fandom misogyny is one of those things where you notice it and youre like "wow thats terrible!" and then you just keep noticing it over and over until the end of time and youre sitting there saying "hey is anybody gonna talk about this" and everybody says "no" and then goes "haha isnt it funny how this mlm ship is so popular even though these characters dont have much screen time? especially compared to a wlw ship between the main characters haha!" and it makes you want to peel all your skin off
âAll that pain and it just made her kindâ except itâs Lucien Vanserra being beaten down again and again and everytime he just keeps getting up and dusting himself off and trying to do what he feels is the right thing.
âincest ___ x readerâ âsexist ___ x readerâ ârapist ___ x readerâ yeah get off my fucking screen. no please and no thank you thatâs gross
SUMMARY: In a Bridgeton-esque world, you and Jason have a meet-cute in the Wayne Manor Library.
WARNINGS: none.
TAGS: bridgeton/regency au, historic inaccuracies, on my âjason has facial scarsâ agenda, reader is basically the âdiamondâ of the season, wayne manor library and âpride and prejudiceâ, i know i advocate for rizzless jay but he has rizz in this one idk.
áŻâ NOTES: please accept this while i continue to procrastinate on knight!jason. i need to work on the way i describe things is literally my literary achilles heel.
âBut Mama!â
âNo arguments. You must look your best! The second Wayne son is finally making an appearance, you must blow his socks off with your beauty.â Your mother barks out as the seamstress gives a tug, making you hiss as the corset tightens your waist by another inch.
âYou must charm him and marry into that family!â Your monster mother continues. âMust youâAh!â You start but are interrupted by another tug. âMust you behave like all other Mamasâ? Pouncing on every other eligible bachelor?â
âYou will never again get a chance like this! We must make sure you have at the least one dance with him. It is said that he dislikes talkative women, which happens to be your entire personality. You must stay quiet in his presence.â
âThis is absurd.â You murmur to yourself.
Just another season in the Ton. A special one since you debuted this time, your first season as a woman eligible to marry. Which has sent your entire family into a frenzy. Youâve attended two other balls since you debuted, entertained about a dozen suitors. Dubbed by all gossip magazines as the most eligible!
But goodness, you felt miserable.
And now this man! A man youâve never met. A man everyone calls a barbarian! Everyone says heâs rash and rough, scary looking. And your mother wants you to wed him when youâve never even seen him! Just because his father happens to be prestigious!
The ball is in full swing when you get there. Itâs the Wayne Ball, the most glamorous one of the Ton, barring the Royal ball of course. Itâs hosted every season at the Wayne Manor, you may not like the people, but you definitely like the house.
Itâs like a palace out of a dream.
Multiple wings, each with their own purpose. A private art collection that filled the main ball room, the one of display the Annual Ball. You had briefly chatted with the oldest Wayne son, Mr.Dick Grayson, and he had mentioned that they also had a private pond-like area in the Manor where one could take a leisure swim.
But that isnât why you adore it. Itâs the library. The vast expanse of shelves and hundreds, if not thousands, of books stacked neatly. The smell, the atmosphere, everything about this place, it feels comforting, like home.
You manage to sneak away after a few dances and endless small talk of suitors rambling about things that naught matter to you. A candle stick you manage to snag and the ornate oak doors creak as you manage to push it open just enough to slip in.
The short train of your dress trails behind you as you weave through the shelves. Oh, what you would give to spend the rest of eternity in this place, with warmth, endless tea and snacks, you could read forever and ever, to your hearts content with no one to bother you about it.
You stop when it feels right, turning into a shelve and bringing the candles up just close enough that the warm light illuminates the book titles. When one catches your eye, you set the stick down on the closest table, returning to run your finger over the name, the sound of your nail scratching against the leather bound echoing in the vast space. Pride and Prejudice.
You pluck it from its peaceful nest of other books. Thereâs a thin film of dust settling on places a regular dusting canât reach, like the book hadnât been touched in a while. The familiar weight in your hands is an immediate comfort from the world outside the room. You pull open the cover, to the name of the book on the first page, along with someoneâs signature.
