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pathologicalreid · 1 month ago

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all we ever do is talk | s.r.

in which Spencer and wife!reader fear they're getting boring, so the BAU sets them up with a hotel suite for Spencer's birthday

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: i don't remember. hold on. oral (f and m recieving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, breeding but not like the primordial kinky type just like, having sex to get pregnant, drinking wine, this is like circa s11, not proofread i'm just a girl, david rossi being rich for the plot, i hate hate hate the word pussy but here we are, softdom!spencer. spencer reid certified gift giver! word count: 4.17k a/n: a fic based on a del water gap song? who's surprised? no one! anyways i blacked out toward the end of writing this one no clue what happens here also sorry about the breeding thing i really don't know where that came from

The robe you wore was luxurious, and the cumulative cost of every item in your hotel room likely cost more than you made in a year. Needless to say, you were starting to feel out of place in the room, your hair and makeup done to perfection as you waited for your husband to arrive.

Reaching into your pocket, you slip your phone out and check for notifications. JJ was your babysitter for the night, and even though she had insisted that everything would be fine, you had never actually spent a full night away from Eleanor. You had no idea how Spencer did it time and time again for cases.

You: Everything good? JJ: Shouldn’t you be with Spencer right now? You: He’s on his way. You: Everything good?

She responds with a picture of Nell, your sweet toddler, who was seemingly too focused on the bowl of mac n cheese in front of her to even look at the camera. You type out a reply to JJ before forwarding the photo to Spencer.

JJ assured you that Eleanor would be in good care with her and Will, and it’s not that you have any doubts, it’s that she’s your baby and this is your first time being away from her.

The door to the hotel room clicks, and you set your phone on the comforter, watching as Spencer walks into the room before returning the key card to his wallet. “Hey,” you greet from the bed, crossing one leg over the other.

“Hey, honey,” he says, striding over to you before pressing a soft kiss to your hairline, “You smell nice.”

You nod in the direction of the bathroom, “I got here early and took a bath.” Slowly, you take a better look at him, “You look good, I like that suit on you.”

He holds his arms out and looks down at himself, “I heard through the grapevine that you have a fantastic dress for tonight, so I figured I needed to pull out all of the stops.” Years ago, Rossi had gotten all of the BAU men custom designer suits, that must be the one your husband had chosen to wear tonight. It was fitting, seeing as Rossi was probably fronting most of the bill for your night.

“I’ve never heard Penelope referred to as a grapevine before,” you respond in jest, getting up from the bed before you make your way to the bathroom. “She helped pick the dress,” you inform him, shedding your robe before stepping into the dress. It was a short, black velvet number that clung to the contours of your body in a way that you hadn’t thought was possible. Instead of straps, two dainty chains went over your shoulders, leaving excess dangling over your back.

Spencer clears his throat, “So, how did the drop-off go?” He missed the big goodbye, which was probably for the best.

You sigh, “Nell was great. I was a mess.” You had only been given a few days to prepare for being away from her.

Carefully pulling the chains over your shoulders, you look at yourself in the mirror before slipping your heels on and stepping out of the bathroom. Spencer was standing in front of the windows, watching the sunset over the horizon, “For what it’s worth, I had no issue with the original plan for tonight.”

Initially, you had planned to celebrate Spencer’s birthday at home with Eleanor, and there was meant to be a party with the rest of the BAU tomorrow evening. Somehow, the team had gotten the idea that the two of you needed an evening out, so they chipped in to give you just that—some members more than others.

“I’m always alright with spending quality time with my girls, but—” his voice cuts off as he turns to look at you, “Never mind.”

You chuckle, “What?” Looking down at yourself, you smooth out the front of the dress with your palms.

His eyes wander as he unabashedly checks you out, “I’m finding with every passing moment that this might be my preferred plan for the evening.” He watches attentively as you go back to sitting on the edge of the bed, fixing a twisted strap of your heel while Spencer stands directly in front of you.

“When was the last time we went out on a date?” You ask, strapping your heel around your ankle.

He hums, fake thinking about your question even though he knows the exact date, “However old Nell is, add approximately ten months,” he answers.

You look up at him, your face warming in surprise, “Has it really been that long?”

Spencer nods mournfully, “Almost three and a half years,” he sits down on the bed next to you, placing his hand on your bare thigh and swiping at the soft skin with his thumb.

Holding your hands up to your face, you glance at Spencer with wide eyes, “Oh, Spence. When did we get boring?”

“We aren’t boring,” he insists, “We have a two-year-old. We work.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, “Other people do those things, and they’re not boring.”

He matches your look, “We aren’t boring,” he repeats. “Let’s make a deal,” Spencer offers, “Tonight, you and I won’t be boring.

“Right, so we’ll have a glass of wine at dinner tonight and then return to being boring tomorrow?” You say glumly, watching as he shifts on the mattress, adjusting his weight distribution.

“No,” he whispers, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips before sliding off the mattress, leaving him on his knees in front of you.

Blinking absently at him, your heart jumps at the sight of him in front of you, “You know we have dinner reservations, right?”

He gives you a slightly incredulous look, “You know it’s an open reservation, right? We have it until midnight.”

Your head bobs in acknowledgment, silently permitting him to part your knees, and you watch him come to the realization that you weren’t wearing any panties, “I didn’t want any lines to show under the dress,” you explain. There was also a part of you that hoped your evening would go in this direction.

Placing his hands on your hips, he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, rolling your dress up to your waist, leaving you bare in front of him, “You’re perfect,” he breathes, “I don’t tell you that enough.” His fingers carefully prod at your core, a ghosting of pressure as he sweeps his index finger over your folds, an array of goosebumps forming over your skin.

Your breath hitches when he grips one of your thighs, placing it over his shoulder in the way he’s done numerous times before, but it always seems to take your breath away. “You tell me plenty,” you say, the sensation of his breath on your wet heat affecting you in ways you haven’t felt in ages.

“That’s not nearly enough,” he scolds himself, craning his head forward to press a kiss to your clit, chuckling when you jump as a result.

Releasing a breathy laugh, you look down at Spencer, your heart racing as you await his next move, “Then tell me again,” you whisper.

Spencer hums in response, slipping his pointer finger inside of you as he murmurs, “You’re perfect.”

You let out a soft moan as his finger slowly starts moving out, taking it slowly as you lean back on your hands, careful not to mess your hair up too badly, “Spence,” you whine at the pressure.

“I know,” he tells you, “It’s been a while, huh?”

Closing your eyes, you nod quickly as he slips a second finger into your cunt, a gasp escaping your lips as your body stretches around his fingers, “It’s been too long,” you tell him, lifting one hand to your mouth and biting down on your knuckle to muffle your sounds—a habit you’d picked up since having a baby.

He hums, peering up at you through hooded eyes, “This is a honeymoon suite, angel. It’s engineered to keep sound in.”

Your hand drops obediently, falling back to the mattress as you ignore the implications of the BAU reserving the honeymoon suite for you and focusing on your husband, who was bending his neck down to suck your clit. His lips encircle the sensitive nub as you let out a low whimper, knowing what’s about to come making you apprehensively excited.

Steadily, Spencer works at you, thrusting his fingers while suckling at your clit, periodically using his tongue to apply pressure, and reveling in your high-pitched moans as he drives you closer and closer to what you’re sure will be your first of many orgasms of the night.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, moving one hand to the top of his head, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging at the strands.

He shifts on his knees slightly, coming up for air as he adjusts the angle of his fingers inside of your cunt, going back down on you as his fingers find a new pace. They curl inside of you, targeting the spongy button that makes your abdomen tighten and your thighs tremble.

Overwhelmed, you repeat his name like a prayer while you pull at his hair, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you cry, helplessly staring at the ceiling while Spencer keeps his motions going, his fingers relentlessly thrusting into you while he sucks at your clit, encouraging your orgasm.

Your walls clench around his fingers as your orgasm rips through you, your legs shaking as your husband remains buried between your legs, working you through your orgasm, “So perfect,” he pants, gently massaging your pussy as he withdraws his fingers, pressing soft, tender kisses to the insides of your thighs. “We don’t even have to go to dinner,” he says, looking at you hungrily.

You smile down at him, “We should go, Dave called in a favor to get us this reservation.”

Spencer straightens up and nods in agreement, holding his hand up to your mouth, “Open,” he says, looking satisfied when you poke your head forward, putting your lips around his two fingers and tasting yourself on them.

Sucking your own slick from his fingers, you focus on his eyes as you swirl your tongue around them, watching the dilation of his pupils because you know exactly what effect you’re having on him. He slips his fingers from your mouth before dropping a kiss on your lips, the entire exchange reminiscent of the time before you had Eleanor. You weren’t complaining.

Checking his watch, Spencer stands up straight in front of you, helping you stand, he holds onto your waist while you find your balance, “How are you feeling?”

You peer up at him through your mascara-coated eyelashes, “Most decidedly not boring,” you answer, following him into the bathroom so the two of you can clean up.

“C’mere,” Spencer beckons, looking at you from across the table. “You’re too far away,” he explains, the table at the restaurant keeping the two of you apart when you’ve already established that you want to be close tonight.

Taking your napkin off of your lap and setting it on the table, you grab your glass of wine and make your way to your husband. In the private room that had been reserved for you, “Here I am,” you present yourself to him, the privacy glass that surrounded you concealing the way his arm snaked around your waist, guiding you to his lap.

He smiles up at you, “That’s better,” he says, your legs latticed over his own.

Looking over your shoulder at the table, you hum an acknowledgment, “This table is almost comically large for two people.” You imagine it’s intended to be fancy, a long, glamorous table for a glamorous restaurant. You lean your head against Spencer’s, closing your eyes and appreciating your closeness, “Happy birthday, my love.”

“It’s not my birthday yet,” he murmurs, tipping his head back and kissing you softly, the taste of the wine that had been chosen for you was faint on his lips.

A soft giggle bubbles in your throat, “Then I’ll have to stay up until midnight so that I get to be the first one to tell you.”

Humming, Spencer settles a hand on your thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze, “The real challenge there is staying up until midnight.”

“I’m sure we can think of something to keep us up,” you grin cheekily, swinging your legs. “So, before you’re officially older,” you begin, “What do you want to do with your next year of life?”

“Finish the bathroom remodel,” he answers almost immediately, referring to your main floor bathroom that had been in disarray for months. The countertop that you had chosen was still on backorder.

You raise your eyebrows, “What do you want to do that will help us on our pursuit to become less boring?”

Spencer studies your expression, taking his time before answering, “I’d like to at least discuss having another baby,” he responds.

Admittedly, it had been on your mind recently. With Kate leaving the BAU to spend time with her baby and JJ announcing she and Will were expecting, considering having a second baby wasn’t out of the realm of imagination. “You want another baby?” Your question is soft, you look at him, studying the brown eyes that he had passed down to Eleanor.

He nods, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles on your bare thigh. “I know that you’ll bear most of the responsibility if we have another baby. I’ll still be around as much as work will allow, but there’s only so much room for variables in the BAU. I wouldn’t want you to feel alone in it, but I— I’d like for Nell to have a sibling.”

“Okay,” you breathe, not needing much convincing to come to a conclusion. Admittedly, you weren’t expecting this conversation tonight, but it wasn’t a conversation you’d ever had before. Eleanor was about as much of a surprise as a baby could be.

Spencer looks surprised at your reply, “What?”

Slinging your arms around his shoulders, you shrug, “Let’s have another baby. This time next year Nell will be three, so, now almost feels like a perfect time.”

“It takes most couples months to conceive when they’re trying,” Spencer tells you, “Only about thirty percent conceive in the first three months.”

You raise your eyebrows doubtfully, “How long does it take couples who have a luxury hotel room to themselves for the night?” Your loaded question easily slides off your tongue as you lift your hand to his chest, thumbing the silk fabric of his tie while you wait for his answer.

He led the way to the hotel room, luckily the hotel and restaurant were connected; you would’ve hated for a cab driver to see you dazedly staring at your husband with the promise of what comes next.

Pulling his keycard from his wallet, Spencer pushes the door open, dragging you in behind him before pressing you up against the wall. You shove at the lapels of his jacket, trying to get it off of him.

Haphazardly, you drop pieces on the floor, Spencer’s jacket, your heels, his tie, everything falling away as the two of you stumble to the bed. You yelp when you fall back onto the bed, Spencer catches himself above you and a fit of giggles erupts from your mouth. A sort of light, airy feeling goes through your head while you’re beneath him, the freeing feeling of knowing you’re about to have sex and you don’t have to worry about your toddler knocking on your door was overwhelming.

You kiss him while fiddling with the buttons of his dress shirt, pulling the white fabric from where it was tucked before discarding that as well. “Wait,” you say breathlessly.

Spencer sits up, panting as he looks down at you, “What is it?” He asks, eyes searching for something wrong.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, “I bought lingerie for tonight,” you tell him, eyes flickering over to your overnight bag. The blue, lacy set was calling your name.

Hovering back over you, Spencer bows his head and presses a soft, unhurried kiss to your lips, “Show me later?”

Nodding, you watch him as he pulls his undershirt off, another bundle of fabric lost to the ground. Gently, you push at him, making it so his back is on the mattress as you place one knee on either side of his waist.

His hands tug at the hem of your dress, ruching the fabric around your waist as you slowly grind your hips over his. “Fuck, baby,” he hisses, already tightly wound after your earlier activities.

Understanding, you start to leave a trail of kisses down his chest, continuing to go lower until you’re unbuckling his belt and undoing his fly, placing your hand over his already hard cock and palming him on top of his briefs, “You’re so hard,” you moan, your mind thinking ahead to when he’ll inevitably fuck you.

In the interim, you tug his pants and briefs halfway down his thighs, leaving his length standing at attention for only a moment before you duck your head, licking a long stripe up the veiny underside of his cock. Spencer’s hips buck up from the mattress in response, and you take him in your mouth, using your hand to touch what you can’t fit in your mouth.

Pressing your tongue flat against the head, you moan with him in your mouth when he grabs a fistful of your hair. You were no longer worried about your appearance, only about driving him as crazy as possible.

“Angel,” he says, his voice strained, “I can’t— I need to be in you.”

You lift your head, moving back up to him and straddling his hips again, placing your bare pussy on top of his hard cock. Wiping drool from the corner of your mouth, you raise your eyebrows at Spencer, “Are you ready?”

He nods, mouth falling open when you lift yourself up and position his length at your entrance, “Oh, wow,” he breathes, gently rubbing at your clit as you ease yourself onto him, your walls throbbing around him. His hand settles on your hip as you take a moment to adjust.

