#and you know what? i know that if we reached a point I hadn't prepared for and i asked to end early?

[murdockparker]

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say. 

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed. 

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”   

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by. 

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise. 

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?” 

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?” 

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion. 

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more. 

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct. 

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”  

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.” 

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.   

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room. 

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it. 

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process. 

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze. 

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.” 

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal. 

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”  

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display. 

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter. 

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door. 

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon. 

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask. 

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say. 

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish. 

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly. 

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered. 

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck. 

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water. 

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face. 

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out. 

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward. 

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed. 

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above. 

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said. 

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—” 

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”  

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother. 

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—” 

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?” 

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain. 

Rain. 

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting. 

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in. 

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise. 

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…” 

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—” 

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified. 

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience. 

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this. 

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him. 

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again. 

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while. 

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter. 

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray. 

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have. 

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #this is a doozy and i am sorry #but only a little bit!!!

[moonydustx]

I look better under you

Based on the song Snooze - Sza

Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader

Warnings: smut, mentions of scars, jealousy. Doesn't exactly follow plot canon.

Summary: After two years apart after the incident with Kuma in Sabaody, you and Zoro meet again.

A/N: I was thinking about doing some stories based on songs, especially in the future using one from Cowboy Carter for Ace because it makes so much sense to me. While that doesn't happen, we're left with Snooze, which is one of my favorites from Sza.

requests open | one piece masterlist

Long as you dreamin' 'bout me, ain't no problem

I don't got nobody, just with you right now

Tell the truth, I look better under you

I can't lose when I'm with you

How can I snooze and miss the moment?

You just too important

Nobody do body like you do

Your body itched when you saw a handful of greenish hair appearing on the horizon of the Sabaody archipelago. It was two long years without seeing each other, without talking, without the little escapades in the crow's nest where you spent hours tangled up in each other. Before you could prepare to talk to him, Sanji and Luffy also appeared in your field of vision, running in some direction you hadn't noticed yet.

"Let's go!" Luffy passed you who immediately started running to keep up with them.

"Finally a beautiful and real woman." Sanji's eyes practically threw hearts in your direction. "So beautiful, so fragrant, so..."

For a few seconds you thought Zoro was going to complain about Sanji, like they always did, but he remained quiet just as he didn't show any reaction when he saw you.

Your companions didn't know about the little escapades the two of you had and for a long time it was what made sense to you. Until your eyes witnessed Kuma erase Zoro's existence before your eyes, at least that's what you believed for a while.

"Isn't that the pretty girl from Thriller Bark?" Sanji caught your attention. A few meters away you recognized the pink hair and the gothic style.

The woman's face was almost glued to Zoro's as she yelled at him. Too close to be just a coincidence. "Why haven't you left here yet?" "I brought you here for nothing." Perhaps your vision was obstructed by the anxiety of being back - which now became a bitterness on your lips. Apparently the two years passed differently for him.

Ignoring the confused feelings, you and your companions ran towards the Sunny and before the navy even thought about reaching you, the ship was already sailing towards the next island.

"It's so good to have everyone back!" Nami hugged you tightly in a hug. "Come on, tell me what you were doing this whole time."

Islands with carnivorous plants, strange laboratories, giant birds, a castle with a certain girl with pink hair. Zoro was sitting next to you. As they listened to everyone talk, something about his posture seemed to show some discomfort in being there.

Everyone seemed to accumulate stories and adventures to tell and despite the small puddle of hurt that accumulated in you, you were happy to see your friends again.

"And you." Robin turned towards you. "What challenges have you encountered?"

"I went to a village that was being attacked by venomous insects. We had to keep shooting at them all the time and maybe that improved my aim." You took one of the small knives from your waistband and threw it past the small gap between Nami's neck and hair.

"Shown off." Zoro murmured next to you, attracting your attention for a brief second.

"Did the animals do this?" Usopp pointed to your arm.

Attracting everyone's eyes, you turned your arm, showing the scars that started on your fingers and went almost to the height of your shoulder.

"No." you smiled sympathetically as the shooter looked on attentively. "Let's just say not everyone on this island was nice or interested in the end of the demonic insects."

The others nodded and it didn't take long for them to engage in another story, paying attention to all the news. Even though you weren't looking in his direction, you could feel yourself being watched the entire time.

After a long conversation, everyone decided to explore Sunny. Review what they left behind, prepare for the next challenges. Before you could do the same, you felt an arm pulling you towards one of the rooms.

"What the hell is this." you saw Zoro in your field of vision. One of his hands closed the door and the other rested on the side of your head.

"It's been so long." he murmured, his face seeking the direction of your lips. Begrudgingly, you dodged his kiss. "What?"

He tried again and saw you repeat the gesture. It took his brain a few seconds to process all the possibilities.

He tried again and saw you repeat the gesture. It took his brain a few seconds to process all the possibilities.

"I understand." he started walking away. "Two years is too long, I understand that maybe you found someone else."

"I did this?" The tone of his voice was shrill and full of indignation. "Says the guy who was with the goth girl there. Did you enjoy your enchanting romance in an incredible castle?"

"Are you crazy?" Zoro analyzed you for a few seconds, seeing how safe it was to approach you. His hands found your chin and when you tried to move away from his touch, Zoro held on even tighter. "You know I had nothing to do with her. You know no one is like you."

Your own hands found his and went up to your face, relief was written on your face. Gently, one of your fingers traced the scar that closed his eye.

"Who made this?" you whispered, wanting to hold that little moment between the two of you.

"No one that matters now." He turned his face, kissing one of your hands. His gaze soon reached your immense scar. "About what you said outside, who was the bastard that hurt you?"

"No one that matters now." You smiled, enjoying his touch on your face. "You know I hate her, don't you?"

"Perona?"

"I wish I had killed that bitch in Thriller Bark!" you grumbled, earning a laugh from Zoro.

He wanted to kiss you, heavens he wanted to be able to take you there but he had missed hearing you too much and seeing your eyes shining in his direction. Everything else could wait.

"You only say that because she was playing with the ghosts and you."

"Exactly." your hands went down to the back of his head, pulling him closer. "I'd kill that bitch again just to think of her stealing what's mine."

You could feel Zoro's laughter almost on your skin, given the proximity. "So jealous" he murmured and before his lips stole yours, the two of you were interrupted when you were thrown from the door and the presence of a euphoric Luffy appeared.

"Let's eat! Sanji is going to make a huge feast for you and us." he pulled you by the shoulders. "Can you get your knife between Brook's ribs, say yes, please."

"Does he know you want to do this?" you asked him, taking advantage of Zoro's support to stand up.

"He said he'll accept it, if you let him see the color of your panties." Luffy spoke with a naturalness that brought laughter from you and a groan from the swordsman.

"He won't see, but..." you warned, tugging at the waistband of your pants. "It's pink, with white polka dots." Brook's scream outside indicated that he had heard the entire conversation and had probably combusted.

"Hit his head." Zoro grumbled, leaving the room before you.

A lot of thrown knives, a huge feast made by Sanji - and considering that Luffy ate more than half of it claiming he missed the food the cook made. You watched some of your friends retreat to your quarters.

"Has anyone seen Zoro?"

"He said he would be upstairs if anyone needed him." Chopper warned you and you thanked him, leaving him behind.

Knowing he would probably be alone, you walked up the stairs to the crow's nest and entered unceremoniously. Zoro was lying down, contemplating the ceiling.

"I thought it would take longer." He stood up, coming towards you.

"It's just that everyone is going to sleep, I think we can talk properly now." the words barely had space to leave your lips before Zoro reached you and crashed his lips into yours.

Your hands were against his chest and even though you wanted to move away to at least try to talk before finding out what happened during this time outside, Zoro's lips took yours in an intoxicating way. Honey, drinks and longing mixed in your mouths.

"We can talk later." he murmured, almost reading your thoughts. "I just miss you."

"Me too." your lips heaved as you felt his arms lift you so that your legs were wrapped around his.

Such a movement was made only so that Zoro could take you to the ground in a strange delicacy on his part. The green threads became your fingers' favorite path while his hands removed the few pieces of clothing that your body still had.

"No one that matters now?" he traced some scars that adorned your back and watched you twitch. "I'll still kill the bastard."

"This someone is no longer here for you to take revenge on." you took his lips as a distraction for your hands to slide over the shoulders hidden in the kimono.

"That's my girl."

Scars, bruises, nothing would take away the pleasure of Zoro's contemplation. The long two years didn't really seem that long until he saw you. How can you wait so long? How did he not go crazy and come back even if he swam to Sabaody?

"Hi greenie." You caught his attention by letting your hands caress his cheek. "Are you ok babe?"

"You are so beautiful." The words came out suddenly as if it were common for you to hear that every day.

If it were up to him alone, he would make a point of repeating that all night and for the rest of the next nights as well. Your eyes looking down at him asking for attention to your body, your legs closing against his body, small sighs as you felt him touch you. You underneath him was one of the best sights Zoro would have for the rest of his life.

His lips traced every contour of your skin. Every shiver was swallowed by a kiss, every shiver was trapped between his lips. The damp fabric of your panties didn't last long as a hindrance to the swordsman who turned you into tatters. It was like enjoying a feast after years of scarcity, drinking the divine honey that flowed from you.

"Still delicious." "I missed you so much."

Zoro couldn't contain a light laugh when he saw you cover your mouth with both hands, avoiding the screams that hit your body as you poured yourself onto his lips. Your waist took on a life of its own with the sensitivity of your pussy against his tongue.

Without any effort, Zoro turned you around and, handling you, placed your body on top of him, in a lotus position. His cock brought friction against your clitoris, your belly burning with pure anxiety and his hands made your hips move against him without even penetrating you. Your lips already hurt from the pressure you used to not let any noise escape.

"Let me hear you, please." One of his hands caught your hair, placing your head against the back of his neck. "Moan just for me baby. I need to hear you."

"Zoro, fuck, don't torture me. Just fuck me, please."

Hearing you beg was the closest thing a devil like him would get to heaven. Wrong, so wrong. Feeling your pussy contract with every inch he put in, that was paradise.

Despite feeling like you could explode at any moment, you moved slowly, not wanting the night to end. The grips against your ass, the eager hands pressing you against the base of his cock. Neither of them seemed to be able to last long.

The peak reached you first, your lips against the sweaty back of your neck, your fingers prickling the green strands begging for more and more, it was enough for Zoro to sink his teeth into your soft skin, containing his own moans and filling you up.

He lay down, still keeping himself inside you and allowing you to lay against his chest.

"You have new ones too." Your fingers traced some new scars.

"You don't like them?"

"Still beautiful, as always. Zo?"

" What do you need, sweet?"

"I know it wasn't our choice, but... Promise that if we get separated again, we'll find a way and find each other." Your eager eyes drew a sigh from the man, who pressed you even tighter against his embrace.

"This is the easiest promise I've ever made."

The sun began to rise when you could no longer keep your eyes open. With your body tied to Zoro's and covered by his kimono, without worrying if anyone would arrive, the two of you both took a snooze.

#fiction #reader insert #one piece #no use of y/n #requests open #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x y/n #smut #minors do not interact

[thelordfool]

HELP ME PLEASE!!!!!

Long story short: I'm unemployed and will not, unlike what I originally thought, qualify for unemployment benefits.

Please read the readmore for additional context on why I'm unemployed. This post is basically a continuation/update/redo of this post. I'm suffering a sickness with no medicine the past week, applied for almost 100 jobs the last two weeks, am disabled/queer/nonbinary/tired of ebegging. I'm also in the negatives in my bank account because my car payment came out, so I need to get that covered.

pp/vm/ca

$250/$1151.51

i need at least $511.51 of this by the first. please spread if you're financially unable to help, every person this reaches helps! here's the breakdown of the costs: $640 - car payment + late fees $380 - rent $131.51 - negative amount in bank currently

Oh hey thanks for stopping by to read this annoying tale of woe and being angry at capitalism. Prepare for wall of text.

I once had two jobs. The first job, at a chain restaurant, was a bit of a clique-y experience where I was working my damndest to be the best bartender they ever had. I still have all the cocktails memorized. However, I continually faced discrimination in the form of severe misgendering, no matter how often I corrected them. I was also set up for failure. Usually, when someone gets hired for a position, there's some amount of training to be done, no matter how experienced they are, right? I was going in nearly entirely inexperienced into the role. I knew how to make cocktails, sure, and was and still am very good with people and selling. But I was trained for two days. Two. Then, on my first night alone (a Friday), I was watched by one of the bigwigs at corporate who saw every little flub and failure. This caused a demotion-ish. I was demoted to barback but was allowed the same privileges. Until their next visit. That upset the hell out of me - I was well trained by that point and could do it all, with one hand tied behind my back. I digress. It was about 2 months following my demotion when i finally walked out. A new bartender had been hired and she thought I was being a total creep by looking at a ticket that had just come in. She stormed off to report me to the manager who, even after hearing my side where I had asked her if there was anything on the ticket that I could grab, said that I "needed to communicate better," and "you should be learning from her," and "you're a grown man, you should know better." I don't think I need to explain why that was so upsetting.

