#I may write companion fics to this and the previous one where the reader is more happy after their transition and he notices but

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Spell book - Page 34: Transformation Spells Continued

Natsume x MTF!Reader

CW: a bit emotional but it's lovely I promise.

*throws at hyper speed* DO YOU FEEL SUPPORTED?!?!?!

I know much less about mtf than ftm and decided to use that to reflect Natsumes feelings (I am studying to get a better understanding too). Anyways I hope this makes you smile c:

-------

Would he still love me if he knew I wasn't a man? If I were a woman?

Negative thoughts like this and others raced through their mind but were quickly bottled up and the pressure grew and grew and grew.

Until one day she couldn't take it anymore and those feelings burst. There, in the empty library on the way to that secret room of his, she let the words free.

"I'm a girl!"

The words are so quiet yet they seem to echo so loudly alongside her heartbeat. It seems like hours before she gets a response and when she does she can't help but want to cry.

"...We're so vastly different yet so aliKE."

Natsume hums, his expression fond and he takes her hands in his.

"I won't pretend that I understand you FULLY. But-"

Natsume gently lifts her trembling hands to his lips placing a soft kiss on her knuckles.

"- I will do my part as your significant other to support you. You've always shined brighter when you're allowed to be yourSELF."

"And when you're reaDY, to come out to your frienDS, seeing a docTOR, or even start wearing the uniform skiRT-"

He rests his forehead on theirs as they sob.

"I'll be there with you every step of the way."

[nightylantern]

Yoo Joonghyuk x Reader; A story of two regressors

Haha didn’t think I would do ORV? Y’all I need more orv fics, HUGE novel spoilers so beware, but no explicit spoilers so if you are only WEBTOON reader and have no context of the novel you may end up confused, I will write novel free version, and it will be available later this week or next week so stay tuned!

You both were the same, yet different

The both of you had been given the skill “regression,” and thus you both had agreed to be companions, before Kim Dokja appeared followed by a noticeable Han Sooyoung. Beforehand it was just the two of you, the both of you bled together and teamed up in the previous regressions, the two of you wholly relied on each other and swore to always to keep the other in check, regardless of how far along you would be.

When you both met, it was your 0th turn and his first turn. You both were in different cabs and came out of the train, along with Kim Namwoom and Lee Hyunsung. Eventually meeting Lee Jihye and recruiting her aswell saving Lee Seolhwa from Anitus. You barely recall what had happened in that regression aside from bonding with the crew and having a playful relationship with Yoo Joonghuk, you teased him a lot, trained with him, and the two of you became each others support, each others weight. Was that to say the two of you were romantically involved? No, both of you were prioritizing your survival and plus, Yoo Joonghyuk had his little sister to protect. Regardless, you bonded over your power aswell as the fact that you would see each other again in the next life, until your quick end came within a few scenarios.

When you woke in your 1st regression, you recall Joonghyuk calling for you, clearly a bit disheveled, you were happy to see he also was sent back, but sad when you realised your old companions weren’t. It was hard, you couldn’t reminisce with Jihye about the early scenarios, couldn’t bring up the funny moments with Namwoon, or even small talks with Hyunsung unless they happened again…but even if it did they…felt so different. You recalled how Joonghyuk was a bit colder in that round, but still a bit hopeful nonetheless, and then the both of you were approached by Anna Croft, where you found suspicion, he took the offer she gave, an offer to save the world.

Once again Lee Seolhwa was in your group except her relationship with Joonghyuk was much more…comfortable I suppose. You thought you had seen his eyes linger on her on the previous round, and now you were sure because it was clear he had feelings for her. You often told him not to let his feelings take over, for they were in the middle of survival and loving someone would just be tragic, yet he continued to love, and while you warned him for his own good you couldn’t help but feel…petty.

You watched as they would eventually get married, and eventually they even were going to have a child, and while you supported them every step of the way your heart continued to ache, and then Anna Croft betrayed you all. You recall how Joonghyuk cried when his sister died, he looked to desperate at that time, but when Seolhwa and his unborn child died he went mad, so mad that he accidentally killed you, but even as you were dying you held on him tight, hugging him, apologising for being weak and promising you will be there in the next round. By the time he was able to snap out of it he cradled your body, and for the last time he cried, and then it all went black.

When you met in the next regression, his third one, everything that you had gone through felt so…distorted, it was as if after all of that time you went through hundreds if not thousands of regressions ahead rather than just one… but when you met Joonghyuk who looked rather shaken but closed off completely you confirmed it was the 3rd round, after all if it wasn’t the third round what round would it be, a secret unknown round hundreds of rounds ahead?

This round was much different, he considered you his companion but he was so cold, he monopolised what he could and was different from before, but it was understandable considering what he had went through. On top of that not only was Kim Namwoon dead and other people had survived, a suspicious man named Kim Dokja also appeared and had known the future. It was interesting, he knew of Yoo Joonghyuk but when he looked at you he seemed confused, and he was pale when Joonghyuk said you were his companion of his last two rounds despite Dokjas offer, but it wasn’t as if it was because you had taken the offer, it was if you were an anomaly, a glitch in the system, something that wasn’t supposed to exist, or maybe he didn’t know you existed as he seemed confused about your presence. It was different for you as you seemed to have recognized him, you never seemed to have met him but he looked so…familar. He wanted to help, but the last time Joonghyuk trusted someone both of you died horribly, so he tested him by throwing him off the bridge and sure enough, he proved himself through the scenarios.

It was the three of you until Han Sooyoung came along, another woman along with Sangah, Heewon, and Gilyoung who looked familar…it made you think every time you were stumped, but you guys remained close nonetheless. You would train, laugh when Kim Dokja did something to irritate him, and Joonghyuk would try his best to comfort you when you felt like you were gonna go into the regression depression just as you would with him(Though Kim Dokja was the one who would help the most.) There were times where he would even doze off near you, times where he would cook for you and times he would leave you with Yoo Mia, and if either of you “rested your eyes” on each others shoulder, nobody would say a word.

“Do you think this time we will make it to the end?” He asked you surprisingly, you thought his optimism was gone but it seemed that he still had hope left. “I don’t want to get our hopes up but…we have Kim Dokja so I’m sure we will be fine…” You trailed off, but he knew you were worried, he patted your head as he took his leave out of the base. Strange, he didn’t do that ever in this round…

Kim Dokja always took the lead rather than Joonghyuk this time around, and you were grateful as he always protected every one (at the expense of his safety unfortunately, which you would bonk him over the head for.) But even so, the way he always looked at you was so…off, it wasn’t jealousy, in fact Han Sooyoung who often was with Dokja in terms of plans even looked at you confused and suspiciously, it was as if you had never existed beside Yoo Joonghyuk, which couldn’t be true, you were in Joonghyuk previous regressions right? They knew Jihye, Hyunsung, Seolhwa, aswell as others and knew how things worked, and yet when it came to you… perhaps it was some prank as the two were always together, it had to be right? After all you were in the last [redacted] regressions-

“Wait, what did I just say..?” You thought as you blacked out

you were in a dark abyss, but you could hear voices around you, some were panicked and others were calm, and a huge amount of memories flooded through you, yet you couldn’t pick through any of them, they were all distorted, and suddenly you heard a deep but clear voice.

“A shame really,” the deep voice said as you felt a gloved hand stroke your cheek, “after all of those rounds of suffering, I’m left to see him reap the rewards? A companion who could regress despite the presence being non existent before hand.” What? “And a companion who knows the future, and yet that person remains as arrogant and ungrateful as ever.” He wasn’t referring to you, he was referring to that person. You wanted to see who was infront of you, or seemed to be in front of you, but the hands moved from you cheek to your eyes and covered it as your body, “relax,” the voice said somewhat gently, “you will be back with HIM soon.” As you felt your body becoming more relaxed and heavy, you heard him mention that person again, aswell as some mumbling, but there was one sentence you could hear from him clearly, and from the direction of his voice you knew it wasn’t towards you, but towards that person again, and his voice carried both resentment, and sadness;

“Why is it not me but you?”

Credits go to the ORV Novel and its amazing authors, I hope you enjoyed this story! I won’t deny that I actually tried to dig a bit into lore with this fic! I have no plans to write any sort of series in regards to my lore, but I do have an idea of the lore. If I ever do put it out there someone, as long as they credit me can do it in my stead! Farewell!

[pikapeppa]

Hi!

Just finished re-reading Desert Blooms and Western Wind, and gearing up for Becoming Whole and wanted to remind you how awesome you are!

But my actual point, I stumbled across you during my AloyxDrakka phase and then you managed to suck me right in to Kotaloy…

And then I got in to BG3, which you were right behind with Kiss me on the Mouth & Someone Great. And I have to confess I wasn’t all too keen on exploring a Halsin ship, let alone a HalsinxAstarionxTav ship but you’ve sucked me right in to that too…

And while my brain festered away on Rolan, I stumbled across Catskarky’s Mass Effect comics which preemptively started my GarrusxShepard phase (and forced me out to buy the trilogy which I’m now just concluding). And so anyway, that got me thinking and I vaguely recalled that I’d seen you had previously dabbled in the ME fanfic space and I was right, and I’ve come to this conclusion:

You are the ultimate source of good games and great ships (ignoring your unfortunate Shakarian oversight lol). So please, please share your wisdom! Recommend anything and everything. I literally value no one’s opinion more in this!

HAHAHA OKAY BUT this made me laugh, both with delight that you've enjoyed so many of my beloved ships -- but also because Shakarian is my OG ship. Garrus Vakarian is my first-ever OG videogame boyfriend LMAOOO. The reason I haven't written any significant fic for him is that my Shepard picks the control ending, meaning that she sacrifices herself to save the geth and EDI and thus she essentially "dies" and leaves beloved Garrus alone... and I could never write that. I can write angsty-ending ships, but I just don't have the heart to write a ship where one member of the pairing literally dies. (And no, I've never considered doing a non-canon workaround because I really like the control ending as it is, which may be an unpopular opinion, but I'm sticking to it!)

I have written one (1) Shakarian oneshot, though!! It was shortly after MELE came out and one of my BFFs got into Shakarian, so I wanted to see if I could bring myself to write them, but this oneshot is as far as I got, sadly 😭❤

(more below the cut!)

As for other game recommendations: off the top of my head, Dragon Age and the Witcher come to mind -- specifically Dragon Age: Inquisition and The Witcher 3, which are both the third installments of their respective series. DA:I has historically been the greatest source of fic inspiration for me, and my Geralt/Reader series might actually be my favourite body of work. You can play both of these games without having played the previous two games -- this is what I did, and both games are among my top 5 favourites!

To prepare for playing these games, beloved friends had recommended some primer articles for me, which basically just introduce you to the lore and the worldstate so you can jump in. Those articles are here, if you decide to check out these games:

The Witcher worldstate for dummies

The Dragon age worldstate for dummies

As for the rest of the Witcher and Dragon Age games: I can't speak for The Witcher 1 and 2, since I haven't played them, sadly! I played the first Dragon Age game (Origins) once, and I... struggled a lot because the gameplay shows its age now. I'M SORRY TO EVERYONE WHO SWEARS BY IT, but I just didn't enjoy playing all of it. The storytelling is good and the companions are a treat, but I wouldn't be able to play it a second time.

I loved Dragon Age 2, and I adore the companion dynamics in DA2 even moreso than in Inquisition, but I actually have only played DA2 one and a half times, mainly because the gameplay is also dated now. It's definitely playable though, certainly moreso than DA:O in my humble opinion, so I would recommend it! And I will say this for DA2: Fenris is the canon romance that I fell the hardest for and have written the most for, of all my videogame LIs. Take that to mean what you will. 🤣

If you like anime, my top two favourite animes are ones that I've also written for: Samurai Champloo (which would be considered retro now 😭💀) and Cyberpunk: Edgerunners. Both of these anime made me cry for very different reasons, and I highly recommend them! You also don't need to have played Cyberpunk 2077 in order to follow and enjoy Edgerunners (I haven't played it), so don't worry about that!

In terms of other recommendations, you can check out my writing masterpost, which lists all the fandoms I've written for and the ships within them. This could help you decide on what you want to play (or watch) next! ❤

If you want any more recommendations (movies, shows, books etc), feel free to hit me up with another ask or a DM! NOT THAT I CONSIDER MYSELF ANY KIND OF AUTHORITY ON ANYTHING LMAOOOO, I'M JUST A POTATO SMUT WRITER, I swear I'd only offer this if someone asked first 🤣🤣🤣

Enjoy!!! And THANK YOU GENUINELY for the praise!! You don't know how much it thrill me when people tell me that they got started with one of my ships and trusted me enough to try ones that they'd not considered before. It means the world! 😭❤❤❤

-- much love from your friendly neighbourhood Pika! xoxo

[elyvorg]

A Friend, Locked Up: post-fic plot summary

This is a bit of a companion post for one of my Great Ace Attorney fics, following up on how the rest of the story in that AU would differ from canon after the point where the fic ended. Spoilers for the game, of course! (and I guess the fic too, kinda but actually not really?)

The fic ended before reaching Kazuma’s trial itself, because trials aren’t as engaging in prose form and the real emotional climax of the narrative was when Kazuma’s friends choose to believe in him. I imagine readers can take it as a given that of course Ryunosuke successfully manages to defend his friend, and then the Professor case still comes up and that part goes similarly to in canon.

But I did have some thoughts anyway about how Kazuma’s trial might hypothetically go if this were in the actual game (like it should have been, grr), which I eventually managed to piece together into a full thing. So while I won’t write this as a fic, here’s a summarised outline for anyone who’s interested!

Trial start

-      Van Zieks is prosecuting, naturally – he gave it some thought like he promised Ryunosuke he would and decided to take the case. Partly this is out of wanting to be the one to take Kazuma down if he really is such a terrible monster like his father totally was (…right?). But in part it’s also because van Zieks has grown willing to entertain the possibility that Ryunosuke might be right to trust his friend, and so he wants to ensure the case is handled honourably and without corruption. He suspects that any other prosecutor assigned to it may not do that.

-      (Stronghart is cool with van Zieks handling the case, even though it’s probably a bit questionable for the previous defendant to do so, because he assumes van Zieks will happily charge in and destroy Kazuma for him without mercy, just like Kazuma tried to do in reverse. He does not realise that van Zieks has begun to soften up and doubt his hatred.)

-      Stronghart is of course still the judge, and he makes the same declaration at the beginning of “we will stop at nothing to uncover the whole truth” that he does in canon.

-      The prosecution’s opening statement includes confirming the blood and bullet hole found at the crime scene, presenting a photo that clearly shows said bullet hole in the wall.

-      Van Zieks also presents a pile of Japanese clothes belonging to Jigoku that were found in the cabin, and a particular loose button among them that wasn’t matched to any of the clothes. Investigators later matched the button to the cuff on Kazuma’s outfit, which is indeed missing a button. This is proof that it was pulled off during some kind of struggle in that room, and therefore that Kazuma did more than just swing a sword at a trunk.

-      This tracks with what Ryunosuke knows – Kazuma admitted he struggled with Gregson over the gun despite not shooting him with it – but it sure doesn’t help him look good.

-      Ryunosuke feels kind of odd about the missing button on Kazuma’s cuff but can’t put his finger on why. He noticed it wasn’t there when visiting him in prison yesterday too, but…

-      As Ryunosuke rightly pointed out at the end of van Zieks’s trial, the main big mystery that the prosecution needs to answer here is how Kazuma could have moved the body from the SS Grouse back to London without being discovered. The only person whose luggage wasn’t searched when disembarking the ship at Dover was Jigoku. And a trunk that looks exactly like Jigoku’s, containing bloodstains on the inside, was recently found dumped in the Thames.

Testimony 1

-      So, Jigoku is called to testify. He claims that the trunk found in the Thames is not his; it just happens to be an identical model, because he bought his trunk in London during his time here ten years ago and the same kind are still sold today. (It’s actually quite plausible that Jigoku might have bought his person-sized trunk in London last time, since he must have been planning to smuggle Genshin home somehow!)

-      The prosecution claims that Kazuma purchased a trunk identical to Jigoku’s and brought it with him to Dunkirk that day. Conveniently Gregson is dead and none of the ship’s staff are available as witnesses because the Grouse had to set sail again, so nobody can refute this.

-      The argument is that Kazuma put Gregson’s body in this trunk after killing him, froze it in the ship’s refrigerator overnight, then secretly switched it with Jigoku’s trunk shortly before the luggage check to get it past customs without it being searched. He then must have switched them back sometime after.

-      Jigoku’s testimony confirms that his trunk was being handled by staff out of his sight enough times between Dover and his hotel room for the swaps to have been possible without him being aware of it.