Pulling at your dress, you tug it over your head, leaving it on the floor of the hotel room, “Ah,” you sigh, rolling your hips slightly to try and help your body adjust.

“Absolutely no lingerie necessary,” he says, his eyes studying your body as if he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. “I’m so thankful for you, my girl,” he murmurs with lust-hooded eyes.

You hum in response, bending at the hips to put your lips on his, a whimper escaping your lips when his hips buck up from the mattress again, “Fuck, call me that again.”

“My girl,” he echoes, thrusting up into you again. “I’m not going to last very long,” he admits, groaning as you start to lift yourself up and down on his cock.

Small whines come from your lips with every movement, you shake your head, “That’s okay, we can…” your voice trails off, “I don’t think I will either.” The admission comes as a bit of a surprise to yourself, you hadn’t realized you had gotten so worked up.

Snaking his hand between your bodies, Spencer focuses his attention on getting you to your second orgasm as your movements grow unsteady, “You’re doing so well,” Spencer encourages you, knowing you aren’t usually on top.

“Shit, Spence,” you gasp, your resolve failing as your torso drops forward, giving him the freedom to continue lifting his hips up into you, “Oh,” your cunt clenches down around him, “I’m cumming,” you tell him, burying your face in his chest as you cry out. His thrusts start to overstimulate you as he chases his own orgasm, and eventually his movements falter.

You can feel the pulsing of his cock inside of you as his hot cum fills you, a tired sigh as his rigid body relaxes back into the mattress, “Oh, my girl,” he whispers, smoothing your hair back as you catch your breath on top of him, “Why don’t you stay up here for a little bit?”

Nodding, you look up at him, a pink flush splattered across his face as you watch him, “I love you,” you breathe, glancing at the clock, “Happy birthday.”

Spencer spares a glance at the clock, three minutes past midnight, “I love you too, angel. Thank you.”

You sigh, lifting yourself on shaky arms and grabbing a box from his bedside table, “This is for you.”

He releases a breathy laugh, obviously amused at the idea of opening a birthday gift while he’s still buried inside of you, “I got you something too,” he admits, sweeping a strand of hair from your face.

Tilting your head to the side, you frown, “It’s not my birthday.”

Shaking his head, Spencer agrees with you, “No, but I find I can’t resist giving you gifts.”

You inhale sharply when he twists to open the drawer of the nightstand, pulling out a rectangular box and resting it next to him so he can start to open the gift from you.

“Oh, honey,” he says, opening the watch box. His old one had a damaged mechanism and needed to be replaced, but it wasn’t something he was likely to spend the money on for himself. Naturally, you did it for him.

You raise your eyebrows, “It’s engraved,” you explain. Watching him take the watch out of the box and look at the back, the dates that you had carved in being significant markers in your relationship. Your wedding anniversary. The date Eleanor was born. There was plenty of space to add more dates too, should the time come.

“It’s perfect,” he tells you, placing the watch back in the box to keep it safe, “Thank you,” he says, shifting under you as he reaches for the box.

Rolling your eyes, you accept the box anyways, “Now, why would you get me a gift for your birthday,” you tut, undoing the ribbon on the box before opening it. “Oh,” you breathe, “Oh, Spence,” you say, tears pricking your eyes.

Inside of the box was a necklace, and strung on the dainty chain was a teardrop-shaped sapphire. “It’s Eleanor’s birthstone,” he explains, “I saw it last time Penelope dragged me to the mall with her, and I thought it was perfect for you.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, moving to fasten it around your neck, the only other thing adoring your body being your wedding ring. You grin at your husband as you duck down to press a kiss to his lips, half-conscious of the way he’s kicking his pants off until he’s flipped you onto your back.

He hums as you moan, “You’re beautiful. You’re so, so beautiful,” he muses, burying his face in your neck and placing soft kisses along the column of your throat.

Opening your legs more, you invite him to come closer into you, “I would have agreed to have another baby a long time ago had I known I’d be treated so well,” you tease him gently, gasping as his lips attach to your breast, littering kisses all over you.

“I always treat you well,” he insists, taking a tentative thrust into you before taking you into his arms.

You whimper softly at the pressure on your pussy, “Spence,” you sigh, your sensitive cunt clenching around his cock. “Oh, god yes,” you mutter as he begins to find a pace, pressing his full length into you.

He drops a kiss to your shoulder, “I know baby,” he says, sticking to his rhythm and pushing your legs open wider, “I’ve got you.”

A curse falls from your lips as you screw your eyes shut, tilting your head back and gasping at the sensation, “I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you too,” he says, equally out of breath with you as he fucks into you with abandon, chasing a new high as you dig your nails into his back. “You’re so good for me, baby,” he hisses, “I’m gonna cum in you,” he warns, snapping his hips to yours.

A high-pitched moan comes from you as he paints your insides with his cum, the sensation of him filling you leading you to your third orgasm of the night as your walls pulse around him.

The two of you stay like that for a moment, waiting for someone to catch their breath as your eyes go wide. “Are you alright?” Spencer’s the first to speak, carefully pulling out of you and chuckling lightly when you whine at the empty feeling.

Nodding, you turn your head to the side, “Yeah, are you?”

He smiles, “I think this might be the least boring birthday I’ve ever had.”

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hello-eden · 4 months ago

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In Plan Sight

Jason didn't know what he expected when he woke up but it wasn't this.

that was a small dark-haired girl that looked to be about 4 years old sitting on his couch. Jason has a vague memory of her being there last night but he was very tired and assumed it was one of the street kids that he lets crash in the safe house sometimes.

Jason slowly walks up to her trying to get into her line of sight so he doesn't spook her. she looks up at him with green eyes he feels like he recognizes but can't quite place.

“you need to help me find my mom,” the young girl says with a conviction that you don't usually find on four-year-old's voice.

“Did you get lost or are you in danger” Jason wants the kid to have just got lost.

“Mom said to run and to go to vigilantes in Gotham and they take me to my dad. I don't care about my dad, I want my mom.” so dangerous it was than. Jason really hopes the mom is alive

“Do you know anything about your dad” Jason questioned.

“Mom says he's nice and smart and that he would love me if he got to know me but he also is a little bit stupid sometimes so don't hold that against him.” The girls stumbled over some words like she was trying to remember what her mother said.

Jason suddenly remembers he does not know her name. “What's your name kid.”

“ Eleanor Danielle Nightingale,” the kids sounded so excited to be able to say their full name.

Honestly Jason was expecting the kid to say a nickname but having her full name is probably better.

“How about I make you some breakfast? Have you been sitting on the couch all night?” Jason said as he looked over the couch. There was a smaller bag that was probably full of her stuff on the side of the couch closest to the window.

“I took a nap,” Eleanor says in her tone making it seem like she thought it was obvious. “and I want pancakes.”

“ Well lucky for you I have just the stuff “Jason turns around and heads to the kitchen to start making the pancakes.

—-------------------------------------

Jason got Eleanor set up into his guest room.

Jason looked her up while she was in the bathroom after breakfast. He didn't find anything other than a birth certificate with her full name under a Dahlia Nightingale.

Dahlia Nightingale is even more of a mystery; her age was about 17 when she gave birth with a look similar to her kid which is unsurprising but any history is entirely unknown. All Jason is getting from this file is what her allergies are and her blood type.

Eleanor or Ellie as she insisted on being called has only been to about two doctors appointments both having to do with getting her shots. no information on this mysterious father and absolutely nothing on Dahlia Nightingale. The family is very obviously hiding which means there's a higher chance of her mom being dead. Jason hopes at least one family member is alive at lest to take care of the kid.

#It is not fem danny #It is easier to fly under the radar as a soon to be teen mom than as a trans pregnant runaway #Jason is not the father by the way #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #dc x dp crossover #batfam #dpxdc #batfamily #dcxdp #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc crossover

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mellowwillowy · 1 year ago

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Yan! Boyfriend x GN Reader

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 , NSFW

Yan! Boyfriend who you thought to be a golden retriever only to have him turn into a Doberman the moment you are away from him.

Yan! Boyfriend who is the "all 5 love language combo" for you and you only!

Act of service? Fun, especially when his head is buried into your crotch. That aside, yes he does all those sweet ass stuffs. Anything you think of, he has done it, even to the very most downbad shit you could think of.

Physical touch? PDA if you are into that, else either a hand around your thigh, squeezing them with love or shit ton of pecks.

Words of affection? 'My love looks so gorgeous as usual! What a refined beauty my love is, no wonder I can't stop falling head over heels for you!' And you were on the bed with bad hair, drooling on your pillow.

Gifting? How many gifts have you received today from him? Starting from something little to something large? The most surprising would be him coming home with a pet for you.

"Ta-daaa! You've been saying you want a pet so I think you will like this!"

Quality time? Not a problem for him. He has a lot of time for you. Hm? Work? Better not question him further about it. All that matters is that it's enough to give the two of you more than enough, even allowing the two of you to laze around. (Unlike Yan! Lawyer Husband and Yan! Antagonist who barely has any time for darling pfft-)

Yan! Boyfriend who is practically on his knees like a dog waiting for his treat when you are about to do something ✨️ r o m a n t i c a l ✨️ on him. Say who's a good boy and you could have sworn you saw his non-existent tail wagging excitedly.

"Who's a good boy hm? Who's a gooood boy??"

"Me! Blue! Blue is a good boy!"

Well, at least he is now because he wasn't when you first met him. He's changed a lot just for you, didn't want to disappoint you the next time you see him.

Yan! Boyfriend is the guy who you can really depend on for everything. Financially? Yes. Wanna beat the fuck out of someone? Call him and that person will have a taste of all the martial arts he has learned back then, not to mention he was quite the delinquent back then. Mentally? Yes. He's always there for you, either making it worse or better.

Yan! Boyfriend who likes to show you off to his friends and co-workers so much as though you are his prized possession. The hand that never leaves your waist and the dagger he shot at the people who stared at you for a bit too long are threatening enough to scare them away. Will definitely have a separate chat with them later,

"The fuck you are looking at my love for hm?"

Ignore how their nose is red and bleeding okay? If only Blue was able to do more, he would have had his fist buried into their face even more and harder like in the good ol' days. Has no choice but to be good else someone might rat to you about his behavior again.

Yan! Boyfriend who really likes to sleep on your lap, being able to feel you this close just makes him feel all giddy like a teenager in love. Would litter kisses and licks if you are not wearing anything that covers your thighs.

Yan! Boyfriend who will almost have the same taste in music as yours because he's just like that. Sucking in everything about you and ends up liking it.

Yan! Boyfriend who will vibe with you nonstop. If you are the crack type person, he will just be as crack as you, making people think whether the two of you are high in crack or not. Will always make you feel like it's okay to do anything you want without having to be embarrassed. Too shy to sing? Well, watch him scream his lungs out (Lemon and Grape chilling with ear muffs) and his hand motioning you tag along.

"BABY WON'T YOU LOOOOVEEE MEEEE"

"What do you say we gag him up with the mic?"

"Great, I'll hold him by the neck."

Yan! Boyfriend who really loves watching you sleep. No, he's not a somnophilic bastard like Yulian. He just adores seeing you resting so peacefully. (while Eleanor panicking over darling sleeping)

Yan! Boyfriend who enjoys cooking breakfast for you. You'll wake up greeted with him standing by the kitchen or sitting by the dining table waiting for you to wake up. Hm? If the food has gone cold because you woke up late, he'll just reheat it. Nothing biggie so no need to feel bad about it ^^

Yan! Boyfriend who is always keeping his mental state in check just in case it cracks open the ugly side of him again. He's embarrassed of it yet he is grateful for it because it brought the two of you to meet. Just staying next to you is enough to keep him sane so try not to stray too far from him okay? He might really snap again and the place you once called home might be nothing but ruins.

"Love you... dear."

Yan! Boyfriend who hates being away from you! If his work suddenly requires him to be somewhere away from you, he will bring you along with him! (I might make a chart of the difference for all the LIfE Pro casts)

"Almost feels like a vacation eh? Let's visit this place once I'm done with work love!"

Although he always brings you along, there are times when he'll have to leave you with Lemon or Grape, either asking them to stay with you or you stay over their place.

"Try not to dent his sport car again yeah? He was yapping at me for hours ahaha! I will ask Grape to watch over you as well, she'll do well as your nanny. Hm? Not a little kid anymore? Oh no no, better be safe than sorry. Don't want those nasty ghosts keeping you awake during the night yeah?"

Afternote:

Blue is my second favorite! Yulian has always been the first so no one sees Blue that much... he's just so sweet... although the story he shares with Eleanor tangles everything up...

#LIfE Project #yandere male #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #yandere works #yandere writing #reader insert #x reader #oc #x gn reader #yandere husband

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heartkaji · 4 months ago

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★ ALVINNN !! ⸺ AND THE WINBRE BOYS ?!

synopsis ୨ৎ : relationship dynamics i think the winbre boys would have based on the chipmunks & chipettes

notes ୨ৎ : had this idea while rewatching alvin & the chip-munks with my baby brother </3 missed this show sm

❤︎ TOGAME JO — SIMON & JEANETTE

stay with me here.

i don’t mean simon & jeanette in the sense that two of you are nerds or anything. when i think simon and jeanette, i think emotionally mature simon and anxious girlfriend jeanette who’s always in need of simon’s reassurance ( they’re so cute i want to eat them )

it’s like that with you and jo. togame is more mature and the bigger person in every situation. he never lets you two go to bed angry, and he’ll appologize first, even in times when he thinks he’s not in the wrong. togame also NEVER raises his voice. never ever. i can’t imagine him & yelling in the same sentence. so even in heated arguments where you’re screaming and crying with mascara running down your cheeks togame stays gentle and quiet, fingers pressed into his palm so tight he’s nearly bleeding because god you’re crying and he has no fucking idea what he can say to help you calm down. he doesn’t even care about what you guys were fighting about anymore, he just needs you to feel better. ( GODDDD WHERE IS MY TOGAME 😭⁉️)

anxious attachment girlies your time has come

with togame your anxiety is never triggered. you have his location and all his passwords, and he’s 100% not the kind of guy who asks for yours in return. he also calls you to let you know when he’ll be running late. i wish i could lie and tell you he doesn’t leave you on read, but he canonically doesn’t text. he has a custom ringtone just for your contact though, so often times he’ll call you in response or send you a voice message. either way you’ll get some kind of answer, togame isn’t into ignoring you in any shape or form.