Property of Jason Todd.
âI see a fellow traveller has taken refuge in this library.â A manly voice causes you to flinch, jumping a step back. Heâs a tall man, one you have not seen before. The dim light casts shadows on his face, enhancing the sharp cuts of his features. Even like this, you can tell he is ratherâŚhandsome.
âI apologise for scaring you, Miss..?â He murmurs, still leaning against the shelve behind you, no urgency in his posture. Thereâs a few strand of white hair on the front of his hairline, glowing yellow now. His shoulders are wide, a man of labour perhaps, as his hands are tucked into pockets.
You offer him your name after taking a few calming breaths, âI must take my leave, we cannot be spotted without a chaperone, Sir.â You nod your head in acknowledgement, moving to slot the book back into place. âNot to worry. Alfred is here.â An older man, butler you presume, steps out of the shadow, bowing his head slightly to you.
The tall man, yet to identify himself, pushes off the shelve, walks closer to you. His eyes catch the book in your hands and yours catch his face. Scars decorate his cheek, one runs from his lip to his ear, another intercepting it, forming something reminiscent of a âJâ.
âI adore that novel.â He murmurs as you glance away from his face and he glances towards yours. âSeems interesting.â You comment. Shallow of him, but the first thing he notices is that youâre beautiful. Not just the traditional sense, but the serenity in your expression, the allure of your presence. The way the light reflects off your dress makes you shimmer like the night sky.
âDo you like to read, Miss?â
A soft smile makes it way to your lips. âMy mama says itâll scare the suitors if a Lady is well read. But I enjoy the company of these stories regardless.â The man stops a respectful distance away from you, a smile mirroring yours, gracing his handsome features, his eyes baring into yours.
You can see him more clearly now, that he stepped into the might casted by the lone candlestick you brought with you. His clothes are one of grandeur, indicating his higher position in society, but theyâre worn with casual carelessness, his inner coat vest was unbuttoned, and his collar undone. His hair tousled like someone ran their hand through it one too many times.
âAre you not enjoying the festivities? Is it not to your liking?â He asks, glancing to the door. âI tire of mindless dancing with suitors. Since it is my first season, I must entertain all.â His eyes dip to your lips as you talk and you pretend not to notice. âWhy are you here?â You question.
âI tire of the Mamasâ hounding me with their proposals even when their daughters cower away from me in fear.â He walks closer, holding his hand out and you place the book in it.
âMust be your height.â You jest, eyes fleeting to his scars for a moment. Surprisingly, he chuckles, the voice hits your ears like fine whiskey. âMust be.â He gives you a genuine smile. He seems even taller like his, beside you.
A moment of silence, thick silence settles over the space as his eyes glitter when they look into yours. You bite your lips, beginning to ramble to fill the silence. âI must stay till the second Wayne son arrives and I must acquire a dance with him. My mission for tonight is to charm him into to marrying me.â A sliver of distain slipping into your voice.
âDo you dislike him?â Jasonâs eyes furrow as his lips threaten to turn his smile into a smirk. You sigh wistfully, stepping closer to the shelve, running your hand over the remaining books. âIâve heard stories of him. That heâs aâŚWell, the gossip papers do not speak kindly of him.â
âButâŚ?â Jason prompts. He can tell youâre dissatisfied, wouldnât take a genius to figure that out. And you seem comfortable enough around him to express it, instead of fear. He takes that as a compliment.
You fall silent for a moment, âI think we mustnât judge a person till you meet them. Who knows? He might be my perfect match.â You offer him a soft amused smile, as he turns the book around in his hand.
Jason always loved this library. Always his favourite room in this preposterously large Manor. And maybe it was fate, if he ever believed in such a thing, that he ran onto you here, especially as you picked out the one book he adored the most out of the thousands here.