-      Ryunosuke’s first line of attack during his cross-examination is to point out the pile of Jigoku’s clothes found on the floor of his cabin. This strongly suggests they were removed to make space for the body in Jigoku’s actual trunk, and so there’s no way Jigoku couldn’t have known.

-      Jigoku gives an excuse that, nah, he just left them on the ship because he wasn’t going to need Japanese clothes in England, and he’s rich enough that he can just buy more. The fact that he removed them doesn’t prove he had sinister motives in doing so.

-      Ryunosuke then brings up that this means his trunk would have been rather light, and so he would have noticed an obvious discrepancy in weight between his own trunk and the one containing Gregson’s body. Jigoku is forced to claim that he did indeed never notice such a thing – but the first time he had to carry the trunk himself after arriving in Britain was upon reaching the hotel. This narrows down when Kazuma supposedly switched the trunks back: Jigoku must have had his own trunk with him again by the time he was at the hotel.

-      Then, this is what we can use the photo of the group at the hotel for in this version of the story! Let me make a minor retroactive edit to canon: the trunk in the photo always had a distinctively-shaped scuff mark visible on one edge. The same scuff mark can also be seen by examining the bloodied trunk that was found in the Thames. Thus, Ryunosuke can prove that the trunk used to transport Gregson’s body must have been Jigoku’s own trunk that was with him the whole time, and the alleged switching never happened at all.

-      Van Zieks presented this whole line of argument about the supposed switched trunks only because Stronghart ordered him to. He was always suspicious about its legitimacy and is quite happy for Ryunosuke to have shot it down. He is here to uncover all the corruption going on in this case, Jigoku’s and all.

-      At this point, Stronghart demands that Ryunosuke present some kind of proof as to why Jigoku would have ever let himself have any involvement in this crime, and Ryunosuke is forced to present the exchange assassination contract to establish Jigoku’s connection to Gregson’s murder. He's a little hesitant to do that, because it does also make Kazuma look considerably worse, but he does it anyway. It’s the truth.

-      Jigoku has no choice but to admit that he knowingly partook in moving the body. That’s all he’s confessing to, however. He still maintains that Kazuma did the actual murder.

Testimony 2

-      Now that he has nothing left to lose, Jigoku claims that he personally witnessed Kazuma killing Gregson, through a small hole in the cabin door as he was arriving back at his cabin. Kazuma then supposedly confronted Jigoku in the doorway and blackmailed him – with the assassination contract – into moving the body for him, hence Jigoku’s excuse for why he didn’t bring this up until now.

-      There is indeed a small hole of some kind in the cabin door that Jigoku could have seen things through; it’s visible in the crime scene photo shown earlier. The police weren’t sure what made it but didn’t have enough time to investigate it further beyond concluding that it wasn’t relevant to the case.

-      Part of Jigoku’s testimony mentions blood splattering over Kazuma when he shot Gregson at point blank range. (This is almost certainly a detail Jigoku only included because he vividly recalls it happening when he shot Gregson.) Pressing elsewhere in his testimony gets Jigoku to specify that the outfit Kazuma was wearing that day was the same white one he’s wearing now.

-      There’s no evidence to present to this, but Ryunosuke and Susato figure out that they can use the jury-style tactic of pitting one statement against another. Jigoku’s contradicting himself – blood can’t have splattered over Kazuma’s white clothes without being obviously visible afterwards.

-      Jigoku argues that maybe Kazuma had a spare of the white outfit that he brought with him and changed into afterwards while dumping the bloody one in the sea. Van Zieks of all people objects to refute this, vouching that the outfit used to belong to his brother and is one-of-a-kind.

-      Jigoku frantically backpedals, claiming that, well, okay, maybe he misremembered the clothes Kazuma was wearing and it was actually some other outfit he wore during the murder. Conveniently there’s nobody else around to testify and confirm he was wearing the white outfit that day, right?

-      At this, Ryunosuke can object and bring up the loose button from Kazuma’s cuff that was found in the cabin, pulled off during the struggle with Gregson. Proof that Kazuma really was wearing the white clothes at the scene!

-      In response, Jigoku accidentally blurts out something like, “But that wasn’t when it was pulled off…!” and then stops himself when he realises what he just said.

-      Kazuma picks up on what this is implying and mentions that there was one point during his questioning when one of the police officers got somewhat rough with him and grabbed his arm. It’s possible that the button could have been pulled off his cuff then and planted in the pile of Jigoku’s clothes to incriminate him. And Jigoku’s slip of the tongue basically just confirmed that this is indeed what happened. Oops.

-      Jigoku claims that this is only something he overheard the officers talking about and totally wasn’t involved in himself, and he points the blame for the fabrication at van Zieks. Van Zieks – who of course had no idea about this and is furious – argues that if he was trying to illegitimately frame Kazuma then he would hardly have helped the defence’s case just now by volunteering the fact about the clothes being one-of-a-kind.

-      Still, as much of a mess as this is, the fact that evidence was fabricated to frame Kazuma doesn’t actually prove his innocence, nor does knowing about this necessarily prove Jigoku’s guilt. While a regular judge would be more likely to err on the side of innocence since the fabrication introduced doubt (this is basically what happened with McGilded), the judge here is Stronghart. He is not about to let Kazuma off based on anything short of explicit proof he didn’t do it. Kazuma was still there at the scene and has admitted to his struggle with the victim, and, since the button was not in fact indicative of the clothes he was wearing at the time, Jigoku’s testimony that he saw Kazuma pull the trigger and get splattered with blood still holds.

-      Just then, with things looking dire and Ryunosuke and Susato at a loss for what else to do… suddenly there’s a meowing sound. This trial happens to be taking place in the one courtroom in the Old Bailey that has a cat flap in the door, and in wanders Wagahai, wearing a cute Iris-made kitty backpack.

-      Inside it is a photograph of… the door to the cabin on the Grouse. Just that, nothing else. On the back, there’s a note in Sholmes’s handwriting, reading: I took this after your second call that day. Many thanks to Miss Susato for the inspiration.

-      Susato is confused for a moment – she didn’t ask Sholmes to do anything in particular that day while he was on the ship – until it hits her. And she falls silent, evasive, too seized by sudden guilt to voice what she’s realised, leaving Ryunosuke to figure it out himself.

-      The cabin door in this photo doesn’t have a hole in it. And yet it was taken when Sholmes was there, long after the murder. The hole that Jigoku supposedly witnessed the murder through must have been added illegally by the investigating police, working with Jigoku, to allow the possibility of condemning Kazuma through testimony if need be. But Jigoku couldn’t possibly have seen what he claims he saw – and the only reason he would lie about that is if he was Gregson’s true killer.

-      (Sholmes only thought of taking this photo as a precaution because of what Susato did with the peephole to trap the criminal in 1-5. Susato’s brilliance there helped save Kazuma here! And this time it didn’t require any accidental tampering with the crime scene on our friends’ part.)

The rest

-      So Jigoku breaks down and confesses, including to the part where the exchange mastermind created a phony Reaper mission to give him the chance to kill Gregson.

-      Kazuma is officially declared not guilty. But just as Stronghart is about to adjourn the court, Kazuma himself objects to this, insisting that the trial cannot end here. Jigoku’s confession gave him exactly the proof he needed that the exchange mastermind and the Reaper are the same person, and he’s determined to use that to finally solve his father’s case, here and now, before things can be swept under the rug. The previous trial for Gregson’s murder originally set out to also be about confirming the identity of the Reaper after all these years; surely it would be premature to close the case without answering that?

-      Initially, Stronghart doesn’t seem opposed to the idea. However, once Kazuma and Ryunosuke explain why the Reaper has to be the man who ordered Klint’s autopsy to be forged, and van Zieks confirms that this had nothing to do with him and it must have been Stronghart, of course Stronghart tries to shut things down and insist the Professor case is closed.

-      Enter Sholmes, with the same part as in canon where he reminds the court of Stronghart’s “stop at nothing to uncover the whole truth” claim at the beginning, and the judiciary demands the trial continue.

-      Van Zieks is somewhat conflicted about this – one the one hand he’s glad for a chance to put paid to the rumour that he’s the Reaper once and for all, but on the other he’s not thrilled to revisit the Professor case – but nonetheless he agrees to pursue this supplementary hearing alongside the defence. He asks for a brief recess first, even though Mikotoba is right here, to help him prepare the details of the case.

-      As they return to the antechamber, while Susato is congratulating Kazuma on his acquittal, Ryunosuke is just beaming with joy and relief… and he goes and gives Kazuma a big hug.

-      Kazuma is stunned for a moment, but then he leans in and hugs back, tight. All he says is, “Thank you,” leaving it ambiguous whether it’s thanks for the defence, for the hug, or just… for everything. (It’s for everything.)

-      After pulling away, Ryunosuke sheepishly mumbles that he’s sorry, it’s just that he’s been meaning to do this for a while and…

-      Kazuma just chuckles and says, “What are you apologising for?”

-      Kazuma tells Ryunosuke that he’s leaving everything to him, trusting in him to find the whole truth of his father’s case. Ryunosuke is bewildered that Kazuma’s talking like he won’t be there himself – but Kazuma, as much as he hates it, has resigned himself to the fact that he won’t be allowed to. He’s merely a recently-acquitted defendant who (especially after his disgraceful showing the last time he prosecuted) has no right to stand in court for this.

-      Right then, van Zieks walks in with the words, “What are you talking about?” Kazuma’s still his apprentice and judicial assistant, and while van Zieks doesn’t exactly like him yet, he knows that Kazuma of all people has just as much right to play a part in seeing the Professor case through to the end as anyone. Stronghart might object, but as the lead prosecutor, van Zieks has the final say in who stands at his bench alongside him, and he’s choosing to have Kazuma there. (This is the real reason he called the recess – so he could do this.)

-      Kazuma still doesn’t really like van Zieks yet either, but he understands exactly how much of a big deal this offer is, coming from him, and accepts it with deepest gratitude.

-      The rest then goes basically the same as the Professor part of the final trial in canon, except without any of the bits where Kazuma is still hating and trying to blame van Zieks, since he got over that earlier in this AU. And in this version, both of them are standing at the prosecutor’s bench together!

-      (Okay, but this might actually end up making the bits where van Zieks breaks down over Klint look a little awkward, if he’s doing that at the prosecutor’s bench while Kazuma’s just standing there next to him. Maybe he moves to the witness stand at some point to testify about details relating to his brother, since this is a special trial and he’s not technically prosecuting anybody? I dunno.)

The end

-      Kazuma still has to be reprimanded for his error in overlooking the missing bullet in van Zieks’s trial, but van Zieks, as his superior, takes responsibility for deciding that punishment. He chooses something suitably laborious and unpleasant such as, I don’t know, having to clean out his office’s bat nook every week, perhaps. Something that registers as a punishment to appease anyone who might argue that Kazuma is getting off too easy, and yet that doesn’t have any effect whatsoever on Kazuma’s standing and progress as an apprentice prosecutor.

-      After all, van Zieks knows that Kazuma has learned from his mistake already. And he himself is guilty of making a similar kind of grave oversight in his own very first case due to being blinded by a desire for revenge, so it’d be hypocritical of him to think less of Kazuma’s prosecutorial skills because of something like this.

-      During the scene at Dover, Kazuma still asks Ryunosuke to hold onto Karuma for him. Instead of confessing to his murderous intent (because he already did that in prison), Kazuma admits that the thing that snapped him out of it was being reminded of Ryunosuke. Ryunosuke saved him three times over – from killing Gregson, from wrongly convicting van Zieks, and in his trial. He’ll never be able to thank his friend enough.

-      Kazuma says he’s been thinking a lot about how to move forward and, thanks to this, has come to the realisation that what he needs most is to not be alone, and to have people he can trust by his side. Since Ryunosuke’s leaving, he mentions that he’s thinking of asking if he can stay with Sholmes and Iris, if they’d have him.

-      Ryunosuke hears this and immediately goes all, “Well, why don’t we ask them right now?” He cheerfully switches to English to call over to them, asking if Kazuma can stay with them. Kazuma is awkward and flustered and was not ready to have this conversation just yet (he is good at putting off Difficult Conversations) but can’t exactly complain either because he did just say he wanted this. Sholmes and Iris of course are thrilled to welcome him to Baker Street and get to know him better. It was going to be so quiet and lonely in the flat with Runo and Susie gone, but not if Kazzy comes to stay instead! Kazuma is faintly bewildered and more than a little moved by this.

-      And most importantly, Ryunosuke and Kazuma hug again as they’re saying goodbye, because I SAY SO and they SHOULD HAVE DONE in canon. I don’t care how difficult hugs are to animate, this is IMPORTANT. They still do the sword-crossing thing too, of course, that was also good, but HUGS. They are FRIENDS.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

A Truth Universally Acknowledged // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hi angel! I love all of your stories, especially your Bridgerton and work! Is there any way you could write something soft and fluffy for Anthony and a female reader! PLEASE AND THANK YOU - Anon.

A/N: I haven’t written for Anthony in what seems like forever! As much as I love Benedict, I do love writing Anthony fics. This isn't overly long, I just wanted to write something soft and fluffy that’s entirely domestic as well. I hope you all like! Title is a quote from the first line of Pride and Prejudice (further quotes from the book are in italics).

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader.

Warnings: none - fluff, books, marriage, happy relationships, cute.

Word Count: 1.6k

The house is silent as Anthony strides through the waiting, open door. He nods his greeting to the Butler, Wilkins, before letting the weariness that had haunted him all day settle over his bones.

“Wilkins?” Anthony asks; no need to voice the question. Wilkins knows.

“Lady Bridgerton is in the Green-and-Gold, sir.”

Anthony smiles at the Butler. “You really do know everything.”

Wilkins smiles; nods his head. “It is my job, sir. Lady Bridgerton has already told me that you will take your final meal of the day in there, too.”

Anthony takes the stairs two at a time; refusing to accept his laboured breathing by the time he reaches the top. He was not an old man yet; he was still a very active man.

Turning left, he wanders blindly to the Green-and-Gold room named for the colour scheme of the walls and the furniture. His late grandmother had decorated the room; so fondly remembered by her ancestors that each refused to change a thing in the room save for any upholstering that needed to be done occasionally.

He finds you sitting on the left hand side of the room; the comfier side as argued by everyone who visits the room. Your legs are curled underneath you as your eyes pour over the page of an open book in your lap. From here, Anthony cannot possibly hazard a guess as to what you might be reading, but he feels a twinge of jealousy at the attention being paid to the book and not to him.

Well, love makes fools of us all, Anthony thinks to himself. “Darling,” Anthony greets in one single breath, as if the sight of you makes it all the easier for him to breathe.

“Darling,” You smile, standing from your seat, coming to greet the man you love with every fibre of your being. “How was your day?”

Anthony groans as he removes his jacket before tugging at the knot of his cravat. “Long,” He complains, struggling with the neckpiece. You smile at your husband, batting his hands away from his neck so you can take over. You feel the heat of his gaze as your hands work to do undo the knot he had tightened with a single tug; as the fabric unravels under your nimble fingers your husband reaches out to squeeze your waist.

“Thank you,” He whispers, voice full with an emotion you can’t quite decipher. Love? Weariness? A combination of both? Anthony looked ragged as you run your eyes over his face.

“I’m sorry that your day has been taxing, my love.”

“It’s all the better now that I’m here with you.”

“Flatterer,” You tease with no real heat behind your words. Anthony beams at you; eyes crinkling in the corners from the force of it as his hands tighten on your waist and his head dips to capture your lips in the kiss he has been thinking about for the better part of his day.

Breaking away, Anthony plants one, two, three kisses to your lips in quick, chaste succession leaving you breathless and highly amused. “How was your day?” He asks, curious as ever to find out what his wife does when he isn’t at home to distract you.

“Dull,” You answer plainly, enjoying the feel of Anthony’s strong arms around you.

“Dull?”

You purse your lips, thinking over your plans for the day so far. “I suppose dull doesn’t work. It hasn’t been dull at all.”

“Oh?”

“I’m only saying it because I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” He murmurs, kissing you once more. “What are you reading?” Anthony asks when he pulls away, spying the book laid delicately on the couch.

“Eloise let me borrow it. She gave me it when I called to see her this morning,” You answer, leaving the comfort of Anthony’s arms to take your seat on the couch.

“Darling, you know we have an entire library full of books, don’t you?”

Fixing him with an unimpressed look, you counter, “Your sister read this and thought of me. The least I could do is read it.”

“Alright,” Anthony sighs, knowing a losing battle when he sees one. “Budge up.”

“Pardon?”

Anthony gestures to the couch. “Make some room for me.”

A puzzled look settles across your face, but you follow the request, nonetheless, shifting on the couch so Anthony has room to sit down.

