#like for part 3 I really like making these!!

[fillinforlater]

On her jeans (Part 3 of 3)

Male Reader x Kim Minji, Hanni Pham, Danielle Marsh

Length: 4606 words

Tags: Daddy kink, anal galore, blowjob, face fuck, blindfolded, 4some, pearly gates, spitting, spanking, cursing, humiliation, missionary anal, analpie, ass eating, rimming

TW: kinda rough, pure, stupid smut, ass eating, eating cum out of ass

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3-

(A/N: the most likely final part of the On her series. This fic is very mindless lmao. Important announcement at the end.)

“Yes, Daddy, that feels so good!”

Hanni’s enthusiasm is almost limitless. No matter how often you’ve ordered her to your office or your apartment or some secluded bed and breakfast, she never let you down. No, the only thing ‘down’ is the momentum of her hips whenever she rides you on the couch, her beautiful ass turned towards you. She loves to make it wiggle when your cock fills her cunt.

You take delight in such a sight and give her the good-girl-spanks she deserves. Hanni craves them as much as she craves your eyes, seeing nothing but love in hers. There is nothing stopping her from leaving, you never demanded the same things from her then you did from Minji. But where Minji lacks endless love and desire for you, Hanni fills these gaps and then some. 

“Oh my God, Daddy, you-you’re gonna make me cum again!” Hanni’s throat is sore from her moans and screams (and the rough face fuck you gave her earlier). “I-I can’t hold it!”

“Why would you hold it?” you ask her and pull her back against your bare chest. “Ruin yourself all over me, you slut.”

You give her thrusts, quick, not too strong and that is all she needs. Her effort was remarkable but in the end she wants you to fuck her over the edge. Hanni’s pussy convulses around your cock, tries to milk it and you are about to give in when your cell phone rings. 

“Fuck,” you curse and pick it up while dropping a powerless Hanni to the carpet floor. “Who is this?”

“Yo, have you turned on the TV?” the person on the other end, some former manager of a group you were interested in, asks. “Today are the MAMA awards.”

“And? They’ve been the same for basically forever. And you know I don’t have any control over—”

“Oh no, another group has won.” You can hear the smirk on his lips. “I bet you’ve heard the song and the group—some of them are under your wings, I assume?”

For a moment you are confused, then it dawns on you brightly. “You could say that,” you respond calmly and look at one of those who are under your wings—though under your cock fits better. “Let me be honest, I did not think that they would make it this far.”

“Their success is unheard of, they must have paid you really well,” he continues knowingly. The kind of business you do is in a paradoxical state of infamously known and also a dark secret in the industry. It’s a tightly knit conspiracy where every wrong step, every wrong turn can cost you basically everything. 

“Maybe they have to offer me something new, a MAMA win does not come around very often.”

#

“Congratulations on your win. I bet this is part of every trainee's dream” Sent by you

“Thank you, Daddy~ It definitely is, but I’m certain we couldn’t have done it without you “ Sent by Hanni

You smirk and scroll through your gallery. There is a picture you’ve saved, a picture of something you want. Some people screenshot what they want from social media apps or shopping sites—you will do the same right now, though your picture does not include a product one can buy. 

“I found this picture of you and one of your friends. She is very attractive.” Sent by you

“I know, Danielle ist so damn pretty <3” Sent by Hanni

“Her prettiness equals probably two MAMA awards…” Sent by you

That should do it. Hanni is probably stunned right now. If Danielle is next to her, she probably looks at her—your terrible influence deeply rooted in Hanni’s mind—and she will see what you see: another object for your desire, another girl you can train to make your personal fuck doll, another idol sold by her bandmate. Unlike Minji, Hanni might actually like the idea. 

You wait patiently as she ponders, typing, then deleting message after message until she settles for a simple text that makes this unhinged, lustful being inside you lose any and all control.

“Daddy deserves his reward as soon as possible. We need just 20 to 30 minutes~” Sent by Hanni

With a victorious sigh, you throw away your smartphone. It audibly cracks on the floor, but you don’t give a fuck. Phones can be bought again, but what you will get, no one can buy. These next twenty minutes will feel like hours and every second beyond that will make you lose your mind. Atleast, that is what you would have to assume if it weren’t for someone suddenly sneaking into your apartment. 

Timid, quiet steps. The person is not wearing shoes. You hear the door fall shut, gently and suddenly, she stands in your doorframe. As if your life was a script, written by a higher being which, for some reason, likes your story to be filled with as much sexual fulfillment as possible, Minji has decided to come visit you. 

“Hello, Daddy,” she coos, catching your gaze with the way she presses her frame against the door frame. Her two piece outfit with all its white frays perfectly merges with said door frame, the warm light making it look like she could disappear in your walls. “I’m sorry for not announcing myself, but may I come in?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to act not-too-happy about her convenient timing. “It’s nice to see you barefooted and in this pretty outfit—but you need to approach the right way.”

“Of course, Daddy.”

Minji gets on her knees. She begins to crawl over your wooden floor and seeing her eager eyes has you riled up. Instead of waiting for her to unbuckle your belt, you open it on your own and let your pants drop when her face reaches your crotch. Minji moans gently and presses her face against the massive bulge in your boxers. She’s not really teasing you. It’s more of a ceremony, because Minji quickly proceeds to pull down your boxers with nothing but her teeth.

“Daddy, it’s so big and beautiful,” Minji says in all honesty, her idol persona washed away by her own horniness. “May I service you with my mouth?”

“Stick out your tongue,” you order and Minji follows. You slap your tip on the exposed wet muscle and watch her faintly smile at how excited you seem. “Looks really good, how could I say no?”

No warning and just a moment later, you are buried to the hilt in Minji’s throat. She gags violently, her head tilted backwards and her wide eyes quickly release a torrent of tears. You don’t comment on it, watch on with a cold, resting bitch face and begin to fuck her face roughly. It’s hard thrust after hard thrust; not too fast though, because you want to see the submission steadily grow in her eyes.

“Fucking good, so much better since you started taking my cock like a premium whore,” you hiss and reach for the sides of her head. She locks eyes with you and through a sea of tears, you can see that she is happy. Still happy. “But it won’t be enough. I need more, another hole, and I’m not talking about your pussy. I know that you are dripping from there, but I’m going to split you open somewhere else.”

You pull out and watch Minji try to catch her breath, shocked, weak; she gets no time to recover however. You grab her hair and slide back into her not-awaiting, but slave-like throat. She takes your pounding even as it forcefully removes her faint mascara and leaves her a drooling mess. It’s Minji’s masterclass in deepthroats—a fitting end, because you will fuck something else today.

After many harsh thrusts, too many to count, but enough to have Minji at your complete mercy, you pull out. She bends over, tries to keep her composure and breathe, but you won’t allow this. She has to look at you and understand what you desire. You slap her face and spit at it. “Don’t avoid me, look at me!” you shout and Minji is tiny. A kneeling tiny bitch who follows your commands. “I will fuck your ass, do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” Minji cries and puts her forehead to the floor. “Tha-Thank you for the award, Ma-Master. Please, a-abuse my ass.”

Not that it tugs at your heartstrings or anything—but instead of just fucking her in this state of complete devastation, you help her up, to her feet and cup her cheek firmly… almost gently. Minji still sobs, barely able to look up at you.

“You are here to thank me with your ass? That is actually adorable and very thoughtful of you.”

“I-I thought, because Master hasn’t fucked me th-there yet, and because he probably did with Hanni already, I—”

“Oh, I understand, but Minji—” You lean down to her ear and whisper, while your hand travels down her bare midriff into the dress and finds her folds, soaked in arousal. “—we are already past the Master stage. And you underestimate my greed, my desire for more, infinitely more. Don’t worry about that though. Get on the couch and show me your cute little asshole.”

“O-okay. Thank you, Daddy.”

As Minji lays down and wiggles off the bottom part of her dress, you get a bottle of water-like lube from a drawer in the living room table. These bottles are always nearby because situations like this have occurred quite a few times in your life. More than you can count, enough to make you the biggest villain for every girl group fan.

When you pour the lube on your cock, you inspect Minji and her cute posture. She is on her back, legs spread and in the air, while her fingers keep her butt cheeks apart. Her ring twitches and it twitches more when you rub lube all over it. Minji mewls, and mewls some more when you push a finger past the first tightness to lube the inside as well.

“You are a bit stiff, you need to loosen up or else it will hurt.”

“Isn’t it supposed to hurt?” Minji asks in all honesty. “I’m okay with Daddy hurting me, as long as he feels good.”

You have to hold back or else you would’ve laughed at her innocent expression and the confused fear in her orbs. You align your cock with her ass, not to immediately force yourself inside that hot, tight hole, but to teach Minji how to take you well.

“If you relax, Minji, I promise it will feel good. Weird at first, probably too big, but the more you loosen up and let your asshole become a source for pleasure, it will feel great.”

“Hanni probably already knows this,” Minji mumbles in shame. You quickly reach for her jaw and put a chaste kiss on her lips.

“To be honest, I haven’t even fucked her ass before, so stop worrying. Take deep breaths and stay re-laxed.” With those final words, you wait for Minji to follow your instructions—breathe in; breathe out—before you push your cock into her brown hole.

“Oh Daddy, fuck,” Minji groans, right into your face and you love how her hands start to hold onto your back, your arms as you push more cock into her. “You are so, so big!”

“There is still more, but you are doing a great job, Minji,” you respond calmly, lifting up her ass a bit to penetrate her deeper. “Soon, you’ll love this more than anything.”

“Daddy!” Your cock is fully inside her and Minji seems to go crazy, her head thrown back into the couch, her mouth releasing loud moans rapidly. Her anal cavity squeezes you tightly, tries to wring you and it’s insanely impressive. She takes you fully on the first go and slowly catches herself. “I-it feels weird but soooo—”

“Good, right? I can feel you relax, so I will start to fuck you for real now. Congratulations, you’re not a butt virgin anymore!”

Minji weakly laughs and then gasps when you drag your cock mostly out of her ass just to push it back in, deep, to the fucking hilt. You watch as her eyes open wide, then narrow, then close, all in the rhythm of your pumps. Her cunt drips more juice too, she cannot deny the pleasure.

“Daddy, why, why do you feel so good?” Minji screams. “Why, your cock—you made me your butt slut!”

“You’re a natural at this, most of your kind quickly become addicted.”

“Make me addicted, Daddy! Please, use this hole and make me—”

You reach underneath her frayed top and pinch a hard nipple, while your teeth go for her lower lip. You can feel her insides combust, her ass clenching around your cock, her pussy convulsing around nothing, yet it is enough to make her cum. Minji is orgasming from just her ass, but she tries to hide it. 

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about,” you laugh and begin to fuck Minji harder, her ankles in your firm hands. “Cum with your ass and be mine forever. You cannot escape anyways, so why would you want to? Don’t run from the pleasure, because I won’t stop fucking you until—”

Suddenly, you hear a key in the lock of your front door and someone whispering. Then quiet steps. Minji grows tense but you just smile at her, reassure her that there is nothing to be scared off. “Oh, you know these two, don’t worry~” 

“Huh?”

You look up and spot the first girl, Hanni, who smirks when she sees you. She puts a finger to her luscious lips and winks. You get her idea and press your palm on Minji’s mouth to keep her quiet while you slowly thrust into her tight ass. The young girl is visibly shocked that you just continue, but her shock grows even more when she spots the second girl.

“Unnie, this is weird. How long do I have to wear this blindfold?”

“Just a little bit longer~ We are almost there, just a few more steps.”

Hanni guides the blind Danielle, a beautiful, skinny girl dressed in what you assume is a stage or award show outfit. Either way you love how exposed her midriff and collarbone are. Danielle’s skin is flawless and her face looks even better than in pictures or videos.

The two get closer. Hanni is now behind the taller girl and guides her by holding her hips. The two seem familiar with this kind of intimacy. You quietly pull out of Minji’s butt and luckily, she stays quiet in this tense situation. 

“Dani, we have arrived,” Hanni giggles and wraps her hands around her friends’ tiny waist. “I have a present for you, but you have to get on your knees and guess what it is~”

“Unnie, if it’s your pussy again—we already did that! And if you want to fuck, you can just ask!”

You raise an eyebrow at Hanni who is clearly nervous and sweating. She got caught fucking with a second member of her group without your permission. You can’t really blame her. You can’t wait to stick your cock into that tight body and fuck Danielle’s mouth with your fingers. But for now, you let Hanni finish her game.

“This time,” she continues and kisses Danielle’s shoulder. “It’s something different. I have found the biggest, most beautiful cock because I know you would want to suck one of those someday.”

Danielle’s pale skin starts to burn with a deep red. All of her blood seems to go to her face. She starts to lose focus and whimpers a bit, especially because Hanni becomes more touchy, hands on her chest, her tummy, her ass.

“H-how did you know, Unnie?”

“You are really, really bad at hiding your dildo’s, Dani. I found like four of them. One still had your saliva around it~”

Danielle puts both hands to her face and lowers it in shame. Everyone in the room can still feel the glow of her blush through her fingers. You stroke your cock once, amused at the situation, but also tired of waiting. Hanni notices and continues her plan quickly.

“Look, Dani, I’ll show you how to do it.” Hanni lowers herself in between your legs. For the first time, you check out her outfit. Odd, you remember it from some performances a few months ago—does it really matter when she immediately goes to suck you, throat you even? “Oh my, it tastes so good! I wonder why that is?”

You point to Minji’s still exposed asshole and Hanni smirks knowingly. Poor Minji did not dare to move a single inch this entire time but now with Hanni’s loud gagging filling the room, she can stop being quiet and move her hands to cover up.

“U-unnie, are you really sucking it?” Danielle asks the obvious, still in disbelief. “Is it a real one, like, are you sucking a boy?”

Hanni pops you free from her perfect lips and makes sure to taste all of the lube and Minji’s ass from your manhood with her tongue. She cleans you passionately, from sac to tip until you finally give her a bit of precum. 

“Dani, he is a man, a Daddy. Trust me, he is very good looking and his cock is even better~” Hanni’s voice is so lewd, it feels cursed with her adorable visuals. You relish in her compliments and brush her black strands back behind her ear. “Kneel next to me and I show you.”

Danielle kneels down, her small frame taking the spot in between your legs next to Hanni. She is still confused though. “But Unnie, how can you show me if I’m not allowed to remove the blindfold?”

Hanni rolls her eyes and without warning, grabs Danielle’s face and pulls her into a kiss. The younger girl flails in surprise, finds hold on your thigh, but somehow she can’t hold onto it for long. Maybe the thought of a stranger really seeing her like this makes her lose grip on the situation—a good thing in your book.

“Ha-Hanni-unnie!” Danielle shrieks when their lips disconnect. “Why, why did that taste so good?” 

“If you want more, you need to suck and clean his cock like I did. Here, open your pretty mouth and be a good girl for Daddy~”

“You say weird stuff—ugh, hng!”

You groan softly when Hanni not-so-softly pushes Danielle’s face down your cock. A new, sensational throat engulfs you. Of course you expected violent gags and tears coming from behind the blindfold, how could you not. Hanni is literally forcing Danielle to deepthroat you for the first time. Her dildo training seems to have paid off however: Danielle is a lot more composed, measured even and makes sure to keep her teeth off of you. 

Soon, she finds her own pace and bops up and down your shaft, using her tongue from time to time without yet knowing where it actually feels good for you. It’s hard for her to learn when she can’t read your facial expression, so she just guesses and sucks and bops her head. It makes it all the more impressive how she can keep up with you and do a better job than Minji did on her first try.

“Hanni-unnie,” Danielle immediately shouts after getting her mouth off of your dick. “That was very mean of you, like, what the—”

You interrupt the young, angry girl by giving her blindfold a tug and watching it fall off of her dazzling, still flushed features. You smirk down at her as she watches up in awe, her eyes inspecting you like you did to her earlier.

“Oh, he-hello, sir,” Danielle says and tries to be formal while your cock is still on her lips. “I’m sorry we just walked into here and… about this.” She points at your hard shaft which you take in your hand and poke against her soft cheek.

“Don’t worry about it, you beautiful thing. In fact, I should be sorry about this right here.” You point next to you, where Minji tries to cover up her pussy. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“You, you had sex with Minji-unnie? Like, i-in her vagina?”

“Oh Dani,” Hanni coos and puts a hand into Danielle’s red top. “You don’t know how good a real cock feels in your pussy. Way better than a dildo.”

“Stop being so lewd, Unnie!”

“But you two are wrong,” you interrupt them and look at Minji, who valiantly fights through her embarrassment. There is nothing to be embarrassed about though; she did great taking your cock in her ass. “We had anal sex just now, and I think I speak for us both when I say that it was awesome.”

Hanni pouts at the thought of not yet having you in her ass while Danielle is both struck by horror and thrill when she cross-eyes your cock and then switches to look at Minji’s butt, which you uncover for her.

“Minji-unnie, was it really that good?” Danielle asks with wide open eyes.

“Yeah, how was it?” Hanni adds and involuntarily adds pressure for the leader to answer.

“I-it was… the best.”

A moment of silence and awkwardness for Minji until Danielle jumps up and pulls down her black skirt. Another unexpected turn, she seems to be ready to go asap. “Sir, can you—would you have sex with my butt too?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you try to play it cool and reach for the bottle of lube. “Turn around, we need to get you ready.”

“Here, let me help you, Daddy.” Hanni gets a hold of Dani’s ass as soon as she spins around and spreads the cheeks apart. Dani gasps at first, but then giggles when she finds her Unnie to be already naked. She starts to kiss Hanni’s skin while you put the nozzle to her beautiful, clean ring and push lube inside. Danielle shudders while Hanni looks on with jealousy. It will be her turn soon enough though. 

“You have a gorgeous body, Dani,” you compliment her before grabbing her waist and pulling her onto you. “You are so light, I think I need to try a new position with you. Are you down for that?”

“Sir, I—if it’s not too crazy, I think I can do it. But remember, this is my first time.”

“You have to be relaxed, Dani,” Minji suddenly adds and stands next to her, not covering her private parts anymore. “If you are tense, it’s going to hurt—when you are loose however, Daddy can fuck you so good, it will feel like heaven.”

“O-okay then, I think I’m ready.”

You nod and lay down on the couch, Danielle on top of you. She rests her back on your strong chest and your hard cock searches for her tight asshole. Luckily, Hanni is there to help align your tip with it (not before sucking it of course). Dani takes deep breaths instinctively and with your primal instinct to fuck, your cockhead disappears in her ass.

“Oh fuck, that looks so hot!” Hanni coos.

“Stop staring, please,” Danielle whimpers and you feel her incredible texture convulse around your aroused phallus. No, she definitely gets turned on by this, so you’ll make it even better.

“Hanni, keep staring,” you order. “Oh, and make your mouth useful on my ass. See it as punishment for having sex with Dani without my permission.”

“Yes, Daddy, I’m sorry Daddy.”

“Sir, isn’t this too lewd?” Dani asks while you begin to rock her thin body up and down your cock like it’s a fleshlight. 

“Minji, how about you lick Danielle’s pussy. Make yourself familiar with it.”

“Yes, Daddy, she tastes really sweet and is quite… wet.” Minji smiles and you get what she means. Her mouth is promptly on Dani’s clit and now the two are moaning in unison. Your thrusts into Dani’s ass become harder.

“Oh dang, so much in my a-a—, I mean butt,” she whispers and you look at her face. “Sir, you are one lewd bast— person. Making young girls do this stuff. Aren’t you a bit too old for us?”

“Maybe that is why they call me Daddy,” you respond, the humor lost because your expression remains stern even through the pleasure. “Don’t hold back, curse as much as you want. This is no tv show or live stage. Get used to this cock, because I won’t stop after this one time.”

“I won’t either, you fucking bastard.”

Your lips meet in a haze, then you decide to give it your all. You fuck Dani hard, force more and more curse words out of her good-girl-mouth. Her cunt is forced against Minji’s eager lips, while you make sure Hanni is covered in your musk—though she kinda seems to enjoy serving your ass. Even after all this, she might still be the best baby girl out of this trio.