âIf you say itâs good, I must borrow it from the Royal library.â You say as you contain your hand from itching out and doing something as ridiculous as touching his face, tracing his scars. âI donât think they would notice if you took it from here.â The mystery man says with a raise of his eyebrow.
You scoff in offence, painted mouth forming an âOâ. âFor one, that is theft. Secondly,â You point to the book. âI think Sir Todd,â You recall out his name. âWould most definitely mind if his book went missing.â
âI donât mind.â He smirks. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. A soft, âexcuse me?â, leaves your mouth.
âMy name is Jason Todd-Wayne. Second Son of Duke Bruce Wayne.â Jason extends his hand, almost as one does when asking for a dance, as a soft gasp leaves your mouth before you shut your eyes momentarily in embarrassment.
âI apologise, Mr. Toddââ You say as you place your hand in his. âJust Jason.â He whispers, interrupting you, as he brings up your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. Your breath hitches as youâre rendered speechless for a moment. Many others had done this of course, itâs common for suitors to try and âseduceâ this way butâŚ
There was a charge in the air, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. His lips linger for a moment too long before pulling away just enough to run his thumb over the area where his lips had just been, his breath still warm was brushing against your bare knuckles.
You repeat his name to him, so soft that it might as well have been a gust of wind, the inappropriateness of the whole ordeal catching up to you slowly.
You clear your throat as you pull away your hand, Jason gives you a suppressed smile. He holds up the book between the two of you, offering it to you. âI would like you to have it. Read it and maybeâŚâ
The sound of music and laughter from outside creeps into the room louder than before. You glance to the door, you know you must take your leave soon but itâs been a while since you enjoyed the company of a man in conversation.
âMaybe we would discuss it? I wouldâŚlove to hear your thoughts.â His voice snaps you out of your quiet days, the hesitance in his voice evident. Perhaps heâs trying not to scare you off, but truly, he isnât as horrid they say, he isnât horrid at all.
âSurely.â You whisper as you reach for the book and he pulls back just as your fingertips graze it. âOnly if you promise me another conversation, Miss.â He says, extracting a breathy giggle from you. You give him a firm nod as he finally place the book in your hand.
âIâll be looking forward to it, Mr. ToddâJason.â
You donât take the candle stick with you, just the book is what you return with. You do your best not to glance back as you walk to the door but you canât help yourself. âMay I say, for the record? You arenâtâŚas they say.â You blurt out hurriedly, before you could second guess yourself.
âWhy do you reckon that is?â He calls out. A small smile makes its way to your lips. You chuckle before you call out.
âOne mustnât judge a book by its cover.â
áŻâ 's P.S. do we fw the new theme i love it so much. chat is this a safe space to say i donât enjoy musicalsâŚidk how thatâs relevant but i needed to admit that to someoneâŚ
donât forget to leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed!
am i the only one who likes when bold buffed dudes are subbing and when shy lanky dudes are domming? i enjoy the contrast in general. like yes, let me dom this man in an authority position who has a very deep voice and is conventionally masculine, but let me be dom by the nerdy guy who's overlooked by everyone
'Waiting and Waiting for You to Make a Move' featuring: Elucien
cw: lucien is alive, so he's going through it (endearing?). petty-ish elain. platonic!feycien because in my dreams they're still friends. theres a ts reference in there somewhere, third person but Lucien pov, forgive how cringe the spicy scene is, (making out, but still)
a/n: HAPPY SOLSTICE @fluffy-cloudz !!! tis i, your secret santa! i've been cooking this one up, desperately trying to think of something you would love, and this is what i word-vomited out. i truly hope you enjoy it, all of the love!!! <333
wc: 2.5k
@acotargiftexchange
Lucien was a strong-willed man.
Naturally he was, having grown up in a manor full of males raised by Beron Vanserra. A strong will was practically a requirement if you wanted to survive past the age when your mere existence became a threat.