Anthony settles with his head on your lap; offering you a self-satisfied smile when you raise an eyebrow at him. “Comfy?” You ask, voice laced with humour.

“Very,” He responds. “Will you start from the beginning? I don’t want to miss anything.”

Chuntering about high maintenance husbands, you mark the page you got to before returning to the beginning. “Anything else before I begin?”

“Nothing… Oh, one thing.”

“That is?”

“I love you.”

Any previous ire you felt towards your husband disappears at those three magical words. The frustrated slant to your brow evens out as you reach out to stroke a hand through his hair and down the side of his face.

“I love you too,” You answer earnestly, feeling the power of the emotion running through you.

A peaceful look crosses Anthony’s face as your words sink into his skin like a balm on an open wound. He had felt neglectful lately; not spending as much time at home as he would have liked. He felt bad for leaving you so alone. Without children, you were your own companion throughout the day, and whilst you had both discussed having children, Anthony was to be left mildly vexed at the thought of you spending your days alone until a child was born.

The opening of parliament combined with Anthony’s seat in the House meant that he was spending more and more time in Westminster and less time with you.

A ratio Anthony was not fond of.

“I’m ready when you are,” He whispers; eyes focused on your face so he can watch every reaction and see every syllable leave your mouth.

Flashing an annoyed look at your husband, you take a deep breath and begin:

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

“What?” Anthony asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hush,” You admonish half-heartedly before continuing.

“However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.”

“This author is a genius,” Anthony exclaims, his voice awed as he tries to catch a glimpse of the cover to see the author’s name. “Who wrote this?”

“Are you going to comment the whole way through? I’ve barely read two paragraphs.”

“Sorry, darling, but I have to know. Who wrote this?”

“Her name is Jane Austen.”

“Well Jane Austen is a genius. In two paragraphs she’s captured what it is like to be a single man with a fortune in and amongst the sharks with unattached daughters.”

“Sharks?” You ask, highly amused at your husband’s words.

“Mothers,” Anthony shudders, remembering what it was like to go through so many seasons still unmarried. A Viscount with two seats of power combined with a hefty ancestral fortune – many mothers didn’t care whether Anthony would love their daughters; they simply wanted a fortuitus marriage that would leave them set for life.

Anthony thanks any and all gods and deities out there that he found his love match in you. You had taken him by surprise; Anthony had already resigned himself to a season with countless mothers forcing their daughters onto his arm. Until one evening early into the season, he had been listening to Gregory whine about the workload at Eton when his eyes met yours from across the room. In a total state of cliché, Anthony met your gaze, and he knew. He knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life loving you, worshipping you. He knew that whatever his future held, you would be right there weathering it alongside him. In a single glance from across the room, he knew.

You were married before the season finished; a special licence dispensed after a favour from the Archbishop called in. Anthony couldn’t wait; didn’t want to wait – he wanted to start the rest of his life with you as soon as possible.

Your light laughter breaks Anthony out of his reverie. “They aren’t all that bad,” You argue. “I suspect you’ll be worse than me when it comes to our children.”

Anthony snorts; doubting your words but loving the way you speak so openly about your hopeful future family. Clearing your throat, you continue to read on.

Anthony settles further into your lap; letting the calmness of your voice wash over him. After a moment of watching the concentration on your face, Anthony lets his eyes slip closed. He has no intention of falling asleep; he simply wants to enjoy this moment to its fullest.

“Mr Bingley was good looking and gentlemanlike; he had a pleasant countenance, and easy, unaffected manners. His sisters were fine women, with an air of decided fashion. His brother-in-law, Mr Hurst, merely looked the gentleman; but his friend Mr Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features…”

A snore interrupts your rendition of Pride and Prejudice. Pausing mid-sentence, you look down to your lap where Anthony has fallen asleep so peacefully. Smiling softly at the man, you close the book, placing it to one side before running a hand through Anthony’s ever-unruly hair. He hums contentedly, pushing his head further into your hand as you begin to scratch at his scalp.

As you watch Anthony doze dreamily, you feel your eyes lose the fight against the growing tiredness. Your hand stills in Anthony’s hair as you fall asleep alongside your husband, utterly content at the path your life has taken considering it led you to him.

*****

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @spideysz​

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Claire...may I request a lil' writing? I'm thinking of Javi maybe post Columbia and he builds up a routine. He goes to the same coffee shop every morning on his way to work and of course picks up the same order. You're a barista at the coffee shop and eventually, you can pin down his arrival to the minute so one day, you make his drink for the exact moment when he gets there, with your number written on the cup cause screw it, he's damn hot. What would happen? <3

Oh Maia, this was FUN to write for you!!! I hope you enjoy it! :D

Exciting update!!! GIF and media genius @nicolethered made an amazing video for me to go with this fic!! Go give her big love!!

Second exciting update! I was challenged by @quica-quica-quica to play the POV game for this piece (where someone Asks you to rewrite a piece from a different character's POV). So now there is a companion piece to this from Javier's POV, called: "Coffee Shop Girl". Enjoy!

For Now

Word count: 3900+

Rating: explicit, 18+ only

Outline: Javier Peña x “You” (Austin coffee shop barista; cis/het female reader; “blank canvas”/no physical description/no name/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: slow-burn; oral sex/F receiving; vaginal fingering; protected P/V sex; cigarette smoking

Ten days. It took ten days between the first arrival of the handsome stranger and you ending up in his bed. A new personal record for you, given how reserved you normally were. But it was nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you were careful. It was the 90s now after all, there was zero reason to have to keep your knees closed until marriage, as long as you used condoms and got tested regularly.

You liked the coffee shop well enough, situated on the southern end of downtown near the warehouses and a few clubs. It drew a full spectrum of Austinites: college kids closing out their club nights with breakfast tacos and pastries before going home to crash; early morning construction workers, employees from the big post office around the corner; and the usual boring lawyers and office staff who started streaming in around 7:30 every weekday morning. You could do the job well enough, even considering the odd hours: waking up early enough to open the doors at 5:30, serve the slow trickle of early morning customers with patience and ease until a co-worker joined at 7:00 for the morning rush. And the barista and food service parts of the job were physically but not mentally demanding. It was a job, and certainly less hassle than your bartending gig some weekends. At least here you only had to throw drunks out once a month.

And then one Tuesday in early June, at 7:47 a.m., he appeared. Tall, neatly groomed mustache, dark eyes, a sheaf of bangs swept to the side over his forehead. His navy blue blazer and tie said ‘accountant’ or maybe ‘state employee’ and his sideburns were just a little out of date. You pegged him at about 40, probably one of those men who visited the same barber their whole lives, not bothering to keep up with fashion trends as long as they looked neat and clean. When he reached to take his to-go cup of black coffee from you, you noticed that his ring finger was bare, and you liked that his fingernails were clean and trimmed. He offered you a nod in thanks, and you smiled at him a little more warmly than you had with your other customers so far. He held the door on his way out, pausing just a moment to let two women enter… and then he was gone, out into the bright sunlight and foot traffic and morning rush. You hoped you would see him again.

On Wednesday he came back again, a repeat of Tuesday except with a different tie, deep red today instead of navy. Black coffee to go, leather portfolio tucked under one arm, clean hands, eyes as dark as the coffee you handed him. This time rewarding you with a gruff and gravelly, “Thanks,” instead of just a nod. You relished the accidental brush of his fingers on yours as you handed the cup over, another flash of him imprinted on you, along with yesterday’s vision of him going golden as he stepped out into the morning sun. This time you watched him through the big glass window until he was out of sight, admiring his strong nose in profile, the curve of it perched over that mustache. Two extra seconds of handsomeness poured into your morning before you had to turn back to rinsing mugs and making change. You hoped that he’d come again on Thursday, making it three visits, a genuine pattern instead of a fluke.

On Thursday he reappeared, same time as the previous two days, waiting patiently in line behind two wake-and-bake potheads who were taking their sweet time staring up at the food menu. Today he was dark gray instead of navy, wearing a charcoal blazer and a sharp black tie. You waved him over with a smile, letting it melt all the way up to your eyes instead of flashing the tight, brief, closed-mouth thing you used on most customers.

“Black coffee, right?” You watched his face, taking in the dark eyes, the hair, the brief smile that made a surprise dimple appear in his cheek.

He nodded, “That’s right. Thank you.” He slid a rumpled bill across the counter. “Keep the change.”

You bit your lip as you turned away, preening at his thanks and seven whole words as if they were genuine praise. His voice was deep and rich, landing with a rumble in your own chest, like the remnants of thudding bass from a passing car. You poured the coffee and secured the lid, brain scrambling desperately for something clever to say. To make him come back, to talk to you more.

You turned and handed him the cup, and as he reached for it you again let your hand be in just the right spot to feel the brush of his fingers. Your eyes locked on one another, and for the briefest moment you forgot to let go of the cup. You wanted to swim in those brown eyes forever, get lost and let him drown you whole. He paused, and you thought you saw the briefest twitch of his mustache, a pinprick in his calm exterior before you drew your hand back. He inclined his head, a single nod, and then he turned to leave and your attention was swept back to the register and the next customers.

Friday he arrived “on time” and you met his eyes as soon as he opened the door. Today he was warm earth tones, a dark red shirt under a brown tweed blazer and no tie, a nod to casual Friday. You turned and prepared his coffee, tightening the lid and then holding it up to him across the room, smiling and tossing your chin up in a friendly greeting. He walked up and slid a few bills over the counter to you.

“Thanks.” He winked at you and something in your pelvis fluttered. “See you next week.”

You watched him go, stepping out again into a halo of golden sun, pulling a pair of aviator sunglasses from his pocket and putting them on before striding away. You suddenly felt lost, facing the many hours between now and Monday.

Your weekend passed in a blur of extra bartending shifts and catching up on sleep. You were forever napping at odd hours, trying to reconcile the slightly staggered rhythms of early morning coffee shop hours and late-night bartending. It wasn’t the hardest you’d ever worked or the worst schedule, but it wasn’t fun. At least, it hadn’t been fun until now. Now you had something to look forward to.

Monday morning you opened the shop and kept an eye on the clock. At 7:46 you poured black coffee into a to-go cup. Thirty seconds later, he appeared on the other side of the plate glass window, the navy suit and tie again, blowing out a long stream of cigarette smoke before dropping the butt and giving it a quick twist under his foot. He took off his amber-lensed aviators and tucked them into the pocket of his blazer, then pulled out his wallet. At 7:47 on the dot, he opened the door, met your eyes, and saw you holding up his coffee. And there went that smile again, the dimple, the wink.

You smiled as he approached the counter. “You psychic or something? Or am I just that predictable?”

“Both, maybe.” You grinned and wiggled your eyebrows.

He opened his wallet and passed a bill across the counter, larger than what was strictly necessary for a to-go coffee and a reasonable tip. “Great service, keep the change.”

You thanked him, giving him the full-watt smile and wishing him a good day as you opened and closed the register, putting the change into the tip jar. Thankfully there was no one else in line right now, so you could give his handsome figure your full attention as he left, watching how the navy blazer hugged his shoulders.

He went out the door, turned right like he always did, and then he turned his head and his eyes met yours through the glass. You should have felt embarrassed that he caught you staring, but you didn’t. Mostly because you realized that he had stopped to look back, too, which meant you weren’t the only one hoping for more. He nodded and lifted his cup in a gesture of thanks. Then he was gone.

Tuesday was the same, only with the charcoal blazer and the dark red tie this time. The wink, the flutter in your gut, the over-tipping. The glance across the counter as his fingers brushed yours around the cup. The aviators slung on as soon as he stepped out the door.

Wednesday, again, the navy suit and tie, another brush of the fingers, a smaller tip but a bigger smile, gracing you with that dimple again. Another gravelly, “Thank you,” that sounded warmer than he had to date. The handsome profile and a quick meeting of the eyes through the glass as he left again.

Thursday was the same, only better. You used a permanent marker to write something on his paper cup before you poured it precisely at 7:46 a.m., watching, waiting. He did not disappoint. At 7:47, precisely on time, you caught a glimpse of his profile as he came into view through the plate glass window. Charcoal again. He turned and saw you inside, then opened the door, holding it again for a woman exiting. You pointed at his to-go cup on the counter and smiled.

“You trying to get rid of me? In and out so quickly?” He smiled and twitched an eyebrow at you.

You smiled back, “Depends on how long you were planning to stay. We close at 1:00 a.m. after open mic tonight. After that you gotta go somewhere else.”

The handsome man chuckled and pursed his lips. “And what time do you get off, after the morning shift?”

“Depends on who’s asking.” You winked and immediately regretted it, it felt too bold, it wasn’t your normal mode.

He met your eyes and said simply, “I am.”

You felt your face split into a wide smile. “I finish at 1:00, after the lunch rush.”

He nodded. “Good to know. I’m Javier, by the way.” He stuck his hand out and shook yours. You gave him your name and a warm shake of the hand.

He fished a few bills out of his wallet. “Can I maybe stop by after your shift, take you to lunch sometime?”

“You can do me one better than that.” You rotated the paper cup so that the writing was facing him. “My phone number’s on the cup.”

His eyebrows popped up, and then he gave you an appraising glance, like he was impressed. You saw his tongue shift up under his lip to suck a tooth and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to see how that tongue felt on you. You flushed hot, tingling with desire.

He arched an eyebrow at you. “You do that for all your customers?”

“Just the best tippers.” You winked at him and laughed.

He stuck his hand out once more and you gave him yours. He lifted it and kissed the back of your hand, mustache sweeping ever so briefly over your knuckles before he gently released it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” his voice was low and something in it went straight to your groin, making your pelvic muscles clench. You watched him pick up the cup and go, smiling at you with that dimple through the glass as he left. You stood for just a moment, hoping, hoping, hoping. Maybe he would call you after work?

At 1:00 you finished your shift and handed the register off to Mike. You were just untying your apron and hanging it up when you saw a familiar profile sweep into view outside the window. Javier. Your stomach flipped over and a million little butterflies flew out.

He ducked inside the door and searched the shop for a moment, smiling when he saw you coming out from behind the counter with your bag slung over your shoulder.

“Hey,” you stood for a moment and hesitated, suddenly shy.

Javier slipped his sunglasses off and tucked them into his pocket. “Hey, I’m glad I caught you. Are you busy, or can I take you to lunch today?”

“No, I’m not busy. I’d love to go.” You smiled. “There’s a sandwich place around the corner, and a park we can go sit in.”

He smiled, wider than you’d seen him do so far. “That’s perfect.”

He let you lead, walking him across the street and around the corner to the sub shop. You made small-talk on the way there, finding out that he was from Laredo but new to Austin, a former DEA agent consulting for the state. You picked up your food and walked a block over to the small city park, where you told him about your roommates, your cat, your wish to go back to school and finish your degree. By the end of lunch you were both smiling, feeling that spark, the little magnetic pull that had started over his coffee orders. At 2:00 Javier said he had to get back to his office.

“... but I’d really like to see you again. Can I take you to dinner? Tonight if that’s okay, since you’re working tomorrow night.” He stood close to you, looking warmly into your eyes.

“Yeah, that would be great.” You felt that flutter again, that twitch of interest from looking into his warm brown eyes, seeing the way they crinkled when he smiled. You were so busy looking at his eyes that you didn’t see him reach his hand out, sweeping it around to circle your shoulders and pull you in for a kiss. You kissed him back, as urgently as was proper for the time of day and the public setting. When he pulled away to walk back up the few blocks to his office, you stood there dazed. Wow.

You went home and napped, then showered and changed into datewear. Javier picked you up at 7:30, and you were relieved that the little spark was still there. You had half-worried that it would wear off in the few hours between your lunch date and now, or that it was a localized feeling limited to a small radius around the coffee shop. But dinner was fun and warm, and by the end of dessert and coffee you didn’t want to leave him yet. You decided that you would be bolder than you normally were.

“Listen, my roommates are home, but do you want to go back to your place?”

Javier looked surprised for only a moment and then smiled, “Yes, let’s go.”

You kissed all the way back to the car, ran your hands lightly over the back of Javier’s neck as he drove, kissed all the way from the car to his apartment door, and tumbled inside together, feeling for buttons and zippers and helping each other out of your clothes. His erection felt warm and solid against your hip, and when he finally got naked you were nearly moaning at the expanse of his broad shoulders and golden skin. He was beautiful.

Javier walked you backwards to the bedroom and paused only to pull a wrapped condom out of a drawer and turn on the bedside lamp to chase away the dark. You lay back and watched him as he tossed the foil packet onto the quilt next to you and then knelt beside your legs. He looked at you as he ran his hands up and down your naked thighs. Then he butterflied your legs slowly apart and ran one warm hand up to your pussy, teasing you with his fingers, dipping them in and out between your labia and running them up to tickle your clit.