But I didn't report them, because I just wanted to be done with it. I was also working another bartending job, and everythign was literally perfect other than the hours, honestly. I loved the product the distillery made, I loved the people I worked with, and most of all: I had my own regulars. Last month, they hired a new hospitality director, who announced there would be some restructuring, including getting rid of servers while also making a full dinner menu to serve alongside drinks. I said nothing of it, despite my disagreements, and she assured us all that no one would lose their jobs, but just moved into different roles. We all kinda grumbled about it, and I told her that under no circumstances would I work back of house. Easy peasy. Till it wasn't, and I came home to a voicemail while on break with my partner that I'd been let go due to the restructuring. So much for no one losing their jobs, right? I hadn't been the only victim of this. I have my suspicions as to why the new hospitality director did these things, but I've no energy to throw around conspiracies. All I know is that I was shafted by both of these places and I'm tired of being broke. I'm applying, still going to fight, and... sigh.

tl;dr (why did you click the readmore?): i left a job due to discrimination and lost another due to company restructuring and i'm tired and sad and aaaaa.

[denpa-dere]

house arrest 4

afab!mc x asmo description: NSFW, you are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower? Asmo knows you need a break.

warnings: breeding kink with talk scents/scenting, afab reader with she/her pronouns. dubcon warning!!! This one turned out sounding kind of sketch in places, but actions depicted are intended to be consensual. spoilers: aphrodisiac used.

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) ||

Asmo:

Asmo: I heard what happened. 

Asmo: If you need a little something for those love bites, come see me. It's incredible what Devildom cosmetics can do. 

Asmo:

You puffed a little laugh watching the messages roll in. Leave it to Asmo to be so sweet under such ridiculous circumstances. 

Turning your phone face down on the pillow beside you, you folded your hands over your chest, staring up at the ceiling and taking inventory of the situation at hand. In the motion, your hands briefly brushed against a stray bite mark, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain throughout your body.

You had, by your estimation, about three more days under the microscope. The halfway point had snuck up on you amidst a flurry of seemingly nonstop activity. Until now, you hadn't had a chance to breathe, let alone strategize. 

Responding to those messages meant walking straight into a trap, of that much you could be certain. Truthfully, his distance thus far had surprised you. Asmo was something of a dark horse; an unpredictability bubbled just under his surface. Surrounded by his sin, comfortable and in his element, there was no way of knowing how his behavior would manifest. 

Well, there was one way. 

___

“Aww, muffin! You came!” Asmo cheered, swinging the door open before you could even knock. He flung his arms around your neck and pulled you into a tight hug. 

He paused to take a good look at you, lightly chiding: “You're a mess, you poor thing! Come on, let's get you fixed up.”

Linking his arm in yours, Asmo led you inside where he left you waiting at the edge of his bed while he broke away to dig through a readily prepared stash of bottles and assorted sundries.

“Brutes, all of them,” He clucked his tongue, “You’ll have to tell me all about it, obviously.”

You laughed, settling back amongst the pillows, “They’re not so bad. They’re trying.”

“Please. You coddle them,” The demon teased, rolling his eyes at you, “Meanwhile, you look like a chew toy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No need to worry, Asmo-chan is here!” He sing-songed, joining you on the bed with an armful of products, “And I’ve got just the thing- I brought my most powerful arsenal.”

This seemed… normal? Too normal, you thought. Asmo chattered on happily, laying out his choices one-by-one and explaining the benefits of each. All else aside, it felt like any other spa day. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised that The Avatar of Lust remained unfazed in the face of something that may very well be considered a mundane part of his domain. After all, Asmo had been the one to keep a cool head back when…

“Sounds good?” He chirped, holding up a jar in the shape of a deep purple crystal, eyes glittering with excitement.

“S-sure!” You nodded, hoping your eagerness covered up the fact you had entirely zoned out during his presentation.

“Yay~” He unscrewed the lid, “Then we can start with ones on your neck.”

You tried to relax, craning your head to one side. Asmo gathered some of the lightly-scented balm between his fingers and you sighed when he softly traced the sensitive marks.

“This stuff works quickly,” He assured you, extending the motion down to your collarbone, “I didn’t think Beel would be so bitey. On second thought, I guess it does make sense…”

With a practiced familiarity, you reached to pull your shirt overhead, “I think he got me on my back, too.”

“Ooh, lemme see!”

You rolled onto your stomach and buried your face into one of about a thousand silk pillows. Asmo gasped. Chuckling to himself, he wasted no time getting to work on your shoulders, and although you jumped at his touch at first, you soon found yourself sinking into its warmth.

You were feeling pretty warm. 

“They're fading already,” Asmo said, sounding impressed with himself. He positioned himself over you, straddling your hips for purchase, ministrations straying closer to a massage than a cosmetic treatment. 

“Is that why I'm so warm?” You asked, groaning in appreciation as he helpfully teased out a knot between your shoulder blades. 

“That's probably the magdalena extract,” He giggled, breath tickling  the shell of your ear, “Like I said, this stuff works fast.”

You rolled the name over in your mind, trying to remember where you had heard it before. A fog was encroaching on your thoughts, swaddling your head in a thick haze reminiscent of being wine-drunk. 

“Do you like it?” The fifth-born's voice stayed soft and playful as his hands glided down the small of your back. You set your remaining thoughts aside and sighed again, feeling yourself become putty in his hands. 

“Good,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck and nipping gently at your ear, “Then, do you want to turn over so I can get the rest of you?”

You hummed in agreement, turning underneath him when he rose up on his knees enough for you to move. Once situated on your back, Asmo lowered down to sit on you, again; his lithe frame light enough to not cause any discomfort, but heavy enough to keep you in place. You studied him through lowered lashes– he truly was beautiful.

“Ah, there you are,” He said as if seeing you for the first time. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, tangerine gaze raking over your flushed body.

Magdalena extract. 

The name continued to echo somewhere in the back of your mind. 

Asmo collected a generous amount of the salve, warming it between his hands before tenderly cupping your abused chest. His tongue poked out cutely between his lips in concentration, perfectly manicured fingers trailing feather-light over fading teeth imprints and rapidly stiffening nipple peaks. 

It's an aphrodisiac. An alarm bell sounded somewhere in the distance. You were too far away to pay it any attention. 

“I swear, these boys have no idea how it's done,” He murmured, more to himself than to you, and leaned in to take one of your nipples into his mouth. He lapped around the sensitive bud, sending you reeling. Your eyes rolled back as your body exploded in sensation, arching off the mattress. 

What the fuck was that? You wouldn't have time to think too hard about it. 

“Shh,” He lovingly shushed you, stuffing two fingers in your mouth, “You don't want to get us caught, do you~?”

You whimpered around the digits’ probing–  even their intrusion was starting to feel good. Asmo turned his attention back to your body. He trailed his free hand down your side, tracing the hem of your waistband. 

“Can I?” He looked up at you with a hopeful smile. You nodded, eager to shed the remaining clothes covering your feverish skin. Asmo removed his fingers from your mouth to help shimmy you out of your bottoms. 

“You know,” The demon said, parting your legs to sit between them, “Your scent has been driving me crazy for almost a week now.” He pouted, “It's pretty rude.”

Goosebumps cropped up along your thighs, following the path of his hands applying more healing balm. You lifted your hips for him, allowing space for him to slip his hands under your ass.

“Besides, everyone's been paying attention to you,” Asmo huffed, kissing each of your hip bones. Your eyes watered. “That doesn't seem fair.”

“ -‘m sorry,” You managed to whine, rolling your hips against your will. You ached for more. 

He giggled again, placing a few more kisses along your stomach, “Aww, that's okay. We'll have plenty of time for you to give me attention. Lucifer thinks I left the house hours ago.”

The words hardly registered. Asmo offered you two of his fingers again, which you readily accepted into your mouth. You twisted your tongue around them and sucked, and he looked at you like you hung the stars. 

He was right. There was plenty of time 

to be spent lavishing one another with affection– and what more perfect place to start, he thought, than playing with your adorable puffy clit until you cried that you loved him. 

You had all night, after all. 

#obey me smut #obey me fanfic #obey me x reader #asmo x reader #asmodeus x reader #x reader

[luveline]

Hiii if ur not sick of the fainting requests yet would love on for our bf remus <3

and thank uuu for all ur writing and time <3

thank u sm lovely ♡ fem!reader, 1.1k

cw blood + fainting

"No! That's not what happened, and you know it isn't," Remus says with a laugh big enough to shake his shoulders.

The stomach of his t-shirt is dark with water, splattered by the colander as he rinses the celery he's sliced. 

"It is what happened," you say, peeling the lid back from your plastic container of hummus. "You have a selective memory, Remus." 

He tips the clean celery into a bowl atop carrots shining with wet, his disagreement obvious and entertaining. James did help Remus ask you out the first time, but Remus might not remember it because it was largely done behind his head, James mouthing clearly, My friend thinks you're stunning. 

"Did you cut up any green apples?" you ask. 

They're James' favourite. Tonight, you and Remus are celebrating five months as a couple, but you hadn't realised movie night (pre-negotiated) was the same day until a half hour ago, hence your rushed preparations. You wouldn't be here to celebrate if it weren't for James. He deserves them. 

Having to rush hasn't put a damper on how happy you both are. "No," Remus says, clasping your hand loosely on the way to the fridge. "Did you want to get changed?" 

"We have," —you check your watch, eyes flaring— "about eight minutes until six. Plenty of time." 

Remus laughs at your joking and takes three apples from the fruit and vegetable drawer. You slide in the fridge behind him to eye your drinks selection and start to fret. "You know, I'm gonna put my shoes on and nip to the Spar. We don't have any coke zero for Sirius–" 

"He can get his own coke zero." 

"Then what's the point of hosting? It's only across the road." 

The sound of Remus peeling an apple follows you down the hallway, a quick shush shush shush. You put your fingers at the back of your converse as a makeshift shoe horn and force your foot into it to save time. Your fingertips hurt afterward, but you're ready in less than a minute. Your purse in your back pocket, you shout, "Did you want anything?" 

"Not that I can think– Ow." A sharp hiss. "Fuck." 

You walk briskly back to the kitchen. "What?" 

Remus turns to you with blood dribbling down his arm and you can't remember a thing after that. 

— 

"You've murdered her?" Sirius asks, staring down at Remus with wide-eyed surprise. "I thought you were getting on well." 

"Can you help, please?" he asks. He's using his t-shirt to stem the frankly worrying amount of blood that drips from his cut finger, the pain a stinging but luckily bearable constant. Remus is more concerned by your limp weight in his lap. He's dripped blood onto your sleeve. It's a mess. 

Sirius shoves his bag on the kitchen table and sits down on the floor, easing your head from Remus lap and into his own. "Mate, what the fuck happened?" 

"She fainted when she saw the blood." 

"I thought that only happened on telly?" 

"It's quite real," Remus says, standing up to take care of things. "Can you give her a little shake? I tried tapping her cheek but she didn't feel it." 

Sirius pokes at your eyelids. Remus hates that he's had to relinquish what's clearly a boyfriend duty, but he imagines that if the blood shocked you that badly the first time, it'll get you a second. He's lucky he managed to grab you under the arms before you smashed your head open. 

He washes his arms clean in the sink and wraps a tea towel around his thumb. Swift, he reaches for the first aid kit on top of the cupboard and opens it one handed over the stove top. He puts a plaster on his cut, then a second, like a hat. 

Fully covered, Remus turns around and sighs. There's blood like a spattering of concentrated rain in a line to your prone body. 

Sirius continues to poke at you like a science experiment, but he isn't mean. "Helloooo," he sing-songs, blowing air in your ear. You jump and your eyelashes flutter, and for once, Remus can endorse his friend's antagonising. 

"Hey, there you are," Remus says, kneeling by your head. He helps you up from Sirius thigh, angling your gaze to the hallway rather than the bloody kitchen. "That's never happened before. Do you usually do that?" 

"Do what?" you ask, blinking like you've weights sewn into your eyelids. 

"You fainted," Sirius interjects. "Keep your eyes on Moony, doll. I'll clean up this mess. Consider it my charity for the year." 

"What?" you ask, trying to look around Remus. 

He takes your face into his hands, drawing your gaze. "Do you feel okay? Haven't bruised anything?" 

"No?" 

He nods, relieved. "Come on, lovely. Let's sit you on the sofa." 