NEVER EVER disrespects you, and I’m not talking verbal disrespect or anything like that. i mean togame doesn’t like pictures of any woman other than you on his instagram, doesn’t borrow girls his jacket even to be polite, doesn’t help them pay—he’s your walking wallet only. he would never ever be caught dead doing anything that could cause someone to mistake him as being close to any girl other than you. he’s so perfect it’s insane.

togame also isn’t into playing games. he communicates anything and everything he’s uncomfortable with and sets boundaries in the sweetest possible manner. “i dont like it when you do that, baby. you can do this instead, okay ?” he says all of this while thumbing your cheek and pressing his lips to your forehead . he encourages you to commmunicate with him as well. if you’re more on the shy side and struggle with setting boundaries, it’s cool because togame does it for you. if he does something and notices a change in your demeanor, he makes a mental note to never do it again. he doesn’t voice out his observations though, he knows you so he knows your first reaction would be to deny that you’re uncomfortable. when it comes to communication, he’ll never press you, but he always makes it clear that he’s ready to listen when you’re ready to talk.

boyfriend rating : ∞/10 ; better not break up with him, this man is one in a billion.

❤︎ AKIHIKO NIREI — THEODORE & ELEANOR

i think this was very obvious LMAOO

i feel like a lot of people think of theo and eleanor as the sunshine duo, but theodore is actually pretty soft and shy. the dynamic between them is much like i described for simon and jeanette, except here the roles are reversed.

theodore is extremely talented, has lots of potential really, but is always putting himself down, much like nirei. you play eleanor, always encouraging nirei to think better of himself and put himself out there, even when he thinks it’s a terrible idea.

i feel nirei, like theodore, always overcompensates. i mean he feels he’s not worthy of you so he always goes out of his way to make you a little something, give you a little gift, just anything to make him feel like he’s not dead weight tying you down in this relationship with him. he’ll never tell you he feels this way & so you’ll never know & be able to reassure him or tell him otherwise, but when you smile with blood tinged nose and kiss his cheeks in appreciation like he’s the only boy on earth, he thinks that’s all the reassurance he needs.

if you have avoidant attachement issues i am respectfully asking you to stay the hell away from him. HE CANNOT HANDLE IT. your constant hot and cold drives him crazy and affects him more than the average person. nirei is someone who loves and feels deeply. he’ll overthink even the smallest things, whether that’s you leaving him on read or a comment about how clingy he is. like i said nirei overcompensates, so when he’s more comfortable in the relationship he gets very affectionate; not in terms of physical touch ( he still needs you to initiate that most of the time, the best he can give by himself are hugs ) but in terms of words of affirmation, acts of service and gift giving. if you comment on how he’s been doing too much for you these days, even if you’re speaking from a place of ’you’re doing so much for me, you should take some time for yourself’, he’ll misinterpret it as you getting sick of him. he tries to tone his acts of affection down, but then he’s plagued with the fear of you leaving him because he’s not doing enough. it’s an endless cycle :( my poor baby please treat him well </3

boyfriend rating : 5.5/10. i fear his insecurity & trouble comunicating makes dating him difficult, and his constant need for reassurance can get suffocating.

❤︎ ENDO YAMATO — ALVIN & BRITTANY

when i think alvin and brittany i think teasing ( but whipped ) boyfriend and done with his antics girlfriend.

that’s you and endo one hundred percent. endo yamoto is always up to no good, making cheeky comments or hiding your stuff just to rile you up and get a reaction out of you. you’re so fucking done with him—you don’t even know why you’re still dating this bastard but on midsummer days when endo decides to be more boy less devil you’re reminded ( just a little ) of why you love him.

endo yamoto has his sweet moments. of course it’s obvious he worships you like a god, but you often forget because of his troublesome nature. endo yamato is always thinking of you. it’s evident in how he always comes home with one or two trinkets that reminded him of you, whether it’s something he saw in the window of an antique shop or a pretty rock with colors that match your eyes.

endo is also very clingy. when you’re doing your makeup, getting ready to go out, endo tugs you out of your vanity chair and sits down so he can pull you into his lap, arms snug around your waist as he buries his nose into your neck. the feeling of his breath warm against your shoulder blades is distracting and it’s even worse when he’s dragging his lips across your skin. you knock his head with a makeup brush to get him to pull away even if just for a second, but he only responds with a grunt before his palm trails it’s way up & under your shirt.

yeah, he’s fucking impossible.

but it’s endearing. also did i mention he’s constantly teasing you ? he’s your own personal bully. but god forbid someone tries to make a fool out of you. if it’s a girl, he hurls the most gruesome insults he can think of, and if it’s a guy, lets just say the local hospital is gonna be taking in one more patient tonight ( he is UNHINGED, but we love him regardless )

boyfriend rating : 7/10. he’s a good boyfriend, but can get pretty possessive and extreme sometimes. also he often hurts your feelings on accident </3

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unholyhelbig · 2 months ago

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I’ve always been curious about Kate bishops background and would love to hear a paraphrased version if ur okay with it

[Absolutely I can! Just a little disclaimer, I'm doing this mostly from memory, so I may get a few things wrong. But I promise the gist is there, and this has gotten way too long, so uh... part one? I guess? I didn't even get to the vampires. If people are into this. I'll keep going.]

Okay, let’s start with Kate’s backstory.

The Bishop family has issues. Eleanor, Kate’s mom, is distant but portrayed as a generally good person. She and her husband Derek have an estranged relationship. She travels a lot and is regarded as an activist throughout her life until her untimely death when Kate is still just a kid.

Kate develops admiration for her father. He’s a publishing magnate but it’s soon revealed that he has ties to the crime world. Kate, despite her young age, follows her father to a meeting with El Matador. While there, she gets captured by the crime lord to be held for ransom.

This is where she see’s Clint for the first time, who saves her with the rest of the avengers. She took an instant liking to him because he was the only human on the team without advantages. At this point, she does make Clint her role model and starts to distance herself from her family to focus on activism like Eleanor.

Kate didn’t’ truly start training in combat until she was attacked in Central Park. This kicked off her love of self-defense. She originally felt isolated and in some cannon media, this moment in the park still haunts her beyond belief. (Young Avengers Special #1 [2005] is a great comic that’s stand alone & shows the mentorship between Jessica Jones and Kate. TW for SA.)

Que the Young Avengers.

(My personal favorite Kate Bishop Design)

Kate has an older sister that’s been completely written out of the MCU adaptation. Her name is Susan, and she doesn’t have the greatest relationship with Kate, they’re not openly hostile, but they don’t enjoy each other either. Still, Kate is in Susan’s wedding party.

During the wedding, the church comes under fire and the Young Avengers swoop in to save the day. But they awkwardly become hostages themselves and Kate uses one of Patriots throwing stars to get them out of the situation before the police show up.

Kate very ungracefully demands to become a part of the Young Avengers (The original team is: Cassie Lang, Eli Bradley, Tommy Shepard, Billy Kaplan, Nate Richards, and Teddy Altman). Kate originally doesn’t have a hero identity, so she raids the Avengers Mansion and dawns Mockingbirds staves and mask, swordsman’s sword and belt and Hawkeyes abandoned bow.

Captain America and Iron man were not happy about the team and demanded that they disband. But eventually gave in after the Young Avengers refused to back down. Kate was the only one to stand up to Steve and demand that they get better training. He agreed and put Jessica Jones in charge of the team. This is when Kate becomes Hawkeye. Steve gives her the title and the bow. She’s the unofficial leader of the Young Avengers.

What about Clint?

Dude is dead in the Young Avengers run. Clint makes his valiant return in the massive Civil War event that Marvel comics created. He was resurrected and is absolutely pissed when he finds out that Steve gave his name and his bow away.

Clint actually attacks Kate while she’s on a date with Eli Bradley in Central Park. He’s officially Ronin at this point and is impressed by Kate’s skills after she breaks into his place to steal her bow back. He unofficially (but also totally officially) allows her to take the mantle.

The Children’s Crusade

I’m skipping a lot of small side quests that Kate takes (even though they’re a lot of fun) because Children’s Crusade is possibly the most important part of her journey, and by the looks of it, is the basis for where the MCU is planning to go in the next few years.

Kate has a really strong friendship with Billy Kaplan, aka Billy Maximoff. He’s the strongest magic being to ever inhabit earth and when his powers become dangerous the Avengers decide to lock him up. That didn’t slide with Kate, and they ended up breaking him out of the tower and entering alternate timelines in search of Billy’s mom- Wanda Maximoff.

This was pure, time-warp chaos. Wanda had forgotten who she was and was about to marry Doctor Doom when the Young Avengers showed up and pulled her out of it. She regained her powers and her memories, coming to terms with Billy and Tommy being her sons.

Once in their original timeline, a massive fight breaks out between the Avengers and the x-men. It’s a whole thing that ends up killing Cassie Lang. Her death ends up disbanding the original Young Avengers who go their separate ways to come to terms with how dangerous being a hero really is.

Matt Fraction? Matt Fraction.

Listen, if you’re looking for the inspiration behind the general vibe of the show Hawkeye, this is the run for you. If you read anything from Kate’s comic journey, let it be this. You don’t need any prior knowledge to Kate or Clint to enjoy this one and the artwork heavily inspired the intro to the show.

In this series, Clint is the owner of an apartment building that’s since been taken over by the tracksuit mafia. Kate and Clint have an established friendship and the dynamic is very much like the show. But grittier. The series leans into Clint’s deafness and Kate’s trauma. It’s a basis for their relationship.

Los Angeles, baby

Kate goes to LA a lot. It’s her home away from New York and her arcs there are some of my favorite (it’s a guilty pleasure, honestly). During her run with Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye, she has a particularly bad fight with Clint. She takes Lucky and jets off to the beach to find her niche.

Kate becomes a very cool, very chill private eye for her first solo run; Hawkeye Private Eye. While she does eventually go back to New York to help out Clint, she starts her own business in Los Angeles where she teams up with Jessica Jones and Laura x23. Very fun, very goofy series.

[This took...hours. Literal Hours. But I have access to all the digital archives for Kate so, I'm more than happy to keep going lol]

#Kate Bishop #Clint Barton #Hawkeye #Hawkeye comics #Matt Fraction #Matt Fraction hawkeye #lucky the pizza dog #cassie lang #billy maximoff #tommy maximoff #Young Avengers #jessica jones #laura x23

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gabessquishytum · 2 months ago

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Was reminiscing about a part of my life I sort of just forgot about and decided to make it dreamling. Yolo.

Dream is incredibly insecure about his body. He’s always wearing tons of layers and long coats and doing everything possible to hide how unattractive he thinks he is. Then for his birthday, Desire signs him up for pole dancing classes (they frame it very teasingly, but in truth they really do think it would be good for their brother. They’d never say that to his face though). Luckily they have Death on their side and manage to convince him to at least try out one class.

He shows up very very nervous. He’s wearing exercise clothes, but still as fully covered as he can be and practically shrinking into himself. But the studio is honestly… very comfortable. The lights are dim, and there’s soft music playing and pillows on the ground, and while the poles are very intimidating, there’s not a single mirror in the whole place. And of course, the instructor is so welcoming and soothing, and so patient with Dream’s nervousness (and the nerves of the other students- it’s a little relieving almost to know he’s not the only one insecure and nervous). It also helps, Dream is a little ashamed to admit, that the instructor doesn’t look the way he expected. He’s heavier set, with abundant body hair, and loose torn up gym clothes.

As the class goes on, Dream feels… better than he expected. Everyone else is learning with him, there’s no mirrors to obsess over what he looks like, and they’re all encouraged to be vocal in their compliments and encouragement to each other. Dream starts to feel more in touch with his body, feeling how it moves to do the simple spins they start with. The instructor always reminds them- here, they’re dancing for themselves. If they feel good, then that’s what matters.

And at the end of the class, the students all take a seat on the pillows on one side of the room, and are told to pick a song for their instructor to perform a dance to. He improvs a simple routine, but incorporates the moves they learned in that day's class, while also showing them how those moves are foundational for more complex spins and tricks, and how they can all build together into a cohesive dance. Dream is enraptured, watching how strong and elegant he is, but also how happy and how comfortable he seems. Dream realizes that more than looking any certain way, he wants, so badly, to feel like that.

Hob gets it. He’s been there. He used to be so down and negative about his body, too caught up in his insecurities to really live life. He got lucky that his friend Johanna dragged him to his first pole dancing class. He got even luckier that the instructor, Eleanor, was so kind and patient with him, even as he fumbled and resisted any pushback to his negative self worth. He learned a lot in those classes- he learned how amazing his body really was, and developed an honest passion for pole dancing, which was lovingly encouraged by his instructor-turned-wife. When Eleanor passed, he took over the studio in her honor.

Apparently, he’s following in her footsteps more than he expected… by falling for one of his students.

-🦇

Pole dancing Hob!!!! We all need a pole dancing Hob!!!!

Dream is surprised to find that he wants to go back to the class a second time. He's even more surprised that he finds the courage to take off his hoodie and do the class with bare arms - considering how much he generally covers up, its a big step for him. He's a little overwhelmed, honestly, and finds himself lingering in the studio after the class is over. He's trying to soak up how the place makes him feel, hoping that he can take some of that feeling home with him.

Hob notices him and the two end up sitting on the cushions together, where Dream admits that he's struggling with these complex thoughts about his body and self worth. He makes some kind of throwaway remark - "I wish I looked more like you, I wish i had your confidence." and Hob chuckles gently. He explains that it took him a long time to be at peace with his body. He spent way too long over-exercising and trying to maintain a physique that just wasn't healthy for him. Now he considers himself to be in the best shape of his life because he's HAPPY, and having a bit of cushioning is just an added bonus.

Dream is a little bit in awe. He's never had an honest conversation about bodies and stuff like that before. He's maybe a tiny bit in love with Hob already, and it only has a little bit to do with his incredible arse.

And honestly, Hob is a little bit in awe of Dream. He sees true courage in his new student's eyes as he takes to the pole each week, learning new skills and even developing bonds with the other students. It's kind of sexy seeing a man confront his fears and experience personal growth. Maybe Hob will make a move... After he's finished choreographing an intricate routine for them to perform, together <3

#🦇 anon #the sandman #dreamling

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zarnzarn · 1 month ago

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Dreamling Bingo E2: Role reversal! Angst and Fluff ahead <3

“He, um-” Matthew says from the windowsill, shifting awkwardly. “He says he'll come back as per your previous agreement. Whatever that means.”

“Yeah, okay,” Hob says faintly into the curve of his arms where he's slumped over the table. He's too numb to feel the heartache. “You can go.”