“Can I eat you out?” He asked almost shyly.

You nodded, a breathy “Yeah,” issuing from your lips. Javier dove down and licked into you with a rush. You gasped and threw your head back, clawing your fingers down into the blankets. Javier worked you open on three fingers and used the tip of his stiffened tongue to flick your clit rapidly from side to side while his fingers slipped slowly in and out. You moaned and fought the urge to close your legs while he curled and stroked inside of you, finding the spots you could never quite reach yourself. Within a few minutes you were cresting the wave of release.

“Oh God, I’m gonna come! Keep- keep going,” you gasped, “Just like that!” Javier kept his pace steady, working you along as you huffed and breathed faster. He curled his fingers just right and you sped off the edge into oblivion, gulping and grunting and making noises that were almost embarrassing, that didn’t sound like you, but you felt too good to even care. Javier stopped licking and slowed his fingers as you clenched around him, using the broad flat of his tongue to swipe a long, comforting stripe up the outside of your labia. When you were finished coming, he pulled his fingers out slowly and sat up on his haunches, smiling like a prizewinner.

He wiped one broad, flat hand down his mouth and chin, and then crawled up the bed to lay next to you, stroking you from hip to breast with his thick fingers. “Was that okay, cariño?”

You groaned out a chuckle, “Oh yeah, that was good.” You rolled onto your side to face him, and drew him in for a deep kiss. You loved the mix of how he smelled and tasted, your own salty musk blending with his spicy cologne and the smoky phantoms of cigarettes past and his after-dinner coffee. As you kissed, his hand came up to stroke a trail of goosebumps on your shoulder, and you reached yours down to stroke his cock to attention. The heft of him was thick and warm in your hand, and within seconds he was hard and throbbing. You ran the pad of your thumb up the bottom of his head and over his slit gently, and you giggled as he shuddered and reached down to pull your hand away.

“You keep going like that and I’m not going to last long.” His thick fingers wrapped around yours, and he pulled your hand up to place a long kiss to the inside of your wrist, blowing warm air out through his nose, the feel of it on your skin sending a thrill up your spine. He reached for the condom and opened it, rolling it down his proud length. He put his hand down and stroked your thigh before hooking one hand behind your knee to pull your leg up and over his hip. He held himself so that his tip was buried just at your entrance, then he thrust up and into you in one swift motion. You inhaled sharply and hooked your leg tighter around him, letting him set the pace. He nudged your jaw, nosing up into the crook of your neck and kissing you from ear to chin and back again.

His hot words sent chills down your neck and your nipples stiffened into sensitive buds. “Baby, you feel so fucking good, so hot and wet. Fuck, you’re amazing.”

You kissed him and shushed him, then you pressed an open palm to his chest, “Wait. Roll over. I wanna get on top.”

Javier grinned in the dim light of his bedroom, then he wrapped his big hand around your lower back and pulled you over with him. You shifted and settled into place, and the feeling of being speared on him, of his cock hitting deep inside, of his coarse curls rubbing against your clit was almost to the point of overstimulation. You whined and fell face down into the crook of his neck, smelling his warm spiced fragrance and going limp at the ‘too much’ of it all. He planted his feet flat on the bed and kept his arms wrapped around you, thrusting up, up, up into you over and over. He made the most delicious noises, sounds that might have been words or not, but which conveyed all of his pleasure in little grunts and groans.

You decided you wanted to watch his face, so you sat back up and braced yourself on your knees, rolling your hips in rhythm with his and helping him chase his high.

“God, you look so fucking good on my cock, cariño. So beautiful.” He started to turn glossy with sweat, tiny golden beads reflecting the single lamp beside the bed and making him look surreal. You followed a drip of sweat as it appeared on his neck and then ran down to pool in the hollow at the base of his throat. You tipped forward once more to lick at it, to taste the salt and the smoke of him and nip one tiny bite into his neck before moving up to lick and nibble at his earlobe.

Javier suddenly tensed his legs, giving one big thrust and then hissing out a “Fffff-” between his lips as he came. He thrust again and then stilled, relaxing back into the bed, but keeping you close against him. You let him hold you, your breaths slowing together until you were back, calm again, heartbeats back to center. He released you and held the base of the condom as you lifted off and rolled onto your back. He went to the bathroom, and you heard him run water before he returned with a wrung-out washcloth. He offered it to you, and you declined with a weak wave. He turned and tossed it into the bathroom sink and then motioned for you to scoot off the bed so he could turn the covers down.

He picked up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, gesturing at you with a raised eyebrow. You put a hand up, “Not a whole one, but I’ll take a drag off yours if that’s ok.”

“Sure thing.” He lit one and passed it to you, and you took a deep drag before handing it back.

“Thanks.” You blew the smoke out in a blue stream.

He crawled into bed and patted the mattress next to him. “Stay,” he looked at you with a smile. “If you want to.” He parked the cigarette back between his plush lips.

You smiled warmly and crawled in next to him. “Okay, just for a little while.” You checked the digital clock beside the bed. “I gotta go home and change, and then get to the coffee shop at 5:00. Can you set the alarm for 4:00?”

He nodded and picked up the clock, pressed a few buttons and slid a switch into place. Then he raised his arm and settled it around your shoulders, and turned off the lamp. You watched the cherry of his cigarette glow and then turn faint, bobbing in the dark as he moved to flick ash into the ashtray on the nightstand.

He murmured low, into the quiet room, “You know, I’m only here for the summer. The consulting job ends in August.” He paused to take the final pull of his cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. “After that, I gotta go back to D.C.”

You yawned and nodded. “No problem. We can have fun this summer. I’ll take you to Barton Springs and Mount Bonnell, give you the real Austin tour. We can just have fun for now.”

He kissed your forehead, moving down your nose to land soft kisses on your lips. “Okay, summer girl. I’m all yours… for now.”

---

Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

The only tag list I have: @quica-quica-quica @anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001 @deadhumourist @mandoalorian @javierpinme

[thefanficmonster]

corpse x reader headcanons where reader is a companion android that his sister bought for him? (android as in like in detroit become human)

Ooooh omg I love that idea so much! Here are some headcanons 🤗

~ Enjoy 💕

Companionship

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Android!Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, Mistrust, Angst 

Genre: Angst to Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic)

- "Why can't you at least try to tolerate me? Won't that be easier than avoiding me when I'm in the same damn apartment with you? And this apartment isn't particularly large, mind you."

- "If the apartment isn't big enough for the both of us I'm not the one that should leave, you machine."

- Trying is your strong suit, not his apparently

- Not that it leads you to much

- It always brings you to this almost scripted exchange with Corpse

- Your tries are worth little when he is not willing to try too

- And by 'try' I'm talking about him actually giving you a chance instead of assuming you're evil and harboring a hidden agenda of killing him

- The thought is so fucking ridiculous to you but you can't really blame him for what's going through his head considering it's been implemented there by the news he hears and reads

- Sometimes you can't help but scoff at that: you're the android yet he's programmed by others more than you

- The media has brainwashed him into the side that fears your kind

- And what humans fear they aim to destroy

- And those not brave enough to destroy the potential threat settle for despising it with all their might

- Yeah, Corpse is one of them

- He spends the majority of the time in his recording room, pretending you're not there

- Thankfully, he at least understands his sister had only well-meaning intentions when she got you for him as a gift since she was moving to New York for college and didn't want him to feel so lonely

- There's the thing though, one thing you noticed despite his barriers and walls surrounding him: he's constantly lonely

- And, worryingly enough, he doesn't mind it whatsoever and doesn't try to do anything to change it

- You're an Android but you still understand the need a human has for a companion in their life

- But it all changed one night

- You saw him in a different light 

- When you heard him cry at some ungodly hour of the night

- That’s one human trait you think you’ve had since day one, before you even had any human interaction: compassion

- No matter how often or how hard he pushed you away, you still wanted to be there for him, still wanted to be the companion you were meant to be

- Because you too were lonely, but admitting that would lead nowhere considering no one would believe an Android can feel such an emotion

- So, with no hesitation, you immediately went to his aid, though your movements were cautious, unsure of how to handle the situation

- “Hey...what’s wrong, Corpse?” it was obvious he wasn’t ok so what was the point in asking him how he was doing, you just dug right into the issue

- “So much. So fucking much.”

- He proceeded to tell you all that’d been on his mind as of recent

- All that bothered him

- All that he hated about his life and himself

- And you just listened, each word of his hitting you in the device that served the purpose of a heart in your system

- You may not feel pain like humans do, but there’s a whole chunk of you that’s more human than most people and it was more than enough to feel for him and feel the need to comfort him

- Luckily, he let you

- And even more luckily: it worked

- That’s what changed everything between you

- That night’s events turned your companionship into something more alike a friendship and not the previous status of roommates who ignore each other

- One question he couldn’t resist though

- “How do you know what loneliness feels like? Did they program it into you when they made you?” Corpse asked after a long moment of silence following the drying of his tears

- You couldn’t help but laugh: “No silly, no ‘soft’ emotions were implemented in me when I was made. However, you yourself implemented that loneliness with your behavior. Imagine not being able to do the only thing you’re meant to do: be there for someone is that thing for me. And you refused to allow me to fulfill my duty. It made me feel useless and like a lost cause, you know.”

- Another long moment of silence followed meant for Corpse to process all you just told him. Such dark things with such a lighthearted tone

- “I’m so sorry” he said eventually, unable to look at you, “But...if we’re gonna be friends I don’t want you seeing it as a duty you must fulfill, Y/N.”

- “Deal!“ You surprised him with your enthusiasm, “But you gotta promise not to push me away cause it fucking sucks. I won’t kill you, my kind won’t take over the world, I’m not evil and I know how to work the washing machine, unlike you - I see no reason for us to not be friends.“

- This managed to get a laugh out of him, a genuine laugh that brought a smile to your face

- “Alright, alright, deal.”

@maat-the-prescriptive  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @itsminniekat  @hacker-ghost  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze  @divine-artemis  @waterlilypat  @idontknowwhatthisisfam  @evi-ka  @classyandfabulous00  @redperson58  @lilysdaydreams @solowheein  @mythicalamphitrite  @axen-gers  @luckygirl144  @nj01  @buddyemily   @the-albino-lioness  @stardream14  @gdhdkfnn  @nomadicgypsyy  @preciousskye  @fluffysuicideunicornsworld  @o-kaelin  @manacharlotte  @awkward-youtube-trash  @lolalee24  @bonky-beerns  @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian  @strawbrinkofdeath  @teenloves  @tams0527  @browneyespinkhair  @starstruckllamapuppy  @daisychains012  @y0ulooked  @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life  @jula-pauline  @melodykitty  @just-that-bi-girl  @crazybutconfidentaf  @lowellshade @alphakees  @bellero  @weallneednamjesus  @starryhanji  @boiled-onionrings  @husherstan  @fockingwhore  @melaningoddessthings  @prettypastelpetals  @haleypearce  @godwhyamiawkward  @y-napotat  @daisychainyoonmin  @little-miss-rebel3  @free-wheelin-bi-sexual  @redmoon261 @darkacademic2  @wiseflamingoqueen  @into-the-end  @namikhai-i  @nastiablr  @thelittleplantlover  @mirktuan  @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny  @vintagegothlover  @easygoingtheatre  @itsrandombooklover  @miiaivi  @emmybaybee  @befourgolden  @jjk-is-my-shit  @eternalteaaars  @spacebadgerx  @princesslunalight  @acequinn14  @samm48  @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa  @fo-love  @marishimomura-blog  @therealglenncoco  @cinnamonbun332  @killtherandomness  @sanshinexxxsan  @fee-btheweeb  @press-lay  @cathleenpotgieter16  @jazzydoesstuff  @moonlxghtbay  @forestrain2000  @hyunjinhugs  @blood-of-fandoms  @lovellylies  @ukiyolixx  @simpforhpcharacters  @chrisdylan17  @parkerjisung  @pedernille  @theodonyous  @wineandionysus  @malfoystilinskii05  @morbid-x  @coryisagee  @jessewa26  @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365  @raeanneinwonderland  @indecisive-empanada  @gluttonypalace  @loriane2503  @btsiguess-kpop  @khaoticbunny  @lucidlycactus  @smiithys  @rottenroyalebooks  @kpopgirlbtssvt  @fangirl-tc27  @fr0z3n-1  @notmesimpingfortechno  @shotarosleftpinky  @kunoi-chan  @idk-whats-wrong-with-me  @yikeroonie  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @poetry-and-tea  @ama-do-writing-stuff  @wishbonewolf  @emeraldxhope  @t0xick1tty  @kusuinko  @speakyourselfloveyourself  @sophia902103  @lo-manburg  @classsykittykat  @dmgama  @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee  @btsiguess-kpop  @akaashi-baby  @gun-jong-simp  @geschichtenfee  @yerapotato-wp  @browneyedgirl365  @thysagclub  @sparklycloudnight  @helloatomicshadow  @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal  @lucy-bunny17  @aaliyahh0  @katluckybear  @boyleanti  @straybids  @franchesca-791  @cosmicstorm19  @averyisbackinthetrashcan  @aomi-nabi  @xlanawriter  @allensimpsforcorpse  @sunnyrae-cessh  @ladykxxx08  @meowiemari  @renupf  @booklover76  @sra-verissimo  @beatrhizn

[n0bamak1s]

mutual - mai zenin x reader

request: “Could you write mai x non-binary s/o, where mai is realizing that she has a crush on s/o, it'd be funny to see her reaction when the s/o get asked by todo before they spar, abt the kind of woman s/o like, and s/o just shrug and answer 'mai, i guess'.” - @814519

summary: reader seems to take a liking to mai, who refuses to acknowledge her schoolgirl crush on them, and todo somehow manages to be the one to get them to stop dancing around their feelings for each other. (genre: fluff, mutual pining, slice of life-y)

warnings: swearing, mentions of fighting, mostly just fluff

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i’m sorry to take a long ass hiatus again but i have some fics i’m working on rn!! thank you all sm for being so patient with how slow i can be T_T btw this one includes some very mild miwa x reader as well just as a heads up lol!

when you first transferred schools in order to master your cursed technique, your first instinct was to raise an eyebrow at your classmates. the lineup of students in your school consisted of a boy who might as well be a bodybuilder, a blonde girl whose hair seemed to defy gravity, an awkward looking stoic boy clad in traditional clothing, a girl with a gun holster on the side of her baggy pants who wore a bored expression as her gaze met yours, and a normal looking blue haired girl standing next to some rusty looking robot. with all their strange hairstyles and odd clothing choices, combined with how nonchalant they were about their mechanical companion, they might as well be the cast of some forgotten sitcom from the 80s.

after introducing yourself to your stiff new classmates, you were whisked away to be led to your dorm by the blue haired girl (would you call her a “bluenette”?) who you learned was called miwa. as you walked, you asked her questions about her cursed technique, to which she sheepishly smiled and explained how she was the most “useless” of the students.

in response to her shameless self deprecation, you simply scoffed and sent an easy smile her way. “you really shouldn’t beat yourself up like that miwa, if you do it’ll be much easier for your opponents to.” despite the teasing nature of your words, you really did hope you’d managed to encourage her a bit.

miwa turned to you with bright eyes and a sincere smile. “that means a lot, really! it’ll be so nice to have an upperclassman here who isn’t so intimidating. i’m always so nervous to ask mai for help with stuff, so it’s nice to know you believe in me!”

her smile was infectious as you mirrored your junior’s facial expression. “there’s no need to be scared of them you know, believe me, just because they’re older doesn’t mean they have any idea what they’re doing.”

she shrugged in response. “i guess you might be right, this morning mai was practically shaking in her boots about getting to meet you, so maybe it’s all just a tough facade!”

you thought back to the girl who had introduced herself as mai.

what first caught your eye was the way she carried herself. while next to her other classmates as she introduced herself to you, arms crossed over her chest and back straight, as if it was an attempt to look high and mighty. rather than a proper introduction, she simply told you her name, before looking away boredly. the both of you chose to ignore the way todo teased her, before turning to introduce himself with a smug smile. he opened his mouth to seemingly ask you something, but was quickly cut off by mai stomping on his foot, sending him a harsh look. she glanced back at you with a slightly softer expression and a monotone apology for “his idiocy.”

you chuckled quietly at the idea of the girl who presented herself as so blunt and cold getting all nervous at the idea of your arrival.

breaking you out of your reminiscence, miwa waved her hands in front of her nervously as she turned to you. “just please don’t tell her i said that!” her guilty expression rivaled that of a kid who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

before she could continue in her nervous exclamation about how intimidated she was by her senior, you grabbed her hands that had been motioning wildly to match her words. “don’t worry miwa, i’d never sell you out like that.” you let out a small chuckle as you examined the genuine worry on her face, to which she just sheepishly smiled. it was funny to you how scared she seemed of her seniors, but it couldn’t help you from getting an odd urge to want to protect the small girl.