Remus helps you stand and directs you into your living room. It's beautifully clean awaiting company, giving you ample room to lay down again. You don't complain aloud but Remus can tell you're feeling weird still from the way you frown, your bottom lip pouted ever so slightly. He perches on the end of the seat. 

"What the fuck, where are the dish cloths?" Sirius asks himself. 

You laugh into your shoulder, the sound like a beacon. Remus knows you'll be alright, but he'd quite like to hammer it home. He puts his hand on your forehead to stroke along your hairline with his uninjured thumb. 

"Are you okay?" you ask. 

"I'm fine, you're the one who almost broke her neck," he says, the tip of his pinky racing down your cheek to your chin. He tilts your head up. "Since when do you faint at the sight of blood? Bit dramatic." 

"I don't know. Never happened before. Since when do you cut yourself with a seventy pence peeler? That's ridiculous." 

He presses his smile into your lips. "You weren't supervising me." 

"It's my fault, then. Typical." 

Remus kisses you, the corner of your mouth, your cheek. A loving line. You relax under his touch, laughing softly at his tickling stubble. He pulls away as the front door clatters in, but whoever it is ignores the living room completely, bursting into your kitchen. 

"Sirius, what have you done, mate?" James asks, plastic bags rustling. 

"I don't want to talk about it. Why's it always me on my knees? Not like that." 

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

[maxislvt]

Please me, Squeeze me, Tease me

Summary: Wanda really likes playing with her toys. Even when you've reached your limit, she has more for you.

Warnings: Vaginal fingering (r receiving), Strap-on usage (r receiving), squirting, overstimulation, praise kink, dirty talk, Wanda being an absolute pleasure dom because I am a slut!! The reader is afab but no gendered terms!

A/N: The impulsive thoughts won, but it's a sweet victory. Please someone ask me about my pleasure dom Wanda, it's becoming an illness at this point.

"Don't be shy, baby, I want them to know who you belong to."

The hushed whisper only pushed you further into the depths of lust. Every thrust of Wanda's fingers sent you closer to an edge you'd never return from. Wetness leaked from your core down Wanda's arm and onto the bedsheets. Despite Wanda's encouragement, you were much too shy to let out anything more than a whimper or a small plea.

"Wanda, please, I can't— I really can't," You squeaked out. You were sure the sheets were torn and permanently stained by now. Just when you thought you were at the end of your rope and about to tap out, Wanda managed to squeeze out another orgasm. There was no stopping her now that she had a goal set for herself. Wanda wanted to claim you and you were all for it. The way she held you close and whispered the sweetest things in your ears as she brought you into a never-ending sea of pure bliss. Now you were drowning in it and there was no way to come back up. "Fuck, god, I'm so close!"

Wanda smirked as she peppered soft kisses against the inside of your thigh. "That's what I like to hear. Never tell me you can't." Her long fingers had long since stretched you out, but she couldn't get enough of how good you felt wrapped around her fingers. "I promise this will be the last one with my fingers before we get to the real fun," She purred, curling her fingers at just the right angle to send you flying into another orgasm. The two of you had long since lost count of your orgasm, but that hadn't stopped Wanda. "You're gonna look so cute with my dick inside you."

Despite the torture your cunt had suffered through, it throbbed at the mere thought of being filled up again. You could only nod along as Wanda got off the bed to prepare for another round of having her way with you. Your legs immediately shut when you saw the size of the strap she'd chosen. "That's a new one…" Despite your hesitation, you couldn't deny how aroused the size made you.

"And you're more than wet enough to take it." Wanda's hands gently guided your legs apart and wrapped them around her waist. "Just breathe for me." She swirled the tip around your clit a few times before easing inside of you. The sound of squelching sent a shiver up her spine. You were hopelessly hers. No one would ever get you that wet. "I own this messy little pussy, don't I," She asked with a confident smirk. "Say it, tell me I own it." She filled you to the brim in mere seconds.

Your back arched off the bed and your feet kicked frantically. You were much too sensitive for an actual toy, but the two of you would continue anyways. "Fuck," You whispered as Wanda began thrusting into you. "You own my messy little pussy." Any thoughts going through your head were quickly being flushed out. That's how Wanda wanted you. Thoughtless and ruined. Another orgasm was already working its way through your body and more would keep coming. "That feels so good," You rasped out.

"I know, baby, I know," She cooed. Her free hand cupped your face gently. Her thumb ran over your bottom lip lovingly. Then it slipped between your lips quickly. "You look so good. Do you like it when I fuck you up?" Wanda slowed her thrusts just to exaggerate the wet, sloppy sounds coming from your pussy. "Does my sweet baby like being messy and sticky?" The smile that overtook her face was deceptively sweet. Her eyes sparkled with admiration. So much so that it almost hid the burning lust within them. Almost.

Your breathing stuttered when Wanda's thumbs slid down the column of your throat. Her other thumb went down to your clit. Her hands worked in synchronized movements with her hips. "No…wait, I can't!" Your body twitched and shuddered underneath Wanda's touch. It was an out-of-body experience. Not a single part of your body was under your control and you'd lost yourself to the blinding white light of pleasure. The sticky liquid bursting out of you was against your own will. No matter how much you wanted it to stop, it just kept coming. "Wanda, I really need a break, please."

Wanda watched you fall apart in amazement. The mess of the sheets was wholly irrelevant. You two had been together for quite some time, but Wanda had never been able to make you squirt. One small action had entirely reignited her passion for pleasing you. Her hips drew back and she pulled out slowly. "What's your color, baby?" Her teeth dug into the gentle flesh of her lip. A million thoughts ran through her head on ways to make you squirt again. "I promise it'll be the last one…for real this time."

You weighed your options. To say you were drained was an understatement. The mere thought of moving your legs and doing anything besides sleeping pained you. Yet, the way Wanda looked at you was so delicious. She always looked at you a certain way. Her bright green eyes would darken and watch your every move like you were nothing but prey to be feasted upon.

"Green."

Wanda's lips were back on yours in seconds. Teeth against teeth and tongue against tongue. Her passion would never die. She leaned back, moving to lie down beside you before slipping her faux dick back inside you. "God, I'd kill to feel this messy little thing wrapped around my dick," She whispered in your ear. Her hips began a slow, purposeful rhythm. This would be your last, and it had to outdo all the others that came before it. "Do you wanna cum? Tell me how bad you wanna cum for me," She said in a sickeningly sweet voice.

Your hips twitched and bucked, unsure of if they wanted more or needed a break. The undeniable pleasure of being stretched out with the venomous pain of overstimulation lying just underneath. It wasn't fair. Words would tumble to the tip of your tongue only to fall into nothingness when they passed your lips. "I- can't!" Was the only thing you were able to say before you were plunged back into the thoughtless headspace.

Wanda plunged her strap impossibly deeper inside of you. "Oh, so you can boss me around but can't tell me I'm doing a good job?" Her hips snapped forward, rubbing the tip flush against that spongy patch of nerves deep inside of you. "I don't think that's quite fair, sweetheart." Her free hand pressed firmly against your pelvis. "You better look extra cute when you cum for me if you wanna make up for being mean to me." You would look amazing when you came. Wanda knew that. It was just fun to see you desperate to please her.

You nodded along frantically, unable to communicate any other way. Another tight knot formed in the pit of your stomach. Somehow it was bigger than the last. This was going to become an addiction for both of you. "'m so close," You whined. You harshly tugged on Wanda's t-shirt in an attempt to pull her closer. You were drowning. Forever smothered by a wave of pure bliss. Everything felt too good to be ashamed by the liquid spilling out of and onto your partner's lower half. Wanda's praise had fallen on deaf ears, but you appreciated her attempts to keep you grounded.

Wanda gives you a second to relax before pulling out. Both her hands move up to cup your face and her thumb runs over your lip. "How's my baby feeling?" She didn't expect an answer, not with how fizzled out your brain was. All she received in response was a string of light, airy giggles and a crooked smile from you. It makes her smile. "Well, that's good to hear, but it's time to get my precious thing washed up."

You mindlessly nod along with her commands. Too weak to fight back and not keen on the idea of sleeping in a pool of your cum, you followed her every move. To the bathtub, to the dinner table, and back to the bed once the sheets had been replaced. "Thank you," You whispered into Wanda's chest. No matter how long you two had been together, you never knew what to say after sex.

"You're very welcome. I'll give you whatever you want, all you have to do is ask." But, Wanda always reassured you it was okay to not know. That was her job. You were hers to take care of.

No one else's.

#pvntherz #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda fanfic #wanda smut #elizabeth olsen smut #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x female reader

[m00nsbaby]

Clumsy II.

Marc Spector + Steven Grant x F! Reader. Next part to "Clumsy." (Or Already Over IV)

Tags & warnings. You already know the deal lol + Marc is still a jerk. (Sorry btw) This is the last part of the mini saga. :)

Word count. 2.9k

Summary.

I let you down, I've been clumsy with your heart again, I guess you figured me out, Now here's a taste of my own medicine. Caught at the end of the lifeline, The catch of a lifetime. Oh, we were destined for danger, Familiar strangers.

Everything you had done for the past 2 years had been for Steven, reaching the point of having him as motivation to get out of bed.

Unfortunately, this day was no different. If you had managed to muster the courage to stand up and accept Jake's unusual invitation, it was purely for him.

The part about choosing a nice dress was a personal choice, though.

"So, then…?"

"4 o'clock sounds perfect." His voice was soft on the other end of the line. Not quite like Steven's, but Jake's voice had something… special.

Something that could make your cheeks blush just by hearing it.

"4 o'clock at your apartment then."

"Steven is excited." The mention churned your stomach.

Truth be told, you had been on autopilot for quite a while, even before Jake made his proposal. There were small details that brought you back to reality, even if it was just for a few seconds—seconds in which you physically felt the consequences.

"I'll see you in a bit, Jake." You hung up. You couldn't set his expectations too high. This wasn't going to be a romantic reunion or your way of saying, 'Everything's okay, it was just a misunderstanding.' Instead, it was your way of bringing closure to things with Marc. If it weren't for Jake, he would still cling to the idea that he doesn't need you in his life.

Knowing that at least more than one person was on your side had given you the strength to face it, and to question whether maybe you weren't the one who was wrong in this situation.

"It won't be long, buddy." You told your cat as he nudged his nose towards you. He meowed back. "Take care of the house, okay?"

Marc had been inconsolable for about two weeks now, and the news of Jake's arrival weighed heavier on him than any of the three would have liked.

It was just another way of reminding himself how messed up he was. If getting used to Steven had been an ordeal, this would probably be World War II.

He would scream at himself in the mirror or break anything that could show his reflection, depending on his mood. Meanwhile, Steven felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He stopped being the one who took care of Marc, at least for a few days, and he had time to experience his grief as it should be.

Jake was compassionate towards both of them. He somehow understood what they were going through.

"I don't want her here!" He drank from his whiskey, savoring the burn in his throat.

It was 11 in the morning. His hand moved on its own, throwing the bottle to the ground, shattering it into a million pieces.

"Idiot," he growled.

Steven said nothing, only chuckled to himself at the mere idea that Marc probably looked insane.

He'd let him argue with Jake as much as he wanted.

"It's for your own good." It was the only thing he heard back in his head, and Marc had to put both hands over his face as a way to console himself. He was drunk, with a terrible headache, and a strong urge to give up on life, although lately, that was nothing out of the ordinary. "Give me the body."

He accepted it without protest, and even the strongest of the three groaned at the sudden dizziness and the awful state in which Marc always left the body whenever he had it in his possession.

He showered, cleaned up. Did everything the other two hadn't been doing during these sick days, even answered your call.

And when he was done, his leg trembled up and down as he stared at the clock on his wall, which showed the exact 23 minutes left until your arrival.

And despite being the most prepared of the three, he nearly jumped in fright when you knocked on his door. Exactly three times to let him know it was you, something he learned from your secret techniques with Steven.

When he opened the door, both of you exchanged smiles, which was unusual. Yours was nervous, shouting 'I'm glad to see you but I fear what might happen,' and his, on the other hand, seemed quite excited.

Even more so when you hugged each other as a way of greeting, even if the contact only lasted a few seconds.

"I'm glad you came," he whispered as he closed the door behind you.

"I told you I would."

"Yes, I… yes." He cleared his throat; he could feel the burn as if he was still drinking whiskey. "Come in, let's go to the bedroom."

You filled your lungs with oxygen, enjoying the scent of Steven before nodding slowly.

"Is Marc going to…?"

"Yes." He interrupted instantly, biting his lower lip as if he was hiding something. He directed you to his bedroom, although you already knew the paths within his house perfectly well. "I need you to listen to me and trust me."

You frowned.

"Huh?" You entered his room slowly. And he closed the door behind you.

Your expression became even more confused when you saw him lock the door.

"Sorry, there's no way he won't escape if I don't do this."

"Jake?"