It was due to this will that he had survived countless perils: escaping the vicious aforementioned fox den, a lifetime or two living with Tamlin, getting his left eye ripped out from its very socketâin a particularly gruesome manner, if you'd ask himâalong with the fifty years and countless lashings that came after, Tamlin again, with a psychopathic priestess in tow that time, and a war against the King of Hybern himself.
So one could imagine how entirely stupid and barbaric he felt, driving himself mad over one woman. Not even one with the decency to properly traumatize him beforehand.
Just a woman.
Granted, this 'mere' woman had him taken near immediately, even though she was chilled to the bone with the waters of the Cauldron, lying on the dingy floors of Hybern, and the whispers of Feyre in his ear, who told him story upon story of her nightmarish life prior Tamlin.
She also happened to be his fated mate. This is most likely where the 'driven mad' part comes into play, since not only was she dismissing his increasing affections, but also the bond along with it. It was truly taking a toll on his heath, when every moment spent in silence is a moment spent dreading the up and coming moment when she officially rejects him.
Everyone could tell, it wasn't exactly a secret, anyhow. And it was worrying people around him. Specifically, it was worrying none other than the High Lady herself, who hadn't seen Lucien this down in a long while.
She had come to the conclusion he needed her help after finding him alone in the gardens one evening, long after everyone had gone to bed. He wore a wistful expression as he traced the petals of a Hydrangea, and she had most certainly felt the kind of aching pity you feel seeing a run-over animal.
That pity had unfortunately landed him here.
Here being Rita's.
Now, don't get him wrong, a much younger Lucien would have sprung at the opportunity to go to a club he's never been to and deflower a woman or twoâ in fact, a Lucien four years ago would. But everything is different now.
He remained sat in the booth that Feyre had picked out, intending to stay in it. He was nursing his drink, some ridiculously named special that had the most amount of alcohol on the menu, something he would need if he was going to get through this night.
So far he had rejected two offers to dance from a duo of nymphs who had less or more draped themselves onto him and an invitation back to some pretty female's apartment, which he had no interest in going to. His abstinence deeply infuriating the female across from him.
"Did you swear an oath of chastity without my knowledge?" Feyre remarked, a familiar lilt of sarcasm in her voice, "I didn't realize, forgive me."
"Feyre, you know entirely well why I am sitting in this seat." He said harshly, looking down at his drink.
"But do you owe her loyalty?" She asked.
His heart lunged into his throat, his free hand drifting up to his heart, where the pesky little mate bond resided. "I might not," he began, "But I intend to do so anyways, until she formerly rejects our bond, and very likely after as well."
A sigh escaped the female, she was entirely at a loss how to help him. She would never force Elain into this, and he would rather lose his one good eye than do anything of the sort.
He watches as Feyre sinks into the seat, her hands coming to her head in a manner one could only define as aggravated.
He felt bad, truly, she was trying so painfully hard to cheer him up. "Perhaps we could just go home?" He proposed. And even though it was hardly eleven, he added, "It's late out, and Nyx isn't going to be asleep for much longer."
Feyre peaked out from behind her hands, glaring at him. He was familiar with this routine, and simply narrowed his eyes back.
After only a few moments of this petty staring contest, she relented, standing up and leaving more than enough money on the table for a party of ten, much less the two of them.
"I'm going to go to the bathroom, wait outside for me." She waved back, turning into the sea of bodies to fight her way to the other side before he could even protest.
But he was more than happy to leave, pushing out of the suffocating club and into the chilled air. His steps clicking on the now cobblestone ground, leaning back against the building, tilting his head back with a drawn out exhale.
Outside was probably worse than inside, Lucien thought. Outside, all he could smell was his mate.
He was truly driving himself mad, absolutely off his fucking rockers. She followed him everywhere, in his sleep, behind his eyelids, in the crevices of his soul, and now she had to follow him via hallucinations. Was this the agony that the tales spoke of? The long-drawn suffering he would have to endure? Would he slowly lose all his senses until his mind and body was consumed with her?
"Are you waiting for someone?" An entirely ethereal voice said from beside him, one he could recognize from only the echoes carried on the wind.