“Yes, fuck, yes, you fill my tiny ass so good! Fuck me with your big fat cock, give me that cock, open me so wide until I—”

“You horny bitch.” You yank down her top to reveal tiny tits, jiggling a little at your every thrust. Her skin is glowing, she is in complete heat. Danielle is a nymph with a tight ass and a pussy so wet, she can save someone from dehydration. You want to test your theory, if her orgasm is as explosive as you want it to be.

“My Lord, I’m so going to fucking cum, I will cum! Make me squirt, make me fucking, ahh!”

Like a fountain, Danielle’s juices paint Minji’s face, cover her hair and even Hanni below. She also doesn’t stop, not with your endless thrust into her ass. She is like an infinite source, eventually filling Minji’s mouth and marking Hanni as a dirty, rimming whore covered in girl cum.

“That was so good, Sir—”

“We are not yet done!” You squeeze Dani to your chest so she cannot escape and start to violate her ass some more, to the point your entire cock stretches her in all directions. For some reason, you feel like you could breed this hole for two eternities, but for now, one massive load has to be enough. 

With your final, deepest of thrusts, you force all of your seed into Danielle’s tight ass-pussy, fill it up and make sure she is tight enough to keep it inside for now. Pulling out is hard but rewarding, and hearing, feeling her pant on top of you is heavenly. 

“It’s so deep in me, fuck,” she moans and you bite her cheek. 

“Push it out of your slutty hole, you naughty bitch. 

“Hanni, Minji! Get ready for your daily load!”

The two girls are under our spell, not questioning anything you say and stick out their tongue underneath Danielle’s butthole. You pull back her heels to give them more space and with an blissful, erotic expression, Dani lets her ass be gaped. Your creamy white cum oozes out of her and Minji and Hanni greedily eat it all up, even getting their tongues into the completely overstimulated girl and cleaning her butthole.

“Shit, this is so lewd,” Dani whimpers and you put a hand around her throat.

“After I fuck Hanni’s ass in a rough Doggy, my heel on her face because I know she loves that, you will eat my cum out of her ass too. And don’t lie; I know you will like it.”

Danielle grins, licking her lips in excitement. “You are such a nasty bastard, Daddy.”

(A/N2: here is the very short version, I'll release a longer announcement later this week probably. I have decided to quit for a while, maybe forever but that is still in the stars. I can still write and I kinda like it, but this endless cycle of horniness and unhinged smut is killing me. I also need to focus on life/studies. More on that later this week. Love you all, peace out.)

#kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #male reader insert #newjeans smut #newjeans hanni smut #newjeans minji smut #newjeans fanfic #newjeans danielle smut #danielle smut #hanni smut #minji smut

[skipper1331]

Secret (4) // Alexia Putellas

a/n: final part:)

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 |

When Alexia arrived at home, she thought about the next day, the next week and the following months.

She was ready to fight for you.

And even if there's no chance of ending up together, at least she would have tried.

She wanted you to be hers.

But she also knew that it would take time for you to trust her again.

The two of you had to start over, getting to know each other like when you joined Barcelona.

She was ready to fight for months, even years if that meant being yours someday.

Shy smiles

Alexia started to send you a shy smile each morning when you entered the locker room, her cheeks turning red most of the time when you caught her staring at you.

It was weird at first as you saw the glint in her eyes - she had a plan in mind - but nonetheless you accepted the small acknowledgment from her. It was a nice way to start the day. And you had to admit, catching her staring at you made your heart flutter.

Greetings and good byes

Growing up with the rule: 'everybody gets greeted and a goodbye' you enjoyed it very much when Alexia started to say 'hola' and 'adios'.

But what you even more appreciated was when she greeted you specifically.

-

Alexia entered the changing room rather late for her standards, most of the girls already getting ready for training.

"good morning" she said to your teammates before walking over to her cubby, passing yours, "hola y/n" she smiled, her cheeks turning red when you looked up at her with wide eyes. You hadn‘t expected that - she talked to you, in a room full of people.

"Hi" you whispered, watching the girl walk away.

Both of you had red cheeks, this simple interaction making your heart race. What was her plan? She hadn‘t approached you properly since the flower incident, was that her way of fighting? What was her way of fighting for you?

-

She surprised you a second time that day when she came to see you in the physio room.

In training, you had fallen awkwardly on your wrist, resulting in some pain which had to be checked. It wasn’t something tragic, but better safe than sorry.

Running through the tests with the physio, you got interrupted by a knock, Alexia appearing in the door frame, "just wanted to say bye" she smiled, the same shy smile appearing on her face which you‘ve had met many times before.

"So, um, bye?"

You chuckled at her nervousness, "bye"

"Sí, bye!" with that she rushed out, closing the door.

And like that the 'hi' and 'bye' continued for awhile.

Talking

"I‘ve finally finished watching the show, it was awesome" Alexia randomly stated as you walked next to each other towards the pitch, "I really liked how it ended"

"Right?! It was a great plot twist" you knew immediately which show she meant - the one you had recommended.

"Sí, sí. it made so much sense"

you fell easily into the conversation, sharing your opinions about the plot, characters and scenes and continued to do so until training started.

Seeing the two of you talk with one another became a regular occurrence, Ingrid, Mapi and Frido keeping an eye on both of you as they suspected something more soon, not knowing there had been already and Alexia was working on getting back together.

friends

Over the next few months, the two of you became friends, best friends if you were completely honest. and even though, both of you loved the other one more than anything was that an important step in your relationship. You had learned to start over again, getting to know each other like the very first time.

But you couldn’t lie, it was hard at times. Sometimes, it took every inch of self control… for both of you.

-

It was a hot day, everybody exhausted after the intense training session. most of the girls dropped on the floor, sitting there for a few minutes to calm down while they drank water. Ale was talking to Mapi and Irene while you stood there, drowning half of the water bottle. Your eyes kept glancing at Alexia, the girls shirt rolled up as she every now and then wiped away the sweat from her face.

That‘s when idea popped up in your head. With a few steps you stood in front of the three Spaniards, shielding Alexia from the sun, "just stay like that" she said, smiling, leaning back on her arms.

"Are you hot?" you asked, a mischief smile on your face.

"Are you not?" she replied, her eyes closed as she appreciated the shade.

"Let‘s cool you down then!" you laughed, pouring your water bottle over her. The midfielder gasped, one hand wiping away the water as the girls laughed, Alexia glaring at you, "you better start running" she growled.

And that‘s what you did. You ran over the pitch, Alexia already running after you before you ran into the facility, not knowing where else to go. La reina caught up to you when you entered the locker room, her arms gripping your waist before she pushed you against the wall.

With fear in your eyes, you looked at her, shyly grinning, "cooled you down, didn’t it?"

"Cheeky as always, hm?" she leaned her body against yours, both of you so close that you could feel her breath fanning against your skin.

"You‘re so beautiful" the girl admired, completely lost in your beauty, as your eyes flickered between hers and her lips.

In that moment, both of you wanted to kiss each other, feeling the blood rush through your veins, stomaches full of butterflies - you didn‘t know you were leaning in until Alexia took a step back, "this wouldn’t be right" she whispered as she wanted to kiss you just as much, "and I want to make things right." you closed your eyes for a brief of a moment, inhaling the scent you loved so dearly and enjoying the proximity until it was gone - she was gone.

date?

At some point, these kind of situations happened more often, almost everyday. Alexia caught herself wanting to and almost calling you 'amor' while you weren‘t driving to your home but in the direction of Alexia‘s house.

It was confusing for the both of you.

You loved each other but somehow it felt like new butterflies discovered the surface. You got to know one another in a different way - in a way that neither of you knew before.

The combination of the new and old butterflies caused a feeling that you never felt before. The old merged with the new and turned out to be strong. very strong.

So strong…

…that you couldn’t go to bed without thinking of Alexia- without imagining your future together.

…that Alexia was now 24/7 in your mind, or maybe even longer.

Per se, it wasn‘t different to the things you felt before but it was definitely more present and more intense. Maybe it was the acknowledgement of you as a person in training, outside of the facility and in general that made everything so special.

Alexia interpreted these situations as a sign. As a sign that now the moment had come - the moment she had been working towards for months. Now was the time to ask you for a second chance. For a date.

-

"Wait a moment" Alexia called after you as you walked to your car.

You stopped in your tracks, turning around, "yes?" you asked.

Alexia was nervous, you could tell by the way she played with the ring on her finger, her eyes darted around or foot tapping the floor rapidly. "Would- I would- um- I thought- maybe- um" taking her hand, you caressed the back of it with your thumb - it felt so natural.

"Breathe in, breath out"

Alexia followed your instructions, squeezing your hand for her own reassurance and sake.

"Thank you"

"Do you want to try again?" you asked, smiling lovingly.

"Sí" she took a deep breath, "do you want to go on a date with me?"

In trance, you pulled your hand away, stepping back, "I’d like to take you out to the restaurant Frido suggested"

"Take out?"

"Yes- wait no! I mean- eating in the restaurant"

"Like an actual date?" you sounded so surprised that it broke Alexia‘s heart at the way your eyes lit up and the way your smile reached the corner of your eyes.

"Yes, an actual date. Outside of our apartments. Only if you want to, of course"

"I‘d love to" Alexia thought your smile couldn’t get any bigger but oh, she was wrong.

With confidence, she stated, "I‘ll pick you up tomorrow at 7. wear the nicest clothes you have" happily, she pressed a peck to your cheek before skipping over to her car.

You said yes!

chance?

"What’s that?" you asked, confused about the item Ale held in her hand.

"It‘s a notebook" she replied, shuffling with her feet as you stood in front of your door, the girl insisting on walking you home after your date, "i, um, haven‘t been romantic before and i-" nervously she scratched the back of her neck, a habit of her when she got anxious, "I want to be romantic." her cheeks covered in a blush. You raised a brow, even more confused - what was going on..?

She pressed a kiss to your cheek instead of answering your questioning look, hurrying away before you could say anything.

Rushing inside, throwing your shoes somewhere, you quickly got comfortable on the couch. As you opened the little notebook you were met with Alexia‘s handwriting.

20th August

Today, I started. I smiled at her - she returned my smile. My heart fluttered at the sight of her, she‘s so gorgeous and her smile is so incredibly breathtaking. It wasn‘t her There-is-a-puppy!-smile (which is one of my favourites) or the bright wide smile that reaches the corner of her eyes (which I absolutely love) - it was much more than that. For me, it felt like a chance.

28th August

I can‘t help but drool at the sight of her. Especially after a won game. She‘s my Barcelona.

12th September

I said hi and bye today. Bye turned out to be a lot harder because she fell in training and hurt herself. It was very hard for me not to approach her then and there, I was so worried. Her nose scrunched up in pain when her wrist was touched or she tried to move - I hate seeing her in pain.

I hope she doesn’t think I’m weird because I disturbed the physio tests, I just wanted to see her (and of course, say adios).

13th September

I love her.

Entries like that filled the book, every step (and achievement) in her plan was documented and sometimes there were just adoration entries - pages about how pretty you are, what she likes about you, what you love, your character and habits described down to the smallest detail and so much more. It was clear to say that she loved you. And that she regretted everything (pages of explanations, apologies and regret showing that very clearly)

Two entries caught you off guard though, you didn’t know if you wanted to laugh or cry.

1st March

Dear diary - I guess it‘s a diary, isn‘t it? Correct me if I’m wrong..

Anyways.

Dear diary, it‘s almost midnight at the moment and Mapi just left. I had invited mama, alba and Mapi for dinner tonight, I had to talk to them about y/n. I should have done that ages ago but better late than never?

I told them about y/n, that we were a couple, that I kept her a secret, offered Alba money to keep her mouth shut - I told them everything. No, I’m not proud about how I treated the love of my life but they needed to know. I had to talk to someone. I have told mama about her before that already, not everything but she knew enough to know that I fucked up badly. Now, all of them know everything (not that we had sex, a lot of that too - just the.. yeah I think you get the point).

I want inner peace and it‘s already hard enough without her in my life, so that was the least I could to do to come in terms with myself, even though I will never forgive myself or won‘t regret it for the rest of my life.

Mama was not happy with me but I didn’t expect something else. She hadn’t raised me to be an ass and is very disappointed in me. I can’t blame her.

Alba was quiet most of the time, i think she is the one who understands most. My sister was the first and only one who knew about y/n. She saw what an idiot I was and how rude I acted towards the girl I love. I offered her money - how pathetic…

She got under my skin while she flirted with y/n and she knew that. She made me purposely jealous. And I deserved to feel that rage because I let y/n slip out of my hands while I knew that she loved me more than anything.

Mapi stayed here the longest, because I told her about my plan on winning my girl back. I want her. I need her. I don‘t deserve her, I truly don‘t but I can’t stop trying, can I? I‘m in love with her, I’ve never felt something so strong for anyone before. It scares me.

Mapi isn‘t proud of my behavior either because she knows what a ray of sunshine and pure soul y/n is but is willing to help when i need her.

…

22nd April (today’s date)

I‘m sorry for everything. There hasn’t been a day where I’m not regretting letting you walk through that door.

I hate myself for being so scared, selfish and rude but I love you. I love you with all my heart and every inch of my body - that hasn‘t changed.

You are probably surprised about the change of perspective who I’m talking to but I know you are clever, you know I’m talking to you, y/n.

Or questioning why I’m even addressing it to you, but i think, you will know me the best when you read all of my thoughts. It’s hard for me to let my walls down, I know you know that, and I want to give you the chance to see all of me to the time you weren’t my girlfriend and understand the reasons of my actions to- well, everything.

Right now, it‘s an hour before our date and I’m so nervous yet so excited. I want to make things right. I don‘t want to hide you, I want to show the world how incredible and gorgeous you are and how in love I am with you because I am. I think about you all day everyday. It might sound crazy but you are the one for me, I’ve Imagined our wedding multiple times, little y/n‘s running around calling for their mama.

I love you, I really do.

And no matter the outcome of this date, I will always love you, even when we don’t end up together. I promise you to love you from afar and forever so. And if you should ever not have a home - mine will be forever yours. I will always let that door open for you..

Happy ending?

Alexia took you out on multiple dates: the beach, mini golf, the cinema, every romantic place she could think of. She didn‘t hide you and the attention you got from her was making you feel special.

You felt free.

You felt happy.

You fell in love with her all over again.

And you enjoyed every second of it.

The romance you always dreamed of became your reality. It was different than before with her. You both were full of life. It felt natural to hold hands as you walked down the streets, share kisses in the rain, or have a hearty argument in the restaurant over who paid for the meal (spoiler: la reina always won) yet things weren’t official. Alexia had the question resting on her tongue, not sure if it was right to ask you. She wanted to, she really did, but in the back of her mind, she always heard a voice "you‘re not good enough. You‘ve fucked up before. She‘ll never give you another chance" however Alexia wasn‘t the same - she wasn’t scared anymore. She was ready to show everybody how in love she was with you. She couldn‘t care less what the media would say about the two of you being together or what other people think about you.

She just wanted you.

So, she fought against the urge to believe the voice in the back of her head. She was stronger than that.

-

Your body was leaned against Alexia, her arms snuggled around you as your legs tangled together, her head resting on your shoulder as you watched some netflix show. The atmosphere was quiet and relaxing, the moment seemed perfect.

"I never want to let you walk through that door again, at least not without me holding your hand" she whispered, her grip tightening around your waist, "I’m forever sorry that I ever did, I promise."

Your heart stopped, everything before hadn’t been brought up since her shy smiles - the start of something new - "if you let me, I will show you every day that you‘re not my secret. That you are my girlfriend"

turning in her hold, you looked at her. Had she fought enough? Did she deserve to be forgiven? Will it be the truth that you won’t be her secret?

She showed you.

"Are you asking me to be your girlfriend, la reina?" you asked, smiling, pushing all the negative thoughts away.

She deserved another chance.

"Sí"

It will be the truth.

"Then ask me"

"Will you be my girlfriend?" her heart stopped beating, her hopes high for a positive responds, her nerves at its highest.

"Yes"

Relief washing over her as she heard the answer.

no secret

The girls knew right away that the two of you were a couple as you walked into the locker room with intertwined hands.

In training, Alexia would stay close to you, preferably touching you (an arm around your shoulder, hand resting on the small of you back, etc) and constantly engaging you in a conversation.

"Finally asked her out, hm?" Ingrid teased Alexia as she stood next to Mapi, Ale‘s hand tightening on your waist. While the Norse‘s comment was meant innocently, the three of you froze - Ingrid still didn't know the whole story.

"Yeah, took me a bit to realize that she’s special" Alexia said, eyes finding yours. Her eyes were questions marks - are you alright? was this okay? In responds, you quickly pecked her cheek.

As you turned back to Ingrid and Mapi, you left Ale’s touch, throwing an arm around your best friend, "What about a double date?" you asked excitedly, knowing the Norwegian woman would agree in an instant.

In the background, you heard Mapi groan, playfully shoving your girlfriend, "I’m blaming you for this" as she listened to Ingrid and you planning where you would go. Nonetheless both Spaniards followed you to the changing room like lost puppies, eyes full of hearts as love glowed around them.

It was save to say, that double dates became a regular occurrence.

-

"Amor? Can we talk about something?" the girl looked up from her dinner plate.

"Don‘t you like it?" you asked, referring to the new recipe you had tried.

"No, it’s delicious" she put down her fork, hand reaching for your free one, "mama invited us for dinner" she said in a gentle voice, "do you want to go? I told her, I want to talk to you about it first before I say yes. In case, you don‘t want to"

"Do you want to go?" you questioned, unsure if she wanted this as much as you did.

"Yes, I’d like you to meet my family officially. As my girlfriend."

This moment showed you that you weren’t her dirty secret anymore - not at all.

"Only if you‘re okay with that, of course" she squeezed your hand, letting you know that you can say 'no' if you weren‘t comfortable "we don‘t need to rush anything" as she wanted to do everything at the pace you set.

You were her first priority.

"Does your mother like wine?" you answered, agreeing to have dinner with her family while you felt the excitement rush through your body.

-

"My family loves you, amor" Alexia said as the two of you were in the car on your way home from dinner. Her hand rested on your thigh as yours rested on top of hers, "you think so?"

"Sí, claro. You‘re perfect" lifting your hand, she pressed a kiss on the back of it before settling back down, your cheeks turning red.

After awhile of comfortable silence, you broke the tranquil atmosphere "You know, we‘ve never talked about the notebook" you whispered. You didn’t know why the words left your mouth but you couldn’t take them back either. In fact, you wanted to talk about it ever since you had read the pages full of information, thoughts and love yet never had the courage to bring it up. There was no reason to do so, Alexia was your girlfriend, you had read about her build up plan on winning you back, all the things she loved about you and the pages of regret and disappointment.

She knew that this day would come eventually - always wondering when. It had been awhile since she had given you the booklet.

"I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I just want you to know that I really appreciated- still do the gesture of getting to know you in a way that I didn‘t know before."

She was very grateful that you didn't want to discuss the topic any further as she was still slightly embarrassed about all the feeling she had exposed in that book. But she also knew that the day would come where the both of you would have a very detailed conversation about every written word in there.

"Maybe one day we‘ll have a home where nobody had walked through that door and where you would never have to leave the door open for me." you whispered, smiling softly before looking out of the window at the night sky.

Alexia knew immediately what you were talking about

'I promise you to love you from afar and forever so. And if you should ever not have a home - mine will be forever yours. I will always let that door open for you..'

and what you were implying.

So, with the moon shining, the stars lighting, she promised that one day a shared home would be reality.

"I‘ll let the lights on instead" she chuckled, remembering the multiple times you‘d walked into something in the dark.

Ps. the internet went crazy when Alexia posted a picture dump of you on your first anniversary (finally confirming the rumours)

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #barcelona femeni x reader #fc barcelona femeni #fc barcelona women #barca femini x reader #barça femeni #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barca women #barcelona women #mapi leon #ingrid engen #fridolina rolfö #maria leon #frido rolfö #woso image x reader #woso imagine #woso soccer #woso one shot #espwnt #espwnt x reader

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

[5sospenguinqueen]

Post Space Tension | Charles Leclerc x McLaren! Reader

Summary: Struggling with the new frame of her relationship, Y/N decides a visit to her sister is in order. Charles realises that not having you close is even worse than you beating him.