"Sorry," he repeated, stepping back.

Forcing the switch between them was always uncomfortable, especially when he had to put in double the effort to get Marc out, as he clung to hiding. Unfortunately for him, Jake was stronger.

You noticed the change in his expression almost immediately. You would recognize that furrowed brow anywhere, and while it looked slightly puzzled, he didn't take long to place himself.

When his gaze settled on you, Marc could swear his heart stopped.

He had spent so much time dreaming of you that he completely forgot certain details about you that were undoubtedly better in person.

"Marc?" You whispered shyly, almost fearfully. You hadn't seen him since he cruelly broke up with you.

Your heart raced, even after all the damage he had done to you.

"I have to… Uh." The air got stuck in his lungs. After several seconds of staring at you, he averted his gaze, stumbling clumsily over his feet to the door.

He tried to open it but it didn't give way. Jake had done his job well. He gave it another tug and grew even more nervous.

"Marc!" You called for his attention, your brow furrowing. Barely 3 seconds together and you were already losing patience.

This wasn't going well.

"What?!"

"Stop it!" Finally, he looked at you, and in a matter of seconds, it seemed like his eyes had welled up with fear. Did he fear you? You, who had to tilt your chin up to look him in the face because he was noticeably taller than you. "Stop it." You repeated, this time in a low tone.

"I don't want to talk to you, I won't."

Ouch.

"Either that or you'll have to break down the door, and Steven won't…"

"Steven doesn't even talk to me!" The sudden way he raised his voice made you jump slightly, and you pressed your lips together at the news.

Would it be wrong to admit that this was something you were expecting? You remained silent for a few seconds, and you swore you could hear his ragged breathing, as if he had the right to be angry with you.

"Jake won't let you out unless we do this now." You cleared your throat as you crossed your arms over your chest.

He cursed internally at how adorable you looked in that gesture.

"You and I have nothing left to talk about."

His words sent a wave of heat through your whole body.

"What did you say, Marc?"

"That you and I do…"

"You're an idiot," you whispered with a sarcastic laugh, and he finally fell silent. It had been so long since his ego had been hurt that he almost felt good about the slight pain in his chest. "You hurt me. Like no one ever did before."

He fell silent, waiting for you to continue, but he didn't let his guard down. You could see it in his irritated expression.

“You blamed me for… You blamed me for loving Steven. You let me live with the burden of thinking that I had destroyed your life.”

"You did." He whispered. It was visible how tense his body was, and you laughed sarcastically again at his words.

"Don't give me that, Marc Spector." You spat his name out with resentment. It was the first time you allowed yourself to be angry with him after forcing empathy for him for so long. "You got what you wanted. Layla? Your life made out of lies? Pushing Steven away from you?"

His expression finally wavered, even if it was only for a few seconds.

"Layla left me."

The news hit you like a bucket of cold water.

That made everything make more sense. The sudden appearance of Jake, his insistence on you talking to them, coming back. They were using you as a second option now that they had nothing left, trying to get you back as if nothing happened.

After all, you had always been the foolish one at Marc's service, willing to give up everything for him whenever he asked.

This wouldn't be one of those times.

You gathered all the strength you had in your small body to push him with both hands. He barely stepped back, stumbling in surprise at your sudden attempt to attack.

"I hate you!" Your voice broke.

His heart raced as if he had run a marathon, yet he didn't say anything.

"I hate you, Marc!" You sobbed, giving him another push. This time he didn't even move.

He stood still, and his hands trembled.

"Why are you doing this to me?" You were still the only one speaking. You sounded devastated, even more so than the day when you almost begged him for a chance. "Why?"

And, as usual, you got no answer. In fact, you got nothing; Marc wasn't even looking at you.

The truth was, despite having to deal with Steven and Layla telling him these kinds of things, coming from you was… worse. It was like a doubly more horrible shock therapy. The pain in your voice was something he had never heard before, and the truth was, he never wanted to hear it again.

You were choking him without even laying your hands on him. The words wouldn't come out, and his feet were rooted to the ground; he couldn't even look at you.

"You're killing me, Marc." You whispered as if the strength had left you. After receiving nothing from him, you knew it wasn't worth fighting, not with him. "You don't want to be with me." Admitting it aloud left a bitter taste in your mouth. "But you won't let me go. Don't you realize what you're doing?"

It was you, as usual, who crouched down. You sought his gaze, regardless of the mess you were in.

He looked back at you, and you waited.

You waited, and you waited.

When time passed, you knew what his answer was. Marc would never take a risk, or at least he wouldn't do it for you. He was too stubborn, and you doubted that he would ever lower his eternal guard.

The day Steven begged on his knees not to leave hurt, but somehow it was worse to receive silence from Marc. Knowing how little you mattered to him based on his actions.

"I understand," you whispered, wiping your tears with the back of your thumb. "Jake? Can you let me out?"

You reached out to grab the door handle, and he grabbed your wrist.

"Let go of me."

It sounded like a threat.

He, once again, didn't respond; he tugged on your wrist and almost made you let out a shriek as you collided with his chest.

Marc was so quick that you didn't even have a chance to react when his free hand positioned itself on your chin, pressing it between his fingers and holding it firmly.

Yet, you didn't protest; you let him guide you until his lips met yours. There was your answer.

When they finally kissed, tears welled up in your eyes again. In fact, you suddenly felt like you were drowning against his mouth, as if you wanted to groan but refused to break the contact between you two.

"I hate you," you said with difficulty against his mouth, trying to convince yourself of what you had said. He just made a small 'hmm' sound against your lips.

Apparently, neither of you trusted your words.

He let go of your wrist when he made sure you no longer wanted to touch the doorknob, but he continued to hold your chin. Eventually, he also took you by the waist and brought you even closer if that was possible.

His kisses were rough, so forceful that for a moment you doubted this body was the same as that of your ex-partner. Steven had never been like this. You also wondered if this was just a result of pain and desperation, or if his kisses were always like this.

With just two steps, your body was squeezed between his and the wall.

"I love you."

Your stomach turned.

"I love you." His kisses didn't allow you to respond. You wouldn't know this, but his fear wouldn't allow him to hear what you might say about it. "I love you." His fingers tightened their grip on your chin. "I love you." He sounded desperate. In pain.

You responded to each of his kisses, and you noticed that he needed a few more seconds to find calm.

"She left me because she knows I love you." He said quickly when he finally gave you a chance to breathe. His forehead rested against yours, and those big brown eyes were fixed on you. "S-She knows… She realized that…" He stammered. There was nothing more horrible for Marc Spector than expressing his feelings, giving explanations. "S-She…”

You were worth it.

You were worth throwing his pride to the wind.

"You took my heart when you left. You took everything." He admitted in a whisper and didn't receive an answer by his own choice.

He kissed you again as if his life was slipping through his fingers.

You didn't talk for the rest of the afternoon. You received all the kisses he had to give, and he allowed himself to feel your delicate hands on him. Massaging his shoulders at times or stroking his curls as you used to do for Steven.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized that you were doing it for him this time. You were taking care of him.

"Did you miss me?" His voice was so sweet that even with your face flushed from crying, you managed to smile.

Everything was so easy with Steven.

"I already told you I did." You laughed like a little girl who was recovering from a scolding or perhaps a tantrum. You even felt lightheaded, just like in many childhood instances when you had cried until your throat begged for a break.

"How much?" His fingers traced your waist, and you sighed at the familiarity of the sensation.

"With all my heart."

His eyes lit up at your words. Poor Steven had been through so much that he could swear this was a mirage or an illusion from his brain. There was no way you were really there in front of him.

As beautiful as ever.

"I bet I missed you more." You laughed again, specifically because you knew he meant it. You missed that smile so much that you decided to agree with him. You placed a hand on his cheek and nodded.

"I bet you did, love."

Steven could have burst with happiness right then and there.

"I have to go home, Steven." You spoke again, your thumb gently pressed against his cheek, right where his smile ended.

The news hit him hard. So much that you almost wanted to laugh.

He was terrified that you wouldn't come back, that you would consider this just a momentary mistake and nothing more.

"B-But I…"

"Sekhmet is alone." You corrected him with a slight smile, trying to give him the confidence he seemed to urgently need.

He nodded silently, looking like a sad puppy.

"Do you want to come with me?" Ah, there it was. His eyes were on you again as if he couldn't believe your offer.

No wonder you had never doubted Steven's love. The guy looked at you as if you were the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever seen, even after everything that had happened, not to mention the 300 times he had apologized to you for something he hadn't done.

"Can I, love?"

"You can spend the night there."

Silence. Seconds of silence before he nodded so quickly that his curls fell onto his face, making you laugh.

A genuine laughter that lit up your entire face, much like the one he had caused on your last date when he lifted you up in his arms and Sekhmet entered their lives.

Steven felt his heart skip a beat and his cheeks turn rosy.

"Let's go!" He gave you a little nudge, and you laughed again. "Jake can drive."

#moon knight #moon knight x you #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x reader #moon system #moon system x y/n #moon system x you #moon system x reader #moon boys #moon boys x reader #moon boys x you #moon boys x y/n #steven grant #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #jake lockley #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader #marc spector #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x you #marc spector x reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x you #oscar isaac x reader

[steddieas-shegoes]

For your drabbles: Steddie babysitting someone’s baby and deciding that they want one too 💗

Max and Lucas delaying their honeymoon was a shock to everyone until they sat everyone down after their wedding and explained why.

Max was pregnant, and even though they hadn't planned on having kids anytime soon, they were excited.

Everyone was excited for them.

No one was as excited as Steve.

"My first grandchild!" He said dramatically as he hugged them both.

He was the first call when they found it was a boy, Lucas sobbing on the phone equal parts excited and scared while Max poked fun at both of them for crying. He was the one Max called on to plan the baby shower because the Sinclairs were insisting she had to have one.

And he was the first call when Max went into labor two weeks early.

He woke Eddie up, panicked, rushing to get there because Max didn't want anyone but him and Lucas.

When he found out the reason she wanted him there was because they were naming their son after him, he cried for almost an hour straight.

He was their designated babysitter. If they needed him for a date night, he was there with his own diaper bag for baby Steve. When they finally reached a point where they felt comfortable going on their honeymoon, Steve was prepared.

They'd be gone for five days.

Eddie was nervous, had never had to take care of a baby for that long before.

But Steve was ready.

The first two days were uneventful, they kept up as much of the routine Max and Lucas told him about as possible while Eddie still had to work and Steve had to lesson plan for the upcoming year.

But on the third day, baby Steve woke up with a small fever.

"Nothing to worry about yet, he still has an appetite and isn't sleeping more than usual," Steve said when Eddie started to worry.

"Should we call them?"

"No, not yet."

Eddie called into work, wanted to make sure he was home in case he needed to help in some way, even though Steve insisted it would be fine.

Baby Steve was doing okay until the afternoon. His fever spiked and he got cranky, but he wouldn't sleep like he usually did for his afternoon nap.

"Alright, let's try some Motrin."

The Motrin worked for about an hour.

Eddie was rocking baby Steve in his arms as he paced the room, Steve on the phone with the pediatrician explaining what was going on.

"So?" Eddie asked when he was done on the phone.

"Said if it gets above 102 and he stops taking the bottle to take him to the ER, but other than that just let it run its course."

"So we're in for a long night."

"Yep."

But they took turns, quickly found a cycle of switching off every two hours so they could sleep, soft forehead kisses between them when they handed the baby off between them.

By mid-morning the next day, the fever broke and baby Steve was completely back to normal.

Steve watched from his spot in front of the stove as Eddie danced through the room holding a giggling baby Steve, fond smile on his face.

"We should have a baby."

Eddie froze and turned to him, still patting baby Steve on the back slowly.

"I mean, we could. We should. We're good at this."

Eddie blinked.

"I know we said we would wait to talk about it until we could buy a house, but we have a two bedroom apartment already! And we both have stable jobs and have money in savings and we're at an age where most of our friends are planning on it."

Steve felt his heart sink as Eddie remained silent, tried to settle himself into not having kids for a while longer.

Then Eddie's arm wrapped around his waist, making him turn around.

"I'd love to have babies with you. Let's talk about it when little Stevie here isn't around and figure out what our best option is, okay?"

"Really?" Steve beamed at him, unable to help the way he bounced up and down a couple of times in excitement.

"Yeah, sweetheart. Little Stevie needs a friend, don't ya kiddo?"

Baby Steve smacked his hand against Eddie's cheek before reaching for his hair like he always did if he didn't have a toy in his hand.

"We're gonna be dads?"

"Yeah, my love. Good ones, too."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #headcanon #drabble

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Spymaster

Azriel's week: Day 2

Hosted by: @azrielappreciationweek

Word count: 1000+

Rhysand's claws gently knocked on your mind and you let him in. Could you come to my office for a sec, dear? he asked you.