“Uh,” Matthew says, with a flap of wings that brings his voice closer. Dream's friend, not Hob's, he has to remind himself, even as his heart pangs as the other doesn't leave. “Did you two… fight? You don't sound good, man.”

“Yeah, we fought,” Hob says vaguely, staring at the kitchen tap. “I'll be alright.”

“Buddy, what the fuck, you really don't sound good,” Matthew sounds alarmed. “Look, is there someone we can like, call over for a bit, I don't think you should be alone-”

“I'm not going to kill myself over a bad breakup, Matt,” Hob sighs. “And no, we can't call anyone. I just made half the faculty watch Professor Rob skid over a cliff and burst into flames.”

“Dude,” Matthew says after a moment. “That's fucked up. You do realise people are gonna fucking mourn you, right?”

“Wow, really? Thank you for teaching me, Matthew, I couldn't possibly know this at six hundred years old,” Hob rolls his eyes as he pushes himself to his feet. “And no, I had to fake it, before you ask. Got too attached here, set too many roots down… people would come looking.”

“Like that guy from Megamind,” Matthew offers weakly, and Hob snorts. “But, like. What if the boss comes looking and you're not here?”

“He'll survive,” Hob packs up the last of his books and kicks the remaining ones under the bed as a fun surprise for the next tenant. “Find another human to amuse himself with, I suppose.”

“What on earth happened?” Matthew asks, baffled.

Hob pauses and looks down at his packed box. Shrugs. “I don't know. One minute we were talking, next minute we were arguing and then he… said that-”

His throat closes up and he shakes his head, grabbing the last backpack. Everything else is sent ahead, except this one bag of essentials and items he can't afford to lose. Eleanor's locket is in there, and Dream's bracelet was supposed to be there too- the only gift he'd ever gotten from the other, the only physical proof that he actually existed- except he threw it in a box in a moment of spite and let it go on with the other things.

“Dude, uh, listen, I don't know if-”

“Bye, Matthew.” Hob closes the door and steps out into the night, grabbing his bike as he goes. It probably doesn't warrant all that much of an intricate, convoluted getaway, considering most people don't really go looking for a dead person- but he'll feel better covering his tracks. Especially since he no longer has a mysterious, powerful stranger on his side that he can sort of rely on to eventually come for him.

Hah. On the bright side, though.

He's always wanted to try lycanthropy.

He smells the newcomer before he hears him.

The wolf’s ears prick up, turning to stare out at the night sky, lit up by the stars. He breathes in the scent on the wind to be sure, then springs out the den, breath misting in the cold winter air.

The newcomer is loping around aimlessly, looking droll and tired as he trots by the riverbank, looking this way and that. Whatever he's searching for, he won't find it- not this late in the season, when everything's asleep or dead.

Still. It's his territory, so the wolf jumps out of the bushes with a growl and charges.

The strange dark wolf doesn't yelp or scramble away at the aggression like he'd expected, instead freezing in shock, making him crash full force into the intruder and sending them both to the ground.

The intruder still doesn't run when he's down and incapacitated, just lies there and stares up stupidly. The wolf bares his teeth, growling, and that seems to finally get some reaction, a hint of a tail going between his legs, ears going back in fear.

Good. He's the bigger wolf amongst the two of them, the other should-

Hob Gadling.

He stops, ears pricked up as he scans around for another creature. Feels his own ears go back in unease when no one else is there, only the odd stranger, staring at him silently.

He snaps his teeth, unsettled, and finally the stranger reacts like he should, scrambling out of his way as he chases him off, growling and snarling all the while.

He stops when he reaches the edge of his territory, chest heaving. The black wolf is still there, slinking between the trees, staring at him.

Good enough. He doesn't have energy to waste. The wolf trots back to his den and goes back to sleep.

AO3

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling bingo #my fic #matthew #the sandman #it took all fucking day. bone apple teeth jfc

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1d1195 · 9 months ago

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Traditional Extra VI

Read Traditional here

Here's a little angsty bit from our lovely (jealous) MC this time around based on this ask

~4.5 k words

“I think you should talk to him.”

“No way,” she snorted. “Do you know how embarrassing that would be? And pathetic.”

Louis laughed. “The man has literally fired his best friend over jealousy of you. This is nothing,” he promised with a shake of his head.

“You don’t need to go with me, baby.”

“M’not arguing ‘bout this,” Harry muttered holding the door open for her to go through first. As she passed him, he glared at the cast on her delicate arm. For the last six weeks he looked at it loathingly. It hurt him to know she was in pain those early weeks, shaken, and physically broken.

Fortunately, it was the last day of glaring at it.

Things were better at Styles Incorporated. Her brilliant idea of course was beyond helpful, lifesaving in more ways than one. Harry was certain without it he would have had to make some deep cuts and would have ruined an innumerable number of his employees’ lives. They didn’t even know she was responsible for the idea.

Thanking her would never ever be enough.

Niall wasn’t fired anymore. She brought Harry tea every day at quarter past one. His office was spruced up with new furniture and electronics once more. Niall caught M&Ms in his mouth that she tossed from her desk and passed notes to her during meetings. Everything was right again.

Except her fragile arm. After the first week, she claimed it didn’t bother her (it didn’t, truly; but Harry was miserable about it). It was a little inconvenient. Showering was a challenge, but Harry rarely let her do that on her own without a broken bone, so it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Having sex with a cast on was also her least favorite. There was nothing un-sexier than a honking plaster on her forearm. Harry swore it didn’t even register in his brain.

I hope this doesn’t bother you... But m’never looking at your forearm when we’re in bed whether y’have a cast or not.

So, there was that.

Harry was still Louis’ least favorite person. It made him extremely anxious; in some ways, he was more worried about Louis’ feelings for him than her arm being broken or even the state of his company. There was no her if Louis didn’t like him. She reassured him that he was being extra, and she would speak to him, but he was certain Louis would melt him with his eyes if he could.

“It wasn’t his fault, Louis!” She whined laying across the sofa dramatically. “You’re being the worst right now!”

Louis shrugged. “I don’t like that you got broken.”

“It’s not like Harry was the one that crashed into me or snapped my arm,” she reminded him.

“I don’t care; you shouldn’t have left.”

She groaned. “So blame me!”

“Never,” he shook his head decidedly. Even getting Eleanor to talk him off the ledge was no help. Louis was almost unbearably stubborn. Eleanor swore she would keep working on him.

Once the cast was off, she was hoping it would go back to normal.

That day was today. She waltzed up to the counter to check in and then sat beside Harry on the hard plastic chairs. He was on the phone while she checked in, speaking in hushed whispers so as not to bother the others in the waiting room. It was definitely a business call—it was the middle of the day and she almost got away with leaving without him knowing and fussing but Niall told him.

Niall walked toward their office when he dropped Harry off at the elevator beside her.

“Tattle tale,” she glared at his retreating figure. He turned his head over his shoulder and winked at her with a telling smile that he didn’t care at all.

Harry frowned. “Kitten,” he sounded so hurt waiting alongside her. “Why didn’t y’tell me?” He pouted.

She sighed. “Because you’ve been so fussy. They’re just going to take it off. Plus, it’ll smell and—”

The elevator pinged with its arrival cutting her off from listing anything else. The nice thing about riding the elevator with the CEO was rarely did anyone want to be caught in the elevator with Harry. It meant they often got to make out privately in the middle of the workday. Harry stood at the back, leaning against the handrail. He looked at the ceiling as they descended the floors with the world’s weariest sigh. She stood beside him and tilted her head up as well. “I’m tired of you being upset about it.”

“You’re the most important thing in the world t’me, kitten,” he reminded her. “M’not taking this lightly.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I know. I know, baby. But you’re... it’s not your fault. And I don’t need you to be here for this. I know you’re busy. I saw your schedule. That’s why I didn’t tell you about it. If you had the time I would—”

“I’m never too busy for you,” his look was nearly ferocious. Intense and serious. Way too much for getting her cast sawed off on Thursday. He grabbed her hand and twined their fingers together. “Y’have t’know that,” he whispered. “I’d...I’d give up everything for you.”

“I don’t want that,” she shook her head with a little eye roll, but the gravity of his words ached her heart. She could feel each syllable shaking her body and soul.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She smiled. “Say it again,” she teased.

He chuckled pressing his forehead to hers and pecked her lips quickly. “I love you,” he repeated.

“Again.”

“I love you,” he promised and cupped her face between his hands and kissed her until the elevator brought them to the main floor.

“You can stay out here while it gets cut off,” she offered when he ended the call and scrolled through a plethora of texts and emails.

“Absolutely not,” he murmured without looking up from his phone.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her good arm around her stomach and let the cast arm lay limply in her lap. He was way too overdressed. It wasn’t his fault. He was just dressed for work. A button down tucked into a pair of fitted slacks. He looked like a model for Armani. She stared at him and looked at her outfit—having known she was leaving early for the cast cutting, she wore a pair of leggings and a jersey dress over it. She was comfortable—not overdressed but still presentable for work. She looked like a mess in comparison to Harry.

“S’matter?” he asked glancing from his phone. “Are you in pain?”

“You look really nice,” she murmured.

He smirked and shook his head. “Yeah? S’that make y’sad?”

“I look like a goblin right now.”

He chuckled, tucking his phone back in his pocket. He shook his head. “You look beautiful. You always do.”

“Hey Harry, what are you doing here?”

They turned to the sound of the woman standing at the door leading to the patient rooms. The woman was stunning. Even in scrubs, with her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Her cheekbones were sharp and accented by the prettiest contoured makeup she had ever seen. Her eyelashes were full and lovely. She was almost certain they were natural.

Her jaw dropped a bit just looking at her, seeing that she very obviously knew Harry.

“Oh, hi, Soph,” Harry stood and cleared his throat. “Um... my girlfriend,” he gestured holding his hand out for her to take and she rose to her feet. “Her cast is coming off today.”

“Oh, you can come this way. Sorry! That was a bit unprofessional. Just surprised to see Harry,” Soph smiled sweetly and gestured for the pair of them to walk through the door. She glanced at Harry as she followed behind the pretty woman in scrubs. Harry looked a little paler. If she wasn’t so obsessed with him, she might not have noticed the change in his expression. But she had seen the worry in his eyes hidden behind the careful front he managed to keep composed when he talked with other businessmen and businesswomen. Usually when they said something that irked him because he disagreed with their philosophy or work ethic—Harry was good at what he did and had been for a while. It was hard to listen to all but bad ideas.

But she hadn’t seen it in relation to a woman she had never heard of. Was Soph short for Sophia or Sophie? Or something else? How did he know her? Why did he call her by a nickname?

“How’s your arm feel?” She asked gesturing for her to sit on the patient table while she walked to the counter to type on the chart on the tablet she carried.

“It’s fine. I think it could have come off two weeks ago,” she said still feeling weary about how Harry knew her. Harry rolled his eyes.

“She’s been trying t’rush the healing process,” Harry said.

Soph smirked. “I don’t blame you,” she said looking back at her. “It’s no fun with a cast. I was in a splint for my ankle after an ice-skating thing, remember how irritated I was?” Her question was directed to Harry. She felt the pit of her stomach churn and warm with anxiety.

Harry smirked at the memory almost instinctively. “I remember,” he mumbled quietly. It felt like a knife had been twisted in her heart. She hoped her face wasn’t betraying her internal feelings.

Soph pulled the saw off the table that would cut the plaster off her arm. She had trouble focusing on what Soph was saying because she was almost unbearably pretty. Soph went through the standard cast-cutting procedures as if she said it a hundred times a day and showed her how the saw wouldn’t cut her, pressed it to her own hand as proof and reminded her to speak up if for whatever reason she felt pain and wanted to take a breather.

“You two know each other?” She couldn’t help but ask while she sliced through the plaster. Harry was staring at her arm and nothing else.

“Like four years ago,” she smiled softly. “I was in college; my roommate was an intern at Styles Incorporated. She hated it there,” she laughed quietly. “But she brought me to the holiday party, and I asked for a drink at the bar and this guy bumped into me; spilled my drink all over me. I was glad I was wearing a dark colored dress.”

“Niall shoved me,” he grumbled looking away briefly to hide the irritation he felt over the little faux pas.

“It wasn’t a big deal. Obviously, I was used to frat house parties so having a nice Chardonnay spill on me was a lot better than party punch,” she rolled her eyes. “He was beside himself though,” she glanced at Harry with this knowing smile that made it seem like a secret. Harry’s lips twisted slightly in a half smirk. Her insides twisted again, and she had to remind herself internally to keep calm. They had a private thing. Something she didn’t know about.

Harry was clearly with this very pretty girl. Someone he obviously cared about. Sure, it was ages ago, but it was everything she feared. That stupid woman from one of the worst days of her life was right. Harry didn’t date plain girls. Not if Soph was any indication. “Have you been dating long?” Soph asked.

“Just...” she shook her head trying to do the math and feeling pathetic that it didn’t add up to much. “Just about a year,” she murmured.

“Officially,” Harry added quickly. “We dated for about six months prior,” he reminded her and told Soph like it was necessary she knew.

“That’s sweet,” she cooed kindly. Her smile was genuine. Soph was genuine. There wasn’t an ounce of jealousy or cattiness in her voice seeing Harry. She wasn’t sure she would feel the same way if the roles were reversed which made her inferiority ache in her stomach and chest more. “Well,” Soph had excitement in her voice. “Here it is,” she smiled and pulled the plaster and cushioning off her arm in two pieces. “It might be a little stiff. Regular over the counter medicine will help alleviate any final pain from the muscle stretching a bit more freely. But you’re good to go,” she patted her arm.

She shook her head trying to remind herself that she was supposed to be polite. But the feeling of inadequacy washed over her. “Thank you,” she said kindly. “I love your nails,” because she did. They were pink for Valentine’s Day maybe and the little hearts on the ring finger were adorable. It also made her notice that she didn’t have a ring.

“Oh thanks! I am actually really disappointed in my nail place—I need these off, but I don’t want to go back to where I went—they’re so outgrown,” she frowned. “I’ve been trying for ages to find a good one.”

“Oh,” she pulled out her phone. “I go to this place—not very often, admittedly. But they’re good,” she offered and held her screen out to show her.

“Thank you so much, that’s awesome! Your nails look so healthy and lovely, I noticed while I was cutting the cast off. You don’t even have a color on them and I’m so jealous of them,” at least the feeling was mutual. “Would you mind texting me the name?” She asked with a kind smile. “Harry probably still has my number,” she turned to Harry for confirmation.

This time Harry’s posture was as stiff as her arm. He cleared his throat. “Mm.”