Warnings: Swearing. Female reader. Verstappen! Reader.

I know you guys wanted angst but the doe eyes got to me.

Part 1 || Part 2 ||

Main Masterlist

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YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and others

YourUserName a lovely visit with my favourite sibling @ victoriaverstappen, and an even lovelier surprise (p.s. Max already knew so no, I'm not spoiling it for him)

5,657 comments

User 1 charles in the likes but not in the comments

maxverstappen1 stop trying to get our nephews to like you more than me

→ YourUserName they already do (even the unborn one)

maxverstappen1 also, how am i not the favourite sibling. i listen to all your boy troubles

→ User 2 boy troubles!!!

→ User 3 all??? how many boys are there 😒

landonorris can't believe you had lunch without me

→ georgerussell63 really don't help yourself, mate

lance_stroll not the burger a week before a race

→ YourUserName don't tell my trainer

→ lance_stroll too late

mclaren future papaya racer

→ maxverstappen1 no.

User 4 so, are you and charles still together? the world is dying to know if he was caught cheating or not

→ User 5 apparently they're still together but taking time apart

→ User 6 source: trust me bro

victoriaverstappen we loved seeing you but he keeps asking for uncy sha so maybe bring a visitor next time?? 🤍

liked by charles_leclerc

→ YourUserName can't believe i'm not enough :( but at least i'm introducing him to disappointment early on

→ User 7 not her sister spilling the tea

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User 8 so, does this mean LeStappen are back in the same country?

User 9 how's he going to keep his distance when they're on the same track

User 10 i feel tension brewing

User 11 anyone see arthur's latest tweet?

→ User 9 no why?

→ User 11 he posted that pic of charles and that woman but from another angle. arthur was with them that day and it looks like arthur's holding the woman's hand?

→ User 8 so charles wasn't on a date with that woman?!?! chay/n shippers rise!

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YourUserName just posted

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon and others

YourUserName 'cause i'm back in the saddle again tagged: landonorris, danielricciardo

6,456 comments

danielricciardo alternate caption was 'me and pookies' but lando and i talked her down from that

→ landonorris you're just jealous that i'm pookie #1

landonorris 🔥🔥

redbullracing we still think you'd look better in navy

→ mclaren back, back, i say 🤺

→ scuderiaferrari please, we all know red is her colour

liked by charles_leclerc

→ User 12 we see you charles

landonorris @ redbullracing stop trying to steal my teammate

→ arthur_leclerc stop trying to steal my brother's girlfriend

(comment deleted)

→ User 13 we saw that, arthur

skysportsf1 just posted

liked by YourUserName, maxverstappen1 and others

skysportsf1 read the latest interview from the Verstappen twins, and how racing helped strengthen their bond

tagged: YourUserName, maxverstappen1

7,905 comments

f1 our favourite twins

YourUserName wow, we look good. thanks for having us, it was so nice to be able to hype each other up and get paid for it

maxverstappen1 can't believe they left out the part where i said i only like you because i beat you

→ YourUserName because you told them not to? stop trying to make out like you hate me so people think you're tough. everyone saw you cry when i won

danielricciardo alternate caption was 'join us as we chat with racer, y/n verstappen and her lesser-known brother, max'

→ YourUserName he threatened to sue if they used that title

→ maxverstappen1 i hate you both

lance_stroll only read for y/n

alex_albon love how they tried to make max sound good at padel

georgerussell63 does anyone know who either of these people are? it's amazing who they class as celebrities these days

User 13 living for the grid picking on them (max)

mclaren going to need these pics blown up and hung in my living room

→ charles_leclerc agreed

→ redbullracing charles is all of us

User 14 not charles trying to hide in the comments

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Part 4 will be the final part. Thank you for coming on the journey of self-indulgent fics x

Tag list: @mehrmonga @luvsforme @lemon-lav @missenclod @halleest @formula1mount @k4marina @evie-119 @letmeseeyougotowork @sleepybrokenmelle @eiaaasamantha @tinyhrry @janeholt3 @allywthsr @callsignwidow @raizelchrysanderoctavius @prudyhoo @valentinanappipage @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @delululeclerc @e-nonsense @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir @thecubanator2 @butterfliesflyaroundmymind @kqliie @sweate-r-weathe-r @lifeless-firefly @woozarts @silverxxs-world @personwhoisther @eugene-emt-roe @anthonykatebridgerton @entr4p3 @carpediem241108 @forevercaffeinated-lee @youre-on-your-ownkid @xyzstar

#formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 smau #f1 smau #formula 1 social media au #f1 social media au #social media au imagine #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 headcanon #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 fluff #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 headcanon #f1 drabble #f1 one shot #f1 fluff #f1 x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc headcanon #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x verstappen reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #daniel ricciardo

[hannieehaee]

Hiii i love your writing sm that is always look forward to anything you write . Pls remember to take care of yourself .

Imagine chan having a younger s/o , doting on her , taking care of her protecting her 😭😭😭😭 it would be so cute

them having a younger s/o

content: small age gap between reader and member, established relationship, etc.

wc: 1056

a/n: thank u hehe u take care too!! <3 also i wrote this assuming the age gap is nothing too crazy!! just something like 3-5 year difference for hyung line and 2-3 year difference for maknae line c:

masterlist

seungcheol -

he was MADE to dote on and care for a younger s/o. his credit card would literally be your own. his home would be yours. would treat you akin to kkuma in the sense that he'd coo at you incessantly any time he was away from you for more than a few hours and would love dressing you up in cute outfits to match his own (in a low-key, fashionable way, of course). he'd adore a younger s/o because he'd feel like he could really provide for you with both his wealth and wisdom.

jeonghan -

being the one of the elders of the group and having a younger sister, he's literally been trained for a younger s/o. im completely convinced he'd adoooore a younger s/o that he could dote on and baby in every possible instance. he'd use his preschool teacher voice on you all the time and coo at you so much that you'd literally have to beg him to stop. at some point he'd start doing it just to annoy you lmao.

joshua -

tbh i feel like he would be kinda indifferent about you being younger than him, but would still acknowledge it at times. would coo at you and baby you in exaggerated manners to tease you over being younger than him. but! this would just be a veiled way for him to take care of you.

jun -

how is he supposed to baby you when he's the embodiment of baby himself? however, the creator of the aegyo cat set would still manage to coo at you and attack you with constant aegyo to show his affections towards you. all in all, though, i think he would be a lil indifferent about you being younger than him. maybe it'd inspire a little extra protectiveness from him, making him always keep you close to him in public spaces and use his massive shoulders to shield you from crowds or any danger.

soonyoung -

he'd baby you at times but for the most part would be pretty indifferent about being older than you. however! he would let his childish/immature side come out more often while around you, reasoning that you brought out his more youthful side. would probably match your energy at all times. he'd 100% use the 'im older than you' card to try and win arguments/disputes (it wouldnt work).

wonwoo -

absolutely endeared by you!!! have you seen the way he looks at chan? if you were around chan's age, he'd give you the chan treatment but a thousand times over. would cackle at any joke you made, always keep his adoring gaze on you, bring you snacks even when you didnt ask for them, make space for you on his lap whenever he played games or watched movies. you'd be his baby.

jihoon -

he'd try to hold back for a while, but he'd eventually break and feel an instinctive need to take care of you in a way he would a younger member. even if you were a very independent and self-reliant person, he would still take care of you in his own low-key way. would make sure you always had all your meals, make space for you in his studio and provide you entertainment so you could accompany him in there in the long hours of the night. he'd feel a special type of love for you knowing he could dote on you so freely.

seokmin -

he'd be obsessed with you!!!! would baby you constantly and take care of you in every way imaginable. youd also kinda activate his cuteness aggression without him realizing. he'd wanna be the one and only man to protect you and become a rock for you to rely on. would feel happy and proud to be a person you trusted and someone you could look to whenever you needed.

mingyu -

yet another member who would go insane over being older than you and use it as an excuse to baby you at any given opportunity. would treat you like loyalty and would act as if it was a crime if you ever did mundane stuff on your own instead of allowing him to do it for you. walking to the other side of the room? why when he can just piggy back you there!! packing your own lunch in the morning? nope! he's cooking you a whole meal!

minghao -

ive always felt like he'd go for someone younger just for the traditional aspect of it (idk i have no basis for this belief lmao just a hunch). he'd enjoy playing the role of the dependable boyfriend with a younger s/o to provide for and dote on. it'd just bring him a special type of satisfaction to know that you could look to him as a reliable source of comfort. would be the ideal boyfriend and take care of all your expenses and all your emotional needs.

seungkwan -

he'd be so damn overbearing in the way he took care of you im ngl. would keep tabs on your meals to make sure you had all your meals every day, would push vitamins on you, and just have huge concern for your health overall. he'd also feel insane cuteness aggression for you at the most random times, becoming overly affectionate and expressing how cute he thought you were (even if your age gap was teeny tiny).

vernon -

gives me the vibe that he wouldnt really care if you were older or younger. however, seeing the way he dotes on his little sister and gets along with her, i think he'd be similar with a younger s/o. wouldnt really bring up your age difference much but would still use it as the butt of jokes or use it as an excuse to take care of you at times in which he just felt a little extra affectionate towards you.

chan -

as the youngest, he'd love the idea of him being able to baby someone for once (ik he has a younger brother ok). would use the 'im older than you' line to death and be so fucking annoying about it. however, he would also feel satisfied knowing he was a dependable figure in your life who could take care of you in the same ways his members always took care of him.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen #seventeen imagine #svt #seventeen oneshot #svt oneshot #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt imagines #svt fluff #seventeen fluff

[ham1lton]

mind of mine.

pairings - lewis hamilton x singer!reader

faceclaim - beyoncé

warnings - 18+ content.

summary - lewis has just dropped his first full length album after winning his final championship. the internet goes wild trying to find his muse.

author’s note: thank u so much for the support so far and a reminder that requests for my 500 followers celebration are still open! 💕

— part one of my 500 followers celebration ♡ —

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liked by lewiswifey, landonorris and 493,789 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: lewis hamilton’s first album under the pseudonym xnda, has finally been released. the explicit nature of the album has people wondering who the muse of the project could possibly be. what are we thinking ham1ltons?

user1: shakira. i mean c’mon. they were linked together recently. it makes sense!

user2: maybe he got back with nicole?

-> user4: yeah and maybe aliens are real 🙄

user87: it’s about me. stay mad y’all 😍😝

user7: it’s about nico.

-> user6: IJBOL 😭

————————————————————————

liked by yourusername, user272 and 1,837,738 others.

lewishamilton: thank you to everyone who sent me birthday wishes! really appreciated! i had a great day celebrating with family and friends. here’s to the big 4-0!

user2: not even talking about your album that just hit number one on the billboard charts ur so sick!!

user6: he’s so fine i’m frothing at the mouth.

user8: favourite song off the album??

-> lewishamilton: what album? 🤔😉

user7: WHO IS UR MUSE MR HAMILTON??! 🤨

-> lewishamilton: it’s sir 😉

-> user7: WHO IS UR MUSE SIR HAMILTON??! 🤨

-> user8: he’s silent when it comes to the REAL questions….

user13: him and those damn winky emojis….

yourusername: thanks for letting me celebrate with you! it was an amazing night 🫶🏽

*liked by lewishamilton*

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liked by ynswifey, yourbffsuser and 1,982,627 others.

yourusername: drunk all summer! 💕

ynswifey: the best vegan ice cream advert ever.

*liked by yourusername.*

user2: her eating vegan ice cream…. in a car that looks suspiciously like lewis’s…. using a lyric from one of his songs in her caption….. is this thee muse?

-> hater1: nah. she’s just clout chasing as usual.

-> ynfan1: not u saying THEE y/n l/n, who has the most grammy wins of all time, forever changed the way music was released and was cosigned by the greats such as prince, stevie wonder and tina turner… is clout chasing 😭

-> user6: like i’m just a casual fan and i know that statement was outrageous 😭

lewishamilton: told you edoardo’s was great.

-> yourusername: shouldn’t have doubted you 🫶🏽.

-> user7: the way this would be thee power couple…

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liked by yourusername, lewiswifey and 2,373,929 others.

lewishamilton: my forever muse <3

yourusername: love you forever 🫶🏽

-> lewishamilton: love you more 💕

landonorris: MY SWEET VIRGIN EYES!

-> user6: virgin yes. sweet?? idk abt that…

user8: user maxies on twitter must be overjoyed.

-> maxies: YALL SILENCED ME… BUT I PREVAILED ‼️

user5: vegan icons !!

user9: not him stealing my wife….

-> user12: not her stealing my husband…

-> user10: i’m having a ball in this bitch. we throuplin! 😍

lewishamiltonupdates: omg did we just become stepsiblings? y/nupdates

-> y/nupdates: i guess so! hi sis 😍🫶🏽

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taglist: @23victoria @luckyladycreator2 @mxdi0 @dangeroustacoalienbiscuit @casperlikej @nichmeddar @evie-119 @ironmaiden1313 @d3kstar @ravisinghs-wife @demvnsriot @ajvaix @raevyng @iloveyou3000morgan @namgification @formulaal (don’t see yourself or wanna be removed? send me an ask!)

#jayde’s works ☆ #ham1lton 500 ☾ #f1 imagine #f1 smau #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 texts #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #lewis hamilton social media au #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #f1 x you #lewis hamilton x you

[sincerelyrki]

pretty baby

Jake’s pretty baby makes the prettiest sounds, it’s only fair that the others get to hear them too.

pairing : bf!jake x fem!reader

warnings + genre : smut. exhibition. hand job. fingering. only includes the hyung line. 18+.

wc : 844

a/n : this took everything in me to post, i get way too shy to write stuff like this TT but thoughts? pls let me know how i did <3

“Can I touch you?” You kept your gaze locked on the movie playing across the room, your ears hot as you attempted to ignore your needy boyfriend.

Jake quietly whined in your ear at your ignorance, his need for you growing the longer your hand jerked him off. 

He raised his hips to push himself further into your palm, soft gasps leaving his lips as he felt your hand tighten around him. 

“Please, I need to feel you.” Jake’s lips gently nipped at your ear as he pushed himself completely against you, your slow caresses halting as he trapped your hand between his thighs and your hip.  

You once again tightened your hand around him, squeezing him with a warning.

Jake hissed in pain, his lower body slightly flinching away from you in shock. 

Without drawing attention to yourself you turned your head towards your boyfriend, his pitiful state causing your satisfaction to swell along your arms. 

Your newfound goosebumps were nothing compared to the way your body reacted to his next actions, your head snapping around to glance around the room to check if anyone had noticed your slip up.

Jake gave you a sly smile, moving his hand further up the front of your shirt. He took advantage of your cautionary glances, cupping one of your breasts with one of his hands before snaking the other one behind your back.

Your jaw clenched as you felt your bra come undone, being supported by nothing but Jake’s hand pressing against you. 

“Sorry, it was an accident.” Jake winked at you as he removed his hand from your shirt, your bra held in his hands as he leaned away from you.

“The others will hear.” You gave up, leaning forward after him. Jake allowed you to lean into him, his free hand reaching out to pull one of your legs over his. 

“Not if you’re quiet” He teased you, one side of his mouth quirking into a smirk as he tilted his head at you. “You can be quiet, can’t you?”

It was almost humorous how fast Jake was able to switch the rolls, controlling you by the palm of his hand as he pushed you into a submissive headspace. 

You confidently nodded at him, your certainty fading the second his fingers wrapped around your knee. “We don’t want anyone to see how dirty my girl can be, that’s for my eyes only.”

Through the dimmed room it was nearly impossible to see Jake’s hands, the light’s reflection on his rings being the only proof of his hands touching your skin.

“But it seems it’s too late for that, hm?” Jake whispered in your ears, his fingers reaching your underwear as he stared at a spot across from you.

“Heeseung seems to be really enjoying this, his poor of an excuse blanket is doing nothing to hide it.” You say frozen in spot, legs spread under the blanket as your boyfriend's fingers circled shapes against your upper thigh.

“My pretty baby makes the prettiest sounds, should we show him?” Jake pushed your underwear to the side, slotting his fingers between you as his fingertips slid down your most sensitive part.

Your head dropped down as he pushed his fingers into you, his thumb coming up to rub against you as he slowly moved his wrist. 

After a long minute of hiding your sounds, you accidentally choked out a quiet moan, your bitten lips dropping at a harder thrust. “Might as well give them all a show, let them hear you.”

Jake used his other hand to grab your jaw, turning your head towards the three men sitting on the couch beside you. “Let me hear you.” A strangled whimper left your lips at the messy sight that greeted you.

Three pairs of eyes were glued to the blanket across your legs, doing nothing to hide the movements happening beneath it. 

If possible, you grew even shyer as the three men turned their eyes toward your face instead. 

You could see Sunghoon adjusting in his seat, his legs spreading as he fixed his pants. He tried acting like he never saw the two of you, turning his head towards the forgotten movie playing. If it wasn’t for the harsh gulp that followed, he almost could’ve fooled a blind man. 

“Fucking pervs” Jake scoffed out a laugh, his hand speeding up as he finally removed the blanket concealing you from the others.

“Holy shit” Jay’s jaw dropped, his eyes glaring holes into your skin as his eyes wandered all across your bottom half. A strained exhale left his lips at the sight of your inner thighs.

A mixture of red and purple painted your skin, and various hickeys littered across the strip of skin that was hidden by your pulled-up skirt. 

“You have such pretty panties, but I think they’d appreciate the sight more if you got rid of them.” Jake blew cool air into your ear, his free hand pressing against your lower stomach. 

“Show them how pretty you are for me?” And you did. 

#sincerelyrki #sincerelyrki : one shots #jake sim smut #enhypen smut #kpop smut #jake sim x y/n #jake sim x reader #jake sim x you #jake smut #enhypen jake smut #jake sim scenarios #enhypen jake sim #jake drabble #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #sim jaeyun smut #sim jaeyun #enha smut #enha jake #enha jake smut #kpop au #jake sim #sim jake x reader #jake x reader #jake sim drabble #sim jaeyun x reader #enha x y/n #enha x you #enha x reader #enha x female reader

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 5)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 6 Posting Thursday April 25

Part 5 Too Much

Actions famously speak louder than words, so what did you say, exactly, to Alastor with your actions that night? You were briefly rattled by what happened in the park but not for the obvious reasons. Despite everything, despite your fears, you found the situation deepening between you two when he suddenly invites to stay the night at his home. Perhaps he had fears of his own?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! That’s next part because this part was already super fucking long 😭 , but we do flirt our asses off and get taken by the hand, crying, panic attacks, discussions of murder, dead bodies, you really have to stop smoking, deer, adorably nervous Alastor, this man owns more than one mug you fucking know it」

19 days later… 😩 please don’t kill me. 5000 words here, Another like 6000 words are posting this Thursday, also tumblr wouldn’t let me post this for like an hour , just gave me error messages, I had to copy and paste 4 times so there may be some errors in here so let me know if you find spelling or format issues🙏

When he came to, momentarily either unconscious or just incapacitated as his brain started up again, he was frantic for his glasses. He could hear the sounds of a brutal death, the crunch of anger, the squish of rage. 

His eyes focused now, slightly askew and smudged glasses helping him see you clearly. 

Leaning over the man, hands red and face twisted in a marriage of fear and wrath, you were bringing a large rock down on the man’s unrecognizable face over and over and over and—

You flinched when Alastor’s hands delicately slipped down your arms and peeled your fingers from the rock.

Full body shaking, “He was going to kill you!” You said it too loud, too fast. “He was going to—,” Your breath got caught in your throat, “He wanted to— He was trying to kill you, Alastor.”

Wet with mud and blood and the rain still left on the grass, you were pulled into Alastor’s lap. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck with a small wince and hugged you. “He was. He almost did.” Low and slow, his chest rumbled when he said it. “You did such a good job.”