“besides,” your smile turned sly “, if what you say is true, i bet mai would be too shy to even talk to me!” a loud laugh escaped your lips as you continued your way down the dorm halls with long strides. behind you, miwa sped up when remembering she was supposed to be the one escorting you to your dorm.

“come on, that’s not fair to hang it over my head like that!” she whined as she managed to match your pace.

as miwa trailed ever so slightly behind you, you caught sight of a newly familiar head of dark hair (under the fluorescent lighting you couldn’t entirely tell whether it was green or black.)

“mai!” you called out to the girl you’d been newly acquainted with, raising one hand in greeting and slinging the other around your very embarrassed looking juniors shoulders.

the girl you’d shouted to turned to you with heavy lidded eyes that gave her face a bored, almost annoyed, expression. her turning your way was quickly followed by todo, who you guessed had been standing next to her, glancing over the hallway corner to meet your gaze. those two made an odd pair, from what you could tell. in contrast to mai’s impassive greeting, todo had introduced himself with booming confidence, before going on to complain to utahime that he’d have to leave in order to make it back to his dorm to score tickets for a concert featuring takeda. in the moment, you had to stifle a laugh at the memory of such an intimidating looking dude having a huge crush on an idol with absolutely no shame about it.

mai opened her mouth to say something, but was quickly cut off by todos roaring voice. “hey new kid!” his demeanor had been as confident as you remember, despite the fact that you were pretty sure he’d forgotten your name in the short time from when you had left to see your dorm. you gave him a smile and a lopsided wave in response.

“did you snag those tickets you were worried about earlier todo?”

“easily.” he bragged as if you cared about getting a pair of tickets for yourself. “however, earlier i meant to ask you a question, but SHE,” he pointed a thumb annoyedly at his companion, “very rudely interrupted me by stepping on my foot.”

“todo…” mai’s tone seemed warning as her eyes flickered between you and him.

“as much as i would LOVE to hear what your question is todo, i really do have to go unpack” you smiled abashedly, pulling miwa to your side, who nodded with wide eyes at how unphased you were.

“it might be better to ask when we spar later.” he shrugged. “that way i can really hear your impulse answer.” he crossed his arms, clearly to look intimidating.

“works for me! i’ll see you then too, mai.” you winked at her as you tugged miwa along behind you. mai huffed at your embarrassing show of flirtatiousness, but you didn’t miss the slight flush of her cheeks as she turned from you while rounding the corner.

even as you were close to the door of your dorm at the end of the hall, you could still hear mai berating todo for how embarrassing he was.

“i think she likes me.” a cat like grin overtook your face as you stopped in front of your dorm.

“utahime said your uniform would be folded on your bed, once you’re changed you can join us for sparring.” miwa smiled bashful smile. she’d probably chosen to ignore your previous statement in hopes of not being dragged into any drama.

“thanks miwa!” you grinned and gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, to which she simply looked away timidly.

“it’s no problem, really.” she waved off your appreciation. “but between the two of us, i think you may be right about mai liking you.”

she bowed before running off, probably to get ready for sparring, leaving you grinning like an idiot in response to her revelation.

maybe the feeling was kinda mutual.

you were quick to change into your all black uniform pants and jacket, then breaking into a stride to the yard where sparring took place. that was, until you realized you were wandering rather aimlessly considering, you know, you didn’t really know where the yard was yet. peering around the hallway, your eye caught on an oh so familiar girl adorned in baggy black pants.

“hey mai!” you almost had it in you to feel bad for approaching her yet again.

almost.

“i’m kinda lost, d’you think i could walk with you?”

she nodded a yes in response, motioning with a hand for you to follow her.

after a one too many moments of awkward silence, you decided you’d have to be the one to bite the bullet and break it. “you know that thing todo was saying earlier about having a question he needed to ask me?” she looked up in a way that made her seem as if she’d just been brought out of being lost in her thoughts.

“what of it?”

“do you happen to know what it was? he seemed pretty serious about it.” well, as serious as todo could get.

to your surprise, mai attempted to stifle a chuckle, before a laugh managed to slip past her.

“it’s this totally dumb thing he likes to do.” she tilted her head slightly back so she looked at the ceiling as she talked. “to size people up, he likes to ask them what their type in women is.”

you let out a snort as you laughed, though you couldn’t say you were surprised.

“he seems like such a hopeless romantic, it’s hilarious.”

“yeah.” a soft smile painted her face. “but you’d better get an answer ready, if he thinks you’re too boring he’ll beat your ass.”

“really now?” you raised an eyebrow, to which she nodded in confirmation. “what does he classify as ‘boring’?”

she shrugged. “depends. whenever someone prefers personality he either beats the shit out of them or starts crying.” it was clear in her tone how exasperated her friend made her.

“what did you say? when he asked you?” you turned to face her fully, which made her realize how close together your faces were. for just a beat, she paused to examine your expression. despite your earlier teasing, you seemed sincere in your question. either you were oblivious to the blush spreading across her face, or you chose not to tease her for it.

before an answer could leave her parted open lips, she was interrupted by a voice calling both of your names.

“hey toshinori!” you smiled at the stone faced boy in front of you as you used mai’s shoulder as an armrest.

“it’s noritoshi.” the monotony in his voice made you stifle a laugh. “and you guys are running late for sparring, what were you even doing?”

her eyes glowered in his direction, clearly not in the mood to play hall monitor with him. “i was just being welcoming to our new classmate.”

he ignored her passive aggressive response and turned to you. “todo keeps asking where you are, so you might wanna hurry up.” with a swift turn, he began walking down the hallway with long strides.

once he seemed out of earshot, you burst into laughter, and from your arm you could feel mai’s shoulders shake from repressing a giggle.

“he walks like a goddamn penguin!” you referred to how his arms were wide at his sides and his stiff steps.

“him and mechamaru walk the exact same way, i’m starting to think he might just be a more advanced robot.” her dry tone was combatted by the way the corners of her mouth turned up in a lopsided grin.

“though, we should probably get going, even if i get a pass for being new here, i’m not sure how utahime would react to you being late.”

you didn’t notice how her eyes softened at your concern for her as you beckoned for her to lead the way.

“i don’t think she’d mind, after all utahime loves me for my pep and bubbly spirit.” her voice oozed with sarcasm while you smiled to yourself about how you’d managed to get her to loosen up.

the walk to the sparring field was quick, and it made you wonder how much time you two had taken just talking at the end of the hallway. you were greeted by the sight of your strangely styled classmates (plus the literal robot) beginning to split into pairs. before you could turn to mai with the question of partnering up, you were greeted by a todo with a firm hand on your shoulder.

“we’re partnering up, new kid!” it was more of a declaration than an offer. you smiled awkwardly as his shadow enveloped your figure, seeing mai be whisked away by momo out of the corner of your eye. if you’d looked close enough, you’d have been able to see the annoyed look mai sent at todo and the smug smile momo flashed at mai and her obvious display of jealousy.

you planted your feet on the ground that was caked in dust and prepared yourself into a fighting stance, with fists raised and legs steady. though it seemed you’d gotten prepared to defend from an attack that wasn’t coming. instead, todo marched over to you confidently. mai glanced over from her sparring, knowing exactly what was coming.

he called your name in his usual booming voice, which you were surprised he actually knew.

“what is your type in women?” he towered over you, his expression dead serious despite his absolutely ridiculous question.

feeling mai’s eyes trailing you, you glanced over to her. she mouthed something to you about not saying personality. you failed to hold back a chuckle, which seemed to snap todo out of his intimidating glower.

his gaze followed yours, which was still focused on mai for the briefest of moments.

“ohhhh i get it…you’ve got a thing for mai, huh?” he sounded like a child about to blackmail their sibling.

a furious blush overtook mai’s face practically instantly, while momo covered her mouth with a hand to suppress a laugh. you glanced between a boastful looking todo and a tomato looking mai.

“yeah i guess you could say she’s my type.” you shrugged nonchalantly, to which you could hear mai sputtering something about how you were just trying to embarrass her. miwa had a sheepish look on her face as she walked over to check on mai, though it only seemed to make her more flustered when miwa asked if she wanted to go to the nurse.

while witnessing the admittedly charming trainwreck happening in front of you, there was a moment for you to look back at todo.

“are you CRYING?”

“i have no shame in it. it’s like mai is my daughter and i’m walking her down the aisle at her wedding.”

“it’s absolutely nothing like that, todo.”

he ignored your blatant confusion at his reaction. “young love is so beautiful. you have my full blessing to date mai.” he sniffles and wiped his nose, then held it out for you to shake, to which you scrunched your nose in disgust.

“thanks for the ‘blessing’ and all, but now that we’re done with that, i think i should go spar with lover girl over there.” you threw your thumb over your shoulder to point to mai.

“you guys should join me and takeda for a double date! we can arrange a date once she finally answers my calls.” todo had a large grin, shameless about his tear stained cheeks.

“how about it?” you raised an eyebrow at mai, who had become significantly more composed in the time you hadn’t been looking in her direction.

“absolutely not.” she deadpanned, though her impassive look didn’t last very long as she leaned over to whisper in your ear, cracking a small smile reserved for you. “i’d rather we just hang out without that oaf, you know it’s embarrassing for them to see how you get me acting like a schoolgirl with her first crush.”

the moment paused for a split second for her to glance at todo, who was staring you down like a disapproving father.

“plus lord knows takeda isn’t answering him anytime soon.”

“I HEARD THAT!”

[tricksters-captain]

Benedict Bridgerton / Anthony Bridgerton Imagines - Best Man Wins Part 2

AN: Am I going to hurt myself with this fic? Yes.

(🎶🎶🎶) = Link to song

Overall Summary:  Entering a society you thought you had left behind, you find yourself in a tricky triangle with two gentleman you never thought you’d fall for.

PART ONE HERE

This Chapter: The courting starts...

Pairing(s): Anthony Bridgerton x fem!Reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,752

Warnings: None

Dear readers, it was a surprise to see a face we’d long forgot about make her debut at last nights dashing ball at Danbury house. 

Miss (Y/n) (Y/l/n) shook the social season within the first night by making her first appearance in almost 11 years. Word is that Lady (Y/l/n) remarried Lord Winslow and this has sparked her only daughters debut into society. After spending the previous 11 years off the coast of Kent, doing whatever it is widows do, Lady Winslow met Lord Winslow after a foolish incident left Lady Winslow in a ditch. Fortunate for her Lord Winslow passed by in his carriage and swept the widow off her feet. 

However, Miss (Y/l/n)’s appearance wasn’t the only surprising event last night but the fact the young girl had secured the attention of not one but two Bridgerton Bachelors. Bear in mind that the youngest Bachelor, Colin Bridgerton, is currently off travelling Europe and so didn’t have the chance for his head to be turned by our fresh faced debutant. 

Will Miss (Y/l/n) receive the pleasure of a call from the two well sought after gentleman? We will only find out over the coming days, dear readers. 

“Mama?” You entered the breakfast room with Lady Whistledown’s paper in your hand. 

Your mother was sat at the head of the table with a bowl of fresh fruit and a pot of tea. 

Lord Winslow had been called out to his estate in the country for an emergency just as you had returned last night with your mother. He said he would only be gone a couple days but it had not even been 12 hours and your mother already looked lonely as ever. 

You were lucky that Lord Winslow was a kind man. He really did love your mother and your mother loved him. Your mother had never loved your father, that you knew for certain and so it was wonderful to see your mother so happy with Lord Winslow. 

You knew he didn’t particularly like you but he was a kind and fair man who had paid for all of your new clothes, shoes and settled you with a fair sum of a dowery. 

“Mama, have you seen this?” You handed her the paper. “Lady Whistledown has dedicated a whole page just to us. She’s gone from reminding everyone of father’s scandal to how you met Lord Winslow and reporting of my arrival at the ball last night.”

Your mother picked up the paper and started to read it. 

You sat beside her at the breakfast table and thanked the servants for bringing you over some hot oats. You sprinkled some fruit on top before pouring yourself an orange juice, all the while, your mother read. 

“Of course she should mention the Bridgerton men. If you could catch one of them then I'd never have to worry about funds ever again.” Your mother put the paper down and took another sip of her tea. 

“Mother, you have Lord Winslow who will always make sure you live comfortably. You don’t need me to go off and marry some Baron––”

“––But a viscount would be nice.” You mother quickly added. 

“The Viscount Bridgerton is very well known for being a rake. I doubt he’ll be proposing anytime soon to anyone. I’m sure he only danced with me last night because his mother probably asked as she did recognise me.” You dismissed your mothers high hopes. 

“Ah yes. Violet told me that she had invited you for tea. She invited me over, of course, but I’d rather not be too social this season with everyone asking questions about our situation before Lord Winslow.” 

Your mother hadn’t worked before she met Lord Winslow. You brought in any extra funds by being a lady’s companion and your mother budgeted as she could the small amount of money her brother in law had given you both after the death of his brother/your father. 

Your mother had never been the most friendly socialite of the ton even before your father’s death. More often than not she rejected invitations for tea or musicales and only showed up to the larger events the ton threw. 

Your mother wasn’t particular friendly to anyone except Lord Winslow. Even you had a strange relationship. 

Your mother was one of the eldest Mama’s amongst the girls your age. She had struggled to produce children for years and then eventually she stopped trying until one day on one anniversary she fell pregnant and it held. 

She had prayed for a son to give your father an heir but she was blessed with you instead. 

She had never been cruel or negligent but she never had that particular spark for maternal love. 

Your father loved gambling more than he loved anyone or anything so paternal love was something you lacked during your childhood. 

Nonetheless, you were glad your mother was happy now. 

“There’s gifts for you in the drawing room before I forget to tell you.” 

“Gifts?” You felt your heart flutter in excitement and before your mother could say anymore, you were already rushing to the drawing room. 

You opened the door to see the room full of flowers. 

Roses, hyacinths, camellias, carnations, peonies, sweet peas.... and more. 

“My goodness.” You barely breathed the words as your hand shot to your mouth in delight. 

“They’ve all come for you this morning, Miss.” Lottie, your lady’s maid, beamed at you. 

“There’s so many.” You whispered to her with a bright smile. 

“Lady Whistledown did name you the seasons incomparable, Miss!” Lottie reminded you. It was something you didn’t say aloud to your mother but Whistledown did write that after mentioning the Bridgerton brothers. 

“May I be left to myself, Lottie, so I can read the notes.” You asked her politely to which she replied with a smile and a servants nod. 

“I already told cook to prepare some biscuits but would you like anything else before I go?” Lottie asked. 

“Biscuits?” You furrowed your eyebrows at the maid. 

“For your callers.” Lottie blushed a little as she smiled at you.

“Callers! I’d forgotten! Oh Lottie, I need you to run upstairs and get my pearl earrings instead of these and I’d love some tea as well.” You had a sudden panic to want to look perfect. Lottie took the earrings you had taken out and bowed out of the room at your request. 

You started around the room, smiling at each cheesy note from different suitors. Some you had danced with last night but most you hadn’t even spoken to. 

You stopped when you spotted a beautiful bouquet of white roses with several pickings of wisteria. 

‘You used to love the flowers at the front of the horse in spring time. I had to include them to remind you. 

Yours, Benedict.’ 

You cradled the purple flower in your hand and breathed in the scent of the roses and wisteria. 

You had no idea Benedict knew of that. 

Lottie returned with your earrings and your tea. 

“That’s a lovely bunch, Miss.” Lottie commented as you stood beside Benedict’s bouquet. 

“Isn’t it?” You found yourself wishing to visit the house sooner than later but you knew you’d probably have callers and your trip would have to wait. 

Your mother soon retired to the drawing room to act as chaperone as she expected callers sooner than later. 

She scolded you for taking too long to read the notes on the flowers and soon you found yourself sat on the settee with a book of poetry and your embroidery beside you in case your mother looked up from her own stitch work. 

It wasn’t long until the first caller arrived. 

And then another. 

And another. 

Your whole morning was filled with short meetings of many suitors. More than you had expected. 

The flower collection grew as more suitors came with their own bouquets rather than deliveries. 

There was chocolates from Belgium and macaroons from France. 

Your mother seemed happy with some of the more wealthy men and slightly less welcoming with the less fortunate. Her side glances to you said more than words ever could. 

The morning all together was exhausting.... But no Bridgertons...

“Where are you off to?” Violet peered up from her cup of tea as she caught Anthony passing the door. 