“Perfect,” Soph smiled as if she hadn’t a clue how weird this all was. As if she wasn’t aware of the anxiety and jealousy coursing through her. Maybe she was a good actress. “It was nice meeting you!” Soph chirped sweetly. “Nice to see you, Harry,” she pressed her hand on his arm as she passed out the door and left the pair of them to leave behind her.

Harry chatted on the phone while he drove back to Styles Incorporated. Normally, she listened in on the phone calls trying to help as best she could when needed. Muting his call when she had something important to add or a tidbit of information, a file, or something to help with the call.

But the feeling of inadequacy was the only thing she could focus on during the car ride. She scrolled through her phone and tried to ignore the images of someone so pretty with Harry. She was a good three inches taller than her. Her skin was flawless. She looked like she worked out often. The thought of her in Harry’s personal space made her feel sick.

She was nothing like her.

How could Harry want someone like her when he had dated someone like Soph?

“Y’okay, beautiful?” He asked. “Your arm hurt?” He wondered, reaching over and placing his hand on her thigh. He gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Just kind of tired all of a sudden. Skipped our coffee.”

He smiled softly. “I was going t’stop on the way,” he promised.

“Thank you.”

“’Course, kitten.”

She hoped the feelings of inadequacy would have dissipated by now but after tracking down Soph’s phone number she even sent her a pic of her new nails thanking her for the recommendation.

An M&M hit the side of her head. “You okay, darling?” Niall asked.

It was hard to keep it in. “Do you know Harry’s ex, Soph?” She asked.

“Sophie?” He blinked in surprise. Her heart felt heavy knowing her full name. “Yeah...they dated a while back...uh...for like a year, maybe? She was in college. Harry was only just getting Styles Incorporated under way. The second or third year?”

A year?

She nodded. “She cut my cast off,” she explained.

“Oh,” Niall tilted his head. “Was she...mean?”

“No, she was...really nice.”

“Yeah. I kind of figured. She always was.” As awful as it felt to watch Soph and Harry share a smile at the fond memory of ice-skating—even if it ended with her in a splint—knowing that Niall thought she was nice was somehow just as awful. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked. “Is your arm bothering you?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Just a little distracted. I didn’t sleep well,” she lied.

“You should go home, I think Harry left for a lunch meeting,” Niall explained.

“He left?” She asked quietly.

Niall smirked biting his lip. “Sorry, darling. He pushed the lunch meeting to today so he could go to the hospital with you the other day.”

She hated when he did that.

“Okay,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

She gathered her belongings trying to feel less ridiculous but unable to quell the frustration she felt. “Call me if you need something,” she reminded him.

“Always, darling. Same to you,” he eyed her suspiciously.

Louis was glad her arm was freed of the cast. “Maybe you should get my name tattooed on it,” he suggested missing his name across the entire plaster more than he hated the reason for the cast. She snorted.

Eleanor was still at work, but Louis returned to their place early per her request. They sat on the sofa, watching a movie and snacking on popcorn and candy. “Do you want to tell me why I left work early?” He asked.

She shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

“Trouble in paradise?” He questioned.

“Drop it, Louis,” she muttered stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

He did.

For like four minutes. “Did Harry mess up?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing Louis, I’m being ridiculous.”

Another minute. “Are you finally mad about him breaking your arm?”

“Can you not be a child for like, five minutes?”

“Probably not.”

She sighed and pressed her palms against the length of her face and kept them over her eyes. “Harry’s ex cut my cast off,” she mumbled. “She was beautiful and nice,” she explained. “It was so humbling. I’m nothing like her. She was this dainty fairy and I looked like a potato farmer in comparison,” she sighed.

“Babe,” Louis frowned. His voice was gentle. Him acting like a child finally ceased. “Obviously I’m still mad at Harry—”

“Stupid,” she grumbled.

“–But that man loves you more than anyone has ever loved anybody. Except me with El of course,” he reminded her. “There’s a reason they didn’t work out.”

She bit the inside corner of her lip and tried to stop the feeling of tears in her eyes from surfacing. “She was so pretty, Louis,” she whispered. “It wasn’t even close.”

“But Harry loves you,” he repeated. “I know I’m being a little ridiculous about my frustration toward him, but honestly, there’s no one I trust with you more than him. He would probably break every bone in his body for you still.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I think you should talk to him.”

“No way,” she snorted. “Do you know how embarrassing that would be? And pathetic.”

Louis laughed. “The man has literally fired his best friend over jealousy of you. This is nothing,” he promised with a shake of his head. Her phone vibrated with a message. “Speak of the devil?” Louis asked. She ignored him reading the message from Harry.

Niall said you weren’t feeling well. Hope everything is okay... Let me know what you want for dinner. See you later, kitten xx Tell Louis I said hi (and I’m sorry.)

“Can you imagine your ex-boyfriend doing that for you?” Louis asked reading over her shoulder.

She sighed and put her phone faced down. “Just tell him?”

Louis nodded. “Communication, babe. You might even get to have really hot sex after too.”

She spared her best friend of the details that all of their sex was really hot.

Harry had laid out a feast for the two of them when she arrived home. “Whoa, it smells good in here,” she called from the entryway kicking her shoes off. The relief flooded him. Niall told him she left early while he was gone, and it made him almost crazy immediately. It shouldn’t have, he had her location (she had his too) and he knew she was at Louis’...but it was more than that. She had been off all weekend. Less chatty with him. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes which always happened right before she got sick. She had gotten a nasty cold twice since he knew her, and he also remembered her cycle messing with her regular, adorable self.

He hurried around the corner to look at her. She was in a black turtleneck with a pair of tweed overalls. She was so pretty it hurt his chest and he had seen her at work, and he still felt speechless. As much as he loved to get a peek at her cleavage, he thought the turtleneck was so sexy and she looked like a princess. Her hair was twisted in a clip, a few pieces falling forward to frame her face. He couldn’t get over how beautiful she looked. “Are you okay?”

“God, you’re beautiful,” he sighed dreamily.

She laughed and looked at her feet briefly, her face warming at his compliment. “Thank you, baby.”

He pulled her into his chest and kissed the top of her head. “Are y’okay?” He asked. “M’worried. Y’were a little off all weekend. Like when y’get sick. I made y’some comfort food,” he explained. She nodded against his chest. He had swapped out his work clothes for a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“M’fine,” she murmured in his shirt. She inhaled his heavenly scent and tried to steel herself to be brave and have the conversation she needed to have.

“Yeah? Y’seem sad, kitten. Tell me s’matter and I’ll fix it.”

She bit the inside of her lip. Part of her knew it would break Harry’s heart for her feelings of inadequacy. He had done nothing but adore her and she knew that. It was just... well, she couldn’t help the shake to her confidence (or lack thereof) seeing the pretty, nice girl who knew Harry intimately. “Is dinner ready or can we sit outside for a minute?” She asked. With her face still pressed to his chest, her body caged in his arms, she could feel his heartbeat flutter. She thought it was weird.

“We can sit outside,” he murmured and released everything but her hand and tugged her to the cold bed outside. Harry flipped on the heated lamp and aimed it toward the bed. She pulled a blanket from the basket near the swinging furniture and climbed onto the mattress. She waited for Harry to join her and wrapped the blanket around him, especially with his short sleeves.

“I have to tell—”

“Are you breaking up with me?” He blurted.

“Oh, for the love of God,” she rolled her eyes. “No Harry, of course not. You’re stuck with me,” she gave him a squeeze now understanding the flutter of his heart against her cheek was anxiety.

His relief deflated out of him in a sigh. “Oh,” he sighed. “Then what’s wrong?” He frowned. She closed her eyes and tucked her face into his collarbone. He rubbed her back soothingly, brushed his lips on her hairline. “Kitten,” he murmured. “Y’can tell me anything. M’sorry you’re upset—”

“I’m jealous,” she whispered.

He blinked, pulled back a bit from her so he could peer awkwardly at her face. “Jealous?” He repeated.

She closed her eyes and nodded. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“Jealous of what?”

“Soph,” her voice was so quiet Harry wasn’t sure he heard her right.

“Who?”

“Oh, stop it, Harry,” she grumbled.

“Kitten, I have no idea who you’re—oh. Oh,” there was a long pause. “You’ve been upset since Thursday?” He asked. “Why didn’t y’tell me?”

“Cause it’s embarrassing.”

He snorted. “Kitten, I fired m’best friend in a jealous rage,” he reminded her. “Y’have nothing on me.” She imagined when she told Louis about this, that not even the embarrassment she felt would feel as bad as Louis’ smug I told you so. “Did I do something t’make y’uncomfortable?” He asked. She could see his mind spinning thinking back to Thursday and the entire interaction.

“Harry,” she sighed and looked at his green eyes filled with concern for her. His gaze was gentle. It felt like a hug in itself just to be looked at him. “She is so pretty.”

“So?”

He was going to make her say it. “I look nothing like her,” she whispered.

“Well, ‘course not. You are much more beautiful,” he shrugged casually.

“Harry,” she whined and pressed her face into his chest.

“Are you jealous because you think she’s prettier?” He asked, tilting her warm-shamed face back up to look at her with those beautiful eyes. “Kitten,” he frowned.

“I am not jealous because I think she’s prettier,” she grumbled and looked down at her nose to avoid his gaze. “I know she’s prettier,” she mumbled.

He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. “Kitten, s’absolutely wrong,” he promised. “You are infinitely more beautiful than her. Look at how pretty y’look right now. And every time y’hold a door open for someone? Or how you jus’ know what I need in every meeting before I do. Or for anyone. The kindness y’have for everyone you meet. You were jealous of her and y’still told her where t’get her nails done,” he reminded her. “She would never do that. She’s pretty and nice but there is no comparison t’you, my love. We dated ages ago and it didn’t work. S'no reason t'be jealous of her.”

“I know but—”

“Kitten, I don’t think you would ever make out with someone else while we were dating; even if y’were drunk and at a college party,” he explained silencing her completely. Her lips parted slightly in surprise trying to process it. “We were at different stages in life. I was too busy for a girlfriend while m’company was starting. She wanted t'have fun in college. M’glad she’s happy. But when she told me she kissed someone else, I was relieved,” he explained. “It hurt a bit, but it was jus’ easier t’let go of something I knew wasn’t really right for me.”

“She made out with someone else?” She asked in shock. “How could she do that while dating you?”

Harry laughed loudly. He nuzzled his face against her ear and kissed the side of her head. “S’exactly why I know y’have nothing t’be jealous of, kitten,” he whispered. “M’so in love with you. I think if y'made out with someone else, I would probably kill him,” he admitted. “I didn’t feel that way with her,” he was quiet for a few moments. “Does that make y’feel better?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“M’sorry if I didn’t make y’feel beautiful or perfect, kitten. Y’very much are. Think I’d lose m’mind without you.”

She frowned slightly. “You always make me feel beautiful.”

“S’because you are,” he murmured and kissed her softly on the lips until he pulled away and kissed her forehead. “Y’ready for dinner?” He asked.

She nodded, but stopped him before he fully climbed off the bed. She gabbed his face and kissed him again, a smile on his lips as he kissed her back. “I love you,” she sighed softly when she broke away. His gaze was soft looking at her eyes again.

“Say it again,” he whispered, making her giggle.

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#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #ceo!harry #sugardaddy!harry #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #traditional

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aroceu · 1 year ago

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i've been rewatching the good place with a friend lately so i've been thinking about it a lot and i just keep thinking

about how eleanor says so much that she's not a bad person, she's just a "medium" person. she didn't kill anyone, she didn't technically abuse anyone, she was selfish but not "horrible," she was human.

except when we see eleanor pre-death, we see something different. no, she didn't murder anyone. but she was pretty horrible. she was really good at lying to elderly people to sell them fake drugs. she abused her friend's dog. she lied to her coworkers to get out of driving for them at the bar. she felt so threatened by people feeling like they were better than her that when she saw concrete proof that a coffee shop manager was misogynistic and sexually assaulted someone, she enthusiastically supported the cafe to be contrary to her boyfriend.

she is very obviously a horrible person. even in season 2, michael calls her a manipulative demon; that's not something you get called if you're just a "medium" person. what we're told, and what her reasoning is a lie. but she doesn't know it. it's a lie to the viewers.

she also stands in stark contrast with jason—who has broken the law multiple times, has gotten arrested multiple times, likes celebrities and hobbies that have a terrible reputation (not just for being "trash" but for being actively hateful), and even if he might not have killed someone, there's probably something in his repertoire that comes close. but at the same time, it's very, very obvious to see that he's a good-hearted person, who wants to do more good than harm. compared to eleanor, whose bad actions are much smaller in comparison, but her bad personality makes her less likable, and much worse. yes, of course it's about environment—but it's also about how goodness might be more accurately judged by intent than by action.

i saw someone say that it was unrealistic that eleanor didn't call chidi a racial slur when she was a white woman from arizona. sentimentally, i agree with the realism argument. but at the same time, i think it would've been out of place. eleanor would know that saying a slur is on a different level of wrong. a lot of the bad things she did were indirect; it was a lot about what she did when no one was looking. but she didn't want to see herself as a horrible person, so she wouldn't have wanted anyone to see either. as long as they didn't get too close for her.

eleanor being a "medium" person is a lie. of course she belongs in the bad place. she's initially presented as a "medium person" because the story wants us to be on her side, wants us to believe that she's as human as us, until the season one flashbacks start to tell a different story. then it makes us squint and go, no, eleanor really is a terrible person. but the show is aware of this too!

and yet, the thesis of the show is that bad people can always get better. that no one is beyond rehabilitation; that society fucks us up but it's still the choices that we make that mean the most about who we are in the end. we get to see the growth of eleanor's good person journey through the entirety of season one, so that even as we realize she was a shitty person on earth, we're still rooting for her by the end of it. season one is the show's entire thesis; seasons two through four are just proving it to us. and eleanor proves herself to us over and over again, so that even as we know how terrible she was, and how terrible she's capable of being, we still know and believe that she belongs in the good place at the end.

#eleanor is just. a really good protagonist!!!! ugh #also i just love the good place and i kept thinking about this #the good place #tgp #eleanor shellstrop #i guess #i will not often write meta about white women but mike schur really went hard with this one #an aroceu original

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cuubism · 21 days ago

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Nanowrimo

As per usual I'm torturing myself trying to write 50k words in November (though probably not through the official Nano website, RIP. Oh well there's still my best friend Microsoft Excel)

I've had a running list of projects I want to finish by the end of the year, so here's hoping some of these will be churned through in November 🤞

They include:

Michelangelo's Hands: a post-2022 meeting canon (slight) divergence about artist burnout and trauma and having your craft turn against you. And learning how to rest. (Normal Dreamling material)

Good Horses: a teen/high school AU where Dream is a sheltered--though more like caged--rich kid and Hob is the feral wild kid who helps him embrace his own self-determination and freedom. ....With a little twist.