You looked down at your hands, but he pulled your face back up to look at his, “Always surprising me in the best ways.”

You’d forgotten already, how when adrenaline wanes you’re left with terrible tremors and a suddenly clear head. Alastor almost died. You hadn’t thought at all when it happened. Everything had taken place so fast, faster than your brain could process.

You had seen Alastor stop struggling against the man, his body went still and your eyes were blinded with tears, there was a horrible sound that may have come from you, and then there was nothing. A flash of running Colors. Distant muddled sounds.

Maybe you saw someone grab a rock. 

You might have hit the man on the back of the head. 

You think he fell down and something didn’t stop moving against him. 

Perhaps you thought if you hit him enough you could make it have not happened at all. If you killed him fast enough, Alastor would have been fine and standing.

But you weren’t sure. You blinked and Alastor was touching you and underneath you was a pulp of a man’s face. 

Alastor’s heart was racking against his ribs. Arms tightening around you unconsciously as his eyes landed on the dead man.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. He was too much.

He felt himself spilling over and staining your hands metaphorically and now literally.

You didn’t feel anything. Not during. Now you felt too much.

Your mind was filled with an echoing chorus of, ‘He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost died. He almost died.” 

There was a strange fear that Alastor had died, and any second you’d blink again and be alone in the trees with two dead men. You twisted in his lap,  hands rocketing to Alastor’s face and gripping the sides of his head. You were staring into his eyes, panting.

“You can’t die. I’ll—,” tears poured down your face in streams not drops. Your throat closed around the words. Short and fast, your breath ran wild. Hands tingling, your lips felt like they were pricked with a hundred tiny needles. 

Alastor pushed down his own mess of emotions, “One deep breath in.” His hands settled on yours,  still on his face. He could feel the familiar stickiness of drying blood in his hair. “Keep breathing in.” You coughed, shaking your head no. “You can, I promise it. Would I lie to you?”

You laughed, managing to catch your breath for a moment, “Y-yes.” 

“Well, now you’re adding insult to injury.” He made a show of rubbing his neck. You smacked his chest lightly, breathing in twice in a row.

He held both of your hands in both of his, “Name a time I’ve ever lied.” He distracted you but wounded himself. He could name a time.

You tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a really good liar.” Your voice was hoarse. 

Alastor nodded, “That’s true, there’s actually nothing I can’t do well.”

Another laugh, a cry, “Stop it.”

His warm, clean hands wiped your tears. “You’re being aggressive again, sweetheart. You know I prefer soft spoken women.”

The laughter helped break the cycle of hyperventilating. As your breathing finally got to a manageable speed you felt exhaustion deep in your bones.

All at once the sensations became prominent. Your knees were red and muddy, your hands bloody, your left side and back wet. You were sticky and sore and cold. “Alastor,” his legs were framing you, yours now folded under yourself and digging into rocks, “I wanna go home.” You adjusted his glasses, “Together.” 

If he had a reason to say no, he ignored it. 

“I thought I was the messy one.” He washed your hands with the water cans and settled you into the passenger seat of his car. Alastor took care of filling the trunk and cleaning the ground before sliding into the driver's seat.

He turned to you, his face dirty and clothes worse. You looked down at yourself; knees a color of wine, and blue dress now dyed brown.

“I know you have to get rid of him. So, I won’t ask you to sleep over. Just,” you felt sleepy, mind asking you to let it catch up, “let me take care of you for a little bit. Okay?”

His hand slipped onto your leg, he wanted to make a joke about sex or murder hoping to make you laugh again. But it was obvious he needed to be quiet, so he just nodded.

Alastor left the car on a side street behind your building. The man whose name you never asked concealed under canvas and red oil tins.

Luckily everything was clean in your apartment. It was small, just one room and a bathroom. The other apartments you’d seen had communal toilets and showers so you were quite proud of your space. You’d made it yours, gifted trinkets here and there, walls decorated with hanging dried flowers you'd had thrown at your feet. A shrine to your abilities.

You peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the kitchen sink and wiping off as much dirt as you could with a damp rag. 

Clothing hanging over the radiator, you both got into the shower. Cold and wet now hot and soaking,  you took his hands and sat you both down in the tub while the water ran down. Taking your time, you gently scratched the blood and mud from his hair and let it all wash away.

When fully cleaned and dried off he slipped on the only bit of clothing he had left, a loose pair of boxer shorts. You had a slip, silky and soft, to comfort you. Your mother wore silk, and it always made you feel safe. The way the fabric slid around its self and others, never catching or bunching up, was something you always hoped to emulate; smooth and cool, but always in need of a little caution and care.

A small bed meant for one, but you offered it. When Alastor motioned for you to slide in too, you didn’t hesitate.

Nose to nose, the room was quickly heating up with the radiator's help. 

You hadn’t been in a bed with Alastor in nearly two months, not since that first time. His words stuck to you like embroidered messages lovingly stitched into a handkerchief you didn’t want to lose. So you kept your hands between your thighs, still and away, to make sure he had space to exist in your bed.

“You saved my life.” Alastor whispered, one of you finally bringing up the obvious.

A hummed acknowledgment, “That makes us even.” He saved you before, you did the same in turn. A little piece of you worried the contract was done and he’d disappear.

“No, my dear. I owe you so much more.” A kiss to your cheek.

A terrifying thought took hold of you. “Roll over.” He looked confused but did. You were always asking him to turn away, always trying to hide your face when you said things that scared you. You hooked your arms under his and held tightly. 

“If I wasn’t there, there’s no one to have told me. How long would I have waited,” another torrent of tears into his back you couldn’t keep in if you tried, “at the phone booth for you to call in the morning.”

You were crying like a child, uncontrolled and with your entire body. Pathetic. 

He had never had someone to worry about those details. Everyone truly close to him was dead. Until now, of course. 

Of course.

What a natural addition you provided to him. He thought it like that it was a long standing fact.

He hugged your arms tighter to his chest. 

A shiver of fear in the warm bed as you continued, “I want to be there. With you. Always.” You gathered your courage. Shields completely down, if just for a moment, “I know there was nothing right about tonight but,” you wiped your tears off his back with your palm, reabsorbing that pain before he could soak it in, “Please. Don’t shut me out now. I’ll go to hell tomorrow for you but please don’t damn me to picking up a newspaper and seeing your name in the headlines; Learning you died in block letters for a nickel. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, worried rejection was waiting for you there, so you’d asked him to turn so you could hide. He picked up your hands and kissed your knuckles one by one. “Please don’t say things like that outloud. Things like ‘go to hell’ and ‘tomorrow’ so close together. The spirits can hear you.” A kiss to your palm, “And I wouldn’t dare shut you out.” He couldn’t. The very idea of going back to how he was before, alone and mumbling to the dead, made his heart race with his own panic. If you disappeared tomorrow he was scared to think what would happen to him. “Plus, I know you’d just find me anyway. You always do.”

Had you not been there, he would have still tried to kill the man. Waiting in an alley or for a walk home through an empty space. You weren’t at fault. He’d been hurt before, but this was by far the worst situation he had been in. But he would have been in it regardless of your participation. Alastor pressed his lips into your hand, smelling the soap you’d washed him with. 

You hadn’t hesitated. He had thought you would run, that he’d slip away into death and you’d book it to safety. Something he never planned to ask you to do, to kill someone, you’d done it for him when it was the most selfless option. Did he mean so much to you? He wanted to ask, but if you said anything other than an immediate yes he feared he would turn to a pillar of salt and crumble.

If you both could find the courage to just look at each other you’d have all your answers. But you couldn’t. The fear still too strong. So you changed the topic for a chance at an escape.

A small confession, to turn the conversation away from death. “After our dates, your cologne always lingers on my clothes. Sometimes I just fall asleep in them. When I wake up, my pillow smells like you.” Your body formed against his back, pressing as tightly as you could. How was that less embarrassing than everything else you’d said when it was arguably more pathetic?

He was quiet. You worried you’d pushed too far. Alastor worried he’d already hurt you too much.

“If you asked me,” he spoke slowly, hands resting on yours above his heart, a deep breath, “I’d stop.” He would. 

But, “I’d never ask that of you.” You said it so quickly, like blinking or yawning it happened without you needing to think about it. Alastor did something he felt he needed to do, you saw that look in his eyes before and understood this was Alastor at his truest. And the people he killed weren’t good people. He provided a service to New Orleans that no one appreciated.

He smiled against your palm, making sure you felt it, “Why are you so good to me?”

Without hesitation, Because I love you.

After a beat of silence, “Because you know where I live, obviously.”

A huff, “And where you work.” 

“And the park where I like to get fingered.”

Finally, his unburdened laugh, “I didn’t expect you to say that.” That sound of his joy bounced off the thin walls around you both. He rarely expected anything you said or did. It was part of your charm. Normally he could predict what people would say like reading a bad story, but you were something else. Effortlessly entertaining, was that a compliment? He was sure you’d say no and make that face you always did, something between a pout and a glare, between sad and angry. 

He had been asking genuinely. Why were you so good to him? Why so patient? Why care at all? 

“Can you sleep? Or do you need to go?” 

Alastor thought about it, if he left early enough he could still get home in time to empty the trunk. He hummed an affirmative, when he didn’t move you understood it was the former. He didn’t want to go. He needed more time. He needed to feel you nearby. An odd sense that if he pulled away now the thread holding you two together would pull him apart at the seams with the distance. 

You would think nightmares would plague you after killing someone in cold blood, but no. You practically killed Tommy, when you considered it thoroughly. And while this night was not a joy, you had defended yourself and Alastor. You didn’t feel bad. You didn’t regret it. You were just scared you did a bad job. That you’d get caught. 

The kind of dreams you had were different kinds of scary. Of Alastor always leaving a room when you entered, of falling off the stage and landing too far down, of waking up to feel Alastor cold beside you. 

When you did wake, your arms were still tight around him and he was warm. Your forehead rested between his shoulder blades. You didn’t feel different this time, you didn’t feel changed like after Tommy.

Alastor always had nightmares so he wasn’t surprised to have them in your bed. He dreamt he awoke on the ground, the man was gone but you were there broken into several pieces.

Had it been a dream though? 

After he dressed, you brushing his hair over a shared cup of coffee (you only had the single mug), you walked him to his car. The sun was nearly up and luckily no one else was. You had just wrapped a coat around your slip, not exactly acceptable clothing for being in public.

A shared kiss, small and chaste, Alastor’s mind elsewhere. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to you. It was always in these moments before you two parted that he felt the most frantic. 

“I know we love talking in circles and making jokes, but I have to ask you, bluntly. You killed a man. Are you alright?” When you only blinked, he quickly added, “It’s okay if you’re not.” His expression was pure worry, furrowed brows and flat mouth. “Nothing will change if you say you’re not.”

When you started to smile, Alastor thought he had lost his mind. The sun was rising behind you, making the shadows on your face slowly shift. He took a second to take in the scene. Ankles naked with sockless shoes. To your right was a trunk full of a dead man. And you just smiling like he’d made a joke. Which he explicitly said he wasn’t going to do.

“I don’t feel like I killed anyone.” You said it with a levity that made him glance around, wondering if you’d hit your head a little too hard earlier, “I feel like I stopped someone from killing you. Which feels,” you fought to suppress your smile from growing any further, “kinda good. Like I’m strong. I’m just scared I made a mistake and police will find out. I’m terrified we’ll be seperated. But I don’t feel bad.”

A normal man would be deeply concerned. You didn’t feel bad? For killing a man with a rock? Arguably one of the most brutal ways to murder a person. A normal man would worry he would be next.

Luckily for you both, Alastor was not a normal man. He stared at your face, trying to discern any hints of deceit there before he fell into the comfort of trust.

Your pinky came out, “I’m fine, and if I’m ever not, I will tell you. Promise.” His eyes left your face to stare at the tiny digit, “If I break the promise, you get to break the pinky.”

“Pinkies are useless, we should use a finger that matters.” He offered his index. You let yourself laugh, hooking your pointer finger with his.

Smile to smile, he exhaled his stress and slipped into his normal demeanor, “No worries, darling! No one will ever know what happened to him.” He leaned beside you and patted the trunk. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor drove away with the man, ready to disappear the body and try to sleep before work if possible. A nagging still sat in his stomach, a little pull that maybe you’d change your mind. 

He asked you the next morning, on your routine call, if he could stop by the theater when he finished with work that night. No reason in particular. He’d pull into the side street, and you could run out to see him.

When he arrived, you were in your stage outfit waiting to greet the crowd. Alastor smiled, “The prettiest bird I’ve ever seen!”

“A bird? Alastor just ‘pretty’ woulda been a fine compliment.” 

He offered an apology by way of kiss, soft hands coming to your cheek as he leaned against the door of his car. “I just wanted to see you. Steal a kiss before you stole some hearts. May I return tomorrow?”

Ah, that feeling again. Stupid school girl with her first crush, her first taste of love. “I wouldn’t complain.” 

That flow of conversation eased Alastor, things felt normal already. For you, they were. A small worry remained he may begin to act differently but the only difference was he seemed to be embracing you deeper. 

After your delivered kiss, you took the stage like a woman reborn. The warmth of the light felt like the sun. Pointed toes as you moved along the stage, hips loose and smile coy. 

As you looked around the backlit crowd you didn’t search for a good mark. The times you did play a man’s attention for Alastor were different, it felt like art when you lured men into Alastor’s claws.

A shake of your feathered fans, a very controlled lowering of your head, you let a hip rock out into view. A little flash of inner thigh. Then, your favorite part. One hand gripped your fans as you them with the aide of practiced fingers. Free hand undoing your still remarkably heavy and glittering bra and handing it behind the curtain.

Surprise reveal, a naked magic trick done behind distracting whirling feathers. Arms open, fans high, you waited for the applause to die down. Deep breaths were not possible, adrenaline and the weight of your costume keeping you from hiding the heaving of your chest. 

The whistles were your favorite. You couldn’t imagine Alastor whistling but you were sure it would be flawless in its ability to capture your attention. 

“Anyone wanna smoke? I don’t want to go into the alley alone.” You asked the room, several girls glancing your way and shaking their heads no as you hurried back in from your set.

“Just take the fire escape to the roof. That’s where we’ve been smoking since Mr. Brady said it was dangerous at night.” Florence was normally a perfect smoking partner, never talking too much. The name Brady made your stomach flip though, you had forgotten about him for a second. You’d managed to avoid him until Tommy’s bloody trail went cold, but you knew he still stalked around the jazz and music district.

A dancer laughed, “Nighttime has always been dangerous for women.”

Someone you didn’t see added, “Fuck, daytimes not safe either.” 

You climbed the creaky and seemingly forgotten-about fire escape to the roof. The breeze hit your face before your feet even left the metal railing. 

It was… a roof. Grey painted floors and brick sides. Nothing special, but you could see the bowl full of discarded cigarettes near the front of the building. You looked over the short wall that edged the front, you were able to see the pigeon shit covered marquee. What an unattractive view, the lights flashing out from beneath actual shit.

There was a metaphor there, you were sure. 

Looking around, there were a few wicker chairs hidden in the shadow of the street’s lights, thankfully upside down to keep them clean from the birds.

If more people used roofs instead of alleys Alastor would be out of luck. Tommy was difficult enough with a staircase, the fire escape would have been the nail in that coffin. 

It had been a lovely night, absolutely jarring compared to the night before. You leaned back in the chair, you knew you weren’t the best at saying what you meant. Especially when the words you offered could be used to hurt you. Words of affection and love, when true, were daggers given handle-first to someone else. 

So you hoped Alastor could guess how much he meant to you. You shouldn’t need to say it, right? Actions speak louder than words. You bludgeoned a man to death for what you had thought was a lost cause. It had seemed Alastor was already dead when you first brought down the rock. 

Diamonds are rocks, you considered. The most expensive costume the theater had was peacock feathered with shining crystals. You wanted to say you felt like a peacock, spirit large and wide and colorful. But those were males. Of course they were. The animal kingdom had males compete for mates with pretty colors and lovely songs. Now ladies pranced around in painted faces and short dresses. You didn’t feel pale or small like the ‘fairer sex’ peacock.

You felt like the swan. Vicious and beautiful, not out shone by anyone.

Well there was someone you’d allow to shine brighter. Someone you’d happily let take the lead. You’d thought letting a man walk in front of you was a sign of subservience. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that there could be respect in trusting someone else to go ahead. That the act of going first could be for protection and not power.

“Hey!”

You hurried to the fire escape, “yeah?”

“There’s a man asking for you. Tall guy named Frank?”

Frank?

Oh, Frank.

You’d forgotten about him. He’d left months ago. He was a whale, rich and generous. You took a moment to consider sitting down with him, smiling and laughing at his jokes, letting his hand settle on your thigh. It had been weeks since you entertained scamming anyone, and now you couldn’t even stomach the idea of faking interest in another man. Frank wasn’t one to scam, he just liked having a pretty lady on his arm to make him feel young and wanted, and in exchange you got into private parties and were gifted jewelry and clothing.

“Tell him I’m busy and send him off.” You hollered down. You could buy your own clothes. 

“Did he leave?” Alastor asked you the next morning, you leaning against the glass phone booth in the early morning light.

Your finger wrapped around the phone cord, “No of course not! They never do. I snuck out the back.”

There was a hum, “Well my dear, you’ve offered me a wonderful transition into my next question.” Alastor was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously turning his coffee cup around in circles, “Would you like to come over tomorrow night? I can pick you up after your show.”

Like a glacier drifting away from shore, you very slowly crouched down in the booth. “To your home?” 

“No, to Alabama.” He waited a beat, “Yes of course my home. I can show you what happens after I drive away.” A cheeky smile evident through his voice.

You pressed the phone receiver into your chest, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. What happens when he drives away? So…where the bodies go. But most importantly, the biggest part of this—where he lives. So much can be gleaned about someone from their home. A bookshelf alone could make or break an attraction. You brought the receiver back to your mouth. “Lovely! Sure thing— Alastor. Yes.” you almost added on an awkward nickname like daddy-o or mister man, like an idiot, because your brain was misfiring like you’d seen him in the sunlight again.

Ah, you could see his bed. 

Where he slept.

Did he ever dream of you?

What if it was terribly dirty? Could you still love him if he was a slob? 

“I’m quite far from downtown, pack an overnight bag, okay?” He stopped fidgeting with the mug. When the call ended he sat at the table for some time, staring around the kitchen. The home was large by city standards, but it was old. His mother’s charm was evident through every part. A finger scratched at the wooden table, heavy and solid. Why was his heart racing? 

He walked to the screened back door, looking from the weathered patio steps to the greenhouse. 

No one had ever been to his home. Ever. A teensy part of him was panicking. Was this a mistake? Was he going to fuck up the budding relationship? Throw off the peace of his safest place?

Budding. Okay that was ridiculous even for him. The kind of intimacy gained through murder did not allow any union to be called budding. He’d shared pieces of himself no other living soul knew of. Your image of him was possibly even more complete than his own mother had held, even though he tried to always be the most sincere with her. Even people he did care for and consider close friends had never knew where he lived. Never heard what kept him up at night. Never learned his distaste for a random lay.

Opening the screen door with a signature creak, the sound many southerners could call comforting, he walked to the greenhouse.

The newest part of the property, the glass walled structure was built shortly after his mother’s death. Double doors: locked. Just beyond the glass was a forest of plants and potted trees. They had no need for a greenhouse, but Alastor had a need for them.

He set about preparing his home for another occupant, a task that brought him such a shock of joy and anxiety he began to wonder who he was. New sheets on the bed, extra pillows set against his wooden headboard. Large glass jar in the backyard full of water and tea bags.

It was also unexpected he was thinking so much of his mother. In a perfect world she’d be there to greet you. Though if she was alive, he wouldn’t have been in that alley that night. He made a mental note to not mention his mother, at least not as much as he was remembering her as he walked around the two story home tidying.

Would he have met you if he wasn’t a killer? 