“Is it really any of your business mother?” Anthony questioned as he took several steps back so he was in the doorway. A bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back.

“If it’s off to see Miss (Y/l/n), I’d hold off.” Violet’s eyes met her sons and he could sense a fraction of worry there. “Your brother just left to do the same thing.” 

“Benedict.” Anthony didn’t question whether it was Benedict but rather stated his name in a knowing voice. 

“Miss (Y/l/n) may be new to society but she isn’t some play doll for the men of the ton to use and set aside like her mother had been.” Violet couldn’t help but feel an anger grow inside of her. She had cared for the girl when she was at a young age and she felt a sudden protectiveness grow over her now. 

“I do not intend to corrupt her if that’s what you think, Mother.” Anthony said flatly. Slightly hurt that his mother had insinuated it. 

“Then what do you intend to do? Marry her?” Violet’s question lingered in the air as Anthony clenched his jaw. 

Anthony didn’t really know why he was going to call on the girl. Was he really. interested in courting her or did he just want to be near her for some reason?

“Good afternoon, Mother.” Anthony excused himself and left Bridgerton house.

He decided to walk so that he would miss Benedict by the time he’d arrive if he took the long route through the park. It was a sunny day after all. 

“Mr Bridgerton to see Miss (Y/l/n).” The butler, Killian, had announced. 

You rose from your seat and smiled politely as you watched Benedict enter behind him. 

“Miss (Y/l/n).” Benedict took hold of your fingers and brushed a light kiss on top. “You look lovely this morning.” 

“Thank you, Lord Bridgeton.” You greeted him back with a short curtsy. “I also must thank you for your bouquet!” You suddenly remember, walking over to them and lightly brushing your fingers under the wisteria. 

“Mothers tip if I’m being honest.” Benedict told you as he held his hands behind   his back. 

You looked up at the man with bright eyes that he couldn’t help but look back into. 

“Please tell Lady Bridgerton I will be round for tea as soon as possible.” You pushed down your excitement to remain as ladylike as you could. 

“I’m sure Daphne will be glad to see you looking so well too.” Benedict let his eyes drop down your dress momentarily. You caught him doing so and felt your cheeks go pink under his gaze. 

“I am looking forward to seeing my old playmate.” You spoke, hoping your voce wouldn't fail you and crack. 

“I was hoping, Miss (Y/l/n), if you would do me the honour in promenading with me tomorrow morning through Hyde park?” Benedict inquired with hopeful eyes. 

You looked back to your Mama who nodded in reply. 

“Yes, that would be very agreeable.” You couldn’t help but let your smile grow when Benedict’s lips spread into one of his lopsided grins.

“I am looking forward to it.” Benedict took hold of your hand and pressed it to his lips once again. 

However, this time, his lips lingered on the fabric of your glove. His eyes meeting yours as they did. 

You hadn’t noticed you’d stopped breathing until the man lowered your hand. 

“If you will excuse us, Mr Bridgerton but I have some business to take care of this afternoon so I’m afraid this call will have to come to a close until tomorrow.” Your mother stood and held her hand out towards the door. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Lady Winslow. Miss (Y/l/n).” Benedict bid himself adieu leaving you and your mother alone. 

“If anyone callers arrive then do not grant them access until I am back.” Your mother left the room, assumably to use the chamberpot with the amount of tea she’d been drinking that morning. 

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked down at Benedict’s flowers once more. 

You felt yourself yawn as you suddenly realised just how tired you were. 

“Being the most desired girl in the ton can be exhausting, can’t it, Miss (Y/l/n)?” A familiar voice startled you as someone entered without being announced. 

“Lord Bridgerton!” You clutched your chest as you caught your breath. 

“Miss (Y/l/n).” Anthony smirked. 

“How did you get in?” You asked, looking past him to where Killian should have been standing. 

“Your butler answered the door and then there was a crashing noice and he pointed me to this door and so here I am.” He explained, opening his arms to show himself. 

That’s when you noticed the bouquet. Not one. But two. 

“Here, there are for you and your mother.” Anthony offered you the bouquet as he watched you spot them. 

“We shouldn’t be here unchaperoned.” You suddenly felt panicked for some reason. 

“The door is open. I’m sure your mama won’t be long.” Anthony took a deeper step into the room and place the bouquets on the table. 

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.” You examined them from a careful distance. 

“I believe I saw my brother leaving here from up the street.” Anthony told you as he placed his hands behind his back. 

“Ah.” You nodded, “Yes, he was here but moments ago.” 

Anthony cocked his eyebrow with an amused look on his face. 

“We were just talking about your mother and your sister. Your mother has invited me for tea and I told Benedict to tell your mother that I’ll be round to see her as soon as I can.” You found yourself rambling. 

“You are welcome in Bridgerton house any time.” Anthony extended the invitation as the Viscount. 

“Thank you.” You nodded politely. “So what has brought you to visit me today?”

It was a stupid question but anything to fill the silence.

“Well after tonight, I rather felt like seeing you again.” Anthony rocked on his heels as he spoke, scrunching his face as if he’d just thought of it. 

He was teasing you and you knew it. 

“Is that so?” You tilted your head up slightly with a smile. “It’s not often, I hear, that Anthony Bridgerton visits any lady of respectability after spending the night with her.” The words had come out before you could stop them and Anthony found himself laughing as you tried not to blush. 

“That is where you are wrong. I do not spend my nights with any respectable ladies.” Anthony knew you were playing a game. He would never had responded this way unless he wanted to push your buttons. 

“Ah yes. Opera singers, actresses and such, isn’t it? At least that’s what I hear from Whistledown nowadays.” You thought yourself cheeky. 

“So you believe everything Whistledown writes?” Anthony asked, stepping closer to you again. 

“Everything she has written so far has been correct.” You defended your answer. 

“From the look of this room, I fear she may be correct about one thing at least.”Anthony gestured to all the flowers. 

“And that is?” You followed his gesture. 

“That you are the seasons incomparable. Perhaps the incomparable of any season thus.” Anthony’s compliment made you catch your breath in your throat. 

“Ah! Mr Bridgerton. I hope I hadn't left you waiting too long.” Your mother interrupted at just the right time. 

“Unfortunately, Mrs Winslow, I must be off now. I only came by to give these to Miss (Y/l/n) and yourself.” Anthony picked up the bouquet and handed to your mother before allowing himself to approach you. 

Your eyes met his as he handed you the flowers. 

His finger touched your own as he passed the bouquet over and you broke eye contact to retreat slightly. Not that your mother had noticed. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Bridgerton.” You said quickly. 

“Good afternoon, Miss (y/l/n).” Anthony kissed your hand like he had before as has his brother. 

And then he left. 

(PART 3 HERE)

[sweetpickolwarrior]

The Three Times You Didn’t Want Them To Hear You, The One Time You Did (Part 3)

Established fic

Small!Brown!Female!Reader

Not too apparent but just letting you know in case.

Fic summary: You have been travelling with geralt and Jaskier for quite some time, you had always been told that your voice would take you places before you had no choice but to abandon your previous life. You still loved it though. This fic explores the times you let go and let yourself sing. We also explore your backstory and the developing relationship with your older and protective companions :)

PART 1 HERE PART 2 HERE

Chapter summary: Bit of a filler chapter, the wait was more so to plan out the rest of the story clearly. Y/N wants to repay geralt for his kindness and show Jaskier that she does not hate him, but has trouble with words and such. Further apologies for the wait... enjoy!

The fact that you had not been sober enough to truly appreciate the room that Geralt had decided to treat you with left you with a pang of guilt, but a wavering reluctance to bring up anything about that night lest he unnecessarily recall the sound of your voice. You don’t suppose he cared much, as far as you could pick out from that night, it wasn't something that mattered very much to him… but then why the room? The situation slightly baffled you. You much preferred going from contract to contract, tavern to tavern, losing yourself in the endeavours of your companions. You roamed the streets of this new, unusually pleasant town, the bustle of the morning bubbling through. Your mind turned to the small sack you had swaddled at the very bottom of your pack buried beneath your myriad of gatherings from your travels. A small, worn leather sack with a drawstring through the top, wrapped in an old sock that had outlived its original duty a few winters ago sat almost full, the weight of the coin inside at most an apple or two. You had kept it for emergencies, a few loaves of bread and some meat if rations had become sparse, a promise payment for a healer or mage, should one or more of you fall incapacitated while coin was low, an emergency room should the cold threaten to settle in someones bones too cosily, and should you feel the need to express gratitude to a generous but stoic witcher, apparently.

You wandered past a bakers stall, sweet pastries dusted with sugar beckoned, small honey dipped loaves with specks of lavender peeking through the golden slopes glinted in the morning light, puffy buns that had been baked with a clever twist in the top to result in a soft swirl sat in a neat row identical to the sweet fresh bread Jaskier had pressed into your palm earlier. You cringed at the thought of leaving so abruptly and didn't like all this coaxing going on, and hoped he would drop the subject so you could shove the topic down your tunic and carry on your simple shenanigans with the bard.

You strolled through, eyes on the dry dirt of the worn path through the centre, ladies walking with shawls wrapped tight around their shoulders gave you curt, tight-lipped greeting smiles as you passed through looking thoroughly disheveled. You had given up on dresses, petticoats, stockings and other such extraneous garments when tripping up on hems or sweating through layers upon layers had become more trouble than your chagrin had been worth. A tunic and breeches were sported now, along with unkempt, thick jet black hair. You tended to forget what a sight you would be to normal folks, constantly surrounded by the bard in his gaudy and intricate clothing (you still didn't know how he survived on the path) and a burly witcher clad almost always in armour and under that, similar garments to yourself. you supposed the three of you stuck out like an arrow between the eyes. Your mind flashed to what your mother may have said should she see you like this. It confused you for a moment, these memories suddenly deciding they were welcome in your conscious thoughts over the past few days. you stuffed the sudden pang of guilt and shame back into oblivion as your hands moved to your tangled mop, carding roughly through so you may find some semblance of being put together.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You tried hard not to cast your eyes down to your fingers, out of practice as they were. You tried to feel the sections, pick up more as you went, comb through soft with your fingers lest the ends get tangled, keep hold of the ribbon. Roach was being very patient with you. The fire warmed your back as you sat on your knees, tending to a horse who had decided to sit for you. You didn't know much of equine tendencies, but had heard that horses do not sit save for when it was going to rain. Your mind moved to days where your little troop had no choice but to trudge through hail, rain and thunder. She did not object and kept on wonderfully through these times and was rewarded with kisses and slips of dried fruit from you later on.

She had decided to understand what coaxing her to the floor with a brushing, soft words and rubs on her neck had meant that night and folded her legs, coming down with an impressive and somehow graceful thud. You supposed you couldn't know everything about everything and the clearest answer was that she’s just a very good girl. You relaxed as your fingers fell into a rhythm - right strand, left strand, ribbon, taking care to adjust the material so the nicer side was showing. “Expensive.” Geralt stated simply from behind. He was checking through his own pack, counting off vials of witcher potions and such. “Yes, well - an extra room must have cost.. and the food I didn’t touch” you focused on your hands, knowing Geralt was probably trying to avoid eye contact, too. After hearing a somewhat soft “hmm”, your attention returned to your fingers, having now grown a mind of their own. Roach’s auburn mane turned a dark coal in your minds eye, her soft huffs to small complaints of tugging too hard “hush now, or it won’t look nice” you barely whispered as her head jerked, it was an impossible task to try tie the hair of any child into a neat row, your sisters no exception. Your breath slowed as your mothers lullaby sat in between your lips, you tried to grasp the first note of the soft song.

Sisters? Here?

Your knees were cold and sore, kneeling on the ground so long, knobs of grass settling aches into your muscles; your hair unkempt and hastily scraped back, with a small leather tie, bumps hilling over your scalp that you had no care of. Your hands were dirty, grubby from foraging scraps of dry wood to keep warm through the night. Calloused from the past few years of plucking the string of your bow with arrows that reminded you with every swift hit that death was something permanent, immediate, inescapable. These hands were not the same ones that softly put braids in your sisters’ hair. These calluses were not the same ones that came from making music.

The first note of that bloody lullaby froze on your toungue.Best to stop trying to live in the past. Not that you were, trying that is. You wanted nothing more than those memories to keep sitting in the little box in your mind where they were meant to be. Happy, silent, unbothering. Instead they kept feeling the need to rise up, to pester you and drag you away, remind you that those days would never come back, that your whole life had vanished.

Well, this was your life now and different as it was, you needed to live in it. You pushed away the offending memories for the second time that day, focusing on finishing Roach’s mane.

Impeccable timing as always, Jaskier came strolling through after having washed everyone’s clothes in a nearby stream, no doubt a vein of the river you had found yourself in those few days ago. “Honestly, why do I bother? They're bound by fate to stink of ash and dirt anyway- I know! I could write a shanty about the smoked Witcher’s shirt - a real pub sway! Sometimes he smells of heroics and adventure! The whiff of a lady’s perfume often, but will always return to the ash of a trusty campfire” he leaned to put the folded pile down neatly. You were in awe of how these thoughts came running from your musical friend, you were convinced that he could write a song about watching clothes dry and still make it magnificent.

Ah. Exactly.

A dramatic gasp came from the bard, no doubt with a soft hand upon his chest. Your fingers tensed as you pat roach and tried to seem as nonchalant as possible.

"Now! Which one of you has been able to tie a bow so pretty all this time?”

You had laced the ribbon, as careful as you could to not disturb the strings, behind where they were pulled taut to the tuning pegs of Jaskier's lute, taking care that the tails would not brush against the front or impair his hands while playing. The ribbon you had bought was a soft lavender colour, embroidered with a deep violet, floral and feathery motifs weaving through the sleek fabric. You turned to see Jaskier caressing the fine fabric “I shall have to have an outfit made to go with this! Oh what a look that could be for the bardic competition this autumn! Simply revolutionary, a great stride forward in musical fashion! Bows woven through lutes, gods-” a theatrical palm to the forehead “How had I not thought of this before- and Roach! Oh! Exquisite, Y/N,” it seemed he had finally clocked onto the fact that this was your doing, both you and Geralt huffing amusedly as he was practically flying with excitement “I daresay Roach could be a fine show horse! Beautifully healthy and muscular, a shining coat, those deep glistening eyes- “She’s not a show horse” Geralt grumbled "I said could or rather might've been, had the twines of fate been wound a little looser.." You chuckled softly as your trusty bard rambled on into the night about how he knew a thing or two about show horses (being one in a past life, most likely) and you prepared your bedroll, smoothed it out with your hands and checked how close your damp clothes were to drying. When you reflected on Jaskier's words, you thought about how the warm and bitter smell of ash and smoke and fire made from Witcher magic was comforting to you. As you settled, you tried to smell other things, maybe someday you could smell half as well as a witcher if you trained hard enough. Ash, smoke.. the small burnt remnants of a meagre fish dinner, the distinctly horsey smell of Roach, the faintest traces of lavender lingering in your hair. You supposed you could try to hone in your hearing, too. You got comfortable, wriggling a little further in, catching a glimpse of the fine ribbon you had bought before closing your eyes...it was nice to see the splashes of the bright colour woven through your little group. You could first hear Jaskier mumbling on, the scratch of his quill onto the notebook he carried, the pops and snaps of the fire, the wind breathing contentedly through the leaves above, the last clinks of Geralt's potion bottles, then the slight crunch of careful steps in leather boots, his hands patting roach and hushed, almost inaudible whispers of him calling Roach his "pretty girl".

A/N : Hello, dears! I hope you've all been well and taking care of yourselves - I know it has been a tremendous wait. i've been planning the rest of the story out (i'm rly annoyingly particular about it) and lots of things have been a bit crazy the past two months. I hope this chapter isnt dissapointing given the wait but get ready for big angst, hurt/comfort and further progression of the story and characters in the next two chapters. I feel this filler was needed to transition into the next part of the story. I might change the description some as this story is not only about the fact that Y/N can sing, but also focuses on the way that changes her relationship with the boys.

More on the interactions of this night for the boys' POV in the next chapter probably x

I'm hoping the story is well fleshed out and flowing, and that its clear that singing is a great comfort and big part of Y/N's character. I hope its easy to immerse yourself and such. Again, its such a pleasure to receive likes and comments, and i'm very grateful to anyone who has read so far... be ready for great developments! As always, constructive criticism is welcome xxx Thanks gang!