Covetous: after Hob rescues him from the fishbowl, Dream offers him sex as a boon (though really more like intentionally misunderstands Hob's words to make himself the reward. Hob did not even ask for a reward btw). The rituals, they are intricate, etc. Exploration of greed, risk, wanting, and intimacy.

Order of Operations [The Complex Math Elopement Chapter]: Math AU Dream and Hob get spontaneously engaged and have a nice fun sexy time. That's literally it XD.

In Waking Dreams [Final Chapter]: I NEED to finish this one we're nearing the 2 year anniversary of starting it XD. Basically just the wrap up of the story, questions answered, new understandings, new intimacies, you wouldn't think it would take me this long, and yet.

Deja vu, Deja connu [Chapter 4]: the "Dream was Hob's prior lovers in disguise" fic. Ch. 4 is the conclusion of the Eleanor arc. It's an emotionally intense chapter and hard to write but I have so much planned for this fic and I need to just get back to it 😔

the better to see you with, my dear [Spy AU] [Chapter 4]: another fic that exists so much in my head and not on paper! But the chapters are short so it really should be achievable. Ack.

[Undisclosed original short story]: this is actually due Nov 15, I am behind, Help.

There are other projects as always but these are hopefully my priorities for the year 😓 though I've historically been bad at prioritizing. Watch me just write a bunch of new things and not finish any of these :| Always happens!

Join me in November suffering if you want 🫡

Bonus completed fics:

Dreamling Olympics Equestrian PT 2

"Normal", chapter 4

New Thief Hob Drabble

Dream and "Bad Boy" Hob run away from Dream's arranged marriage, prompt fill

Woodland Creature Dream fic

Burnout Dreamling Fic

#most of these have been WIPs for YEARS god help me #some of them were definitely on my nano project list last year ripp #nanowrimo #my fics

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fayes-fics · 1 year ago

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Mrs Bridgerton, Again

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU, sequel to Mrs Bridgerton. This is what happened in those fateful 8 months.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f, f to m), cunnilingus, blowjobs, vaginal sex. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy and parenting. Lovers reunited, healing from heartbreak, second-chance love, emotions.

Word Count: 7.1 k

Summary: Requested sequel to Mrs Bridgerton from Anon, HERE, that fills in some of the time jumps of the original story, including the smut scene when they first reunite. Best to read that fic first before diving in, as this starts up immediately as she arrives in his bedroom (before the “8 months later…”). Yes, we are starting with total filth and ending with romance, lol. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif. Oh, and by the way, in case you are not familiar, this is Eton Mess. Enjoy <3

“Don't…,” he pants wildly, removing the hand from his cock and holding it up in a stop gesture.

You freeze, and suddenly, a wave of doubt hits you. Have you misjudged this?

“Don’t touch me, or I’ll come,” he warns. “Stay right there, and just let me look at you.”

The relief and the desire are potent.

“Fuck, how do you look even better now?!” he sounds almost pained as he drinks in the sight of you in bra and knickers; his hands grasp the fitted bedsheet, his cock pulsing.

“Ben, I…” you stutter to begin an explanation for why you are here, mostly dumbfounded by the sight before you. Somehow, you had made yourself forget how much you love him naked. A coping mechanism, probably. Right now, you have no earthly idea why you walked away from the beautiful man before you.

“Talk later,” he intuits. “ I am so fucking glad I kept the same security code,” he rasps, and you smile.

“Same,” you whisper.

“Turn around,” he pleads. So you do, pushing up onto the balls of your feet and spinning until you face away. He groans at the view of lace straining over your bottom in just the right way. “Oh god, I need to have sex with you, but I’m so close,” he groans, and even though your back is turned, you can tell it’s through clenched teeth.

You twist to give a wicked smile over your shoulder, then unclip your bra strap as he makes a hungry noise. Pulling the straps from your shoulders and flinging the item aside, your back still turned. You hook your fingers into the sides of your knickers to pull them down but stop when he climbs off the bed, falling to his knees behind you.

“Allow me,” it's velvety and dark, and you want to bathe in that voice.

For the first time in years, he touches your skin, and you have to lock your knees to stop swaying. Expert hands map up the outside of your legs from your ankle to your hips, long fingers hooking into the lace and tugging down. You can feel his breath warm on your cheeks as the material relents and gathers around your feet. Then he pitches forward, his nose landing on the small of your back as he takes a loud, almost obscene inhale.

“I have missed your smell,” he asserts, “not just… you know, but your skin. You.” His nose trails up slightly; warm, soft lips kiss your lumbar spine, causing goosebumps to break out over your thighs.

“Ben…” you whisper his name, almost scared to look behind as if it’s somehow not real.

You groan as he sinks lower and runs the edge of his teeth over the globe of your left cheek. Somehow, again, you realise you'd made yourself forget how things could be between you when it was good. Feral, passionate, addictive. The best you've ever had. He has barely touched you, and your inner thighs are damp, that thronging feeling around your pelvis that needs relief.

“Mrs Bridgerton.”

He says it. Just as you asked—wanton, thick, and sweet. And it's too much.

“I don't care if you last ten seconds; I need you inside me… please,” you plead, unashamed, grabbing your breasts as he kisses your cheek. You know how much he always loved it when you would vocalise your needs, desires, wants.

That’s when two fingers slide between your legs and, without warning, plunge into your cunt, making you cry out loudly, the sensation exhilarating, his knuckles pushing you open just the right amount, that same intoxicating feeling as before.

“Fuckkk,” he stutters against your skin. “I forgot how you cling to my fingers like this, good god.”

You have to shoot out a hand diagonally to grab the wall, locking your elbow, as he keeps teasing with deep but slow rocking moves. You mutter his name, a shudder running through you as he hooks his fingers and hits that spot that makes you almost buckle. Sensing the weakness in your stance, his fingers withdraw, and you whimper, missing them so much.

“Go and lie on the bed,” he orders softly, squeezing your bottom, painting your dampness onto your skin as he does so.

You do as he asks, taking an arcing path, keeping your back mostly towards him so he does not see your front—an extra tease. Then you deliberately mount the bed on all fours, goading him, throwing a sinful look over your shoulder as you widen your stance, tilting your pelvis, knowing your damp thighs are shining in the late afternoon sun that floods the bed from the skylight above.

“You fucking tease,” he snarls, again sounding breathless. The sense of victory that races around your body is enthralling. “I said lay down,” he adds, the bed dipping as he climbs on behind you and spanks your cheek, making you moan.

“Well, I say you can eat me out from behind, just like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you riposte, drawing your knees higher and lowering your forehead to the mattress, the fluttering in your belly hard, the thrill of the chase so exhilarating. “Until you are ready to fuck me, that is.”

“Why the hell did we ever divorce?!” he rails.

“I have absolutely no bloody idea,” you exhale shakily, morphing into a lusty cry as his hands part your cheeks and his tongue swipes deep into your folds.

As he swirls your clit, greedily, mouth hot, you are not surprised that he has not even so much as kissed your lips before he makes you scream. Somehow, you know this is the only way a reunion would ever transpire. Primal, filthy, impossible to resist. A need to fuck before anything else.

And it's just as good as you now remember, it all flooding back to you. You grab the bedsheet, knuckles in bony relief as you moan a litany of his name and filth you would never admit to as he growls encouraging noises. That needy, tugging deep inside as his hands band around your hips and haul you back onto his whole face, the slight stubble on his cheeks catching your labia as he does so.

It only feels like moments until he has you dancing on the edge. It's been so, so long since anyone touched you; indeed, he was the last, and you're shocked at how little it takes. An explosive build-up of unmet needs bursting from within, like ripened fruit awaiting devourment. And that is what he is doing, devouring your body without remorse or concerns for propriety. There's an extra tinge of desperation to his movements, too, as if he needs your release as much as you do.

Then he sucks your clit hard into his mouth and uses an edge of teeth to bite down where you ache the most. And you are gone. Muffling your screams into his mattress, biting the sheet, your pussy flutters around nothing, wanting, leaking, the static racing across your scalp and down your body, making you shudder, and your fingers and toes flex hard.

He is vocal, so vocal, in his praise. Asking for more, pulling upright and plunging those two fingers back inside as you scream again, your body rippling in waves, fighting to expel them as he growls and pushes deeper, dragging against the place that sends you stratospheric. Your mind shuts down, your mouth snarling at him not to fucking stop in a throaty register that is all lust and instinct. He doesn’t; he strings you out until you shake and leak over his hand, eyes almost watering, deep, ragged breaths as your lungs burn.

You collapse down, your shaking legs unable to stay up on your knees anymore; his fingers withdrawing slowly as he emits a triumphant chuckle, lightly spanking your cheek for good measure as you lay face down, panting, attempting to recover.

“Fuck Ben,” you exhale raggedly. “Was it always this fucking good? Or did we just get better?”

“Honestly?” he opines as you feel him crawling over your body, covering your dewy skin with all of him as he kisses the back of your neck. “I have no idea, but I swear we must be better now.”

“No kidding… I think I almost left my body then.”

Your giggle becomes a moan as he rocks his cock against your cleft. It's like you had forgotten that, too, which seems criminally negligent—again, probably a coping mechanism. It's sizeable, and you liquefy at the thought of taking him inside you once again.

“I’m still on the Pill,” you babble quickly, lifting your head off the pillow, “and I haven’t been with anyone since we split.” It’s your shorthand to tell him you want him to fuck you without protection.

He stills. “What?!” the tone is skeptical. “No one?!?”

You twist to look at him over your shoulder. “No. I was just thinking of dating again,” you answer abashedly as he looks bewildered.

“Wow… I thought you would have them lining up,” he exhales with a head shake. “Have you seen you?!” he adds incredulously as he shifts his stance, placing his knees wider on either side of your legs.

“Hah! Not at all,” you deflect the compliment. “You?” you inquire as he drops stubbly kisses onto the sensitive skin of your upper back.

“Once. I was very drunk. We used a condom. It was so terrible I’m sort of pretending it never happened. I, umm, called your name,” he winces, pulling up from your body.

You roll over under him so you face him. “You did what?!”

“I… I called your name, when I came. I was thinking of you the whole time.” The matter-of-fact way he shrugs as he says so makes your chest ache.

Words fail as you realise how stubborn you have both been. If only you had talked to each other, things might have been different. On instinct, you push up and kiss him. On the mouth. A real kiss. The first in many years. And his response is instant and break-taking. He lowers you back onto the mattress as you wrap around each other, tongue entwining, breathing each other's air, hands running over each other, relearning the contours you used to know so well.

“I didn't like the idea of fucking anyone else,” you confess quietly over his lips. “I was probably just going to be a celibate single mum.”

“You deserve better than that,” he states fiercely, shuffling so he can cradle your face with one hand and kiss your cheeks, tender and loving.

“As do you,” you answer, eyes fluttering closed under his soft kisses and caresses.

After the utter carnality it began with, the dynamic has shifted to this slower pace—almost romantic, nostalgia swirling with a trace of trepidation of what all this could mean. So you take the initiative, needing to be rooted back in your body, in physical pleasure.

“I don't want to think anymore,” you mumble, recognising the telltale signs that he is wandering the same path. “I want to lose myself in your body.”

That handsome smile that hooked you in the first place all those years ago spreads over his face, a touch more character-filled now with the intervening couple of years but no less devastating.

“I want that too,” he concurs, moving his knees so he parts your legs, the back of your thighs sliding over the fuzzy meatiness of his quad muscles as he does so, hovering over you, engulfing you. This is what you have missed as much as anything. That feeling of being so wholly with someone else, a warm human body moving with, over, under, around you, skin and sweat, muscle and bone.

His lips are hot and wet on your neck when he nudges your entrance and slides in with one well-angled thrust, his sense memory of how your bodies fit together. Your inhale is sharp, and your fingers grip tight around his bicep as you feel that wondrous, heartstopping moment of being invaded viscerally, pushed open, your walls clinging to him.

“Oh my god….” It’s an unintended, uncensored, gasping response that tumbles from his lips. “You are on fire,” he hisses as he bottoms out.

“You did this to me,” you avow, wanting to fan the flames, to make him burn white-hot. A clawing need to make it unforgettable.

Your lips meet as he begins to move, and you are slightly overwhelmed. Not just by the physicality as you find a wonderful rhythm moving in unison, but as if you are floating between the world of the past and the very real present. A coming home, a full circle, a reunion. You don't vocalise it, but you swear you can see it in his eyes, too, as he moves over you. His gaze holds yours as he surges into your body and withdraws again, a tidal motion that makes you cling harder, chasing the moment you break together.

It seems strange this is happening during daylight hours. It feels more like the type of illicit, smouldering passion that can only come out after dark.

Your whole being rolls with the force of his thrusts, pleasure humming over you, so you push back, chasing sensations. Mapping the muscles of his back under your fingertips, his mouth rediscovering that weak spot on your neck that makes you shudder under him. His lips curl into a victorious smile as he surges harder, hissing as you dig your nails into his shoulder blades.

Sliding your feet higher on his luxurious soft sheets, you wrap your legs around his thighs, your heels nudging his shapely rear, letting your body plead for more. His movements become quicker as you grab one of his hands and suckle his fingers, his mouth open and gusting hot on your neck, watching you run your tongue over his fingernails. He groans as you suddenly suck them deep into your mouth, tasting the tang of your own juices and an undercurrent that is all him. When thoroughly soaked, you slowly pull those fingers from your mouth, little strings of saliva webbing between you.

“Touch me, Ben,” you plead, pushing that hand down towards the junction of your thighs, between your bodies.

With a devastating smirk, he does just that. Fingers sliding over your engorged throbbing pearl, just the right amount of pressure to make your cunt clench around him, a vice-like grip that has his hips and fingers stuttering to a halt.

“Fuck, do that again,” he begs.

With a smirk, you oblige, squeezing your internal muscles tight in a slow pulsing motion. His cock feels huge, hard, and heavy as you do so.

His eyes close, and a shudder you can feel runs through him, buried to the root, feeling his cock pulse heavily.

Then his eyes fly open, and the intensity there takes you aback as his fingers start to swirl at a dizzying pace, restarting his thrusts, urgent now, hunched over you, enveloping you, the air between your bodies hot and clammy as he pushes intently, pleading with you to come for him.