A flicker of fear was quickly extinguished by romance. Definitely. You both ran in the same scenes. He’d seen you before that night, he just never approached you. He hadn’t anticipated how much more you were than the facade you put on. Nothing about your sweet face said, ‘I have a high tolerance for murder.’

Alastor spent the day at work physically present but mentally pacing his living room. He nodded along to discussions of who was to be live on set next, smile never faltering as he worried if he had breakfast foods. He rarely ate breakfast, did you? How had he not thought to ask. Sloppy.

The only outward sign he was feeling any stress was the tapping of his finger on his desk, which he hadn’t even noticed until the stage manager commented.  

“Alastoooor,” her voice was high, like it seemed many women’s voices were recently. Was it a trend? “Impatient? Hot date with a young lady this evening?”

While she meant well, she always pried, always asked questions he didn’t appreciate. 

Alastor shook his head, smile strained. A perceptive person would have picked up on it, but Brenda was not perceptive.

“Oh.” A noticeable disappointment, “That’s boring.”

Actually on second thought maybe she didn’t mean well.

“I’ve had too much coffee, is all, Brenda.” He pulled his hand into his lap. “Was there anything you needed?” 

“No,” she pouted, much less endearing than you.

If he murdered purely for fun Debra would be dead before sunset. Unfortunately her only crime was being remarkably annoying.

Alastor waited behind the theater, where it was less likely any staff would see him. It was still important to avoid connecting the two of you together, at least at your workplace yet. 

He was quick to grab your bag for you.

“Not the trunk, please.” You said, it took him a second to catch the joke. He set it on the back seat after opening your door for you. You’d only been in his car a few times but he never failed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Your palms were sweating, when his hand rested on your leg while he drove you resisted the urge to hold it. Instead you slipped yours under his. Alastor asked you about your day, about work, about if Frank came back. Typically as soon as you left the theater you were in a cone of silence until your phone call with him the next day. It was kind of nice, having someone to speak to. Before meeting him there were times you worried you’d forget how to talk naturally, how to sound like yourself.

The glowing eyes of deer popped up from the side of the road, startling you. Eerie. You held your breath, would they run, stay still, or sprint into the road.

“Is it true their antlers can break car windshields?” You asked not breaking eye contact with a doe as you drove past.

Alastor nodded, “If a buck hits your car the wrong way, not even the car will make it out of the accident.”

“Are there a lot of bucks around?”

“Will be soon, as fall— wait why am I telling you this,” he laughed, “Miss Autumn Hind already knows what makes the bucks run wild.”

You shouldn’t be smiling, it was a dumb rut joke, but it felt like a compliment. 

The car lights passed over the home as he turned into the dirt driveway. Powder blue. It wasn’t a color you associated with Alastor. He was caramel, honey, midnight blue, red. His sometimes sinister smile didn’t look quite right against powder blue. But, for a home, it was lovely.

“Is someone home?” You saw a light on in an upstairs room.

Alastor reached behind you for your bag, “No, I leave it on when I’m gone. Gives the impression that the house isn’t empty.”

A minor bit of acting, Alastor opening the door and offering to bring your bag upstairs before a tour like a good host. His anxious energy was barely contained by that grin of his. For your part you played the appropriately impressed guest.

But deep down you were very impressed. An actual house. Your mother struggled to keep apartments rented. Alastor had a home. With stairs. That went to more home, not a neighbor. What a lovely thing. What did he do with all this space?

He could probably hide quite a few bodies in there.

Alastor opened his bedroom door and motioned for you to enter.

You took in every detail as shrewdly as you could. Two circular nightstands, a wide dresser with a few framed photos and a radio. One large window facing the yard, you could see the car outside from where you were standing. “Wow a man’s bedroom. I tend to avoid these.”

“What a coincidence, so do I. Bedrooms in general, really.” He placed your bag on the dresser, offering to unpack it for you. Your smile screwed up, shaking your head no. You couldn’t imagine Alastor folding your panties and setting them into a drawer. 

Well.

“Yes please.” You took a seat on the end of his bed, watching him tenderly empty the bag before beginning to put things away like you’d come home from a trip. “A bed big enough for two people. You didn’t tell me you were a fancy man. Ooh la la.”

Alastor laughed, “Your bed was quite comfortable.” He set your dress onto a hook attached to the closet door, hands running down the fabric to straighten out the wrinkles, “But I have a feeling that had more to do with you than anything else.”

The floor was clean, the rug beneath the bed a simple but pristine white. What an odd color for a rug.  

You truly did avoid men’s homes. The power dynamic shifts too much.

“Are all men so clean?”

“Oh god no. Have you really never been to a man’s home?” Without a moment of hesitancy his long fingers flattened out your underthings and neatly folded them. You could call it erotic, knowing what else his fingers could do.

A hum, you swayed side to side, “Too much risk. I don’t know where the knife drawer is, which locks stick, what windows open all the way.” 

He set the empty bag into a reading chair in the corner, “That sounds stressful.”

You shrugged, “My mother taught me to always have an escape. From situations, from rooms, from people. Not terrible advice.”

That was true, he thought. If the few women he killed had considered that, he would be less prolific. Women tended to be easier in some regards.

Alastor finally let himself look at you sitting on his bed. Were you wearing the black garters today? He liked those. He appreciated the red dress you’d worn.

Taking off his jacket and vest, he hung them up while his eyes kept returning to you. Your legs were crossed, thighs soft and pressed together. He remembered feeling them against his ears. A little cough to clear his throat and mind.

“Are you hungry?”

You werent, but you weren’t ready for sleep either, so you asked for some bread and butter. Alastor sat beside you at the table, watching you look around. It didn’t look like a killer's home. 

“Ya know, I was going to rob you. I had been wanting to talk to you, before that guy caught me off guard when I was smoking.” You said it easily. 

He smiled, “Oh, why’d you change your mind?”

“Well, you slit a man’s throat in front of me.”

“Tsk tsk, you give up too easily, my dear.”

Salted butter, soft bread. Simple. Happy. “You were so handsome-,”

“We’re?”

A snort of a laugh, rolling your eyes dramatically, “and you looked well off. I was searching the room for the lights reflecting off of your glasses all night.”

Alastor grimaced, fighting the well of his ego, and leaned on his elbows, “Is it too morbid to say I’m glad that man tried to kill you? I like this timeline more than being robbed and never seeing you again.”

“That’s very selfish. I would have enjoyed chasing you down and finessing your wallet off you.” You set the glass lid back over the butter dish, content with the snack. “Some men come back actually and confront me at the theater.”

He howled. The idea was ridiculous, “Seriously? Why not just tell the cops.”

“Men don’t like telling other men they got taken for a ride by a dame.”

Alastor stood, “What would you have done if you had robbed me and I marched into the theater demanding my cash back.” It took a second to realize he was being serious in wanting you to play along. 

You popped the last piece of bread into your mouth and stood too, “You rake!” A fake smack to his chest, “I booted you to the curb! You had more hands than an octopus!” 

Alastor tried to stay in character but his smile kept cracking through his serious face. “And my wallet? None of my hands can find it.” You took a few steps back, feigning shock at the accusation.

“Sir! You were so drunk I’m not surprised you lost it.” When Alastor closed the space between you with two wide steps and pulled you into his chest you giggled, hitting softly at him, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage,” his hands wandered down your hips, making your voice catch in your throat, “of a good woman like me.”

His mouth came to your ear, “Well, miss, I think you owe me the opportunity to try again.”

You went stiff against him, the sudden turn of his voice into seduction taking you by surprise, “If you were a real mark, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”

“But for me?” Breath against your neck.

Your hands slid up his chest and to his collar, pulling him down and into a kiss. His smile spread across your lips. 

His mouth stayed against your cheek as he pulled you into a hug, “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleepy, hun?” You pulled away, a sincerely worried face. Two nights now you’d interrupted his normal routine.

Alastor’s eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, head shaking, “No, not at all.” You felt the heat rise up your face. Wanting to avoid assumptions, you tried to temper your expectations.

His hand pulled you toward the stairs, you dragging your feet, “Did you want to show me around?”

“In the daylight.” He led you up the stairs and to the right.

“Oh okay….”, your mind was reeling, mouth dry. No dead body in sight. No blood. You hadn’t pressed him or asked for anything. Maybe he just wanted a good cuddle, or some kisses. You often enjoyed necking near the car before he would go home. Right. Let him lead.

You followed him, letting him guide you hand in hand back to his bedroom.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar,@straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove@saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , @sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re , @asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp , @angelxx7 , @katgirl05 , @impulsivethoughtsat2am , @sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

#human alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #alastor smut #alastor x you

[uglyducklingofthe2000s]

Sins Of The Father, Fuck The Daughter - Lewis Hamilton

Switching Team pt 3

Dark fic 18+ - if you don't like this or the warnings/themes make you uncomfortable. I can't stress this enough, DO NOT READ THIS

Warnings/themes: Age gap, smut , coercion, manipulation, corruption/innocence kinks, gaslighting, parental intervention, baby trapping, revenge

@omgsuperstarg is being massively credited bc she has helped inspire so many ideas w this series so have to give a shout out.

One more part after this and then we're calling it on the series.

Another race weekend. Another endless train of clips seeing his very recently wrecked daughter dripping in red.

The whole world has noted that y/n always seems to have swollen lips, from whatever activity herself and Lewis were enjoying before arriving. Her red dresses practically uniform and this week came with an addition of all red Louboutins and a gust of wind did give some of the paddock a peak at what is better described as red string under her dress rather than anything that could be described as underwear

The media has tried it's best not to dwell too much on the matter but the transformation of the quiet and shy girl who seem to definite the innocence of wearing white has now been touched by Lewis and seems to be transformed. Hardly recognisable as the same person.

"Toto, we know that you have seemed to have lost two people to supporting red. How are you feeling about y/n's new relationship?" The reporter asks with a smile jumping at the opportunity to get Toto's opinion since everyone knows of his and Lewis' feud.

"I think I will have to console my daughter when she comes to her senses and sees Lewis is only corrupting her to hurt me. Which I think is quite poor form from someone like Lewis. Perhaps Fred can get his driver under control." Toto states making somewhat of a joke at the end, though even picks up on the tone and suggestion behind it.

"Fred?"

"I imagine Toto has more control over his daughter than I do over Lewis. It is my job to handle my drivers as drivers, not to monitor their personal lives." Fred shrugs earning a slight glare from the Mercedes team principal. "We are here to race."

"You should try reminding your driver of that when he's flaunting my daughter around like a possession." Toto grumbles earning a very obvious side eye from the Frenchman.

-

Y/n feels Lewis' hand clap over her mouth as his other hand pushes down on her stomach, forcing the bulge almost up into her other organs with the sensation of pain merging with pleasure and earning a muffled but still audible moan as she milks ever drop of cum from him.

Lewis has decided that he won't be fully satisfied about having successfully taken y/n from Toto until she's got his child. Though he might have to ease up on bruising her insides at that point, he's almost certain her tummy does actually have a small bruise from his dick.

Seeing her in all red actually brings out some primary instinct to fuck her till she's walking like the memory of his dick being in her is permanently there.

He'd had a conversation with Fred and then he saw the press conference and he decided that if Toto was so eager to see his daughter then he'd see it be done.

"That's a lot." Y/n mumbles commenting on the feeling of his cum flood out of her. "You want me to not wipe it?"

"No. We're going to see your dad."

"I really don't want to." Y/n mumbles then wincing when two fingers press into her before he removes them and raises his fingers to her races.

"Clean up." Lewis instructs making her look as his other hand squeezes her thigh in warning.

Y/n swallows before holding his hand to put his fingers in her mouth licking his fingers clean of the salty cum.

"Come on. We're going to see your dad and Susie."

"But-"

"Y/n." Lewis cuts in his short temper being a result of Toto's comments and the hurt expression on y/n's face makes him realise that he maybe needs to remember that she might be his daughter but she's an innocent in this matter. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but we don't have time and you know I like-"

"I know. But I don't even want to speak to my dad...I don't understand why you're pushing for it." Y/n mumbles with a pout.

"Because he wants to see you and he's blaming me stopping you as the reason why you won't." Lewis states earning a small nod. "You don't have to speak to him for long."

"Can't you just do the talking?" Y/n sighs earning a small smile of amusement.

"You have to say something, but I'll talk to him as well." Lewis assures her while helping her stand up. "Good?"

"Yeah."

They walk through the paddock moving to the Mercedes unit where Toto is actually sitting outside with Susie and Jack.

Despite their relation, Jack doesn't know much of his sister. By the time he came alone she'd long since been left in isolation and the two are anything but close.

"Why don't you go find George, Jack?" Susie asks, not wanting to leave but also not feeling Jack should be involved in the conversation. Thankfully he rushes off eager to speak to George since he admires the lanky Brit a lot.

"Y/n, how have you been?" Toto asks as Lewis pulls out a chair for her and tucks it in. "I didn't know you had such a love for the colour red."

"Toto." Susie scolds as Lewis sits down looking fairly smug.

"I'm here because Lewis asked it of me, if you intend to be disrespectful we can leave." Y/n states crossing her arms and frowning at him. "I didn't ask for this you know."

"Well if Lewis would stop using you-"

"Enough, Toto." Susie cuts in sharply.

Y/n swallows since Susie has always defended her but it's complicated between them.

"Lewis, whether your intentions were motivated by revenge on Toto or genuine feelings for y/n. You clearly have made her happy and that is what is important." Susie smiles looking at y/n. "Are you happy?"

"Yes."

"Then that's all that matters." Susie assures her then linking her hand with Toto's. "Your dad won't be making anymore public comments about it."

Toto makes no verbal confirmation, too busy trying to stare Lewis down but the driver is unwavering.

"I'm glad we all had this talk, it's been important. Y/n and I have to go, things to do. Come on, y/n."

The two leave though Toto and Susie both notice the bodily fluid that's now leaked low enough to be visible and if you glimpse you'll spot it.

"He is doing it on purpose. He is trying to provoke a reaction-Susie, you cannot expect him to allow this." Toto hisses to his wife. "He treats her like property and with no respect. How can you be ok with it?"

"Y/n is an adult. We have to let her make her own mistakes to learn her own consequences." Susie sighs then smiling at him. "We can only hope the consequences don't come in a form that she regrets in the long term."

-

Y/n watches Lewis talking to his engineers, ready to get the car out onto the grid.

There's been an off feeling since her and Lewis left that very short and uncomfortable meeting with her parents. She appreciates Susie's efforts but it's fairly obvious where Toto's feelings lie and she didn't miss that Lewis was purposely sitting like the cat who got the cream. Quite literally.

"Y/n, good luck kiss?" Lewis smiles catching her attention and earning a smile. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, just thinking about earlier. It's...fine."

"Hey...don't let them ruin a good day. You look gorgeous, the race is going to be good and I want to see you afterwards with that gorgeous smile. All for me."

Y/n actually does genuinely smile over his words and when he leans in for a kiss it's fairly obvious his goal of perking her up was very successful. Something they're both very grateful for.

Watching the race y/n is so focused on Lewis she doesn't actually notice the cars around him, not till George appears and looks like he's trying to be the next torpedo driver as he tries a dive bomb and just completely smacks into Lewis, ripping through the right side of red sidepod and wrecking the floor.

"What the fuck?" Y/n whispers standing up as collective groans and yells of outrage shout through the garage.

That's race ending damage even if he wanted to continue.

They call for him to come in and he's pulled into the garage after trying to see if there's any chance of the car continuing but as suspected it's done for.

Lewis gets out being weighed before he takes a moment then sighs moving to his engineer. They spend a while watching replays, onboard, looking from different angles and he even moves back to the care talking to the mechanics as they inspect the damage which is severe.

"Are you ok?" Y/n mumbles making him look at her as he places his helmet down.

"You're never talking to your dad again." Lewis states earning a slightly shocked expression. It's one thing for her to be angry at.

Now George truly could've pulled that move of his own decision, he's the exact type of driver who would. Like an idiot. He got off lucky doing it.

"Y/n, I mean it." Lewis grumbles as a PR assistant appears telling him they need to get him to media. "I'll see you in the unit."

He then goes and spend the next half hour absolutely rinsing George calling him Toto's runner boy and directly making the accusation that the move was a matter of George being told to target Lewis and do anything to ruin is race. All because he's dating y/n.

-

Lewis made it clear.

He also used her as a bit of a cushion for frustration, she woke up this morning and decided she wouldn't be getting out of bed, although he did apologise for the sex that was about as rough as it's ever been. It's not as if she didn't enjoy herself. But the man certainly knows how to leave her feeling the effects of his dick the following day.

Luckily her is more than happy to do everything for her, he kisses her constantly and just holds her in cuddles, orders room service, gives her all his attention.

"You're the best thing in my life, you know that?" Lewis whispers gently pushing her hair back.

"You're the best thing in my life too."

"So...as an apology for the weekend-"

"You don't have to apologise." Y/n states quickly than moving over to straddle him. "I always love having sex with you."

"Do you?"

"Are you really going to make me prove it?" Y/n laughs earning a quick chuckle.

"No. You are in a rest day. Same as me. I think we're both owed it."

"Lewis...did it hurt?"

She knows that any impact in an F1 car can make the body ache but she really wants to know that Lewis is ok.

"It always hurts a little. But that one wasn't the worst." Lewis smiles then pulling her down to kiss her lightly. "You're sweet to ask, baby."

"Well so long as we can cuddle for the rest of the day, I think we're both resting enough."

"Agreed."

#f1 #fanfic #formula 1 #dark!lewis hamilton #dark lewis hamilton #dark f1 fic #dark!f1 #dark f1 #dark!fic #dark fic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton #lh44 x y/n #lh44 one shot #lh44 x you #lh44 imagine #lh44 x reader #lh44 #sir lewis hamilton #f1 one shot #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 2024 #f1 imagine

[blueskittlesart]

deeply refreshing to see someone critical of Swift who also like, genuinely likes her. Like i'm neutral to positive on her, but the online discourse has been absolutely rancid. flipping between "Taylor Swift has never done anything wrong ever and she's a fucking genius" and "Taylor Swift is the worst lyricist of all time and also a bad person" is exhausting, so thank you for like. nuance or something lmao

not to make it serious for a sec but i genuinely think that being able to like things that are bad is really important. like I think that it's an important skill to be able to look at something and see what you personally enjoy about it and then take a step back and acknowledge that objectively it's flawed. and to also be able to acknowledge that liking something isn't necessarily an identity or a moral stance. and i think that fandom space in general could really benefit from more people taking the time to learn how to do that. it's okay to like things that are bad

#people ask me sometimes why ill occasionally talk about something i like and then go 'but it's bad' and the answer is usually because it is #i love teen wolf. i love genshin impact. i love detective conan. and i fucking LOVE taylor swift. that doesnt mean theyre good #it just means i like them. and recognizing their flaws actually helps me better identify what i like about them! #it's like. in my mind bad > good is the x axis and i like it > i dont like it is the y axis yk. they're not mutually exclusive #tldr it's not that serious. we can all relax a little #irt taylor swift i do also think she has done some real harm to her fans in enabling them to deflect all criticism of her as misogyny #and i don't think it's fully the fault of these people who are parroting that response bc so much of her marketing has deliberately #reinforced this idea that to be a swiftie is to be a part of a sisterhood and that any attack on taylor is an attack on all of those women #who are in that in-group. when that's obviously not the case. but she's marketed herself as. for lack of a better term. 'girl music' #to the point where it makes her fans feel as though any criticism of the music or the woman responsible for it is an attack on their #personal experience of womanhood/girlhood/sisterhood/etc. and that's how you get all of thess bad-faith accusations of misogyny #i don't necessarily think this was her deliberate goal with her marketing tho because like. on first glance such a strong sense of communit #among fans sounds like a great thing. the friendship bracelets i got at the eras tour movie are really genuinely special to me. #but it does present a problem when your fans are unable to separate how they feel about the community and experience your music has fostere #from how they feel about you as a person. especially when you are a billionaire who absolutely CANNOT be above criticism in this economy #anyway. tldr i love taylor's music and i don't think swiftie hivemind is as deliberately malicious as it may seem #but it's obviously necessary to be able to take a step back and look objectively at what you're participating in. #anyway stream ttpd or don't idc <3 #taylor swift

[seraphicsentences]

hlllo can you pleas do football!ellie ina rush and really needing her sport shirt that reader is wearing, but since reader is so unbothered to change she takes it off right there n it gets ellie thinking if she should even go!!!!!! maybe a little smutty smut ‼️‼️inluv with yur writinggg

hi baby yes i can thank you for the request sweet girl. sorry this took a little while i appreciate your patience. also yes i know i said i was going on a break yesterday and then proceeded to bang out this entire thing, my bipolar ass got bored. enjoy! <3

“BABE?”