Also yall thank my lil sister for helping me write this, she doesnt have an tumblr account so I cant tag her or anything but she super cool and rambling to her rly helps me organise my writing.

stay blessed!

tagged people:

@ladylizzieofdarbyshire i cannot find @sihxm i did try xxx

[alwaysthewrongside]

Ruined (Loki/Reader)

Request: Hi! Can I request a Loki x reader fic where Loki realises he’s in love with the reader but tries to hide his feelings for fear of rejection from the reader? P.S I get so excited whenever you post a new fic! You are SO talented and should be really proud of all your previous work!❤️❤️❤️

A/N: It has been so long since I have even looked into my requests, this year has been something else. I figured it might be a nice distraction for me to write and for people to read some downright angsty fluffy Loki fanfiction to escape this lovely hell we are living in. That being said.....I hope you enjoy!! 

You had known the second prince of Asgard for years now, though time had seemed to stop when you met him. It was a rare rainy day on Asgard and you had run into the library soaking wet from the downpour. Walking over to the fireplace you decided to delve into another world whilst you dried off. Grabbing a book you sat on the ground, throwing away the etiquette the court taught the young nobles. No one ever visited the vast library, but why that was you couldn’t understand. 

The dark woods of the shelves were lined with endless tomes, scrolls, and novels, it was a dream. You hadn’t noticed the noise of the doors opening, being too engrossed in your adventure, until you heard a scoff from above you. Startled you jumped and clutched your chest, the book you had been reading falling to the floor unceremoniously.

“I see the teachings of the court have seemingly evaded you.”

Prince Loki stood tall and proud before you, a mischievous smirk dancing on his lips.

You were lucky he was amused, and had happened to glance at the title you were reading, something he had been fond of. From then on the two of you were inseparable. Between his training and your lessons with the noble women you would sneak off into the library and find new treasures amongst the shelves, sharing your finds. The time had passed from that day like nothing.

 The only indication anything had changed was how Loki had grown. His face seemed to chisel out, his once soft cheeks now sharp as stone, his hair had grown longer which you secretly preferred. You always liked to secretly imagine running your fingers through it. His demeanor had seemingly changed too, and it had been bothering you for a while. Where there was once comfort and ease, there was now an invisible force permeating in the air between you. Loki had become standoffish not showing to the library as much, making some lazy excuse as to why he wasn’t there.

Being a loyal and caring friend you had let it go, amounting it to princely duties and stress. That was until one night something in you snapped. You had seen him in the great hall laughing with a few eligible noble women, his signature smirk plastered on his face, the beauty of the women not escaping your notice. Tears pricked at the edge of your eyes remembering his brief remark on how he had a meeting with Thor and Odin this evening. Yet here he was.

A few hours had passed before you decided to sneak off to the library, a sneaking suspicion in your mind that he may be there. As charming as he was, there was something he couldn’t resist about dwelling with the books, even if it wasn’t with you. Your nightgown brushed the floor as you tucked a piece of hair behind you ear, stealthily sneaking through the doors without making a sound. Loki was observant and his guard was normally up, but as you rounded a corner you saw him nose deep in his latest find, the fire crackling loudly next to him. The crease that was normally fixed in his brow was gone, his eyes soft, his broad shoulders loose.

“I hope your meeting with the Allfather and your brother went well today.”

Though you spoke softly the weight your tone held seemed to scream into the air.

Loki jumped slightly, eyes quickly taking in his surroundings and you. The crease in his brow returned almost instantly. He cleared his throat.

“It was as dull as I had expected it to be.”

The nonchalant tone flowed smoothly from the silver-tongue’s lips.

“Of course, I noticed the bright turquoise dress your brother was wearing, though how he changed into a shapely woman and managed to grow his hair so long and luscious I know not, perhaps you could ask him for me.”

His brow quirked as he kept his composure still, not giving away any real emotion.

“So I have been caught, I am sure you did not mind having the time to yourself.”

You shrugged as you moved closer to his sitting form, his once relaxed demeanor now tense on the luscious couch.

“The loneliness I did not mind, your lies however are a different matter entirely.”

There was a sting in your eyes again as you tried to maintain your composure.

“If you have grown tired of my presence I would at least hold hope you would have the decency to tell me to my face Loki.”

Tugging on the sleeve of your nightdress you crossed your arms across your chest, looking stern, though in truth, secretly comforting yourself.

“I know I do not compare to the ladies of court, I do not pretend to hold that attention Loki, but I had hoped after all these years we were at least companions.”

At this statement his facade seemed to break, the carefree act breaking away as his eyes lit with anger. You assumed he would yell at you for assuming to be friends with the prince, something along the awful rumors you had heard but never chose to believe.

“Do you truly think so low of yourself y/n?”  

You scoffed.

“You act as though your actions would give me any indication to assume otherwise, I am not one of your dull empty headed admirers Loki I see right through you.”

The raven haired prince stood at this, tossing the book to the side as he stalked towards you, his breathing heavy.

“You see through me do you?”

His tall frame leaned over yours as he stood in front of you. There wasn’t much space between the two of you now and you could feel the coolness of his breath on your face.

“You are nothing but a man Loki, all men eventually lose their interest in friend or lover, I am not unaware of my fate in your eyes.”

The sadness trickled into your words and you refused to look into his emerald eyes for fear of losing you composure.

“I was the fool to think you cared beyond having a reading partner, I see now I was wrong to think a friendship from this.”

You felt a hand turn your face, and you gazed into….terrified eyes. Tilting your head in wonder, you went to speak, but he stopped you with a short shake of his head.

“You foolish girl, are you so blind?”

He laughed nervously, before taking a deep breath.

“When I found you on the floor of this library huddling next to the fire enraptured in words I felt something I hadn’t before.”

Slowly uncrossing your arms you silently urged him to continue.

“You have ruined me y/n.” 

Bewilderment filled you as you tried to take in what was happening. Before you could think any further, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, and a hand behind your neck, and soft lips met yours. Your eyes fluttered shut and your arms automatically found their way around Loki’s neck, your fingers gently tangling in his raven hair. It was softer than you’d imagined and you smiled slightly at this. He tasted of wine and mint you noted, as he deepened the kiss before pulling away suddenly, breathless. For once the silver tongued prince had no words, only love in his eyes. 

You smiled as you nestled into his chest. Pulling yourself close to his solid body, he snaked his arms around you, gently resting his chin on the top of your head. The hurt and anger you had before melted away in his embrace. You truly were blind, never realizing the glances he stole when you’d read to him were of you and not the books. All this time you had assumed the worst, and for once you were glad to be wrong.

“If I could spend one lifetime in here with you or a million traveling the stars, I would be happy in your arms Loki.” 

He chuckled softly, nudging you to glance upwards, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. You gasped as you looked up at the ceiling. There were stars glistening as far as you could see, the sheen of green magick laced with the golden haze. 

“So I shall give you the stars and more.” 

[lilxberry]

Give Us A Song - Thorin’s Company

Warnings: None, just some platonic fluff with the whole gang

Words: 1,038

Pairings: None. Thorin’s Company x Reader (platonic)

(A/N: Kinda a song fic, if you count a lil’ bop from Frozen 2 lmao.)

(Song: All Is Found by Evan Rachel Wood from Frozen 2.)

_______________

As the company settled down in their little campsite for the night, Bofur heaved out a sigh.

“Are you alright, Master Bofur?” You spoke in a gently voice, concerned for the dwarf.

He turned to face you, sitting up that tad bit straighter. “Aye lass, I’m fine. Just a bit too quiet for my liking.”

“Why don’t you sing to us tonight? We know your singing isn’t THAT terrible.” You teased as you gave him your suggestion.

“I think the others have had quite enough of my singing, my lady.” He quipped as a playful smile resided on his face.

“Why don’t you sing to us lass?” Balin asked from his place across the fire.

You turned your attention towards the kind old dwarf and shook your head with a smile. “No, no, I’m quite certain the companies’ ears while be bled dry by the time I would finish any song I would sing.”

“Oh, c’mon Y/N, give us a song.” Fíli and Kíli spoke at once, almost in a whining manner, making you chuckle.

You closed your eyes and took a quick, deep breath before sighing and giving in to your companions’ request. “Fine. What would you all have me sing?”

“Maybe you should sing something that holds a deep meaning to you, my dear.” Gandalf spoke, holding his pipe that emitted smoke from both ends.

You smiled softly, knowing what song would be sung by you. “Okay. Although, I’m not certain that you may like it.” You gave faux warning as you flashed them a playful smile before it softened. “It will be a song from my people, from the enchanted forest that I came from.”

“We’re sure it will be great regardless of its’ origin.” “Bilbo smiled from his place beside you.

With that, you nodded and turned to look into the fire, beginning the sweet song your mother once sang for you as a child.

‘Where the north wind meets the sea,

There's a river full of memory.

Sleep, my darling, safe and sound,

For in this river all is found.’

They gaped at you in awe as your silken smooth voice carried throughout their small campsite, not one of them daring to make a single sound for they fear they would disturb the beauty they hear.

Images of your mother cradling your child sized body to hers in your body as she sang and combed her fingers through your hair. You smiled at the memory as the song continued its course past your lips.

‘In her waters, deep and true,

Lie the answers and a path for you.

Dive down deep into her sound,

But not too far or you'll be drowned.’

The usual brooding Durin heir had even set aside his stoic expression listening to the sweet sound of your voice. His shoulders slumped as he began to allow himself to relax. Balin had smiled as he noticed the change within Thorins usual tense stature.

Everyone was entranced by your song, not daring to look away as they somehow thought that will make them miss your melodic tune.

The tune so sweet, it neared the others to sleep, your voice lulling them by the second, although they refuse to give in.

‘Yes, she will sing to those who'll hear,

And in her song, all magic flows.

But can you brave what you most fear?

Can you face what the river knows?’

You though about the powers you possess, not differing much to Gandalf’s. Yours being more spiritual rather than the practical magic he produces alongside his knowledge, wit and charm. You revelled as you felt the similar sensation send a shiver down your spine.

‘Where the north wind meets the sea,

There's a mother full of memory.

Come, my darling, homeward bound,

When all is lost, then all is found.’

You hadn’t even realised that you closed your eyes during the final verse for as you noticed an orange glow shine that little bit dimmer. You opened your eyes slowly to be met with the company staring at you. You blushed from the number of eyes set upon your form.

“Wow…” Ori breathed out, followed by nods of agreement from Nori and Dori.

“That was amazing lass.”

“Beautiful.”

The compliments had continued to flow, forcing you to look down bashfully, a red as deep as the centre of the burning embers sat before you. “You’re all too kind.”

“I believe that it will be many years before that song you’ve sung for us tonight will leave my mind.” Thorin spoke, his usually icy, distant demeanour nowhere in sight, only a genuine smile upon his face.

You smiled and gave a curt nod to the dwarf.

“I think I’m going to sleep. Goodnight all.” Bilbo turned to head to his bedroll but spared a final glace over to you. “I hope we hear more songs from you along the way.”

Gandalf stood from his position against the base of the large tree. “I think we should follow Mister Baggings’ example and head to sleep.”

The others grunted and nodded in agreement, though their grunts had somehow sounded more cheerful. The thought alone made you giggle quietly to yourself. “I’ll take first watch.” You volunteered yourself happily, in a chipper mood from how calm the night has been.

“I’ll take the next watch after the lass.” Dwalin spoke and nodded towards you, making his own way over towards his bedroll.

As the others said their goodnights and well wishing of sweet dreams, you were left to seat yourself on the nearby rock, gaining some height for looking out for threats. You smiled as your mind wandered back to thoughts of your mother, your home.

Although it saddens you to know there is no returning for you, you still continue to smile as you’ve gained a new one after the tragic loss of your previous.

You brought your knees up to your chest, hugging your legs tightly as you gaze over at the sleeping dwarves, hobbit and wizard, smiling fondly.

“When all is lost, then all is found…huh…” You muttered to yourself, thinking solely of your newfound family. You were going to help them get back to their rightful home, even if it killed you.

_______________

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I KNOW the whole mother situation is practically the same from the second Frozen film but I prefer the second over the first immensely for some reason

And this song just hits right, yanno

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

I found this to be quite cute plus fun to write

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

[vapid-slut]

A Dove Reborn; Ch.1

Warning[s]: Character death, Mentions of violence, murder, demonic possession [kinda, eh yea]

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Reader, a catholic schoolgirl, is brought in as a sacrifice. It isn’t until she’s payed a visit in hell that she’s given a second chance at life and vengeance

A/N: This is my first michael fic so enjoy my shitty excuse for writing I’ve been think about writing this for awhile so I really you like it. Whoever you may be [this blog is a ghost town]. Also there may be some typos because it’s late and a bitch is lazy. xoxo, go piss girl

Darkness.

That's all you saw as your limp body dragged across what felt like wood. You cried out, hoping someone would have the heart to help you. Instead, they laughed at your naiveness. Before you could think any longer, a voice interrupted your thoughts. "This is y/n she has devoted her entire life to being a good little christian. Pathetic." The woman spoke with hatred in her voice as you heard others make noises of disapproval and disdain. Your breath was shaking, you knew there was little hope for you, they didn't care about you or your life, and why should they? After all, you were just a shy little girl whose own family sent her away to a convent to get rid of her.

The skin on your body crawled as you felt the burning stares of everyone gawking at your practically naked form. The woman continued to go on about how silly you were for choosing to believe in a god who couldn't even protect you now, her voice overlapping with your screams and pleas. "Well, let's not waste any more time. The honor of tonight's sacrifice shall go to one of our newest members, Jim." If you were uncertain of your fate before, this solidified it. Tonight was the night you were doing to die.

You pleaded for your life though it was ineffective, your body tensed as you felt a hand across your face remove a few stray hairs. Before you knew it, the blade held along your neck glided with ease, your eyes began to tear as you took what would be your last few breaths. There, on the floor, your once pure body laid lifeless, upper half drenched in your blood.

Eventually, the group of heinous worshippers dispersed, some going off to eat, others making their way home. All of them seemingly unbothered by the presence of your corpse. Having your body on display for everyone to see was truly humiliating. You were to be gawked at, mocked, and then forgotten. The story of your life, no one had ever taken you seriously. Your mother hated you the moment she birthed you. Your father never stayed long enough for you to remember him. With all the time you had spent laying there, your body began releasing a foul odor, making it clear that you had to go.

The blue-eyed boy towered over your figure, his head turning slightly to face the much shorter woman with hair like that of a raven. "What would you like me to do with her, Michael?" The woman named Ms.Mead asked with a calmness to her voice, almost as if she did this often. Michael sighed, letting his shoulders fall slightly. "It's such a shame she would've made a great pet." He paused, taking a breath. "Bury her or throw her in the river for all I care, whichever is easiest." He said sternly as the woman nodded, the blonde turned on his heels to exit the once full room. 

-----

You woke up from felt like an eternal sleep. Rubbing your eyes to look around the room, it all felt familiar. The soft lilac walls and crisply made bed, this was your home. Albeit one you hadn't seen in a long time. It had been almost seven years since your mother dropped you off at a convent. You observed the room with confusion, wondering why you were here.

Suddenly the door opened, revealing your strung-out mother. Your head tilted in confusion. "M-mom?" You reached to touch her, but out of nowhere, she raised the back of her hand to strike you across the face. You brought your hand to your cheek, eyes welling up with tears until suddenly she froze. 

Everything was happening so suddenly that you cowered in fear as another woman entered the room, dressed in white, she flashed you a smile. The girl reached to hold your hand, but you immediately flinched. "Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you." She said, her voice soft and calming. You rubbed the tears away from your eyes and took hold of her warm hand. "Who are you. W-where am I?" The girl helped you to your feet. "My name is Mallory, right now you're in hell. But I'm here to take you back t-" Before she could finish, a dark figure walked in. "Ah, ah, ah. You don't get to break satans rules, my love."  The man appeared with strawberry blonde hair and green eyes.

"Asclepius, this isn't any of your concern," Mallory said, letting go of my hand as she inched closer to the man. "It is actually, I too have been tasked with bringing Y/N back to the mortal realm." You watched as the two bickered as if you weren't in their presence, tired of sitting around like a church mouse, you decided to speak up. "Okay, what the fuck are you talking about?!" The two turned to look at you, almost shocked that you had interrupted them. Asclepius sighed before stepping closer to you. "This might seem hard for you to comprehend, but you're dead. Your purity made you a viable sacrifice for satan." He paused for a moment, reading the confusion on your face. "This place is hell."

You scoffed, finding his comment ridiculous. That was until you remembered the darkness, the voice of that wretched woman, and the coldness of the knife. "Holy shit." You said, your head falling as you realize your predicament. "So, what do you two want from me?" Mallory turned on her heels. "Well, I was sent to retrieve your soul and bring it back to your mortal body until he showed up." Asclepius rolled his eyes at the brunette, annoyed by her response. "My boss, satan, has been displeased with his son's work. He thinks you'd be a fine companion, someone to give him a push to bring about the end times."