Your lips meet in an artless but deep kiss, tongues dancing, desperate hot breaths into each other's mouths. His fingers circling your clit pushes you towards your peak, the catalyst you need. The telltale ripples deep inside, clamping your body to his, his cries at the intensity fading as you are swept away, your vision whiting out. Ripples fan out to every fibre, that addictive mind-numbing bliss like nothing else.

You clenching on him is what pulls him over the edge, too. His grip on you is rough; his mouth slack on your cheek, curling his whole body into you as he cums, the warmth of it blooming deep.

No words are spoken as he collapses onto you, panting hard. As he recovers, you bury your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp until he is almost purring into your skin.

“Why the hell did we divorce?” you echo his line from earlier, and his responding laughter shakes your whole being.

Ravenous, after your exertions, he orders food delivery, insisting you both stay naked as you eat on the living room rug. Dusk slips to nighttime as you watch mindless, entertaining shows, chatting easily about everything and nothing, wrapped around each other like a vine, drinking excellent wine, and feeding each other.

He reaches for dessert, Eton Mess, and with a cheeky eyebrow raise, smears it over your naked breasts, using his tongue to thoroughly clean you up and tease you beyond distraction. Before you know it, he is covered, too, and you blow him right there, licking whipped cream from his leaking cock as his thighs tremble under your hands in that endearing way you remember. Before he comes, he begs you to stop, to ride him, and so you do - messy, sticky, giggling - right there on his living room floor, the rug abraiding your kneecaps, his large hands a vice around your hips.

“We definitely need to shower,” he opines as he watches you extract a shard of strawberry from his belly button as his cock slips from your body. You laugh in agreement as he reaches up and pulls a fleck of meringue from your hair.

Collapsing into bed with shower-warm skin, half an hour later, you fall asleep in an embrace.

The following morning

You awaken to his lips on your cheek, pulling you back into the curve of his body.

“Spend the day with me,” he implores, his voice rough with sleep.

“I want to,” you hum drowsily, reaching back to run your fingers through his luscious head of hair.

“Go on, be daring,” he goads into your skin. “Mrs Bridgerton,” he adds coquettishly, knowing those are now the magic words to make you do as he wants.

“Stop weaponising that,” you scold lazily, with zero vehemence.

“Not a chance,” he chuckles, rolling you onto your back and crawling over you, arms bracketing your shoulders, his mouth a lazy, lopsided grin. He looks positively angelic, his riot of hair backlit like a halo in the morning light leaking through the skylight. Even as he does the sinful thing of rocking his rigid cock against the apex of your thighs teasingly. Just as you push your legs out wider, welcoming him, he stills and instead reaches over and grabs your phone from the bedside table, handing it to you with a pointed look.

So you call in sick to work.

As a reward, he slips under the covers as you are apologising to your boss with a fake croaky voice and slides his tongue deep into you; you have to fake a coughing fit to disguise your groan. You grab a fist of his hair in silent reprimand, but it just seems to spur him on.

“If you had to call work today, I would have you in my mouth as revenge for that,” you slur as he works his magic, knowing he has gone freelance in the intervening years.

“I’ll happily put in a call to myself later,” he jokes unseen under the sheet, “and you can do as you wish while I tell myself I'm taking the day off.”

“Self-employment must be fun,” you comment wistfully, then cry out as he sucks so hard on your clit that you knock your phone off the bed, your leg kicking out so strong that he grabs it and pins you down.

“It has its perks,” his voice muffled into your body, “like I can spend all day right here… well, at least until you need some breakfast.”

You can't even form a response to that as his tongue spears into you; all you can do is hiss in agreement.

—

A little while later, Benedict is pulling ingredients out of the fridge to make brunch when your phone vibrates on his kitchen island.

“Oh god, it’s El,” you fret, putting down the cafetière you had just poured from.

“Why is she calling you?” he frowns.

“I was supposed to go on a date last night that she arranged,” you wince. “My very first one. But someone completely derailed that plan, didn't they?” you pout comically.

He chuckles. “Put it on speaker; this should be fun.”

“You had better have a damn good excuse for standing Dan up last night,” Eloise complains in lieu of a greeting.

“Well, good morning to you too, El,” you reply lightheartedly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Why does it sound so echoey?”

“You're on speaker while I make brunch.” It’s a slight lie; he’s the one making it; you are simply enjoying the view. Seeing as he is doing so in black boxer briefs and nothing more, your eyes mapping his torso with a covetous stare.

“Well, I'm waiting…” she points out.

“For what?” You giggle as Benedict pulls up behind you, crowding into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist, and planting a kiss on your temple. You sway slightly with his movement.

“For your excuse, and it better be a good one. That you are in a hospital somewhere, or you met the love of your life yesterday,” she warns, “and seeing as you are making brunch when you should be at work, I doubt it’s the former.”

“Maybe it’s the latter,” you breathe, her not realising how true that suggestion is, twisting your head to look at him, and he shoots you a molten look before your lips meet.

“Really? You met someone else?” her tone suddenly excited, forgetting her annoyance.

“It took me completely by surprise.” You exhale over his lips, and he smiles that crooked smile that makes your stomach flip.

“So… wait, are you at home?” she asks, suddenly very invested.

“Nope,” you pop the p in the word, and Benedict shakes with silent laughter, tilting his head to kiss down your neck, your hand sliding into his hair as you lean into his movements. God, he is good at this.

“Are you at his place?” she hisses, impressed.

“Maybe” you singsong.

“Take me off speaker, you nutter!”

“Why? Maybe he is enjoying hearing this,” you tease.

“He’s right there?” Eloise spits, disbelieving.

“Hello, El,” Benedict pipes up, between kisses of your skin, his warm fingers tugging on the knot of the borrowed silk dressing gown you wear. It's dark blue and swamps you, seeing as it's his.

“Ben?!?!” she splutters. “What the…? How the…? Whattttt?!?!”

“I'm hanging up the phone now, sister,” he rumbles as he opens your robe and slides it off your shoulders so you are naked. “Unless you want to listen to us making love over this kitchen island?”

“Oh fuck no,” she positively shudders and makes a retching sound. “Wait… you guys….what the…?”

“Don’t tell anyone yet, please,” your request squeaks, his erection pressing into the naked valley of your buttocks as he reaches in front of you to end the call.

“Goodbye, El,” Benedict laughs.

“You have a fuck tonne of explaining to d….,” her warning is cut off by him hanging up.

“She's going to be insufferable when she gets over the shock,” you point out and then sigh as his hands land on your hips and his warm, damp mouth is on your shoulder.

“A problem for another time,” he assures you as you feel him release you briefly to push down his underwear. He's now as naked as you.

“You meant it about the kitchen island then?” you simper over your shoulder and groan as he surges his cock between your thighs from behind.

“What do you think?” he teases, his voice pitched so low it echoes around his whole body and into yours.

“I think I could get used to this,” you whisper as he leans you forward over the cooling quartz surface and pushes aside your hair to suck insistently on your neck.

“Good,” he rumbles, “because I am going to fuck you right here every morning before breakfast.”

“Every morning?” Your breath hitching at the idea this might be something more than a one-time moment of madness.

“Oh yes,” he murmurs into your skin, “I want to spend every moment I can with you, beside you, inside you,” his tone smoky, and with that last word, he slips inside you, your responding moan so loud he huffs amused. “The noises you make, it's the same as years ago, so exquisite,” he smiles into your hair, the heated stretch as he opens you up, always so breathtaking.

“Feels so good,” you pant lightly as he bottoms out inside you—a solid weight pressing in all the right places.

“Yes, you do, my love,” the term of endearment slipping from his lips so casually, sounding so perfectly natural to your ears, you reach back and grab his left hand in yours, missing the sound your wedding rings used to make when you did so in days of old.

But then he starts to move inside you, and there are no more coherent thoughts in your head—just his name tumbling from your lips and his hands moulded to your body.

Nine weeks later

The hardest person to explain it all to is your daughter.

Everything snowballed so fast after that fateful day, you and Benedict spending every spare moment you could together—even sneaking into each other's homes after Emilia’s bedtime. It was no longer just sex; it was something much, much more. It's when she awakes one night and almost catches sight of him working in your home office while you sleep that you both realise the time has come.

Benedict turns up at your place as agreed. You open the door to him and place a lingering kiss on his cheek as he sweeps in, holding a bunch of your favourite flowers and a gift bag for Emilia containing all her favourite sweets.

“Bribery, what a genius idea,” you laugh quietly into his ear, knowing Emilia can see you both from her vantage point at the dining table, doing some colouring in.

“Daddy!” she calls out effusively when she looks up, jumping out of her chair and running over.

Benedict hands you the flowers and gift to pick up Emilia, swinging her up into his arms as her little hands wrap around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” her ask is one of happy confusion. “It's not one of your days.”

“Indeed it's not,” he smiles indulgently as you reach over and tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Mummy and I here have some important news,” he adds, looking at you askance with an almost bashful smile.

“Let’s all go and sit,” you suggest, gesturing towards the living room as you place the flowers and gift bag on the kitchen island. Emilia won't release her grip, so Benedict walks with her in his arms. She only lets go when he reaches the sofa, snuggling against him as soon as he sits, grabbing one of her favourite cuddly toys from the sectional arm as she does so.

“I'm so happy you are here, Daddy,” she beams, and you already feel misty-eyed as he subconsciously places a hand over his heart and agrees with her sentiment.

You initially take a seat on the chaise at an angle from them, but Benedict shoots you a puzzled puppy dog look and pats the cushion next to him. So, with slight apprehension, you swing around to sit next to him, and he slides a hand onto your knee, which doesn't go unnoticed by your eagle-eyed daughter on his other side.

“Why are you touching Mummy like that?” she frowns. A tiny part of your heart cracking at the realisation that she has never known the love you once shared—the one you are rebuilding slowly, piece by piece, day by day.

“Remember I said that Mummy and I have some news?” Benedict begins softly, his long fingers wrapping all the way around to caress the crease at the back of your knee, a nervous tick of his you recall like a ghost from the past.

“Yes...” she responds warily, tugging on the ears of her toy, instinctively concerned.

“Well… Mummy and I have been spending time together as we used to when you were a baby,” he explains slowly, “and we really like each other again.” His lips twitch a beguiling smile as he turns briefly to look at you, his earnest face melting the anxious lump burning behind your ribs. “That means we touch each other and hug and kiss.”

“Emilia,” you join in, your voice a little tremulant. “How would you feel if Mummy and Daddy started spending time with you together rather than apart?”

She perks up, and she stops her fidgeting. “Really?” the hopeful tone makes your emotions bubble up again.

“Yes, really,” he replies.

“Every evening?” her hands clapping together with glee, climbing wholly into Benedict's lap. “Please, mummy?” she begs, the eyes she inherited from him pleading with you insistently as if the decision rests purely with you.

“If that is what you both want, then yes,” you offer tentatively, your look drifting from her to him.

“I want nothing more in the whole world,” he states sincerely, his gaze never leaving yours, his Adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow as he does so. You can’t look away from those soulful eyes, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

“Do you love Mummy, Daddy?” Emilia cuts in, breaking the hypnotic trance, looking at him expectantly.

“I never stopped,” he confesses truthfully, the hand on your knee feeling weightier somehow, the lump in your chest appearing again, but this time it's the furthest thing from anxiety. “We just lost our way for a little while, that’s all,” he says as much for you as your daughter. “Everything is working out as it always should have,” he ends, his tone wavering with emotion.

“Will we all live together?” she enthuses.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely believing it yourself. It's something you had discussed just a few days ago, the realisation this was very real coming to you both. “We will. Soon. We just have some things to sort out first.”

“Where would you prefer to live, Emilia?” Benedict queries. “We will keep both houses for now. So you can decide for Mummy and Daddy.”

“Is this where you lived when I was a baby?” she asks, pointing at the ground.

“No darling, Daddy and I sold that when we split up as part of the agreement we signed.” You see him wince at the memory, his fingers gripping your knee tighter reflexively. “But that is okay; that is the past. We want somewhere better for our future together anyway,” you assure, feeling the weight of his doting stare as you speak but keeping your attention fixed on Emilia.

She nods sagely, her little brain absorbing everything you say with the fearsome intellect she possesses. Then she swings over the arm Benedict has looped around your knee and clambers limbfully into your lap. You accept her embrace, grateful and relieved, Benedict's arm releasing your knee to slide behind your head, grabbing your shoulder, and pulling you both into his arms.

“I think we should all live here,” she nods decisively. “I like my room here better than at Daddy's; it's bigger,” she explicates, a touch sheepishly.

Benedict and you laugh together at her flawless reasoning, your heart melting as he nuzzles into your hair.

“I do believe the lady has spoken,” he chuckles, his lips grazing your ear.

And thus, it is decided.

Two weeks later

You ask Emilia to keep the news under wraps until her sixth birthday party two weeks later. Agreeing that if she does, she could be the one to break the news to your families—a bribe, indeed, but an effective one. Eloise is the only person with any inkling and has seemingly kept it secret, so this will likely be shocking news to many.

The night before the party, after Emilia is safely tucked up in bed, you are sharing a bath in your oversized tub.

“Is there anything else we need for tomorrow?” his question lazy as you lean back against him, his hands rubbing soothing circles over your tummy under the water.

“Hmmm, the cake and balloons should be delivered in the morning; I think everything is in hand,” you hum, closing your eyes and resting on his shoulder.

“I was thinking…” he begins.

“Uh oh…” You interject cheekily, popping your eyes open as he tickles your diaphragm in playful retaliation.

“Yes, yes, I know, brains are your thing…” he grumbles good-naturedly, “but I was thinking long-term; perhaps we should start to look for a new place? If we sell both of ours, we could get something nice right around here, with a big garden for Emilia, perhaps a home office and art studio space for me. And you know…. more bedrooms,” the last two words uttered in a throatier register, those fingers spidering lower under the water into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“More kids?” your breath catching.

“Yes, didn't we always say we would have three?” he murmurs, his lips on your earlobe, sucking gently. Weirdly, the discussion of it all - buying a place together, having more kids - seems entirely natural, not jarring, even though you are less than three months into your new dynamic.

“That was when we were in our twenties, Ben,” you point out, but it fades into a hitching, needy sound in the back of your throat as his lips map the cord of your neck and his fingertips slide over your clit.

“And are you saying at the ripe old age of thirty-four, we are past it?” he checks, bemused.

“Thirty-three for me, thirsty five for you, old man,” you point out, attempting a dry tone but mostly just breathy as he teases you expertly.