His eyes snap open and move to the voices owner. "Elain..." He breathed out, barely a whisper of pure need gracing his lips. Surely too much for a woman who wanted nothing to do with him.
Upon finding her, his heart tripped treacherously in his heart. He cleared his throat and body straightened on instinct, "Lady Elain," he corrected, greeting her with a tip of his brow.
She stood there before him, a masterpiece made flesh. His hands shaking in their effort to hold back from her, trying to retain focus on the words she had uttered previously.
But before he could entirely process her words, she repeated them again with no ceremony, "Are you waiting for someone?"
His heart, which previously held residency in his throat, dropped to his ass. Did she think he was waiting for another female? "Feyre." He said quickly, entirely uninterested in his mate thinking he was disloyal for even a second.
"Feyre, I'm waiting for Feyre."
The tension in her shoulders relaxed, a smile on her lips, which previously were pulled into a frown. "Ah," she hummed, looking down at her shoes, "That makes sense."
"Yes." He murmured, willing his eyes away from her lips. His usual demeanor of restrained-gentleman weakened by the alcohol, naturally he would never do anything she hadn't made explicitly clear he had permission to, but his longing was shittily concealed, his tongue loosened.
Though the sight of him, disheveled and flushed, was enough to loosen Elain's tongue along with his. "What were you doing out?" She uttered, brushing her skirts.
Lucien let out a hum, "Just a few drinks, to 'loosen me up', Feyre said."
"Of course. And surely not engaging in any...amorous congress, I'd assume?"
His eyes narrowing just slightly, "Pardon? I'm not quite sure what you mean by that."
A scoff escapes Elain, who's calloused hands fold into two tight fists, "Oh you know plenty well what I mean by that. You are downright flushed, shirt half undone and practically reek of unknown females."
Ah, those damned nymphs.
But before he could properly explain himself, the words Feyre had said to him just minutes before replay in his mind. Half drunkenly, and entirely stupidly, he said, "And? What if I was?"
The woman before him looked entirely scattered. "Excuse me? You are a mated male." She squeaked out, practically fuming. Her usually rosey cheeks now red with indignantion.
He let out a scoff, "Am I at fault? Don't think I haven't seen you and the Shadowsinger dancing around one another."
"Me andâ Oh, you...youâ foolish man!" She said, turning around on the balls of her feet and stomping away.
Guilt immediately floods into his chest, that stupid mouth of his, sprouting off utter nonsense to his mate, who prior had done nothing wrong.
"Elain...wait!"
He said, moving forward to trail after her, entirely abandoning his post waiting for Feyre. "My Lady, please...I didn't mean that."
But she continues stomping away, faster than one would assume with her stature. If this were any other instance, he would have curled in on himself and died a shameful, shameful death. But he was drunk, and entirely at fault here. His deep-seated need for her to understand overriding his usual self-hatred.
"Don't follow me." She said, twisting and turning throughout the cobbled streets, going what seemed to be the exact opposite of the way home.
Yet he steamed onward, worry now joining in to create a triage of reasons for doing so. "My Lady, you'll get yourself lost..." He said, extending a hand to reach out for her, gently hooking around her wrist.
"I understand if you have no desire to see me right now, I would feel the same. But please don't sacrifice your safety, it's rather cold out and you're barely wearing thick enough clothes." He said, immediately releasing her and slipping off his jacket to placing upon her shoulders, his hands resting there subconsciously.
"Please, let me walk you home. I will go directly back to the Human Lands without a word of displeasure if you so wish for it, and you will never hear a word from me again. But please, My Lady...lets get you somewhere warm."
Elain's honeyed gaze meets his, her eyebrows furrowed with displeasure. "Why...why were you with other women? I thought you were pursuing me?" She muttered, embarrassed and pissed.
Luciens eyes soften and he lets out a soft breath. "I wasn't." He said, looking away from her to add. "Even if I was, why would you care? I'm just waiting for you to reject my advances at this point."