I'm on my way, you answered and put the book aside. Claws left the feeling of soft caress on their way out.

You opened the door to Rhys' office just to be met with broad shoulders of Shadowsinger standing on the other side. " I know what my job is," you heard him say. Apparently they were discussing something important.

"Should I come later?" you peeked from behind him.

"No, Y/N," Rhys smiled. "It's about you, too. The answer to our request came from Day Court in the morning. You can go and use their library."

"That's great. Thank you. I will prepare and go first thing in the morning," you smiled, too, and you looked to where Azriel stood. You hadn't seen him since the day you visited your parents. Corners of his mouth lifted up in tight smile.

"Okay, so it's set," Rhysand nodded. "I almost forgot. Azriel here will go with you. He will keep you safe."

You wanted to object, but you knew it would be useless. He had already made up his mind. "Fine," you gave him nervous smile. "So.. I'm going to prepare." And with that you left.

Next morning you found Azriel waiting in front of your room, silently leaning to the wall with hands in pockets. "Ready?" he asked instead of greeting. You nodded.

Shadowsinger pushed off of the wall and led you to the roof. He took a look around and exhaled deeply before turning to you. He gave you tight smile and reached out to you. Startled you backed few steps. His eyes narrowed on you, studying your face, then he grinned. "We won't fly all the way to Day Court. Once we get out of the wards we will winnow." You teased your lower lip with teeth.

"I know. You just surprised me." Azriel huffed.

"So can we now?" he cocked head to the side offering you scarred hand in black glove. You hesitantly accepted it.

When you arrived to Day Court, you were greeted by Helion himself. You thanked him and handed over letter from Rhysand. After that you went straight to the library. You already knew which books you needed to obtain the information you were looking for, so you assumed it would take you max two days and you could head back home.

Azriel was still with you, walking few steps behind and like some bodyguard eyeing anybody who got too close, but when you sat down with the first book, he disappeared somewhere.

You so immersed yourself in the reading that you didn't notice that it was already evening and all scholars and librarians had left.

"How is it going?" deep night-kissed voice hummed next to your ear and you jumped up. Azriel was leaning over you, looking at the page you were reading. You didn't hear him come.

You shakily exhaled. "Fine. I think I need one more day and we can return."

"You don't need to hurry," his brows furrowed and fingers drummed on the table.

"I know," you pointed to a pile of written papers. "But I'm almost done."

Azriel's eyes searched your face and his lips pulled into thin line, obviously thinking about something. Then he leaned so close that his lips tickled your ear. "I need you to extend it," he whispered.

Frozen in place you swallowed hard. "Why?" you whispered back.

"Not now and definitely not here. We should go to our rooms anyway," he looked around, his voice grave. You put the book you were reading back to the shelf and followed Shadowsinger back to the palace.

Helion gave you bedrooms connected by small resting room with comfortably looking armchairs placed around the fireplace and round dining table for two. Servant brought you dinner shortly after you stepped into the room.

"It seems that somebody from Autumn Court is here looking for something and Rhysand wants to know what Beron is after. I followed them all day, but I'll need time to find out more." You nodded slowly.

You were waiting patiently for Azriel to explain why he asked you to play for time, but he still didn't say a single word, possibly forgetting all about it. You couldn't take it any longer and while the two of you were eating alone, you asked him about it. He didn't answer right away, probably waiting for his shadows to check out the place.

"What about Helion?"

"He had no idea they are here. Rhysand explained everything in the letter you gave him, but he can't interfere. At least not directly. So will you help me now?"

"Of course. I will try to extend our stay as long as possible."

"Thank you," he gave you small smile, his fingers brushed over your knuckles making your heartbeat speed up. Blushing fiercely you pretended to be preoccupied with the food and after that you retired to your bedroom.

Three days passed since you promised Azriel to postpone your return for as long as possible. You spent your days in library while Azriel spied on Autumn Court's people and gathered information that could possibly save a lot of lives in the future. You felt so small, useless and unimportant compared to him.

Usually Azriel walked you to the library in the morning and came to pick you up in the evening, but it was getting quite late and he hadn't appeared yet. Therefore you decided to return on your own. He most likely knew about your every step anyway, so he shouldn't have problem finding you.

You walked through city heading back to the palace while enjoying fresh evening air and looking at windows of already closed shops. You didn't notice you were followed. Not until they attacked you, putting some cloth bag on your head.

"Your spy foiled our lord's plans and now someone has to pay for it, but it won't be us," you heard them as they dragged you to who knows where. You tried to fight them, to scream, but there had to be something in that bag because soon enough you began to feel nauseous and passed out.

#azrielappreciationweek2023 #az x reader #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel x you #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar

[goddessofmischief]

Hey! I adore your writing - everything feels like a character study and by that I don’t mean it’s lacking artistry I mean that each piece is so dynamically engaged with their internal worlds. Now I love me some Shanks and Mihawk but I am a Buggy Bitch and was hoping to get some time with him in this early on stage? If you wouldn’t mind, can we have a shot that shows why Buggy’s infatuation keeps going? Maybe a meaningful moment of kindness towards him or the like?

Thank you for your writing 💛

      GOLD RUSH - BUGGY X READER

A/N: Dude, I was smiling all day because of this message. Thank you so much! This is part of this series, which requests are open for! These fics are all one-shots, so they can be read separately. Also I highly recommend listening to the song linked in the title while you read.

Shanks and Mihawk had loved you, for various reasons, for their own motivations, from minute one.

...Buggy hadn't fallen for your charms so easily.

You were suspicious to him. He knew well enough that if something appeared too good from the outside, it was probably a trap. So for a long time after Roger had rescued you and brought you home to live with the pirates, Buggy treated all of your actions as if they had been the exact opposite, and always indicative of some secret evil.

You were kind to him? Only because you hated him so much. You looked pretty? Only because you were disguising some inner, deeper ugliness. You were a strong fighter? Only because of all the blood on your hands. You were intelligent? Only to deceive him.

It took a long, long time, and many months and even a few years to really wear him down. But when that had finally happened, Buggy was yours for life.

He fell for you in not one, but two moments: this, he vividly recalled, was the first.

It was a stormy day at a small port when you and Buggy stopped into a tavern for a drink. Shanks and Roger had stayed behind to fix the ship.

He had watched you with the smallest amount of interest, as if you were an amusement, as if you were a pretty bug. His original interest in you, small as it had been to begin with, had gone completely downhill when he realized you weren't really the performing type. You didn't like jokes or attention, and you certainly didn't beg for it the way Buggy did. The two of you hadn't really been able to form a relationship anyway, considering you spent most of your time with Shanks.

He'd ordered a drink too big for himself, and watched as you sipped daintily from a small one.

"That's so little," he said. "What's the point?"

You shrugged.

"I like being alert," you explained. "Makes it easier to stay safe."

Buggy snorted, rolling his eyes and turning back to his drink.

Two larger, older pirates sidled up on either of your sides', eyeing Buggy, but mostly you.

"Hey, sweetheart," said one of them. "You know this guy?"

"Yes," you said quietly. "He's my friend."

"...This clown?"

Buggy stiffened.

"Fellas, let's not-"

Shanks would have said let them talk. Shanks would have sat quietly until they were gone, or maybe just snickered at Buggy's plight.

But that's not what you did.

"He's stronger than either of you," you said nonchalantly, and the larger pirate stared at you.

"Really? The clown?"

"Really," you confirmed. The two pirates looked at Buggy, menacingly.

"He doesn't look very strong to me."

"We'll protect you, sweetheart. You don't need him."

"Honk, honk," the larger pirate jeered, reaching for Buggy's nose, and completely without warning you reeled back and punched him in the face.

Buggy was not prepared for that to happen.

The two pirates stood up and leered over you, intimidatingly. Buggy was stricken by the sudden realization of how large they both were, and how comparatively scrawny the two of you were.

But he knew he had to protect you. (If only to keep Shanks from killing him.)

And so Buggy punched the second guy, wincing as his fist hit him.

He wished he was stronger. God, in that moment, how he wished he was stronger.

(He didn't have the Chop Chop fruit yet. That would've been great.)

But Buggy was scrappy, and he didn't need much of an advantage in a melee situation. He was a kicker, a scratcher, and a biter. You were more elegant in your movements - almost balletic, and Buggy resolved to ask you about it later - but both of you managed to defeat them, and make it back to the ship in mostly one piece.

"Thanks," he said, quietly, as you sat cross-legged across from him, applying eyeliner. You had offered to fix his makeup using your own, and after a lot of protesting, he'd agreed.

Your eyes lingered over him. He looked away, suddenly embarassed.

"What for?"

"For, y'know, helping me out back there."

"Of course," you said, smiling sweetly. "You're my nakama."

You applied a bit to your own lips before holding it out to Buggy.

"Um," he said. "Can you do it? I'm feelin' kinda shaky."

"Mhm," you hummed, carefully painting it on.

"Good?" he asked.

"Good. I do happen to like your nose, by the way."

"That's nice," he responded. "I like yours."

You grinned.

"I didn't realize you were such a fighter," Buggy said.

"I'm not," you confessed. "I'm terrified. I hate fighting."

"But you punched him."

"Well, he was being mean. And I knew you'd help me."

"How?"

"I don't know, it's what you do."

"Did you mean what you said? About me being your friend?"

"Of course," you said. "You're nearly all I have."

Buggy had never fallen in love with anyone before, if only because most of the time they hated him so openly before he could even consider it. But he thought that maybe tonight, under this sky, he might be in love with you.

The second thing that made him realize how he felt was later that night, as he fell asleep in the bunk under Shanks'.

"How was it?" Shanks asked, sleepily. "...Spending the day with her?"

"Oh," said Buggy. "It was alright."

"Alright?" asked Shanks, propping himself up to look at Buggy. "She's the best, what are you talking about?"

"You think so?"

"Well, yeah, I mean - she's smart, funny, a whole lot nicer than most of us-"

And while Shanks carried on about all these great things about you, two ideas bounced around in Buggy's head - first, how much Shanks was correct about all these great traits of yours, things Buggy had never dared notice before, and second, how much Shanks cared for you. It made him think that maybe there was something special about you, something he hadn't seen before.

And so Buggy told Shanks about your little adventure, and told him about what you'd done for him, and Shanks smiled to himself, and simply said "It's just what she does..."

What could he say? Buggy just loved how you loved.

taglist: @sawendel@twinklesnake@literaturewithliz@sordidmusings@foggyturtleknightangel@toertchen@96jnie@lunanight1021

#buggy x reader #buggy #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #op buggy #it was rare i was there

[charlosvibesonly]

Racing Hearts - Part 7

Pairing : Max x fem! driver/reader

it was the best of times, it was the worst of crimes (this would be the second last part of this series. i hope you enjoy it!)

The rooftop breeze played with your hair as Max stared into your eyes. His expression softened, and a vulnerability you hadn't seen before appeared in his gaze.

"Y/N," he began, his voice tinged with sincerity, "I need to be honest with you. I let my insecurities get the better of me this season. The pressure to win, to be the best, it clouded my judgment. I pushed you away because I was scared. Scared that I wasn't enough, scared that I would lose you."

Your heart ached at his confession. "Max, you don't have to be perfect. I don't need you to be. I just need you to be honest with me."

He took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "I really like you, Y/N. More than I ever thought I would. But I was so afraid of messing things up that I ended up doing just that."

A soft smile played on your lips. "Max, I forgive you. We all have our flaws, our moments of weakness. What matters is how we learn from them."

Relief flickered across Max's face as he reached for your hand. "I promise, Y/N, I'll do better. I'll be better for you."

As the two of you shared a quiet moment, a news notification on your phone cut through the atmosphere. The headline read, "Toto Wolff Takes Allegations of Cheating by Red Bull to FIA, Calls for Investigation."

The reality of the situation hit you like a punch to the gut. Toto Wolff, fueled by rivalry and a desire to see Red Bull fall, had escalated the situation to the governing body of Formula 1.

The next day, the paddock buzzed with tension as news of the investigation spread like wildfire. As you and Max prepared for the upcoming race, a shadow fell across your path. Toto Wolff approached with a determined stride, his face a mask of determination.

"Well, well, if it isn't the star-crossed lovers of the paddock," Toto sneered, casting a derisive glance between you and Max.

Max shot him a glare, but you held a steadying hand on his arm. "What do you want, Toto?"

Toto leaned in, his voice low and menacing. "I hope you enjoyed your celebration, because it might be your last. The investigation is underway, and I'll make sure justice is served."

Max's jaw clenched, but you maintained a calm demeanor. "If there's nothing to find, Toto, then justice will prevail. But we won't let your personal vendetta tarnish our achievements."

Toto laughed dismissively. "Personal vendetta? I'm just ensuring fairness in the sport, Max. We can't have cheaters running rampant."