“BAAAABE?” ellie calls louder as you hear her stumbling through your shared apartment, clearly in a rush.

“babe, have you seen my-oh there it is,” she swings into the room abruptly, stopping in her tracks when she sees her much needed football jersey, adorned by yours truly.

“hey els, what’s up?” you ask, propping yourself up on the bed, and shooting her a look so sickly sweet, savage starlight comic in hand.

ellie’s existence can be found in all aspects of you at the moment, from the clothes you’ve “borrowed” and your choice of fine literature, to the purpled bruises littering your jaw and collarbone.

ellie can’t help but let her buzzing pre-game thoughts slow at the sight of you, and fester around thinking mine, mine, mine.

“hey pretty girl, i just really need my jersey for practice. do you mind changing, pretty please? i’m late,” she says softly, leaning over the mattress to press a warm kiss against your forehead.

“aw, fine, i’ll just wear nothing then,” you joke, reaching over your head to pull off the top in one swift move, revealing your bare chest with marks to match your neck.

you watch knowingly as ellie quite literally shutters: caught up in the sight of what’s literally a physical manifestation of the guilty pleasure that is her possessiveness.

—and you revel in the power trip that this is. because how is it that mere nakedness, something that’s more you than anything else you could put on your skin, is enough to make ellie fucking williams crumble.

and so all you do is smirk when, without sparing even a glance away, ellie tosses the held-out jersey lazily over one shoulder and leans in to indulge herself with another kiss; this time a proper, messy one on your parted lips.

“on second thought,” she says, in between breaths, before diving down to swirl her tongue around your hardened nipples, greedily sucking and licking at them like your own fucking baby.

you’re nothing but powerless to her hypnotic ministrations, as much of a fool for her as she is for you, letting low moans out freely from the back of your throat.

moving back up to kiss you like she wants to consume your sounds, the aggressiveness of ellie’s actions leave you nowhere to go but fall backwards onto the bed, chest pressing up to brush your pointed nipples lush against ellie’s chest.

“fuck, baby,” she rasps into your mouth, slipping her hand between the two of you to knead at your breast, calloused fingers thumbing over your nipples. she watches in awe as you shudder at the sensation, hooded eyes begging for more.

“fuckin’ tease,” she mumbles with a smile, mouthing over her previously left bruises with a hot, flat-tongued lick. feeling the vibrations on your throat as you laugh at her, she gently nips at your skin, letting out a laugh of her own as she feigns annoyance.

“shut up,” she chuckles, suffocating your laughs with the press of her mouth, continuing to make out with you in the delicious way that it is to make out with her.

ellie pries a knee between your squeezed thighs, nudging it upwards in such kind offerance to your burning heat— to which you take, hips immediately grinding up in desperation.

but just as quickly as it was given to you is it taken away.

ellie sits up with a jolt, mussing with your hair as she replaces her shirt with the jersey hurriedly. she stumbles towards the door with a guilty look in her eyes, pausing only to ramble, “coach is gonna kill me, sorry babe. that’s what you get for being such a tease! i’ll make it up to you, you fuckin’ minx. i love you!" before sprinting out the door, shoelaces undone.

you lay there, frozen and topless with your panties soaked, and you curse ellie out, that little bitch.

#wlw #lesbian #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #the last of us #abby anderson #smut #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut #seraphicsentences interacting w her girls #reader x ellie williams #mean reader #ellie williams x reader #reqs open #request #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie smut #ellie x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #lesbian ellie williams #ellie williams the fucking tease #teasing #mean ellie williams #football ellie williams #sporty!ellie williams

[ivys-garden]

More Minecraft ideas, what part of Minecraft needs improvement?

You're wrong, it's ponds.

Ponds, lakes, lava pools. They all suck in Minecraft, they end up just being big holes in the ground with nothing interesting about them that make the landscape ugly and hole ridden

Now you might say “Ivy, literally no one cares” and to that I say, wheesht and accept my ramblings ya donut

So, how do we fix Ponds? It's simply really: make ponds generated structures.

Ponds would now be generated structures taking up one chunk, with an actual human made design to make them, you know, look good. There would be, say, 100 or so different designs to stop them looking to samey (they'd be so small that something like that would be feasible)

Lakes would be done similarly, only with the key difference, they would be made up of 4 chunk “cells”, each making up a corner of the lake.

ponds and lakes in plains or forest biomes would be made of blocks like mud and dirt.

Ponds and lakes in deserts (or oases if you want) would be made up of grass and sand

Ponds and lakes in tundras would be frozen over on the top layer of the water and with clay spawning around the water

Now, let's see some things that can be found in ponds and lakes:

Frogs

Nothing new here, frogs and frogspawn are most common ponds, pond frogs also only come in the green frog varietie.

Perhaps the oasis can have a desert rain frog variant that gives a purple frog light

Toads

Toads and toad spawn can be found in lakes and ponds in forest and plains biomes. Toads emerge from toad spawn in the same way frogs do. Toads have an exaggerated size, being double the size of the frog

Toads come in several colours (Green, Brown, Yellow, Orange and Lime) but these colours do not harbour any game mechanics (in other words: sorry but there are no toadlights)

Toads will eat all mobs with wings, that being the Parrot, Chicken, Phantom, Bat, Bee and the player if they are wearing an elytra, so watch out.

All the aforementioned mobs are scared of Toads, making them and effective deterrent to phantoms in particular

Cattails, Reeds, Rice, Algae and Papyrus

I'll just do all the plant life stuff at once (these will generate dependent on the pond or lake cell)

Algae is a new decorative blocks that can be placed on water

It will connect to other blocks, creating an unbroken surface across the water

Algae has a bright green hue and can be found in both ponds and lakes with the same frequency

Papyrus is a new plant that spawns naturally in the oasis, it is used as a more efficient way of making paper as it can be bonemealed and only one papyrus is needed to make paper

Rice is a plant that grows in water in lakes and ponds spawning in cherry groves.

Rice can be used in two recipes:

Rice Bowls:Putting rice, a bowl and any meat together will craft a rice bowl

This food source that can be eaten twice, eating the meat and then the rice

Sushi: putting rice, dried kelp and one fish into a crafting table creates Sushi, a foodsoarch that can be eaten instantly without playing the eating animation, not very nutritious but good in a pinch

Cattails are a purely decorative plant found in ponds and swamps

Reeds are more common around rivers and lakes, being a fern like plant that grows two tall.

Reeds can be used to craft a new item: Pan Pipes

Combining 3 reeds and 3 string will create pan pipes, these can be played to draw passive mobs towards you so long as the button to play them is held down.

Pan Pipes can also calm neutral mobs like wolves, iron golems and bees, but doing this instantly focus the Pan pipes into cool down

Pan pipes have a cool down double that of the Goat Horn

Bagpipes

By putting Pan Pipes, 3 iron nuggets, 3 red wool and 3 green wool together you can make Bagpipes.

Bagpipes have durability on top of having the same level of cool down as Pan Pipes. Bagpipes cannot be enchanted.

Bagpipes have the ability to PERMANENTLY pacify all hostile mobs in the chunk the player is in.

Bagpipes will break after 10 or so uses

Willow and Palm

Willow and palm are new wood types, Willow spawns around lakes and ponds and Palm spawns around oases.

Willow has a dark Bluish-green colour, complementing mangrove, where as Palm is a desaturated pale white

(These will generate depending on the pond or lake cell)

(Part 1/3)

#minecraft suggestions #minecraft ideas #minecraft #ponds #part 1 #part 1/3 #the beginning

[lady-raziel]

long reaction to the update

ok. so they put out an update video! since i've been commentating for the last three days i might as well subject you all to more of my thoughts today.

main takeaway: this was a good apology video. i mean it. short and to the point, no overproduction, heartfelt and honest (and not a ukelele to be seen. thank god.) they took ownership of the situation, apologized, and restated how much they value their relationship with the fandom.

their solution is to make the watcher tv platform into kind of an iteration of patreon where content is available for early access before it is released onto youtube later. this is clearly a better option than paywalling everything for everyone. i'm not sure what the relative breakdown of costs turns out to be when you compare how much they were making on patreon after the platform took their cut VS how much it costs in overhead to run and maintain their own platform (how much it costs annually to contract via Vimeo, essentially). but i'm sure that's part of the calculation.

all things considered, that does seem like the best option out of all the alternatives. it allows them to not completely abandon any of the pans they have simmering over the fire for the time being. i don't think i ever thought they were going to just say "oops, forget about the streaming thing! let's pretend that never happened!" because at this point they've invested quite a lot of time and money into it, and i don't disagree that keeping it in some iteration may help them make up some of the funds they're lacking.

i would say, it's fine to keep the streamer. this is one of the ok outcomes, all things considered-- but if they're going to do it, they've GOT to do it smart from this point forward. listen to both the fans and the consultants intimately. both are going to have valid points, and both are going to be right. listening to too much of either side will sink this thing because each has motives and expertise that the other doesn't. if the fans say $6 is too much, listen to them-- but have conversations with business consultants about how much you realistically need to charge to make things work.

also, i'd use this whole situation as a learning experience. watcher is a young company, and it's literally inevitable that mistakes will happen. what's different is that the watcher crew haven't really been in a position before where they've been on the receiving end of the internet-angry-justice-hammer to this extent. it's one thing to watch it happen to others, but it's a position of extreme privilege (and a bit of hubris) to think "but that won't happen to me, because i'm built different." naw, man-- two things in life are inevitable: death and fuckups. the callout posts get us all in the end.

what's really important is that they use this as a wakeup call that even the most loyal fandoms will only follow you so far to the cliff's edge, and you don't want to push that. you have to strike a balance between the passion projects that you think are worthy and the stuff that maybe doesn't excite you as much anymore but the people want to see. a little fanservice keeps the lights on, as unfair as that might seem. i'm gonna make 50 markiplier choccy milk memes just so i can make one niche political joke once and a while for 6 likes. it is what it is.

i'd also use this as a chance to take a very careful look at company structure and finances. it's not fun to do and nobody likes it. trust me-- this is hard whether you're a single adult trying to pay the bills or the freaking US government (speaking from experience on both-- i have to read the president's budget for work frequently). but you all have to ask hard questions about the ratio of creative staff you take on VS staff for administrative and other business roles, as well as the costs and benefits of everything you spend money on. how many staff members are essential to location shoots? can this video be shot with 2 cameras instead of 3 and thus you don't need another cameraperson? you might even have to come to the decision that instead of pitching a new show it makes more sense to use those funds to hire your essential non-creative roles or contract firms or freelancers.

paying staff a fair wage with benefits speaks highly of what watcher wants their values to be. it's hard to find such a position in a creative role and still actually get to work on things you care about. but it would be much worse if watcher didn't make realistic decisions about finances and it lead to the death of the company and everyone losing their jobs. the whole watcher company can work, in my opinion, but not without some sacrifices. they're going to have to run it more like a business and less like a youtube-channel-turned-business in the future if they want to survive.

last thing i'll add is that while i do think this was a good apology video, i still think they hurt themselves by not putting out some sort of statement on Friday or Saturday just to say that they were formulating a response. As i've said in other posts, it's ok and in fact beneficial to not make a kneejerk reaction, but it's also very important to communicate that you SEE what's happening. you SEE what people are saying and THAT'S why you need more time to respond. saying nothing and leaving the angry public to wonder if you dropped your phone off the Hoover Dam or just don't care? that's a fumble. it's a common mistake companies make in a crisis, but that doesn't mean it doesn't erode trust fast.

this could have been handled better in many ways. we see that, and i'm glad watcher says they see that too. crucial going forward is taking all this and patching the errors that caused all this to fall apart and learning from the experience.

tbh at this point what i'm most sad about is that the watcher crew have probably been too stressed out and upset to appreciate some of the absolute bangers people have been laying down to clown on them. i think if it wasn't about them they might be touched by the collective attitude and creative spirit. /j

#watcher #watcher tv #after this post i have got to actually not spend time writing long reactions about this anymore because i too #have fires caused by my own fuckups to put out #alas

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop Part 2

Description: After your encounter with Eddie, things are beginning to get a bit more complicated; especially when you ask him for another little favour. But, will Eddie go for it? 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI this ain't for you, angst, tiny bit of fluff, smut, fem oral receiving, male masturbation.

A/N: OK when I said this will be in 3 parts I lied, it's totally going to be at least 4, maybe 5! Thank you for the love you've shown the first part, it's incredible! You're superstars. 

❤️ If you like it please comment and reblog, it really makes my day!❤️

7k words 

Masterlist Part 1

For some reason, the shop seems more welcoming today than ever. It might be the fact that the sun is shining, it might be the radio seemingly playing all your favourite songs, or it might be last night. Either way, you feel loose and free, laughing at jokes, smiling at everyone, and genuinely just happier. 

Eddie saunters in thirty minutes late and you barely notice, apart from flashing him a bashful smile. 

“Well hello there sweetheart, you seem chipper today.”

You roll your eyes at the obvious insinuation, but your smile is warm. “I had a good night's sleep, that's all.” 

“Bet you did,” he grins, “you look real pretty.” 

Looking down, you consider your outfit; you'd decided enough of the corporate clothes, this is a tattoo shop after all. So, you'd paired a roll neck sweater with a short jean skirt and sneakers. A more relaxed outfit to go with a more relaxed attitude. Before you can say anything in reply he strolls over to his station. 

Right, so a few jabs, but he's being nonchalant. So put it out of your mind.

The morning moves quickly, a messy blur of clients and phone calls. After a fast lunch, the shop finally calms down a little. When you're focusing on sorting the mess of the heavy bookings tome in front of you, Eddie approaches, mischief glinting in his eyes. 

“I see London, I see France…” 

You follow his bowed head and cross your legs in sheer embarrassment, realising a sliver of your panties must be on display. 

“Eddie!” 

He simply laughs, throwing his head back far enough that your gaze drifts to his Adam's apple. 

“Sorry, I couldn't resist, I'm a big fan of this skirt,” he says, drinking you in with his eyes, “anyway I wanted to ask-” 

His sentence is stopped however by the loud ringing of the old corded phone. You and Eddie share a look, yours begging and his smug. Before you can grab it, he picks up the phone, putting on a ridiculous British accent. 

“Good Afternoon, London Underground Airways, this is your captain speaking- Oh shit Mac- Yeah she's- I know I'm not supposed to answer- Sorry I- Fine, here.” He brandishes the phone at you. 

“Hello? Oh, of course I'll let them know- I understand- It'd be my pleasure- see you soon.” replacing the receiver, you make a note on the pad at your side. 

“What'd he say?” Eddie asks, hovering over you. 

Not giving him the satisfaction of a look, you continue to make your note, however perfunctory it may be. “Mac's going to be a little late, he told me to tell his next client.” 

“He said my name, I heard it. What'd he say?” 

Placing your pen down with a loud click, you turn to him. 

You tell him as you smile smugly. “He told me to hit you for answering the phone.”

If anything, his grin grows broader. “Oh? Go on then princess, I'd hate for you to break the rules.” He turns his face, no doubt expecting a cuff to the back of the head.

Spinning on your stool, you slap him right across the cheek; not with all your strength, but certainly hard enough to remember. Eddie's face is a picture of shock, pink handprint already flushing his cheek. 

But that just makes his smile wider. 

“Harder.” He asks, eyes flashing arousal at you. 

“Eddie!” you shout, pushing him away, but his laugh echoes through the shop. Before he has a chance to continue, a burly biker type walks right in the door. 

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” 

“Yeah, It's Jimmy, I'm here for Mac?” 

“He's running a little late, but he'll be with you as soon as possible. Can I get you a coffee or something while you wait?” 

You can't help but hear a huff from Eddie, but before you can question it he's drawing in his book, entirely oblivious to the outside world. 

At the end of the day, you're tired, but still in fairly high spirits. It's the first time you've seen everyone in the shop at once. There's an edge to the air though, as if an expectation hangs over everyone. 

So… bar?” Mac asks in a defeated tone, although he's smiling. Everyone reacts; Eddie woops, pumping his fist, even the usually reserved Miranda is clapping quietly. You smile and nod, finally understanding what the atmosphere was about. 

As you all enter the dimly lit bar, chatting and laughing, you hear a low huff. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” John is standing behind the bar. An imposing figure, his arms crossed and face surly, but there's a kindness in his eyes. Mac leans straight over and hands him a card.  

“Easy John, I got this,” he chuckles. The card is accepted gratefully, the gruff demeanour lessening with the promise of payment. 

You accept a bottle of beer and slide into a nearby booth, the rest of the group filtering in. Mac walks over, eyes the space next to you, then grabs a stool to sit at the head of the table. It throws you for a minute; surely he knows he can sit there? Before you can tell him so, Eddie waltzes across the room with a tray of tequila shots and all the fixings with a cheeky look in his eyes. He slides right in next to you, tray and all, and places it on the table with exaggerated care. 

“Ladies, gentlemen.” He says, gesturing to the tiny glasses like an old timey butler. There's a succession of groans from the party, but despite this they all grab a shot. All except you. 

“I don't think I-” you begin, but he's waving a hand in the air. 

“Come on, you drink. It's a shot. Never had tequila before?” 

Fixing him with a sharp look, your cheeks begin to redden of their own accord. Eddie smirks and tosses his head back, hiding his eyes with one hand. 

“Shit princess, what did you do at college?” 

“Study.” You say primly, but take a glass tentatively and place it in front of you. 

“Right, so for the new guys…“ Eddie smiles right at you and licks his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. That hint of silver mesmerises you, the ball of his tongue piercing catching the light. It's almost sensual the way he does it, your eyes automatically following the movement of his tongue. “salt right here…” he sprinkles some on the spot he moistened, “then, lick, shoot, suck.” 

In a few fluid movements he licks the salt from his hand, downs the shot, and sticks a wedge of lime in his mouth. As your brain finally engages after that display, the little show that shouldn't have heated your insides up, you follow along, and take your shot with everyone else. It's easier than you would have thought, the lime easing the burn somewhat. 

Eddie squeezes your thigh under the table and whispers low enough for you to hear. 

“Good girl.” 

Shooting daggers with a simple look, he just smirks, leaving his hand on your bare leg as if challenging you. Dimly, you hear the echoes of a conversation in front of you; it's Julio, arguing about good tequila not needing salt and lime, but you're lost in the deep pools of Eddie's chocolate eyes.

For a moment, your body flashes red hot and you regret your choice of the high necked sweater. Tearing your eyes away you look at something, anything, but Eddie. 

The conversation drifts between all manner of subjects and you start to relax, the beer and tequila swimming in your belly loosening your tongue. It's nice, having a chance to chat and giggle with your coworkers in a setting not interrupted by the constant buzzing of tattoo machines. 

Julio and Chloe end up in a full scale argument about the karaoke machine in the corner. Before you're subjected to the horror of having to sing in public, you get up to grab another beer. Perching on a stool by the bar with your purse in hand, you're waiting patiently to be served. 

Eddie strolls over. You see him in your periphery; that confident walk as if he owns the very ground he walks on. Casually he hops up on the stool next to you, making no effort to hide the way he undresses you with his eyes. 

“Quit staring Eddie,” you say testily as you knock the bar with your bank card. 

“Now I can't look at you?” He asks with an amused grin. 

“I said quit staring, not quit looking,” you huff out. 

“What's the difference?” He asks, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his nose at you.

You groan, turning on your stool to face him. “You are impossible,” 

He sticks his long tongue out childishly, flashing his piercing at you. 