“I was averaging,” he states, pressing harder so you moan loudly.

“You are never average,” you flatter, rapidly losing the ability to converse.

“I love how I can just shut off that brain of yours doing this,” he exhales gustily into your ear, his fingers circling insistently.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you groan.

“With pleasure,” he simpers, suddenly looping his arms around your knees to pull you open so he can slip inside you.

The following day

Emilia can barely contain the secret as the various members of the frankly enormous Bridgerton clan arrive. Your family, consisting of your parents and just one sister, is tiny in comparison, even as she strolls in with her boisterous boys and harried-looking husband in tow.

“What is with Emilia today?” she queries, ever the sharp observer, as she hands you a cheese board she has brought.

“Birthday excitement?” you shrug, finding a space for her contribution on the snack table as you attempt to sound non-committal.

“Hmm,” her mien thoughtful, “it seems more than that. I wished her a happy birthday, and her response was, ‘Oh, thank you, auntie, I almost forgot.’”

“I'm sure she was joking,” you placate. “Help me plate up the sausage rolls?” An intentional distraction. “Colin just turned up; I'm not sure the hundred I have baked are enough.”

A couple of hours later, food has been consumed, the birthday song has been sung loudly, and the cake cut and eaten. Music plays in the garden, and an alarmingly large gaggle of kids are all bouncing over-zealously in the small bouncy castle you have rented as Benedict materialises at your side. It seems strange that his hands do not slide around your waist, but the announcement has yet to be public, so he maintains a respectful distance.

“You think there is a child capacity on that thing?” You nod at the colourful inflatable taking up a good third of your compact garden.

“Simon claims to have it in hand,” he breezes.

“And you believe him?” you skew your mouth into a slant.

“He’s rich enough; he can pay everyone off if there are injuries,” Benedict smirks, and you can't help but giggle into your wine glass.

Just then, Emilia comes running towards you, out of breath from bouncing. “Is it time, Mummy, Daddy?” she effuses.

Sharing a glance, you nod, and Benedict fishes his phone out of his pocket to turn down the music, then borrows your wine glass, tapping a knife against it to draw everyone's attention.

“Everyone,” he calls, “our beautiful birthday girl has a different but very special announcement.”

All the adults turn their attention, even as the excited childish squeals from the bouncy castle continue in the background.

“Mummy and Daddy have some news they want me to share,” she begins as your eyes drift over to Eloise.

“What could it possibly be, Emilia?” Eloise goads, her face so smug you almost want to shake her. You settle for a pointed stare instead.

“Mummy and Daddy… are in love again!!!!” Emilia yells. “We are moving in as a family!” She then bows deeply for her assembled audience, no doubt expecting rapturous applause.

The assembled, shocked, and quiet faces confuse her, and she twists to look at you both for reassurance. “Did I do it wrong?” she asks, her little face screwing up in confusion.

“No, no darling, it was perfect,” you reassure, stroking her hair.

Benedict reaches down and hauls her into his arms, giving her the comfort she needs, and she buries her face in his neck, her translucent costume fairy wings slightly obscuring his face from everyone.

“Are you serious?” Kate pipes up cautiously as if a spokesperson for all those gathered, Anthony shooting her an incredulous sideways look that she, of course, completely ignores.

“Yes,” Benedict confirms, shuffling Emilia sideways to his hip and wrapping the arm not holding her around your back. “About three months ago, we were reunited by accident.” Gratefully, he fogs over the details. You are not sure a misdialed masturbation call should be the start of any anecdote at a family gathering. “And… things progressed rather rapidly,” he admits, giving you a quick sideways smile and a squeeze of your waist, “and here we are…”

“You’re in love again?” Violet checks, her hands clenched hopefully over her heart.

“Yes,” you nod to her, turning back to look at Benedict, “very, very much so.”

She starts the applause, which soon ripples out to everyone as they absorb the news. From over by the bouncy castle, there is a supportive whistle from Simon as he effortlessly frees one of his offspring wedged in an upside-down position before giving the thumbs up.

Benedict nuzzles your temple, and you know you are blushing as he echoes a gentle “very, very much so” in your ear before the assembled masses move in to offer you their congratulations in turn.

Twelve weeks later

You are idly clicking through houses on Rightmove on a Tuesday evening when a wave of nausea hits you so violently that you barely make it to the downstairs cloakroom toilet in time. Same as the previous day.

“I’m never letting you convince me that tacos from a food truck are a good idea, ever again,” you grouse as you re-emerge into the hallway after splashing your face and rinsing your mouth.

“We ate the same thing on Sunday, and I’m perfectly fine,” he points out as he reaches the bottom step of the staircase, having finished reading Emilia's bedtime story.

“Well, I'm sick as a parrot,” you lament, dabbing your forehead with a damp flannel you snagged. “And I'm so hot. I've been feeling off for two days on the trot. Mornings and evenings. I swear I've been poisoned…”

He suddenly goes very still, and your brow knits.

“What?” Your confusion grows as he appears to be doing mental arithmetic, touching his fingers.

“Aren’t you late?” he says quietly, looking up from his hands with the oddest but sweetest expression.

“What do you… Oh…” you trail off, and suddenly, your whole body runs even hotter.

OH.

“Are you?” his whisper so hopeful but reticent.

“I… I could be…” You stutter, a little blindsided. It's the best you can offer.

He pulls you into him, surrounding you, cupping your jaw, his eyes always so expressive. “We should find out,” he murmurs.

“The big Sainsbury's should still be open,” you blurt, unsure of what else to say.

He tilts his forehead against yours with an amused huff at your eminent practicality. “You stay here with Emilia; I’ll go,” he smiles, kissing your lips tenderly before backing away and grabbing his wallet and car keys from the hallway table.

Within the hour, you are staring at a white and blue stick again. Dumbfounded by the news, just as you were almost seven years ago.

“Fuck me…” You sigh under your breath, belatedly realising you really shouldn't have been as cavalier with your Pill taking; now you are having sex regularly again.

“I think that's the probable cause, yes,” he jests softly, charmingly treading on eggshells until he can fully gauge your reaction.

You break into giggles, rolling your eyes but collapsing into his arms, and his relief is palpable.

“I know it's so soon, and we only talked about it in theory… but…. God, I’m so happy,” he admits into your hair, pulling back to look in your eyes. “Are you?”

“I'm feeling a million different things,” you answer honestly, then reach up to hold his face, “but yes, I'm happy, Ben. A little shocked, considering I thought it was just bad tacos, but happy.”

His responding smile is sunlight and pure devotion.

“I love you,” he declares, heartfelt, simple, genuine. It's not remotely the first time he has done so since you reunited, but it feels particularly appropriate.

“I love you too.”

Two weeks later

Benedict takes you to dinner in Covent Garden after a house viewing. You both know it’s the one you will buy. A handsome Victorian detached with dual bay windows that felt like home the minute you walked in, even before you laid eyes on the expansive mature gardens and the all-glass extension that would be the perfect art studio for him.

Only when you stroll past a fancy bank after dinner do you clock the date on a glowing display; it's the anniversary of the fateful day you met at a party seven years ago.

But, fifteen minutes later, it's still a complete surprise when he gets down on one knee, Thamesside, the city twinkling around you.

“Marry me once more, y/n? Please? Be Mrs Bridgerton, again?”

There was only ever going to be one answer.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months ago

Text

rich girl 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as bullying, manipulation, cheating, noncon/dubcon, Lloyd being Lloyd, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your long awaited ascension to the Home Owners Association proves more than you bargained for. (Silverfox AU)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, side of Cole Turner

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

Marge plays with the perfect slip of her bleach blond hair. Her lips glisten a shade of pink that reminds you of watermelon and her long lashes perfectly frame her crystal blue eyes. She is the perfect suburban housewife, the leader of the pack.

The other women look to her as a beacon; they dress like her, speak like her, even try to walk like her. As you look around the tables, the cookie cutter women are almost interchangeable. You don't quite fit the mould but you've contorted yourself as best you can.

It's your first meeting as part of the Home Owners Association. In your three long years in the suburb, it's been your ultimate goal. Well, it was Cole's. Your husband says you need to keep busy and what better opportunity to make friends. Maybe a great opportunity but not an easy one.

Your husband just wants the best for you. You know that. Otherwise you wouldn't be living in this gorgeous suburb and your dream house. How could you want anything more?

Now, you can't. You've done it. You've achieved it all. An HOA member among the privileged and the pretty.

Caroline clears her throat and you look up. She stares at your french tips tapping on the table. You give a sheepish smile and stop yourself. You can't help it, you're nervous.

As exciting as it all it, you almost want it to just be over. You want to run home and tell Cole all about it. About how you're one of them.

You fan yourself with your hand, the sun beating down on the green lawn set with at least half a dozen tables. You're sweating through your foundation and the highlighter and the layers you felt were redundant. Your mascara is starting to stick. You glance over at Mitzy, there is even a trickle of sweat along her dark hairline. How?

You cross your leg over the other and focus on Marge as she calls attention to the front table. There, her closest allies break bread; Callie who you often mistake for Marge, Olivia and her strawberry blond locks, Eleanor, and older member who kept her hair highlighted and draws her brows on, and Shanice, the youngest of any member, even yourself.

"Alright, ladies, let's get to business," Marge calls out. You reach for your glass and find the mimosa drained. Right, you drank it all. You set it back and press together your wet fingertips. "Today, we have a new member!"

Applause rolls through the crowd and you sit up straight, unhooking your leg as you look around meekly. You smile, cheeks tight and your lips tremble. You're so happy but so terrified.

"And we know how we welcome new members. Honey, please come down," Marge says.

You take a breath and stand. You gulp and tense your calves as you make a slow progress across the yard, fighting to keep your heels from sinking into the grass. As you reach the front table, your fearless leader welcomes you with a outstretched arm.

"Our new members get to take on their very own HOA mission," Marge explains as Callie stands, a clipboard in her hands. She comes around beside her longlost twin, "so, Calliope, what do we have?"

Marge leans over and the two review the clipboard. They hem and haw, muttering.

"No, Mary is handling that already," Callie says, "these are the new ones."

They confer then peek back at their table mates, "ladies, please, 14.1b. Do we agree?"

The women look down at the pink folders and open them, fingertips brushing over paper to find the point in question. The look at each other but something in their expressions is uneasy. Marge clears her throat.

"Well?"

"Mm," Eleanor taps her nail on the folder, "yes, I think it will do."

The others nod, though Shanice does so hesitantly.

"Marvelous," Marge declares and flips the pages of the clipboard, wiggling free a pristine white envelope with the stamp of the HOA on the sealed flap. She holds it up, presenting it to the audience.

"By our next meeting, you will report back," Marge declares, "deliver this to the house on the label. Callie," she pushes the clipboard away, "give her the briefing of the issue before she goes. Now we will check in on action items." Marge struts away as Callie pulls loose a sheet of paper and hands it over, "good luck."

You take it and fold it around the envelope as Marge calls up Erin to present her progress in getting Suzette on Oakfront to remove her Venus statue. You return to your own table, near the back, and sit. Caroline sighs and you glance over at her.

"What house?" She whispers.

You let the paper unfold and show her the envelope label. She sniffs and squeezes your elbow, "oh, honey."

You frown and look down. You stare at the address, you're not sure you're familiar with it. 17 Willow Drive. That's not too far from Elmwood where you live. Should be easy enough.

💄

You review the directive on the slip of paper. Instead of going straight home, you head a few streets past your house to 17 Willow. You stand across the road in front of 16 and chew your lip. ‘Warning to be delivered to front door. Have occupant sign to acknowledge receipt.’

You sigh. You don’t like being the bearer of bad news. You wonder what exactly the homeowner did wrong. Their lawn is tidy and trimmed, the hedges meet the standards of the HOA guidelines, and nothing else sticks out from the row of suburban mansions.

You cross the street and flick the envelope with your thumb. You hover just outside the gate in your kitten heels. You feel bad already.

You reach over the white pickets and unclasp the gate. You stroll up the walk, admiring the landscaping. Huh. Paint colour falls within the standard and no unseemly ornaments. You can’t figure out why you’re here.

You climb the steps and approach the front door. You tap the doorbell and wait, looking around aimlessly. You clutch the paper and envelope tight as your heart races. Maybe all this isn’t for you. You thought the HOA was more a women’s club; they had a book club and social nights and all that stuff, you didn’t really think about the nitty gritty of it all.

You lean on your left foot, letting your ankle bend.

“What do you want, toots?” A voice asks from the speaker of the doorbell cam.

You smile. You didn’t reapply your lipstick. You bend slightly and wave at the lens.

“Um, hello,” you give your name before you continue, “I’m part of the HOA. I have um, I have something for you.”

You hear a click. You wait. You check your apple watch as the time stretches on. You peek behind you again then turn back to the front door. You hit the bell again.

“Leave it in the slot,” the voice growls, “busy.”

“Oh, right, erm, I do need you to sign--”

“Christ fuckin’ sakes.”

The speaker dies out again and you wince at the profanity. Oh, great, he’s already upset. You bounce on your heels and sway. You don’t do well with anger.

You hear the lock on the inner door twist and you take a breath. You steel yourself and plaster your smile in place. You see a shadow inside then the screen door opens to a naked man with only a hand towel to cover his most intimate spot. He drapes it just in front of his pelvis but you keep your eyes above board.

“Sorry, I--”

“I told you, I’m busy,” he snarls, his mustache bristling on his curled lip.

You swallow and your smile threatens to break. Maybe you should’ve listened and just come back later. You’re speechless as all your mental preparation flutters away.

“Sir, I, er, I--”

“Enjoying the view, sweet cheeks?” He scoffs and sends you a wink, “should I lift the towel or what?”

“Uh, no, please, don’t,” you put your hands up, the envelope nearly slipping from your grasp. “I...” You blink at him. His grey hair droops crookedly, the top longer than the trimmed sides. “Here, er, I just need you to read this and sign--”

He snatches the letter with one hand and turns it over to look at the HOA stamp. He rolls his eyes. He brings his other hand up, the towel clamped between two fingers and you block out his lower half with your palm and look up. He rips the envelope in two and drops it.

“You can tell the bimbos to fuck off,” He kicks the remnants towards you, “now if you’ll excuse me, lube’s drying up.”

He lets the door fall shut and spins around, giving a view of his ass before he slams the inner door. You gasp and bend to gather up the destroyed letter. You quickly retreat, cheeks burning in horror.

Now you know why Caroline seemed so concerned.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #series #the gray man #au #silverfox au #cole turner #ghosted

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