You took a step forward, meeting Toto's gaze with unwavering resolve. "We haven't cheated, Toto. And you know it. This is about your pride, not the integrity of the sport."

Toto's eyes narrowed, and he pointed a finger accusingly. "Red Bull's sudden dominance threatens Mercedes. We can't let them take the spotlight. I won't stand by and watch our legacy crumble because of some upstarts."

Max's patience wore thin, and he stepped between you and Toto. "Enough of your games, Toto. We're not afraid of your threats. Let the investigation run its course, and we'll be proven innocent."

Toto scoffed, shooting one last venomous look your way before turning on his heel and walking away. The paddock was abuzz with whispers, eyes following the confrontation between Red Bull and Mercedes.

With hands intertwined and a shared look of unwavering determination, Max whispered, "Whatever comes our way, we'll face it together—champions on and off the track."

#max verstappen #f1 #f1 imagine #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1

[cheriladycl01]

I have just got into F1 and it’s fast become my autistic hyperfixation and I’m glad I’ve found writers like you! I was wondering if maybe you could write something for Nico? He’s my favourite! Maybe reader has a bad crash or something similar to your heat fic where reader faints into his arms/ has a febrile seizure from dehydration and heat stroke after a race? Just lots of hurt/comfort. No worries if it doesn’t inspire. Thank you for doing what you do 💕💕

The Toughest Race so Far - Nico Hulkenburg x Driver! Reader

Plot: After one of the toughest races of your life, you and Nico need to have serious conversation about your health.

A/N! 1) I'm hoping i got the right Nico and you didn't want Nico Rosberg! If you did, let me know and I'll right one for Nico Rosberg! 2) As someone with ADHD, i 100% get the hyperfixation and how much it grips you!

Credit to rookie-ofthe-year for the GIF

You were getting out the car, well trying to and your legs and arms refused to work. It was like they were actually glued to the seat. You just sat there, head ringing not really sure what to do and how to gp forward.

Some of the Stake Team come up to you, checking to see if you were actually alive in the cockpit or if you'd passed out. Your own team hadn't come and found you yet.

They start to try talk to you but nothings going in, and staying in so your communication is ineffective.

You feel void of anything and all the sounds around you are blurring into one. There's a numbness in your hands and legs that is burning but also non-existent, like numbness should be. It was confusing for your mind that had just gone through that uphill battle of a race.

It was like your body was failing on you and you could only sit back and watch it.

Eventually your team, of RedBull come over to you. Not that you could tell the difference between the Stake Suits and the Red Bull ones at this point, faces were just blobs right now and your mind couldn't comprehend colours.

They reach in to help lift you out so your stood up outside the car leant against the body. One of the mechanics has a hand resting on your arm keeping you steady while another reaches to take your helmet off and another goes for you balaclava that's covered in saliva.

However, the minute your legs are left to work for themself with out the support they starts to wobble. Your head starts to spin, and your vision blurs, the last thing you could remember being your body convulsing before you smacked the door where you continued shaking.

"Oh my god! Someone help her!" someone exclaimed as they saw you on the floor and seconds later a medical team that were already on their way heading towards you after being radioed by the team you weren't looking too great.

There were people flooding around you, one of them opened up your race suit that was drenched through.

"Babe?" a voice called as Nico jumped out his car spotting you thrashing on the floor. He himself wasn't feeling great from the heat either but you'd just managed to fight your way from P20 all the way up to P6 to get in the points.

It was probably the drive of your career having set the fastest lap, fastest pit stop and received driver of the day. Despite all the podiums, wins and poles you'd had, this was the drive.

He looked over you as they took you onto the stretcher as you were unresponsive.

"What's wrong with her is she okay?" he asks walking over closer to the medics that were surrounding you.

"We aren't sure but we need to get her to the medical tent right away, please go back to your team!" one of them says while they fit an oxygen mask around your mouth.

Nico spent his entire debrief not really concentrating on what anyone was saying, he wanted to be out of that room as soon as possible and to see how you were doing.

The minute that they concluded what happened in the race and how they can prepare better for hotter races as a team until the FIA but things into place, Nico was out the door as rushing past the Red Bull motorhome that was pretty quiet. They could all tell he was looking for you, and he just knew you were still with the medics from the look on everyone's face.

He rushed into the tent seeing you calmly sleeping but hooked up to a few different machines. The main one an drip, he knew you must be insanely dehydrated, and with your body temperature already struggling to regulate normally he couldn't imagine how much like hell that car felt to you.

"Is she okay?" he asks the nurse that was currently re-doing the braid in your hair that had gotten a little knotty under your helmet.

"Yes, she scared us all but she'll be fine. She's making a speedy recovery thanks to the doctors quickness and efficiency. She lost 6kg in that race which is very dangerous and she didn't drink anything at all during that race, so we've got her on some water and stuff that will pep her up. She had a minor injury to her shoulder where she fell but other than that she's okay. How long have you guys know she struggles to regulate her body temperature?" she explains and asks all in one.

"Since she karted, but she loves the sport to much" he chuckles. You'd talked about this with Nico a lot, you had to train your body harder and be stricter when it came to things like exercise and diets because of the condition.

Nico had said many times that it would be safter for you to stop racing all together but that had caused far to many arguments that he'd ended up on the sofa one to many times over.

He knew you loved racing, because he did as well and he hated when he had to leave the sport when no seat was available. So he knew it was something that wouldn't even be on the table for you to consider but he just wished you would.

For your guys' future, he just wanted you safe and at full health.

"She terrifies me when she gets into that car" he smiles looking down at your peaceful body.

"I can imagine, but ... I'm sure you scare her too. She struggles but I think honesty that makes her a better driver, she knows her limits and breaking points better than anyone. Today was a bade race that I cant see them doing at the same time of year ever again, and there may even be regulation changes that'll help. But ... take it from a career passionate woman. She wont give this up" she smiles to him and he glances down at you with his own smile.

"Oh I know she wont" he grins, taking your hand in his.

"Hey baby" he smiles as he sees your eyes flutter.

"Hey" you say back a little confused, looking around the room your in.

"You fainted and had a seizure" he explains grabbing your hand and rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.

"Oh, it was really hot in the car I don't think I ate before the race either because I felt sick!" you offer trying to explain why you were so badly effected.

"You weren't the only one that struggled, Alex, Esteban, Logan and a few others have been down here too. You pushed yourself a lot in that drive, but there's talks of the FIA making some changes for next year!" he explains.

"Mmm, I'm glad their taking action to make it safer for us!" you admit.

"I'm not even going to bother trying to convince you to retire!" he laughs shaking his head.

"We've talked about that before, you know I'm not ready yet. I've been given such a shot in Red Bull!" you smile, knowing he finally understood your view on your career.

"I know, I just worry about you!"

"I worry about you too" you say and pull him down into a kiss.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @formula1mount @tinydeskwriter @butterfly-lover @ironmaiden1313

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #nico hulkenberg #nico hulkenberg x reader #nico hulkenberg x you #nico hulkenberg imagine #nico hulkenberg fluff

[forever-rogue]

The last episode, oh my...

Come the idea of something fluff of Joel saying the "oh, baby girl" to reader. Idk, perhaps she had a nightmare or she's recovering from an injury. Whatever you want write, thanks Bee.

AN | This got a little away from me, but I think you’ll find some good angst and fluff 🥰 

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language, Injury [reader has a broken arm]

Word Count | 2.3k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You hated this. It was stupid and pointless and you weren't even that hurt. 

There was no need for a cast. Especially not on your arm. Your entire arm. Ugh. 

You tried to climb up the counter to grab the cocoa powder from the top shelf but you fell short. You couldn't get yourself up the counter with one arm. 

"This is so stupid," you groaned to yourself. Maybe there was a step ladder or something nearby. You didn't recall ever seeing one but it was worth a look. With a heavy sigh you walked around the house to look for anything to help.

It was Joel's fault really; he was the one that insisted you go to one of Jackson’s few doctors. It was that same doctor that pronounced your arm broken in three different places. And then unilaterally decided to put you in a cast. It wasn't like you could have said no; Joel wouldn't have allowed you to leave without a cast. He was so overprotective sometimes - it was a blessing and a curse.

After you walked around the house and came up empty, you walked back into the kitchen with a huff. You still wanted your brownies and you were going to make them, come hell or high water.

You grabbed a kitchen chair and pulled it up to the counter. It was much easier to climb onto the counter with the chair and once you were almost eye level with the powder you reached for it. 

But - but - life couldn't make things that easy after all. You felt the chair start to wobble before you lost your footing and started to fall off. You mentally prepared to collide with the cold kitchen tile….but the crash never came. 

Instead you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist and then you were pulled into a warm wall. After a moment of panic, you realized what had happened and relaxed.

"Joel," you leaned into him and felt his long exhale before he hung his head and rested it on your shoulder.

"What the hell were you doing, huh?" There was a mixture of annoyance and panic lacing his voice, "what were you thinking?"

"I was just trying to get the cocoa powder do I could make brownies," you shrugged casually, trying to keep this situation from getting worse, "its not a big deal…?"

"No big deal?" He turned you around so you were facing him and you didn't like the look you found. You knew that he was about to turn this into a lecture, "you almost fell. You could have hurt yourself!"

"And what?" With a wince you lifted up your casted arm, "get another one of these? At this point I don't even care. I can't - I hate this. It's so hard to do anything with one arm, one hand. I hate depending on you or Ellie for everything!"

"Honey-"

"It's so frustrating," you threw up your free hand in exasperation, "I know you don't get - but if you were in my place you would be like this too. I just…ugh."

"Oh baby girl," his hands tenderly cradled your face as you looked up at him with big, soft doe eyes. Despite your best efforts, a few big, fat tears streamed down your face. He gently brushed them away with his thumb, "I know it's hard. That it is frustrating."

"It's your fault I have to deal with this," you tried to be stern with him. Everything he did, he did for you and Ellie. Everything he did, he did with love. If he hadn't cared, he would never have forced you to go to the doctor, "this could have been easily prevented!"

"If you hadn't been so clumsy and fallen off your horse, then yes, it could have been prevented," you couldn't even pretend to be mad at him. He was right after all, "but here we are. And all I can do now is take care of you."

"You don't hate me?" your voice cracked as you looked away, staring at your feet. And he laughed - a warm, affectionate chuckle that went straight to your heart, "don't laugh at me, Joel Miller."

"I'm not laughing at you," he promised, peppering a few kisses to your cheeks, "with you. Always with you, baby. Why would I ever hate you?"

"Because I'm a big baby," you huffed, "something happened, something that realistically is not that big, and yet I can't even handle. I've gotten soft!"

"I like you soft," he whispered, "it means you're not fighting all the time. It means you're safe and comfortable. That's what you deserve. If the worst fear you have is getting a broken arm, and that means what we're doing is right, it means we're okay. I want you to be able to be soft all the time."

"Oh," yeah. His words felt like a gut punch in all the best ways, "oh."

"Oh," he repeated with a soft smile. He brushed his knuckles over your cheek, "you know I love you right."

"Yeah," you nodded, "I know. I love you, Joel."

He made a soft noise before moving to the cabinet and easily grabbing the powder you'd been reaching. He set it down on the counter before turning back to you. 

"Better?" You looked between him and can before nodding.

"Much," you promised, "so much better."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Joel was out on patrol and you were lying in bed, unable to sleep. A million thoughts were swirling through your mind as usual and all you could do was stare up at the ceiling. 

But then, as if he could somehow read your mind, Joel walked into the bedroom, slowly closing the door behind him. You sat up, unable to keep yourself from beaming at him. Before he could say or do anything, you jumped off the bed and ran over to him, throwing yourself into his arms. 

As soon as he wrapped his arms around you, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. You pulled back and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, "hi." 

"Hi," he kissed you back, "everything alright, baby?"

"Yes," you promised, reaching for his hand and pulling him to the bed, "everything's fine, love. I just missed you 's all."

"I do believe that," he hummed in content as he watched you lie down, "but I also know there's something else on your mind. You're easy to read."

"I am not!" An indignant huff escaped your lips, "'m not easy."

"First of all, I said easy to read, not easy," he put a finger under your chin and turned your face up to his, "and secondly - you are easy to read to me."

"Fine," a small smile tugged up the corners of your mouth, "do you always have to be right."

"Only when it's necessary," he leaned in and kissed you softly, "now come on, tell me what's wrong."

You paused for a moment before sighing lightly and waving your hand around, "its just that…I've been thinking."

"Uh oh," he teased, you dramatically rolled your eyes, "come on honey girl, tell me what's on your mind."

"The other day you mentioned I'd gotten soft," you took his hand and started tracing the tip of your finger along the lines of his palm, "and it had me thinking about that."

"Oh?"