Thankfully, John's voice cuts through the squabble. “What can I get you?”

“May I have a beer, please?” 

“You certainly may.” John cocks his thumb in your direction, addressing Eddie, “I like this one, she's polite. Don't scare her off.” 

Eddie dramatically holds his chest. “You wound me, sir!” 

Two beers are placed on the bar and John waves your card away. “Don't worry about it, Mac's treating you guys tonight.” 

As you swig your beer, you contemplate for a moment, trying to work out something.

“You're staring, sweetheart.” Eddie grins, as he gulps his drink. 

“I wasn't staring, I was thinking! I know that's a foreign concept to you.” It's catty, you know that, but he just seems to bring it out in you. No one else has annoyed you so much in your life just by… being. 

“That was rude. I thought we were playing nice?” he pouts playfully. 

“Sorry. I- Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, shoot.” 

Turning to him, you speak what's on your mind. “Why do people get their tongues pierced? No one really sees it. I get like, nose and eyebrow piercings and stuff, but the tongue one I don't understand.” 

Eddie's grin is wide as he bites his bottom lip and stares at you. Well, you couldn't call it a grin. It's a flash of teeth, almost wolfish in its delivery. 

“Oh princess, you are too cute.” 

Staring at him with your brow furrowed, you try to work out what he means, but the longer you take, the more amused he looks. 

“What? What is it?” 

Sighing, he leans closer, the scent of aftershave, cigarettes and man clouding around you. “It's got a purpose, sweetheart.” 

“What, like, kissing?” 

Shaking his head, he looks you up and down. “Kinda. Kissing somewhere… specific.” 

Realisation breaks across your face, followed by a fierce blush that you can feel to the roots of your hair. Laughing, Eddie pulls away a little and takes a mouthful of beer. 

Voice an airy whisper, you lean over to him as you speak. “And girls like that?” 

His laugh is so loud it reverberates around the bar. 

“Yeah, a lot, in my experience.” 

“Oh.”

Well, the thought is there now, and you're pretty sure it won't ever go away, not without some sort of mind bleach. Eddie's head between your legs, his long tongue exploring your sex. The image is burned into the back of your brain, playing on a loop.

“You're looking a little hot there,” he says, as if he can read your thoughts. It's fair to say it wouldn't take a psychic to know what's rattling around your head right now. 

“I'm fine, this sweater is too warm,” you shake out, pressing your thighs together. 

“Liar.” 

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, you finally snap it shut with a crunch. Curiosity is eating away at you, and it's too easy to say what's on your mind after a couple of drinks. 

“Eddie, could you… tell me, what- what it's like?” 

He chuckles lightly and scoots closer to you. “you know I can't, I've not exactly had the pleasure.” 

“I know that, I mean…” 

For a second he just gapes at you. 

“Wait, princess, are you asking me to tell you or… show you?” 

Flustered, you turn away a little. “Sorry that's- that's too much isn't it. It's just you… did such a good job with the, you know, the other thing, I was just curious.” 

Eddie bites his lip, puffing out a little breath. “You know, flattery works with me. I did a good job, huh?” 

“Well, yeah. I can imagine you'd be really good at… that too. I could, owe you a favour?” It's bold, especially from you, but the way he's looking at you, the slight flush to his cheeks, you'd put money on him agreeing. 

Eddie stares at you incredulously. “Wait, you're saying you want me to stick my tongue in the holiest of holes and then you owe me a favour?” 

“Yeah? Like a little… arrangement.” 

He rubs his face with his hand, his voice muffled as he speaks. “I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you.” 

That confuses you for a moment. Surely you were the one who asked him? Hesitantly you reach out and touch soft fingertips to the back of his hand. 

“Please?” 

“Fuck.” He looks around, and turns to you, gazing into your eyes for a moment. 

“Fine. Right now.” 

“Oh I didn't-” 

“Listen, before I change my mind. Meet me out back. I'll tell the guys you're not feeling well and I'm taking you home.” 

Wordlessly, you grab your purse and head to the back door, heart hammering in your ears. It's a little dank out here, with the sound of a dripping pipe and moss covering the cement. Eddie comes out a moment later looking more serious than you've ever seen him. 

“You sure about this?” He asks, searching your eyes. 

‘Yeah, but…” you look around the small yard, gesturing vaguely. 

“Oh. Oh! You thought- oh Christ no, not here. I'm not a complete asshole. Come with me.”

Letting out a relieved breath, you follow him. He walks over to a gate in the fence and opens it, which leads down a narrow alleyway, a little shortcut between yards. That eventually opens up to another road with a couple of apartment blocks. The one he moves towards looks mostly clean, if a bit lifeless, with a creepy looking van parked out the front.

“This way sweetheart,” he says, leading you through the courtyard and to the stairs. 

For a second you stop in sheer surprise. 

“Wait, you live this close and you still manage to be late for work?” 

He chuckles, looking at you over his shoulder. “I have a condition, you know. Chronic tardiness; I'm afraid there's no cure.” 

You bat him on the arm playfully and he grasps your wrist, stopping on the stairs briefly, giving you a look that is wickedness personified. 

“If you're gonna hit me, do it properly.” 

“Eddie!” 

He laughs loud and grabs your hand, holding it in his until he reaches his door. That alone is enough to shut you up. It's warm and rough, and the feeling of his skin on yours, no matter how tiny, sends bolts of sensation through you. 

“Right, here is my castle,” he says as he opens the door and lets you inside. 

Chaos. That's the first word that crosses your mind. It doesn't look dirty, there's just things everywhere. A bookshelf stuffed with books and weird little trinkets placed any which way dominates one wall, and another on the other side with a huge music collection. There's a poky little kitchen with a couple of pots still in the sink, and a big couch with mismatched cushions takes up the remaining space. A tower of board games is precariously leaning next to it, and on the wall over the TV is an honest to goodness sword.

“It's nice,” you say as you walk in, as if you're not mentally organising it in your head. 

“You hate it.” He scoffs, pulling his boots off and dumping them by the door. 

“No, no, it's very… you.” 

“I stand by my previous statement.” He grins at you, clearly indicating he wasn't being entirely serious. 

“This is the bedroom.” He walks over and nudges the door open with his foot. Surprisingly, apart from an open clothes rail, an overflowing laundry hamper, and an enormous bed, there's not much in it. The wallpaper is a pretty purple colour, and looks oddly familiar. 

“Eddie isn't that the same wallpaper-” 

“-As the shop? Yeah. Mac let me have the leftovers. I was broke and this room was fucking pink.” 

You snort out a laugh; the thought of Eddie with a pretty pink bedroom was rather unbelievable.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I can live with purple.” He roots around and grabs a pair of sweats. “Make yourself comfortable, I'm gonna change real quick.” 

Then he walks out into another doorway, you assume the bathroom. The urge to snoop is real, but you resist. It looks like he spends less time here anyway. 

The question is, how comfortable are you supposed to make yourself? Nerves start settling in, the thought of what you've asked him to do is finally sinking its way into your mind and down your jangling spine. What if he doesn't like the underwear you're wearing? God, you've been at work all day, what if you smell bad? Or taste bad? What if- 

“You can sit down, princess.” 

Eddie saunters back in, shirtless, a pair of grey sweatpants hanging so low on his hips you see his cut groin. A little squeak hiccups out of your throat at the sight. You stay standing, ready to make your excuses and leave, but the signal hasn't reached your legs just yet. 

“What's wrong?” his eyes are brimming with concern as he steps toward you. 

“No I- I was- maybe this-” 

“Hey, look at me,” he says, grabbing both of your hands. You stare up at him, his face gentle. 

“Whatever you're worried about, I'm sure it's nothing.” 

“But i haven't showered-” 

“When did you last?” 

“Well… this morning.” 

“You're fine. Trust me.” 

He backs you up onto the bed, your knees folding as you flop down. The air around you feels full, humid with anticipation. He's so close, your bodies almost pressed together. 

“I wanna kiss you.” He says softly, stroking a lock of your hair out of your face. Heart leaping into your throat, you try to suppress the urge to lean forward. The last thing you need is to fall for this man. Chloe's words echo in your head; he's not boyfriend material.

He'll break your heart. 

“That's not part of our deal, Eddie.” 

A frown flickers across his face. It's just for a second, a flash of vulnerability, before his usual cocky smile returns. 

“That's not where I wanna kiss you.” He winks and tugs at your top, “can I take this off?” 

Nodding wordlessly, you help him and wriggle it up and over your head. 

“God damn.” Eddie props up on an elbow, running a finger between your breasts, before following the edge of your black cotton bra. 

He looks up at your face, grinning wide, and points at your neck; little purple marks adorn it. “That why you wore that sweater today?” 

Flushing crimson, you run fingers across your neck. 

“Yeah, you marked me Eddie. Not exactly discreet.” 

He chuckles, stroking the side of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I won't do it again. Well, not anywhere that anyone can see.” 

Heat floods your stomach, the stark realisation that you want him to mark you clings to your insides. If he notices your reaction he doesn't say, instead he leans toward you pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

“You're really pretty. I don't know if I said that before.” 

Awash with a new heat in your cheeks, you smile bashfully. “Thanks, I don't get told that very much.” 

Staring at you, he shakes his head.

“You should. You should be told every fucking day.” 

You open your mouth, but before you can reply he kisses your jaw, running his tongue down your neck, before he presses his mouth to the top of your breast, sucking roughly. A gasp flies out, and your hand makes a decision entirely on its own to grab his hair. 

It seems it was the right thing to do, judging by the deep groan that comes from him. It seems to spur him on, and he yanks the cup of your bra down, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue teases it, rubbing his piercing over the pebbled nub.

“Oh Holy fuck!” Back arching with the foreign sensation, you revel in it, wriggling underneath him. He smirks against your skin, and takes your nipple between his teeth. Moaning loudly, you pull his hair. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He looks up at you, pupils blown to black, “can’t hold back if you do that.” 

It's not a dare, but it tastes like one, and before you can think you're tugging at it again. Eddie's eyes roll back, and a hard look crosses underneath his eyes. 

His actions turn a little feral, pulling you up so he can unhook your bra, practically ripping it off you before his mouth is all over your chest, firm fingers digging into the flesh of your hip. 

“Fuck, Eddie” you stutter it out, voice laced with need. 

“Yeah?” He whispers out breathlessly between urgent kisses, making his way down your stomach. Suddenly he takes the flesh of your hip in his mouth and bites down little before sucking a bruise as you writhe under him. 

He reaches your skirt, hooking fingers into the waistband as he looks up at you, his tone urgent. “Can I?” 

As you nod frantically, he reacts immediately, yanking it down along with your underwear. 

“Fuck, look at you.” 

The urge to close your legs is real, embarrassed at the way he's ogling you right between your thighs. They quiver with tension, but Eddie forces them open with his large palms. 

“Don't hide from me. You still want this?” 

You nod, and his head snaps up to look at you. His voice is hard, swirling around your insides with an intensity you're not used to from him. 

“Say it. You need to say it.” 

‘Yes, please Eddie.” 

That satisfies him. He leans forward, breath ghosting over your clit. You're waiting for his mouth, his tongue, but that's not what happens. He inhales you, nose so close it's almost touching your sex. 

“Jesus Christ, you smell so fucking good.” 

“Eddie!” you cry it out, cringing at his words as you bury your face in your hands. 

“Relax princess, it's a compliment.” 

Before you can retort that it's not a compliment, it's weird, and he's a freak for saying it, it no longer matters. He's licking a fat stripe up the length of your pussy, long tongue pushing against you hard in an animal-like gesture. 

The noise that expels from your chest is inhuman, a choked, guttural breath that belongs in a cave somewhere, not a bedroom. 

He doesn't relent, his mouth exploring every inch of you with a ferality that has you tingling all the way to your toes. His fierce movements, accentuated by the bump of his piercing, have you nearly leaving the mattress. You're not sure if you're trying to get more, or move away. Not that it matters. His hands are holding you so firmly that all you can do is wriggle helplessly like a fish on a line. 

Fingers trace the outside of your entrance before they slide in, beckoning your release. Whimpering, you grasp the bedsheets in a need to keep contact with something real. 

“Talk to me,” he says between mind numbing messy kisses to your clit, “good, yeah?” 

“Eddie, f-fuck, its incredible, please, oh God, k-keep going!” 

You can practically feel the smirk on his face as he dives back in, suckling at your clit with an unmatched fervour, his tongue piercing flicking expertly as he does so. Suddenly, you're not creeping toward your release, you're being hurtled toward it, thrown into the depths of absolute pleasure. 

Hands finding their way into Eddie's hair again, you hold on tight, buckling up for the ride. It's almost violent the way he pulls your climax from you, and you scream loudly, almost folding in half before you fall back onto the bed. 

Eddie sits up, hands placed on your thighs, as he grins proudly, face shining with your slick. 

“You OK princess?” 

OK doesn't seem to cover it. You're panting wildly, each breath shallow and ragged, brain melted into soup. 

“Think you can go again?” 

That gets your attention. You sit up, gaping at him. “Again?” 

Chuckling, he runs a finger up your slit and circles your clit in a teasing manner. The slight touch has your thighs trembling. 

“I think you've got at least one more in you.” 

Without a further word he presses his tongue against you. On instinct you grip his hair once more, bucking your hips up. 

“Fuck, that's it sweetheart, ride my face.” 

This time he slips his tongue inside as his nose nudges at your clit, the thick muscle curling and writhing. Holding on tight, your hips know what to do, your body reacting and rolling to meet him. 

You're yanking his hair hard as you grind against his face, pulling deep grunts and moans from him which vibrate inside of you. It feels primal, sheer need clouding your mind, a fog that rolls into every limb and leaves no part untouched. 

“Eddie, fuck!” You moan loudly as your walls clench around his tongue, another climax bubbling its way to the surface. He doubles down with his efforts almost as if he needs this as much as you do. 

With one final thrust of his tongue you whine out your orgasm, back finally touching the bed once more. There are no thoughts, only your heavy breath and beating heart keeping you in the moment. 

After a few seconds that seem to stretch on for a year, he hovers over your face. He's wiped off your release, but nothing could wipe that smug grin. 

“So? Good?” 

It's not like he doesn't know. You pat blindly at his arm, words stuck in a puddle on your tongue. In an unexpected tender gesture, he swipes his thumb over your chin, his gaze pensive. You stare back, fingers reaching out to gently touch his cheek. 

“Are you going to kiss me?” You whisper, the words pooling from you unbidden. 

For a split second you think he's going to lean in and close the gap, but he flashes his teeth at you and flicks the tip of your nose. 

“That's not part of the deal.” 

Disappointment leaks into your stomach. Which is entirely unfair. He's using your words after all. Fighting the feeling, you force a smile. 

“I think I'll need a wheelchair to get home.” You chuckle, indicating to your still twitching legs. 

“Stay here. I'll take the couch.” 

“Oh, no, Eddie, I couldn't kick you out of your own bed thats-” 

“Hey, it's fine, honestly. I wouldn't offer if I didn't mean it.” He shrugs and rolls off the bed and onto his feet in one quick movement like a cat. “Here. If you want something to sleep in.” He hands you a faded t-shirt. Hesitating for a moment, your hand hovers over it, but he stuffs it into your grip. 

“Honestly, it's fine. I can drop you home before work so you can get changed and stuff. No big deal.” 

“What about your chronic tardiness?” You joke, smiling softly at him. 

“You're here, I'm sure you'll whip me into shape.” 

“You'd probably like that,” you tease. 

“More than you know.” He winks again, and walks to the doorway. “Night, princess.” 

“Night Eddie.” 

When he's gone you shrug the shirt on. It's clean, but there's an undercurrent of pure Eddie still there that's more comforting than you'll care to admit. Then, you lay there, staring at the ceiling. 

Well. You certainly weren't expecting to end up in Eddie's room, in his bed, but here you are. You're not sure what this all means just yet and processing it is just hurting your brain. A part of you is saying that you should get out now whilst you can. Another, louder part is telling you this is where you should be. The only problem: is this message coming from your heart, or much lower down? 

Chloe drifts into your mind whilst you lay there. Did they hook up in this bed? Are you in the same place she was? And how did that end? Clearly it was on good terms, considering how friendly they are, but how many girls have been where you are right now? A few? A dozen? A hundred?

After a while your thoughts just start to ache, leaving a migraine behind your eyes. Shifting on the bed, you try to get comfortable, but it's no use. You wonder if Eddie is still awake. After all, he's the only one that can answer your questions. 

Sitting up a little, you listen intently for any signs of life from the next room, but no matter how hard you strain your ears, you can't hear anything. 

As you quietly get up and creep to the door, you press your ear to it. Maybe that was a word you heard, a loud breath, or the signs of an overactive imagination. Turning the doorknob like a safecracker, you inch the door open ever so slightly to peek beyond. 

There he is, laying on the couch, eyes tight shut and face contorted in concentration. Odd. You slowly guide the door open a little more and your eyes nearly bug out of your head. 

Eddie's laying there, hand down his sweats, tugging at himself like there's no tomorrow.

You almost cry out in shock but manage to swallow the noise just in time. For what feels like a full minute you stand and stare, mouth gaping open. It's like you're hypnotised, unable to tear away from his urgent movements. 

A particularly good stroke has him bucking into his hand, and he lets out this strained whimper that shoots directly between your legs. 

Right, stop. This is wrong. How would you feel if he caught you? …OK, bad example. 

Reluctantly, you close the door again as quietly as you can before climbing back into his bed to stare at the ceiling once more. 

It looks like it's going to be a long night. 

********************

“You look really great,” Chloe says as she strolls into the shop, handing you a coffee, “like, happier, more relaxed.” 

It's a few days after your impromptu sleepover at Eddie's place, and she's absolutely right. You do look more relaxed, even you've noticed the change. There's more confidence in you, and a smile that was once a little forced is warm and genuine. 

“Thanks, I think I'm getting more comfortable here.” It's not a lie, exactly, but it's certainly not the whole truth. 

“Good, glad to hear it!” She beams at you and heads to her table. 

The bell over the door chimes once again startling you. Miranda and Mac are already here and it couldn't possibly be Eddie this early. 

“Um… Hi.” A gangly youth walks in, all arms and legs and bright blonde hair. He shuffles over to the counter awkwardly. 

“Morning, can I help you?” 

“Y-yeah, you do walk-ins today, right?” He asks, brandishing a crumpled flyer at you. 

Face lighting up, you fix your best smile. 

“Why yes we do, it's walk-in Wednesday. It's a little early though. Can I see some ID? 

He hands it over. The guy's freshly 21 and knows it, puffing out his little pigeon chest with pride. 

“Excellent. It's about 10 minutes until we open, but Miranda will be with you. Miranda, you got a book for this guy?” 

Confusion paints Mirandas's face, but then she smiles. 

“A walk in? Wow.” She strolls over and hands him her portfolio of designs, introducing herself. 

When Eddie finally turns up, there's another guy waiting. 

“You're not my 10:30.” 

The poor boy looks at him nervously like he did something wrong. 

“Eddie, he's a walk-in.” Mac says, calling over his shoulder. 

Eddie smirks at you and leans over the counter. 

“Well well, bet you're happy. Atta girl.” 

Blushing profusely, you move to tap him on the arm in warning, but he grabs your hand and kisses it. Heat flies straight to your belly at the gesture.

“Let me know when my 10:30 is here, alright sweetheart?” 

He's still holding your hand, brushing his fingers over your knuckles. Weakly you nod, gazing at him as your toes curl in your shoes. 

Shooting you a wink, he ambles over to his station as you watch him, eyes drawn to the way he moves. 

There's three more clients asking about Wednesdays; granted, one didn't have an ID, but the other two were seen and inked, and one even booked a follow up with Miranda. 

Buzzing with job satisfaction, you're grinning when you nip to the restroom, walking through the narrow corridor. As you exit, you're immediately accosted by Eddie. He stands close, a hand loosely holding your wrist to keep you there as he bends to whisper in your ear. 

“Now, you're not supposed to touch fine art, but someone's gotta pin you against the wall and nail you right.” 

