene he certainly does not let it show. He bows at you politely and enters the elevator after you. He stands stoicly still as the doors close, until, half way down, he finally breaks the silence.

"Would you like to schedule your next meeting with the vice president?"