"At first I was annoyed and mad," you marveled at how much larger his hand was than yours, "not at you, more myself. It made me feel like I failed myself somehow. Like I'd forgotten everything and how to handle myself. Like if we went back out there I wouldn't be able to fend for myself."

"You know that's not true," he flipped your hand over and repeated the gesture on you, "you'll be able to handle anything that's thrown at you. Except a horse apparently-"

"Joel!"

"Sorry - anything," he grinned; you hated how easily he managed to charm you sometimes, "you're not suddenly goin' to forget how to take care of yourself. I promise."

"I hope not," you sighed heavily, "but the thing is…I don't hate it."

"Being soft?"

"Mhmm," You stole a quick peek at him and saw that his face was pointedly neutral, "I like being here. I like our lives here. Like how normal it feels, almost feels like nothing is wrong out in the world. We can be a normal family here…and I don't really want to lose that."

"Okay," it was infuriating how hard he could be to read. Unlike you apparently, "you want to stay?"

"Umm…yeah," you confessed quietly, face warming up, "I want to stay here with you and our daughter and whatever other family we might have in the future. I like it here and it feels like home and I never thought I'd say that again."

"It does," he settled against the headboard and put his warm hands on your hips as he pulled you on top of him. His lap was one of your favorite places to be, "it does feel like home."

"And what are your thoughts, love?" You grew nervous as you put your hand on his chest, right above his heart where you could feel it beating steadily. 

"I agree."

"With?" You groaned softly, "you're killing me here!"

"I like being at home with you every night," his voice was wistful, soft, "I like knowing you're safe, that Ellie is safe…"

"Why do I feel like there's a but coming?" Tears were welling up at the back of your eyes as you looked away. He was silent for a moment too long, "Joel?"

"But I don't know if I can stay here," and there it was. The big blow you had an inkling was coming but still managed to feel like a punch to the face.

"Well then I-I can't stay here either," you pouted at him and the man exhaled slowly, "wherever you go, I go. That's the deal. I'm not….you're not leaving me behind. No one gets left behind. You promised me."

"Baby…" he scrubbed his hand over his tired face. He squeezed your hip gently, "I always said I was going to keep you safe. Keeping you here will keep you safe. So."

"That's such bullshit," if he was even going to think about leaving you behind you were going to give him a hard time, "I'm safe with you. And so is Ellie - our kid. I'm not letting you leave me and I'm not leaving you."

"I don't…it's not that I don't want to stay," he tapped his fingers gently along your jaw, "I…I don't know if I deserve to stay."

"W-what do you mean?" Your entire heart dropped into your stomach as you watched his face grow hard, “Joel?”

He remained silent for a few moments, the quiet between the two of you hard and disconcerting, “Joel.”

“You deserve to be safe and happy,” he put his hand on your face before brushing your hair out of your face, “you deserve to be here.”

“And don’t you deserve the same?” judging by the look on his face, he did not think that’s what he deserved at all. He offered you the slightest shake of his head, “why? Tell me why.”

“I am not a good man,” was all he said. You scoffed in response, “the shit I’ve done and I’ve caused to happen is exactly my definition of good. Someone like you….you are good.”

“What about all the good things you’ve done?” you gestured to your arm in the cast, “and all the bad things I’ve done? The things we’ve done are things we needed to do in order to survive. There’s no way around that. All these other people - they’ve all done things and none of them deserve anything else. Your heart is good.”

He looked like a puppy as his soft brown eyes met yours. You could tell that this was hard for him to hear; that this was something he needed to hear, “how do you know that?”

“Because I know you, Joel Miller,” you gave him the sweetest of smiles as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, lost for words, “and I know that you are a good man. The things that you did that you think make you so bad? You’d never have done those things now. Circumstances happen and things change. But underneath it all, you have a big heart and give a lot of love to everyone else.”

“I-”

“And you should let us return that love,” and oh. Your words hit him like a freight and his eyes grew wet with tears, “it’s okay to be loved and to let people in. Especially now. If you think Ellie and I deserve to be here, so do you.”

“Okay,” you brushed away the tears that had rolled down his cheek with your good hand before blessing his skin with the touch of your lips.

“And if you want to leave or even think about leaving or trying to sneak off - I’m coming with you. I, Joel Miller, am with you till the end of the line,” he wrapped his arms around you in a warm hug before you even realized what was happening. But you wasted no time in melting into his touch, “I love you.”

“I know,” he whispered in your ear, “I feel the same. Terribly.”

And you did; you knew it was hard for him to say the words and never expected him to. Everything would come in due time. You pressed your forehead against his, “will you at least think about it? Staying here?”

“I already know what I want,” he insisted, “you. Ellie. Here - a stable home with my family.”

“Me too,” you beamed back at him, “you and Ellie and our home.”

“Home.”

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou hbo #the last of us

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento, and the Curses of an Unusual Nature

In which Nanami Kento is employed to exorcise curses which are frankly demeaning, pretending to be household objects

WARNINGS: Foul language, British/Danish sense of humour

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Nanami Kento strode through the halls of Jujutsu High, pausing briefly, at intervals, to greet colleagues and students. Today was a good day, he noted; his new shoes weren't pinching, he hadn't seen Gojo once, and he'd woken up naturally, before his alarm.

He glanced at his wristwatch as he slowed before a closed door. 5 minutes early, he thought. Well-timed. Politely early. As he straightened his tie, and raised his fist to knock on the door, it flew inwards with a bang hard enough to rattle the walls.

"Godammit, Tako, I said gently! And let visitors knock first."

Principal Yaga stood behind his desk, preparing two cups for a cafetière already steaming with, what Nanami hoped, was bad coffee. Yaga only brought out the good coffee when he planned to charm someone into an unappealing task.

Nanami bowed, passed greetings, and leaned carefully behind Yaga's door to glance at Yaga's new assistant.

A small orange clockwork octopus, about the size of a football with vastly overlong mechanical tentacles, clacked anxiously at Nanami, glancing up at him and twisting two tentacles together.

"Another cursed doll, sir?"

Yaga sighed, throwing a stern look to Tako, who let out a shrill squeak and raised its tentacles to cover its golden eyes.

"I'm trying to create one with manners, Nanami. One with tact, some domesticity, and, dare I say it, a little self-control."

Nanami looked thoughtfully back to Tako, who was now gently closing the door, and  patting the dent on the wall left by the doorknob. It skittered back to Nanami, gears winding, and, reaching up to take his hand in one of its tentacles, led Nanami to a plush armchair by the windows. Tako let go of Nanami, and patted the seat of the armchair, golden eyes glinting endearingly as it crooned.

Charmed, Nanami sat.

"Thank you, Tako-san. I think you're doing very well. I know students and teachers here who are less polite than you."

If mechanical cephalopods could blush, Tako would have. Instead, it raised two tentacles to hold the sides of its face, and scooted with a happy whirring under the opposite armchair, where Yaga sat as he offered Nanami a steaming cup of coffee.

Nanami took it gratefully, blowing away steam, and taking a sip. Ah, he mused, it's good coffee. He gazed momentarily out of the open screen doors, and felt the breeze carry his good morning away from him. Nanami allowed a taut silence to grow, feeling Yaga strain to find the words to begin.

"Curses have been evolving in some unusual ways lately, wouldn't you agree, Nanami-san?" Nanami nodded slowly and let out a hum of agreement, biting his lip as Tako plopped sugar lumps, one at a time (three, four, five...) into a distracted Yaga's coffee, which he'd rested onto his knee. Tickled, Nanami did not, of course, interrupt Yaga to tell him.

"There have been some curse-related incidents lately, Nanami-san, which are nothing short of...weird."

"Weird, how, sir?"

Yaga paused again, reaching for words. He lifted his coffee cup to his mouth, now a mountain of saturated sugar lumps. His jaw clenched, but he remained calm.

"One lump, Tako, not one bag." Tako raised the bag of sugar lumps to its eyes, sighing in dawning understanding. It took the cup from Yaga with a bow, and coiled away to rectify its mistake. Yaga gripped the arm of his chair, before slapping it briskly with an open hand.

"Godammit! You know I'm not good with words, Nanami, so I'll get straight to the point. We appear to be dealing with a spate of curses which appear to have evolved to look like common items. They're hiding in plain sight. The list of missing persons is growing, public awareness is increasing in an uncomfortable way, and we've had multiple sorcerers injured and flummoxed by them, to the point where we're not getting on top of it at all."

Nanami raised his eyebrows, and nudged his glasses back onto his nose.

"So you're saying this needs a Grade One sorcerer? They're powerful curses?"

Yaga tipped his open hand from side to side, "It's not that they're especially powerful," he elaborated, "they're just cunning. And strong sorcerers don't necessarily equate to smart sorcerers. As we don't really know the power of these curses, you were the first sorcerer to come to mind with the mental and physical abilities required to reliably destroy these bastards."

"I'm flattered, sir. What information do we have so far? We should start with the most dangerous, and go from there."

Yaga was already rifling through a narrow folder of papers, neatly typed.

"So there's certainly at least one hiding in a large shopping centre- perhaps you know it?" Yaga handed the paper to Nanami, who skimmed it cautiously. Ginza, he noted. Very upmarket. Where I bought my watch. Other details were scant, he assumed, because the two Grade Three sorcerers sent to resolve the situation appeared to have been missing for a week. Four other men were also mysteriously missing, reportedly during visits to clothing stores.

Nanami folded the paper and tucked it inside his suit jacket.

"Jujutsu sorcery is only marginally less ridiculous than being a salaryman. At least, it has been up until now. Am I going to regret accepting this assignment, sir?"

Yaga twiddled his fingers together delicately, declining to answer. Tako returned to Yaga and pushed a flowerpot, brimming with coffee, into his lap, confident that the sugar to coffee ratio had now been corrected. Nanami barely restrained himself from laughing out loud, and stood briskly to excuse himself before the urge overtook him.

Yaga patted a proud Tako on the head, exasperated.

"Who knows, Nanami-san? Maybe it will even be funny."

Nanami scoffed, and as he reached the door he heard Yaga call out for him.

"Oh and, Nanami-san? Please take Kugisaki Nobara-san with you. She knows the shopping centre well, and this could be a good teaching opportunity."

"Have I done something to upset you, sir?"

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

"Nanami-san, if we're done quickly, do you think we could stay for some shopping? I love Ginza. I'm not rich enough for it, obviously, but a girl can dream."

Nanami shared a withering sideways glance with Ijichi at the driver's wheel. Streetlights flooded through the car's windows, casting shadows on Nanami's chiselled jaw.

"Do recall the shops will be closed. We certainly can't get away with a mission like this during the daytime, veil or no veil." He heard Nobara groan in the back seat.

Nanami took off his glasses, polishing them thoughtfully.

"I must also remind you of some ground rules for this task, Kugisaki-san." Nobara sat to attention, as Nanami continued, "My priority is to keep you safe. Eliminating the curse is secondary to me if you are placed in danger." Nobara opened her mouth to argue, but Nanami raised a hand and interrupted, "So if I tell you to get to safety, if I tell you to leave me and save yourself, I fully expect you will do as you're told. Do I make myself clear?"

Nobara pouted furiously, but acquiesced, and softened when in turn, Nanami thanked her, gently and sincerely. She recalled eating lunch under the dappled tree-shade with Yuuji and Megumi, as Yuuji waxed lyrically about how protective Nanami was, how kind, how eagerly he wished to shield the students from evil. Nobara wondered what had happened to Nanami to make him this way.

Nanami pondered the night-time Tokyo traffic, Haibara Yu ever on his mind. Ijichi pulled the car into a layby, putting his warning lights on. Briefly, he handed Nanami a master key for the shopping centre's shutters, wished Nanami and Nobara good luck, and waved them off as they stepped into the cool night air.

Nanami and Nobara let themselves into a fire exit of the Ginza shopping centre, Nanami holding the door for Nobara, as he watched Ijichi's veil drip a dome around them.

Mounting the stairs two at a time to catch up with Nobara, the sorcerers soon reached a vast, well-lit atrium, surrounded on all sides by high-end shops, advertising clothes, jewellery, and more. Nanami turned to Nobara, who gazed around the shopping centre with stars in her eyes.

"All we know so far, Kugisaki-san, is that six men are missing, two sorcerers amongst them. Does this tell you anything?" Nobara pondered.

"Well...it could be a coincidence that all the victims are men. Or maybe the curse is hiding somewhere largely men visit."

"Very good. I think we should start with suit shops and mens' apparel, perhaps. However, it's also reasonable to assume this curse can both disguise or diminish its cursed energy, and shapeshift. It is managing to hide in plain sight, after all."

Nobara stretched her arms in front of her, flexing her fingers. Walking over to a large display board, she spoke.

"So there are some men's bathrooms on this level, and two suit shops. Which one do you want?"