“Eddie!” You whisper shout at him, only serving to make him chuckle low in his throat. 

“Sorry, couldn't resist. I have an idea, for that favour you owe me?” 

Body tensing of its own accord, you look up at him, your cheeks flushed and mouth slightly parted. Before you can ask what it is, a voice cuts through the tension. 

“Hey, keep it at home guys.” 

Mac's standing at the other end of the corridor with his arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Pursing your lips, you wriggle from Eddie's grip. 

“It's not what it looks like Mac, I promise.” You say, shouldering past Eddie. 

“Come on sweetheart, don't get all shy on me now!” He shouts, walking after you.

You ignore him, giving Mac an apologetic look, and sit back down at the counter. God, that was embarrassing. Seems like professional and discreet are out the window. 

“So, as I was saying-” 

“Eddie, stop, not now.” you say, cheeks bright red. 

“I was only-” 

“Eddie please! I don't want to get into trouble!” 

Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, but backs off finally. 

You make a very clear point of being busy until the rest of the day, completing any ad hoc tasks you can think of. Tidying the stock cupboards, refreshing the consent sheets, and even organising the sparse counter. Anything to avoid further comment from Mac. 

When six rolls around you turn to talk to Eddie, but he's already leaving without a glance at you. 

Sighing, you make your way outside and home, trying to ignore the little sting in your chest. 

********************

It's Saturday before you see him again. Your day off was mostly spent worrying about how you upset him and thinking about everything you could have done differently. 

By the morning you're an emotional wreck, anxiety having done her job and left you a bubbling mass of maybes. When Eddie storms in the shop with a proverbial rain cloud over his head your heart pangs in your chest. 

He's such a big character, and you didn't realise until now the influence this has on this place. Usually he's energetic and upbeat; however, with this melancholy energy coming from him, everyone seems to stoop a little more, eyes a touch downcast, movements more shuffled and broken. It's like a black hole has descended on the shop, pulling joy from your soul and sucking everything into its gravity.

The tattoo shop is quiet for a Saturday. Not from lack of customers; it's just a more hushed and sullen atmosphere. By the afternoon you decide enough is enough and you grab Eddie's arm between clients.

“Eddie, can I talk to you?” 

He gets up, stretching his back in a feline movement, and walks with you slowly to the stockroom. 

“Listen, I'm really sorry about what happened on Wednesday, I didn't want to upset you and I can't stand seeing you like this and-” 

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down. You been worrying? About me?” He tilts his head, giving you a small lopsided smile. 

“Yeah? I thought you were mad at me.” You mumble out. 

“Oh, princess, come here.” He wraps you in his arms, holding your head close to his chest. A relieved breath puffs from your chest as you melt into the hug. 

“That's not what I'm upset about, I promise.” 

You pull from the embrace to look at him, a hopeful smile tugging at your lips. 

“Really?” 

Stroking your cheek softly, he presses his lips together. “You're adorable,” he moves his hand away and starts waving his arm about as he tells you what's wrong. 

“You know I'm in a band? Well we've got this regular gig at Hatters, which is great and all, but I found out they're looking for more bands at The Pit. That big rock club on Main? I've been trying to get hold of the damn owner but he's ignoring all my calls and I'm pissed off.” 

Grinning, you grab his arm. “Eddie, I can totally help you with that.” 

His gaze is soft and warm as he asks “Really? You'd do that for me?” 

“Of course I would. You got their number?” 

He digs around in his pocket and passes you a wedge of shiny paper. Unfolding it, you look at the details, smiling even wider when you see they're attempting a ladies night. There's a telephone number at the bottom, the contact listed as William. 

“I gotta idea. Just roll with it, OK?” 

He looks confused but nods at you. Skipping to the counter, you pick up the phone and dial the number. When it's answered by a young woman, you speak with a nasal voice, sounding almost bored. 

“Is Bill there?- Tell him it's Barb- oh trust me he's gonna wanna take this call honey.” 

Eddie's staring at you with an amused expression; you look back at him, flashing a smile while you wait. 

“Bill! How long has it been! Oh, don't say you don't remember me… oh, you do!- I'm good, I'm good- I'm managing this band, yeah, you've gotta book them- Corroded Coffin- yeah, yeah- They are hot right now, selling out their shows- look I know you're struggling getting the ladies in, but that's about to change. Their lead singer is-  well lemme tell you, if I were a younger woman- haha yes, sounds great! Next Saturday?- Nine- Great stuff- I'll speak to you soon.” 

Placing the phone down with a little click, you cross your legs and look at Eddie smugly. 

His jaw may as well be on the floor, eyebrows so high that he resembles a cartoon character. 

“Barb? Selling out their shows? If I were a younger woman? Where the fuck did that come from?” 

You giggle, “I thought he'd listen if he thought I was a business connection. I took a shot, a little bullshit can take you far.” 

He swoops over to you and grabs you in his arms, lifting you bodily from your seat and swinging you around as you squeal helplessly. 

“Saturday? Not even midweek? Princess I owe you big time.” 

“Eddie I already owe-” 

He's not listening, running over to Mac and bouncing on the spot like a child. “Mac, Mac, did you hear? I'm playing at The Pit!!” 

You watch as he explains what just happened; he's so animated, gesticulating wildly as loose locks of hair fly from his bun. Mac beams at him and hugs him in a fatherly motion before Eddie springs back over to you. 

“Who the fuck is Barb?”

“I dunno, she sounded worldly.” 

He grins, shaking his head, “I can't believe you lied for me. You seem… different lately. More confident. It suits you.” 

Blushing, you thank him. For a second you stare at each other, both lost in the other. 

Eddie shakes his head, and looks at the time. 

“Fuck, right, I got 20 minutes, I'll be back!” He grabs his coat and runs out of the shop shouting “personal errand!” 

Chuckling, you sit back down at the counter. Mac approaches, smiling softly. 

“You did good Miss, he's really happy.” 

“Thanks, I couldn't bear the sulking.” 

He laughs and touches your shoulder, “he cares about you. In case you didn't notice.” 

He walks away nonchalantly as if he didn't just drop a bomb at your feet. Eddie cares about you? You're still pondering it when he returns a half hour later looking sweaty and dishevelled. 

“Princess, I got you a present,” he whispers, brandishing a nondescript black bag at you. You peek inside and shut it immediately. 

“Eddie what the fuck!” You whisper, face flooding with blood at the sight as you hide it under the counter. There's a sex toy in the bag, well at least one, but you were so shocked at the sight you didn't get a good look. 

He chuckles and leans in close. “Thought you'd like it.” 

“Eddie I don't know how to- to use this stuff,” you mumble quietly, looking around to make sure no one's listening. 

He smirks at you in response.

“You free tonight? I can show you.” 

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes @tlclick73 @reidsgubbler @siriuslysmoking @keanureevessmile @fhsbsvy @yourdailymemedelivery @aurora-austen @rach5ive @honey-teaaaaaaaa @nina211544 @bbabycass @cactusangie @skrzydlak @took-me-hours-to-steal-those @hereforshmut @nabiiturner @darlingbravebelle @freak-of-hawkins @randomworker @serenadingtigers @1paire2vans @sapphire4082 @xmasterofmunsonx @steamystrangerfics @vol2eddie @storiesbyrhi

#ms gexy writes #ink shop eddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #tattoo artist eddie munson #tattoo artist eddie #eddie x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female!reader #older eddie munson #older! eddie #older!eddie #stranger things imagines #stranger things #stranger things smut

[tcustodisart]

Because the farm is really Shadowheart's ending I was thinking, what would be Connie's post-game thing (he loves the farm life to pieces, but I was thinking, you know, if he was a companion what he'd be talking about during the epilogue party). And I came up with this idea - he writes and illustrates the very first Guide to the Birds of Faerûn. I don't want to torment you with my words, so if you're interested, the rest is under the cut. It's long but there are some additional doodles there.

About the book:

The book is basically like Collins Bird Guide. Including very detailed descriptions of what sounds the birds make.

Connie's already in touch with a publisher (recommended by Volo)

While Shadowheart does proofreading to see if it's digestible for non-bird-obsessed people, Connie's stepfather and Arnell help him with fact checking.

Connie was consulting Halsin while writing about waterfowl.

The book's dedication reads: "To my dearest wife and our four dogs, eight cats, nine chickens, six pigeons, four sheep, Daphne the milk cow, the odd little squirrel, Buttons and last but not least, our crow."

He thought that dedication was hilarious.

After publishing the book, he's been getting at least one letter every week regarding it.

Thanks to these letters the book gets improved with further editions.

He gets invited to various schools across the country to hold lectures but he almost always declines. (Public speeches aren't his thing and he also doesn't want to leave the farm that often.)(He made one exception for Gale because he asked very nicely and didn't take no for an answer).

Far in the future nobody remembers him as one of the heroes who saved Baldur's Gate. He's being remembered as one of Faerûn's best ornithologists.

Other companions reactions:

Lae'zel genuinely liked the book. So much in fact, she read it more than once.

Tara hates Mondays.

I projected on Karlach how hard it is to read books sometimes.

The scary part of the book was the birds of prey section.

Jaheira didn't even read the book, but she does a bang up job pretending she did. She's still very proud.

Shadowheart read it so many times during proofreading she could recite some parts with her eyes closed. For a week she had nightmares about geese.

Details:

Because whenever I make a drawing with a proper background I like talking about the details I put there. So:

The picture of magpies on the wall is the same one Connie gave Shadowheart in this comic. She kept it in the same book she kept the first night orchid he gave her.

That brigs us to the night orchid next to magpies. It's the same one.

There's a doodle of Shadowheart and Daphne near the window.

As references for all the feathers in this drawing I used feathers from my own collection.

Wooden duck is obviously the one Halsin gives you in the epilogue.

The bird drawings are from this drawing I made almost 3 years ago.

Oof, thank you for reading all that, here's one last doodle:

#bg3 #connecticut tav #shadowheart #baldur's gate 3 #oc:faust #what can i say: brainrot

[nachojaehyun]

like a part 2 where the reader just keeps on acting nonchalant like nothing happened and wonwoo gets more and more riled up. cause “why am i the only one going insane here” type of feelings. and he just ends up taking here in a dressing room or something cause damn they need to fuck

she’ll ride the dick like a carnival

pairing. idol! wonwoo + new staff! fem reader!

summary. since that one fateful night at his apartment, jeon wonwoo realizes that he is fucked. but not really, since he can’t seem to get you in his bed.

warnings. [PLEASE READ] dom/sub dynamics, slight dom wonwoo, dirty talk, use of nicknames, THICK dick and lowkey desperate wonu, reader is VERY nonchalant, implied mirror sex, riding, wonu almost cries… AGAIN, sloppy kisses on the tits, subtle jizz play — 18+ MINORS DNI!

note. desperate sex that turns steamy and passionate is my favorite genre holy shit 😭 first time answering an ask! hope you like it :)

find part 1 here

jeon wonwoo could only watch you from across the waiting room as you pranced around in a midi skirt, chatting happily with the staff.

he wanted to cuss you out.

shifting in his chair, he pushed his glasses further up his nose, angrily sniffing.

how could you act like this?

how were you so nonchalant? so unbothered about the fact that you had him seeing stars merely 72 hours ago?

it had been 3 days since you had sucked the soul out of his body. 3 days since he couldn’t stop rutting his cock into his fist to the thoughts of you. 3 days since he had become insane.

he tried to get your attention, he really did. the poor boy would keep trying to pry anything out of your mouth that gave him a hint about your feelings.

but you were unpredictable, just as he had thought.

your face was like a wall — completely emotionless. any thought that passed through your head could barely be understood and wonwoo wanted to smash his head into the concrete at that realization.

“jeez, what’s got you this tense?” mingyu sits down next to him, adjusting his costume as he stared at his best friend. “i’m just… worried about the performance, nothing else.”

mingyu knew that wonwoo was lying.

hell, even wonwoo knew he was lying.

but none of them seemed to question each other as they sat in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts.

“wonwoo-ssi?” your voice called out to him. the boy singled out you and your sound amid nearly 50 people in the room, surprisingly springing to his feet as he walked towards you.

“your outfit is ready, follow me.”

the man silently walked behind you, striding toward the secluded attached room in the corner.

he pulled the curtain and stepped inside, and he was immediately handed his clothes. the outfit was simple— a sleeveless shirt and some baggy white jeans.

“i’ll be outside,” you nodded, bidding him farewell as you pulled the curtain.

sighing, wonwoo turned to look at himself in the mirror. his hardened cock stared at him in the face— a haunting image of the effect you had on him.

how am i the only one who is this riled up? he wondered. i can’t be the only one… right?

he wasn’t.

you would be lying if you said your panties weren’t glued to your core since you walked in. the sight of him had your head spinning, wanting nothing more than to strip him down and pull his dick into your throat.

but of course, you were not some depraved whore.

you set boundaries after that night. he was your client, and you were his stylist. of course you weren’t supposed to suck him off!

the fitting next morning after the incident had made you lose your self control. you recall how you had to get yourself off in the bathroom, relishing in the thoughts of seeing wonwoo in a tight fitted suit.

but of course, you would never voice these thoughts out loud. being in the same room as him was punishment enough to remind you of your sins. you wondered if applying for a styling job for a different member would work—

“uh?” wonwoo’s deep voice cut off your lewd thoughts, making you shake your head to clear them out. “a little help?”

“you good?" you sighed. “i’m coming in,” sucking in a breath as you stepped inside the small box.

wonwoo was leaning against one of the mirrored walls, one leg up on a stool in the corner. “what’s wrong?” you searched for a solution in his face.

“i seem to be stuck in a seemingly hard situation.”

one look down to his hands, you immediately realized the problem.

wonwoo’s dick was hard, the bulge over his boxers made that evident. the problem? the sheer size of his chub was not allowing the zipper of his jeans to zip up.

the man had a small waist but also had weirdly broad hips. his pants always had to be altered so that they suited his body type.

however, this was a problem that no other stylist had ever had to deal with.

“what do i do?” wonwoo whined, pouting his lips as he pushed up his glasses.

“wonwoo-ssi,” you spoke. your voice remained surprisingly stable, despite the fact that you could feel your pussy pulsating.

“i think you need to solve this problem on your own,” you looked into his eyes, almost feeling bad at how he panted.

however, before you could turn around and leave, wonwoo pushed his glasses up his nose and caged you between his arms.

your back hit one of the mirrored walls, as a surprised gasp fumbled from your mouth.

“wonw—”

“for the love of god woman, do you not see what you do to me?”

the desperation in his voice made your knees buckle as you stared into his eyes, gaze alternating to his lips as he bit them.

wonwoo heaved as he inched closer towards your face. “give me one good reason why you shouldn’t take care of my problem. you’re the one that caused it after all.”

hearing him voice out his thoughts, you turned your head to the side, embarrassed by the effect his voice had on you. how was this even your fault—

but with a harsh grip, jeon wonwoo grabbed your chin with his fingers, forcing to you look at him.

“can’t think of anything can you?” his head dipped down, tracing his teeth along your neck. the sensation made you hiss silently. “help me, please. what would carat think if i went out on stage looking like this?”

“sit,” is all you managed to say, voice enamoured with need.

you all but pushed wonwoo onto the iron stool in the corner, hauling yourself onto his lap as you crashed your lips into his.

fuck, your lips were way better than he had ever imagined. they were soft and pillowy as they engulfed his mouth, tongue grazing against his own as you ground down on his crotch.

wonwoo’s free hand pushed your head impossibly close as he licked into your mouth, wanting to memorize every crevice.

spit dribbles from your connected mouths, sloppy and wet kisses sounding obscenely loud in the secluded area. the man does not care that drool is now staining his tank top. he could never get enough of this.

his other hand gripped tightly onto your ass, groping and fondling the fat. after a second, he pulled away from you, glasses foggy and lips swollen as he tried to catch his breath.

“shit baby, i can’t take it anymore,” he whisper-screamed, tears coating his lashes. you wished you could burn this image into your head for the rest of your life.

you could only nod, ready to sink to your knees before wonwoo stopped you, tutting. “pull your panties to the side, doll,” he commanded, chest heaving.

the change in his tone had your thighs tingling. you pulled your midi skirt up, tucking the ends into the hem as you exposed yourself.

at the sight of your baby blue cotton panties, jeon wonwoo nearly growled.

the material was thoroughly soaked and ruined, a deep blue patch staining the cloth. as you pulled them to the side, he noticed how slicked up your heat was, a string of arousal connected your folds to the cotton.

you gripped onto his shoulders for support in your half-sitting position as he glided two fingers against your folds.

“so wet for me already, huh? don’t even need to work you up for my cock,” he smacked his lips. “filthy girl.”

wonwoo strained his ears to listen for any footsteps near the area as he sucked his dampened fingers into his mouth. your taste was making him dizzy, breath faltering as he rolled his eyes to the back of his head.

without wasting any more time, you pulled his cock out of its confines, sliding his boxers down just enough to free his length.

the sight of him always made you salivate. however, it was clear that he didn’t want that happening today.

steadily, you positioned yourself over him, hovering before you finally pushed his fat tip in.

the sensation had you moaning out loud— before he slapped his hand over your mouth. “shh! don’t be so loud baby, they will hear us,” he cooed.

you nodded frantically, slowly inching downwards as his dick began to fill you up. once he was bottomed out, you couldn’t help but sob into his palm.

“i know baby, i know. feels good yeah?” he smirked, shushing you with sweet words as he let you adjust to his size.

wonwoo’s thick dick was buried up to your hilt, and you felt so incredibly full. your poor walls clenched around his cock, nearly making him bust.

without a word, the man beneath you grabbed at your waist, moving you up and down on his length, slowly. with him pistoning in and out of you, you could feel your senses going into overdrive.

wonwoo tugged your top down with his teeth, suckling along the valley of your breasts to keep himself quiet. your pussy felt incredibly tight, creaming him for all he was worth.

his strong arms continued to guide you, until your legs automatically adjusted to the pace. your body began to move on its own accord— tits jiggling in wonwoo's mouth with each bounce.

"f-fuck!" you whimpered, beginning to lose your mind. for a moment, he looks up at you through his glasses, smiling widely from between your breasts.

the bastard's cheeky grin has you forgetting your own name as he lapped his tongue around your skin like he fucking owned it.

"already going dumb on my cock? shi— you ride so well baby."

your bounces show him just how stretched you were, making wonwoo's stomach clench as he split you apart. you tease him a little by slowing down, grinding down on him as he bites his lips and throws his head back.

as his hands grab onto your cheeks to spread them, he accidentally catches a glimpse of your back in the mirror opposite to you two.

god, you looked so fucking hot.

without knowing why, you felt him twitch inside. "not gonna— oh shit! — last very long now baby."

at the sound of his confession, you bring a hand down to rub at your clit. taking the hint, he begins to rut back into you, using all his strength to fuck into your heat.

"p—please wonwoo hah! cum inside, please please please,"

you're not sure why you beg, but you're too cock drunk to process anything but the fact that you want him filling you up, stuffing your cunt full with his release.

"you su— fuck fuck fuck—" wonwoo whispers, biting down on your right tit to subdue the moan that was about to leave his throat.

with that and a grunt, he cums inside your pussy, filling you up to the brim. his length twitches inside you, shooting out excess spurts. feeling himself soften, wonwoo pulls out of you. you whine at the sudden sensation of feeling so empty.

the boy stays mesmerized at the way your cum mixes together, escaping your spent hole in small globs.

as a pathetic attempt, he uses two fingers to plug the release back inside you, making you whimper again at the sudden intrusion. "sorry," he apologizes, before placing your panties back where they belonged.

with a fluid motion, jeon wonwoo tucks himself back into his calvin klein boxers, meeting your dazed eyes with another cute smile. "see? it fits now."

you can’t help but smile back at him, panting to catch your breath.

your thighs hurt from the awkward position, but you were sure that you never have it any other way.

so, that's how you end up walking around the rest of the working day— wonwoo's cum safely filled up inside you, as you and him exchanged comically wide-eyed looks every few minutes, a shade of pink grazing your cheeks.

© nachojaehyun, 2024.

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