A soft sigh escapes her and her hands comes to his, "How many gifts of yours have I returned?" She said, "None. In factâ I stare at them in the middle of the night, when sleep refuses to come to me. And that is often."
He nods slowly, a low fluttering sensation in his stomach at the thought of her caring for his gifts, it was a lovely sensation, but going ignored for his own well being. "I'm confused, My Lady." He said earnestly, eyes searching her face for the answers.
"I have returned gifts from Grayson and Azriel, but never you." She said, meeting his gaze. "Never you."
Lucien opens his mouth to speak his confusion again, but she quickly cut him off, offering the answer without waiting. "You have no competition, Lord Lucien. So, why aren't you pursing me?"
His mouth opens into an 'o', his eyes darting along her face. "I've been waiting for your signal, My Lady." He said earnestly, "I haven't received any, and I will not aggressively pursue until I've been given clear consent."
"And what is clear consent to you, Sir?" She said, "Was my keeping your cloak from our first meeting not enough? My continuous acceptance of your gifts?"
"A definitive answer. An action, perhaps. But I would never assume something based on an action that could easily be cordial."
"Oh, for the love ofâ" She huffed, rolling her eyes. Her hands slipping from where they covered his to the collar of his top, pulling him down to meet her lips, standing on her toes.
Lucien's eyes widen from shock, hands shaking and his brain repeating, "Is this real?" over and over until it goes numb.
With nothing left but his heart and his instincts, his hands leave her shoulders coming to rest on the small of her back. He tugs her body towards his, dipping his head down to meet hers. Absentmindedly, he guides her towards the brick of a nearby wall, carefully backing her into it so he could properly ravish her mouth.
A gentle noise escapes Elain, a mix of surprise and excitement. At the opening of her lips, he instantaneously slides his tongue against hers, fingers digging into her hips to restrain himself from completely consuming the poor woman.
Her hands comb through his hair, tugging the ginger curls at the base of his head in a way that makes his hands lower down her back and lips leave hers to kiss her neck.
"Oh, fuck." He whispered against her skin, leaving hot kisses along the line of her neck and inhaling her scent deeply, letting out a rumbling groan at the feeling of her against him. His hands knead into her, squeezing her ample bottom as he hoists her up, her legs hooking on his hips.
Elain shakes from the euphoria of feeling him, nails dragging along his shoulders and neck as she pants. A tight, hot feeling erupts in her gut, her tightening in a desperate attempt to get some for of friction against her.
"Lucien," she breathes, clinging to his back at the feeling of him hard against her, rocking her hips before he steadies her with his hand, keeping her from moving. "Please." She whines, tugging his hair the same way that made him hard before, just to get what she wanted.
"No...I can't, My Lady. I can't...not here." He groaned breathlessly, sucking a mark into her neck, her eyes tearing up at the sensation of it. He shakes his head against her as she whines again, growing harder at the smell of her arousal, gasping into her skin.
"Lucien?"
His head unceremoniously whips up, Elain turning her head as well. Feyre stands before them, with a rather amused raise of her eyebrows as a smirk is plastered on her face. He feels Elain go rigid and warm beneath him, her face flustered as she croaks out a series of noises that sound like the very being of a few words, without ever fully becoming any.
Lucien gently sets her down and fixes herâ his coat. He clears his throat and smiled, "Lady Elain and I were having a conversation."
Feyre nods slowly, a grin gracing her lips. "Uh-huh...well, you two can continue when we get back. Just...put a silencing glamour on your room, please. Nyx needs as much sleep as he can get." She said, turning around and walking off, a shake of her head visible even as she gets farther.
He clears his throat, hand coming to restâ appropriatelyâ on the small of Elain's back, a grin on his lips that he tries to hide, if only for his mates sake.
"We will." He called out to Feyre, Elain huffing in exasperation as he guides her back to her house for the night, the bond pleasantly humming between them.
i really hope to enjoyed it! as you've probably guessed im not entirely confident in my writing, but I hope i made something that checked all of your boxes and you liked reading!
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