"While I don't normally encourage young women into men's bathrooms, I'm betting on the clothing stores as our most likely suspects. But, Kugisaki-san, the first hint of a curse, you call me, agreed?"

Nobara clasped a hand over her heart, "I promise, Nanami-san!" she proclaimed, but only because you're such a sweetheart.

Nanami watched her skip away, anxiety gnawing at his guts. Should I have let her go, Yu? he questioned internally, doubting himself as a mentor. He reached between his broad shoulders to unsheath his blade, and walked briskly until he reached the first suit shop. Using his master key to open the shutters, he began to sweep the shop, deep breaths broadening his senses and mind to cursed energy.

Nothing, he thought, nil. He doubted himself again, but glancing across the marbled hallways towards the second suit shop, he stopped. This suit shop is the better one, he considered, because all the arsehole finance guys go to that one. Because they're vain, self-impressed little boys who think a skinny, ill-fitting suit cuts an impressive figure.

Nanami unbuttoned his jacket, and paced confidently across the hallway, kneeling to unlock the shutters on the second shop. He was grimly satisfied as he felt a thrill of cursed energy through his belly.

New shoes squeaking, Nanami stepped slowly into the store. Low-lights glinted against polished mahogany surfaces, the clothing racks oozing money. Nanami's abdomen clenched and unclenched as he breathed deeply, seeking the source of the cursed energy. Whatever this thing is disguising itself as, it's doing a good job. Nanami pondered over a mirror, wondering if enough vanity and pride pouring into it would be enough to generate a curse. Alas, no.

Thoughtfully, Nanami leaned against a circular rotating rail, laden with shirts. Fingering one of the shirts while he stared around the shop, he had enough time only to consider the shirt to be a very poor material, before the arm of the shirt whipped outwards and coiled tightly around Nanami's arm and hand.

Quick as a flash, Nanami was yanked into the circular rail, which began to spin frantically, twisting him like a ragdoll.  Nanami coated his body in cursed energy as he felt metal hangers rip and claw at him. Arms too constrained to swing his blade, Nanami kicked hard and expelled himself from the flurry of shirts. He hit the ground hard with a grunt and rolled, hair mussed and face covered in scratches.

The clothes rail shivered menacingly at Nanami, who lay on his back, gobsmacked and evaluating his life choices.

"What the fuck", he gasped. Standing up, he realised his jacket was missing, and his shirt torn open from hip to shoulder. The clothes rail let out a tinny little burp.

"You little bitch", growled Nanami, twizzling his blade in his hand. With his eyeline full of ratios, Nanami swung hard at the clothes rail, and absolute mania ensued.

Lights flickered and danced in the shop as shirts fired at speed in all directions. Mirrors shattered as clothes hangers hit them at high velocity, and Nanami slipped and slid on cheap polyester, spitting pocket squares from his mouth and pulling ties from his eyes, failing miserably to land a hit on the demonic carousel, spinning wildly in front of him.

Nanami was yanked in and out of the clothing rail, being spat out more undressed and dishevelled each time, cursing and spitting venom at the godforsaken curse. Lying on his back again, and realising one of his new shoes was now gone for good, Nanami stood up, now shirtless but oddly with his tie remaining.

Checking he still had both nipples, he ducked beneath the spinning rail and landed a resounding hit at its base. The curse shrieked and buckled, becoming animated, grotesquely leaning towards Nanami and circling an outstretched metallic pole around his ankle.

Raised aloft with a yell, Nanami hung upside down, and desperately undid his belt. Sliding free of his trousers, he landed like a cat, and swung downwards in a fully committed arc through the top of the rail, down to the floor. The curse let out a deafening screech and split like a banana, fleshy, gaping mouth exposed, hideous tongue reaching for Nanami's legs.

Nanami uttered a noise of total disgust, ripped off his remaining shoe, and tossed it into the curse's gaping maws. The curse choked, and Nanami took the chance to grab it by the tongue, swiftly slashing it off. The curse shrieked again. Nanami now soaked in thick, hot blood, he landed a final deathblow through its bloodied mouth. The curse roared at Nanami, flipping his tie upwards into his face.

Nanami stood, panting, as the curse feebly spat one last pocket square at him, which Nanami used to clean his face as the curse  withered and died.

Nanami took a long breath in through his nose, and breathed out as he surveyed the broken, bloodied carnage of the shop around him.

"Yu, did you see that? I hate this stupid fucking job."

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"Eyes forward, young lady."

Nobara blushed deeply, eyes now wide and looking anywhere but at Nanami, who limped towards her, leaving bloody footprints across the marble floors. Clad in only his tie, glasses and underwear, drenched in blood and gripping his blade with a white-knuckled hand, he reached out an impatient hand for Nobara's phone. He spoke curtly to Ijichi, requesting immediate collection from the shopping centre.

Stood together in awkward silence, Nobara walked into the neighbouring suit shop, and wordlessly brought a black shirt to Nanami. He silently nodded, and began to button himself up.

"At least you kept your underwear, sir."

"Very bold of you to assume these are the same pair I walked in wearing, Kugisaki-san."

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EXTRA:

Megumi walked towards his dorm room, but despite his best efforts to ignore the sound of laughing, was drawn to the tone of absolute hilarity coming from Nobara's room at the end of the hall.

Knocking at her door, he heard various shushing noises and quiet footsteps approached the other side.

"Who is it?" came Nobara's voice.

"Only me," said Megumi, and the door instantly swung open, to reveal the whole of Jujutsu High's student population gathered around Nobara's laptop. Panda wiped tears from his eyes. Maki had popcorn. Nobara grinned wickedly at Megumi.

"Perfect timing. I managed to bully Ijichi into giving me the security footage from the shopping centre. You know, the mission I went on with Nanami? You've got to see this."

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Hopefully there are many more of these to come. Poor Kento, I love him so!

Also got some smut, angst and fluff planned in other stories.

If there are any other inanimate objects you want to see poor Kento fight, hit me up. I wonder what's next? 😈💀

#jujustu kaisen #nanami fluff #jjk imagine #kento nanami #gojo satoru #yaga masamichi #nobara kugisaki #itadori yuuji #megumi fushiguro #jjk #maki zenin #panda jjk #inumaki toge #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento nanami smut #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami kento #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami smut

[vendetta-if]

Lmao, this mental image came to my head, but imagine a toddler mc walking up to their family babbling about their "imaginary friend" and their power hadn't really shown itself then or at least when they were around and when asked about it they point towards a humaniod-ish looking shadow standing behind them kinda just standing there.

“I don’t know whether I should be worried, Cara,” Viktor says, eyes glancing around the apartment nervously. “Sasha has been babbling about this… friend of theirs but it’s only me and them in the house. And I’ve heard them seemingly talking to someone but when I came to check, there was no one there…”

“Relaaax, Vitya,” Cara laughs, waving Viktor’s worry off. “It’s completely normal for kids to have imaginary friends!”

Viktor’s hunched shoulders sag slightly in relief. “Really? Did Ash have one too?”

“Well, I don’t think so.” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe they did but they never told me. Anyway, the point still stands; it’s nothing strange for kids to have active imagination. On the contrary, I think that’s a sign of a healthy brain development. Maybe they’ll grow up to be a creative person like you!”

Viktor perks up and grins, “Oh! You should totally see their drawings! I keep every single—”

He’s cut off as he catches a glimpse of something rushing past his peripheral vision.

“What the—” Cara gasps in surprise as well.

Before either of them can comprehend what just happened, the sound of Sasha giggling brings their attention away. Sasha is running in their direction as fast as their little legs can bring them, their chubby hands are outstretched in front of them as if they’re chasing something… or running away from something.

Viktor immediately jumps out of his seat and crouches to take Sasha in his arms before they trip on their feet. “Sasha! What did we talk about running around the house?” he chides gently.

“Yeah, you could hurt yourself, you know?” Cara adds, approaching by Vikto’s side.

Sasha bows their head. “Sorry, Dad… Aunt Cara,” they mumble adorably and Viktor sighs. There’s no way he can stay angry for more than a few seconds.

“Just promise not to do it again, okay?” he says and Sasha nods eagerly. “Why were you running, anyway?” he asks curiously.

“I’m playing tag with my friend!” they squeal happily.

“The one you’ve told your dad about for weeks now?” Cara clarifies.

“Mhm!” Sasha nods before pointing at somewhere behind Viktor and Cara. “Oh! They wanna say hi!”

Viktor and Cara look at each other in worry before they both slowly turn around to see who—or what Sasha is pointing at. Viktor expected nothing but air at where they’re pointing, but he has never been more wrong in his life.

“GAH!” Cara yells, jumping slightly in surprise as she quickly reaches down to her holster.

Even Viktor can’t help but yelp in surprise, instinctively holding onto Sasha tighter to protect them and muscles tensing in preparation to either fight or run.

There—exactly where Sasha is pointing at—is a thin and shadowy figure. It doesn’t have a face, only more swirling darkness. Its edges are blurry, making it looks more like a black smoke. And now that he focuses more on the figure, it seems to be slightly translucent as well, like a ghost.

This is something out of a horror movie. Is this the friend Sasha is talking about? No way, right?

“W—Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?!” Viktor barks at the figure.

The figure only lifts up its scraggly right arm and gives a little, awkward wave. Shit, is this figure a person or maybe it is controlled by someone not far from here to keep an eye on him and his child?

“Get out of here, right now, you freak! Or you’ll regret it!” he snarls, shifting to the side to get Sasha away from this monster as far as possible.

He’s not sure whether it’s because of his threats or what, but the shadowy figure fades away. However, both Cara and Viktor are still on high alert, not wanting to keep their guard down. After all, the guy might still be around.

“You and Sasha should stay at Luka’s tonight,” Cara says, voice dead serious as she pulls out her phone.

“Yeah, let me pack some things first,” Viktor agrees, quickly bolting to Sasha’s room to pack some clothes, Sasha still securely carried in one of his arms.

“Dad…” Sasha yawns. “Where are we going? And why were you so rude to my friend?” They rub their hands on their eyes.

“We’re going to stay with Uncle Luka for a while until we figure out what’s going on, okay?” Viktor explains. “Also, stay away from that figure. We don’t know who or what they are. They could be wishing to harm us for all we know.”

“They don’t,” Sasha whines. “They’ve always been there for me!”

“We don’t know that for sure, baby,” Viktor mutters.

“But I know! I just know it!” Sasha insists. “They’re not evil, they just wanna help.”

Viktor stops for a second, thoughts running through his head. Could it be…? Could it have something to do with Sasha’s power? But Sasha is still so young, he doesn’t expect their power to start manifesting this early but such cases are not exactly unheard of.

Still, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to book an appointment with a pediatrician. He’ll do that later. For now, he’ll expect the worst and make sure Sasha is safe first.

#asks #anon ask #drabble #char: mc #char: viktor #char: cara #mc power #if: vendetta #if vendetta #vendetta if #if game #if wip #dashingdon #choicescript #hosted games #choice of games #cyoa #cyoa game #interactive novel #interactive fiction #interactive story #interactive games

[skunkox]

The David/ Darlin Confrontation Video.

David came to tell them off. They were prepared for that. David is tough. A hard ass. He has a handful of people that he'll allow under his shell. Sure, Darlin' hung around the group. But they weren't close. Not in the way Asher got along with everyone. Not in the way They and Milo had an unspoken mutual understanding. There were always walls up with David Darlin didn't bother touching. They had their own.

Gabe's passing only reinforced those walls. There was no way they'd up and leave. Not knowing how alone their new alpha was. They wouldn't break those walls. They'd have to come down at his own time. But they did sit outside of it. Lingering long enough for him to know that they were there. That's what friends are for.

But were they friends? Had they ever been friends? Pack mates, sure. But truly friends?

"You're family. You're one of us. We love you."

Those words sounded too sentimental to come from David's mouth. He sounded broken up. He was upset towards them. Not indifferent or his normal level of irritation. But as if he were hurt. And seeing him like that, if only for a moment, broke then.

Hot, angry tears began to fall from their eyes just as the front door closed. The worst feeling growing up comes when family tell you that they're disappointed in you. Normally, the anger they felt would make it all hurt less. But not when it came from the people you looked up to. Not when it came from Ash or Milo. Especially so with David.

David really gives off big brother with a 10 year age gap. All you wanna do is make them proud. I think at that point, Darlin realized that if they had given those walls a knock, at any time, they would have opened. Not largely. But big enough for a hand to reach in, and a hand would reach back for them too.

Felt really bad that I had interactionl post between Darlin', Asher, and Milo without ever making one for David. But if feels very clear that they hadn't been close growing up. Honestly it a little sad. I can look at other stories where They did seem close as kids. But I feel forced to tell myself that it would have never happened.

I'm really glad that even if they don't have a lot of one on one time, David is looking out for them. He always has.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted darlin #redacted david #redacted headcanons #redacted tank