All of this sounded insane. It was simply too much to process. Mallory could sense the fear coming off of you. "Good thing is that won't happen, so long as I have a say in it." She reached to hold your face as a form of comfort. But before you could react,  her body fell limp as the red-haired man retrieved his arm from her back, her heart in his hand as you shrieked in terror. "Shhh Y/N, there is no need to fear me, soon you'll be back to normal soon." His voice overlapped with the hissing of snakes as they slithered towards you.

There was no place to run, so instead you back into one of the four corners of the room, even then, you knew it was useless. Pain pierced through your skin as the vipers sank their teeth into your skin, venom mixing with your blood. You tried to scream, but nothing left your throat, your mind slowly fading in and out of consciousness. The man gave you a half-hearted smile. "Send Michael my regards." And with that, your world faded to black once again.

-----

The skin on your body began to prune, given the countless days you had spent floating in the river. Suddenly your heart began to beat as blood rushed through your veins, your eyes opened, the water starting to irritate them. You mustered up what little strength you had left and made your way to the surface, gasping for air.

Swimming was never your strong suit, but you noticed that there was land nearby, so used your bit of energy to make sure you got there. Once you reached the dry land, your body fell, your back making contact with the soil. You wanted nothing more than to sleep. But something caught your attention, a scent. One you weren't all that accustomed to, you felt something within, almost as if your body was fighting itself.

Your body acted against you as you stood, drawing closer to the smell. As you crept, the voices become much more vivid. One, in particular, was much too familiar. "This sacrifice is much more special than anyone we've done before." You thought for a moment, and your mind brought you back to the night you lost your life, your cries and pleas ignored just like the unlucky girl they had chosen tonight. 

You yearned to do something, but you were no match for them. That was until you watched as your skin went pale, bits of it turned to scales. Part of you was horrified, but part of you relished in this new power. Before you made a move, you heard a much deeper voice speak. "I sense something, someone, a  powerful presence." Suddenly your body was completely taken over. Your once [y/e/c] eyes had now turned to a crimson red. Without thought, you suddenly appeared behind one of the cloaked figures, something you weren't aware you could do till now.

All the rage and bloodlust inside of you reached a boil. As your arm plunged into the woman's chest, you retrieved your hand to find her heart in it, and with no hesitation, you took a bite. The look of shock on everyone's face was pure bliss. You stood, wearing nothing but the underwear you had on the night of your death, covered in blood. Many of the cult members attempted to stop you, but it proved useless as you swiftly discarded them.

The few worshippers that remained had fled, hoping to keep their lives. All that was left were the corpses and Michael, along with Ms. Mead. The blonde boy gave a look of astonishment. Before anyone could break the silence, your skin reverted back to its previous form, the red in your eyes fading as your body fell to the ground. Michael approached you, kneeling to be closer to your face, cupping your chin, now drenched in blood. 

"Magnificent, my father must have sent you." His face formed a wicked smile. You were far too weak to respond and watched as he removed his cloak and placed it over your cold body. With that, he scooped you into his arms, continuing to burn into you with his gaze.

His voice was smooth and mellow as he whispered into your ear. "Let's get you home." You shook your head in disapproval and tried to push yourself off of him, but there was no point. It was clear who had the upper hand. Slowly your consciousness began to fade once again. It was clear how exhausted you were, and eventually, you drifted into a slumber. Your fate left in the hands of a man who watched you die.

----

okay wow can’t believe i actually finished a fic for the first time, this feels great! I hope you enjoyed, let me know if you wanna be tag okay toodles!

[coping-via-clint-eastwood]

In Rememberance of a King - Connery!James Bond x Reader

(A/N: YES that is the title even though NO, it has no bearing on the story. This is in honour of our beloved Sean Connery. May he rest in peace.

Alright, for those of you reading this fic on Tumblr: this isn't actually the first fic I've written. You guys are gonna kill me for not sharing sooner, but I have written a lot on Wattpad XD This was copied and pasted from there, with this part of the author's note added for Tumblr. And, as for the video, I tend to add whatever song or image I can that I vibed to during the process of writing the story. Also, I have to warn you guys, that you might find my writing rather blaise. That's just my vibe when I'm writing. One more thing: most of my stories consist of dead exhaustion, because that's how I feel most of the time.)

James was at a baccarat table, with you seated next to him, not to play yourself, but as his companion, as per your cover for the present mission. You were on his left side, so that while he could use his playing hand, his other arm could wrap around your waist. He had been playing for quite a while now, and the time was ebbing into the wee hours of the morning. You were on active duty and were used to going without sleep, but you were still tired; you required sleep while gambling was a form of relaxation for James. You were actually falling asleep on him, your head on his shoulder. James being James, you felt his hand slide from your waist further down your hip. You hoped that James would respect you enough to let you just sleep. Not too long after you felt his hand move, the game ended. He helped you stand and escorted you to the DB5, having to do most of the physical work as he placed a nearly-dozing you in the passenger seat.

When he had successfully walked you into your shared hotel room - yes, you were posing as a couple - he closed the door and pulled you so that your front was directly touching his.  "James, please..."  you practically sighed sleepily, blinking rapidly to try to wake yourself up.

"All right," he complied, but still held you so that you did not fall.

"I think I can walk..."  you murmured, pushing yourself off from him.  You stumbled only slightly as you made your way to the chair where your sleepwear was hanging.  You took them and went into the bathroom.  James changed outside.  He just put on a pair of pajama trousers and got into bed shirtless, pulling the covers up to his waist.  He bent an arm under his head so that he had a vantage point to watch the bathroom door.  The both of you had brushed your teeth prior to going to the casino, so he just lay in bed and waited for you.  You came out and, after carelessly casting your other clothes on the same chair, plonked down onto the bed, just faceplanting at a diagonal angle on the bed.  James moved to pull you further onto the bed but your hand shot forwards to halt him, accompanied by a muffled, "I'm fine."  You brought your other arm forwards and pushed yourself so that your head and chest were off the bed, the point of contact starting from your abdomen.  You clenched your fists and dragged yourself to position yourself rightly, with your head now above your pillow and your legs towards the foot of the bed.

Fulfilling that, you faceplanted again.  James made two gentle tugs on the covers in quick succession, causing you to roll off and roll back under them when he lifted them for you.  You cuddled up to him and lay your head on his chest; while you never allowed James to have you in the way he usually did with other women, the pair of you had taken to holding each other at night.  The both of you were able to sleep more comfortably and, you did not know about James but, it certainly made you feel safer.  Your hand automatically went to his chest hair and played with it.

"You like chest hair?"  he had asked on the first night you did it.  You has given a simple 'yes', too shy to say anymore.  He had accepted it and docilely laid still, enjoying the feeling of your hand running over his chest and through the hair there.  He had done the same every night since.

"You don't let me have you, and yet you enjoy holding me," he put to you, not meaning for it to be accusatory, but a genuine inquiry.

"I don't want to just be another mission fling of yours...we know each other personally.  I see you often.  How can I pass you by everyday without thinking about what we have done, if I allow you to do it?"  It was late at night, and you were too tired to put a halter on your speech.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say that someone was genuinely in love with me," he smiled teasingly.  He had meant it in jest, but your fingers, which has been curling in and out of his chest hair even throughout your expunging, stilled.  You wanted to shift backwards and turn to sleep facing away from him, but that single pause gave you away to him.  Even though he did not physically restrain you, his next words took you prisoner and made you freeze in your spot.  With a raised eyebrow, he asked a gentle, "You are?  Why?"  Both you and James knew that he had valid basis for his question:  you of all people knew of his promiscuous nature, and yet you still gave your heart to him.

"I don't know, James..."  you sighed, giving a gentle tug on his chest hair for comfort, "you can be loyal when you want to...you always remain loyal to queen and country, you remain loyal to the mission, no matter what the costs are.  That's why I admire you.  You protect those close to you to the best of your ability.  You are gentlemanly, patient and understanding.  I'm sorry, and I understand if you don't want anything more to do with me-"

"You have nothing to apologise for," he cut in.   He had been happy to listen to your explanation, but stopped you when you started to doubt yourself.  "You are still very dear to me.  I assure you, I will not push you away."  You looked up at him in shock.  Your breathing came in rapid succession, and, at a few hours past midnight, you did not have any control of your tear ducts.  Seamlessly, he placed a hand on each of your cheeks and used his thumbs to wipe your tears, and continued, "But, how do you feel now that you have told me this?"

Your hands held onto his forearms.  You calmed down quicker than you had started crying, not really having had to cry but having given in to the fact that it was probably three in the morning, and spoke, "I-if you still want to...I'd like for us to stay friends."

He dried the rest of your tears and moved the both of you so that he was on his back with you at his side, head on his chest again.  You closed your eyes and your hand returned to its previous position.  "All right..."  he murmured, placing a protective kiss on your forehead at this point, then mumbling against it, "I'll stay."

[minaminokyoko]

I know I’m screaming into the void here, but

Can we talk about the lack of HarriKarri content in Peace Talks?

Spoilers for Peace Talks below. Also, a very long rant.

Disclaimer: Recently, the reading community has been having conversations about expectations related to professional authors backed by one of the Big Six or equivalent traditional publishing companies. The points I’m about to bring are not me being entitled. I understand that Jim Butcher is not obligated to give me everything I want. I will not demand that he do so. I just want to have a conversation about something I feel is oddly dissatisfying about the content in Peace Talks related to Harry and Murphy, which is my own opinion, and said opinion isn’t going to be slung at the author or anything distasteful like that.

Right, so, to give some context, I’m not a fan of Peace Talks. I read it once and then just sat on my couch for several hours after trying to figure out what to even do with myself because I waited six years for what I consider to be an underwhelming book that was mostly just set up for Battle Ground. I mention it because I admit that if we get Battle Ground in September and all the content in Harry and Murphy’s relationship that was missing in Peace Talks is in Battle Ground, fine, I’ll retract my statements. Some fans have already expressed that they can’t really review Peace Talks or give opinions on it because it feels so much like a companion piece that you can’t evaluate it until you’ve read Battle Ground, as the book seems to be nothing but the precursor to Battle Ground. It doesn’t stand on its own very well, at least not in my eyes, but let me get to the point.

The reason I’ve been feeling angry and betrayed by Peace Talks’ lack of HarriKarri content isn’t just because I’m the Queen of the Harry/Murphy trashpile. I’m not speaking strictly as a shipper this time. Y’all know me. I mean, look, I’ve written 185k words of Harry/Murphy fanfiction, most of which was written during the incredibly long wait between Skin Game and Peace Talks. Yes, I know, it’s hypocritical of me to say I’m not writing this post because I’m a big dumb shipper queen. I do mean it that I sincerely think it’s outright bizarre that we got so little insight into how these two best fire-forged friends and lovers are doing in a romantic relationship.

Let me make my case here. Okay, so the first thing is that romance is a huge element in this series. Harry’s love life is important not only to him as a character, but it actually plays directly into the plot, from Susan’s selfish stupidity to Elaine’s mistrust to Luccio’s mysterious manipulation to Lasciel’s Heel Face Turn. If someone wanted to argue the reason we didn’t see much of Harry and Murphy together as a couple is because romance isn’t the primary focus of the series, that’s not going to hold water. The connection between Harry and his paramours has always been a large element in each of these books in various ways. That’s probably the first thing that signaled that something was off about Peace Talks.

Think about the previous books. Harry’s relationships are both a source of comfort and conflict for him, allowing him to learn and grow as a character, and none moreso than his relationship with Murphy. I have so many of their scenes vividly memorized by now because of how important both friendship and love are to Harry and to Murphy as well. There are milestones that they’ve reached starting from Storm Front onward. I would honestly argue it is the most developed relationship in the series, in terms of how much these two trust and respect and love one another and understand where they fit into the other person’s life. I remember reading that bit in White Night where Bob says they swapped souls through a hug and that left a huge impression on me because I think that’s what soulmates would look and sound like in real life (wouldn’t know, I am single af and going to die an old cat lady.) It’s to a point where, in my honest opinion, there is no Harry without Murphy. She is the other half of his soul. Where he is weak, she is strong, where she is weak, he is strong, and they move forward through every conflict knowing that about each other. And I think the reverse is true. We saw how Murphy took Harry’s disappearance and death—it fucking broke her. Her entire personality and beliefs came crashing down and while she was still able to function in his absence, she was just as much a ghost as he was.

So why the fuck wasn’t there anything in Peace Talks illustrating just how vital this relationship is?

I’m not keen on reading the book again, but from what I remember, we were given roughly three significant interactions between Harry and Murphy that had anything to do with their romance: Harry at the house while she’s recovering, the scene where she takes the casts off, and then her talking to him after Ebenezar almost kills him. And…that’s it. Do they still interact in the book? Yes. But it’s nothing memorable, aside from the threesome suggestion (in all fairness, that was hilarious, and it was even more hilarious to me that both Harry and Murphy didn’t outright say no).

Why is that weird? Because I can seriously name book by book how many significant conversations and scenes that Harry and Murphy have that develop their dynamic, sexy, fun, beautiful relationship…and yet the book where they’re actually together, after sixteen goddamn books, has almost nothing.

And it shouldn’t be like that at all.

I know my own bias. Really, I do. I’ve written so many Harry/Murphy fics that I was bound to be let down when we actually got the canon relationship, but the difference between me being let down and me feeling betrayed is that it feels like it’s for no reason. There are plenty of spots in the book considering it’s kind of short where Butcher could have given us insight into the way they hooked up for the first time. I know I don’t speak for the entire fandom, but I do know there are enough of you who like me wanted to know about their first “official” date or seeing how the people in his life reacted to them finally getting together after so many years. That’s not just shipper trash. That’s satisfying storytelling payoff. It is extremely important to us as readers and to the actual narrative itself that we see what it’s like for Harry and Murphy to be in a mature romantic relationship. Both of them have been longing and pining for each other for ages, and yet Butcher doesn’t give us the meaty bits we’re dying to chomp our teeth into. For God’s sake, Harry was hung up on the little things about Murphy, like her riding her motorcycle or her cute nose and ear lobes or the way she smiles or how she gives him the sass right back to his face. Yet we don’t get any indication of the momentous event of the first time he actually got to second base (or more) with her. We don’t see any of the things that we were clamoring for because these are two best friends giving in to serious feelings and that’s a huge deal since they’ve both pretty much been smitten since Storm Front.

It’s not a matter of appeasing shippers at this point. This relationship is a huge change that is important to both of them, and we didn’t get jackshit about the transition from friends to lovers. Hell’s bells, there’s an entire genre of fics in every work of fiction devoted to this trope and yet Butcher just skipped over it. I swear I’m not making mountains out of molehills. It doesn’t make sense that all the previous books with the exception of Dead Beat (since Murphy was out of town) have significant moments between Harry and Murphy that build on their friendship and partnership yet the moments in Peace Talks are way too short and aren’t anything groundbreaking or memorable. And this is them canonically together, heading for the iceberg, being with the person they love dearly. I want to know what that’s like because I care about them and it feels inorganic that it’s brushed off for plot or other things instead.

I don’t get it. I truly don’t. If Butcher is waiting to unleash the content I want in Battle Ground, I guess that’ll help, but after so much build up, why in God’s name wouldn’t you explore all the things we want to know about how their romance is going? Harry and Murphy have been through literal hell together, for God’s sake. They’re both cagey and in extremely stressful situations—especially poor Karrin—and yet it’s just brushed aside time and time again. It would keep us grounded to see how they handle it as it is one of the few nice things in their lives that they have left.

Those of you who know Butcher know that he’s one of the sadist authors. I know that too. He thinks it’s funny to make us angry and frustrate us and he may have already said it in an interview or a podcast why he chose not to go into detail about the romance (feel free to link me if he has) but for the first time in my life, I think that’s not good enough. It’s not a good enough excuse for Butcher to giggle and intentionally not give us the content we want just because he thinks it’s funny. Yes, as the author, you choose what you write, but this is a slap in the face to people who have been reading these books for so many years and rooting for Harry and Murphy to get their shit together and be happy. We know how the series is gonna end—fucking bloody as hell—so these precious moments are that much more important. If he’s said he didn’t include romantic elements in this book because “haha trollface,” then he can fuck off. We’ve invested time in this series. We care about the relationship and there are so many creative, fun things that could have come out of seeing them together after all this build up.

And yeah, I know, I can write another 185k words of fix it fics and missing scenes. I probably will anyway. I’m frustrated because this isn’t just some shallow checkmark romance in an urban fantasy series. These two are incredible characters and it’s a negative reflection on the work itself when Butcher spent all the time in previous books building up the sexual tension and the pining and the deeply felt affection only to just cut to curtains fluttering when they’re about to get to the hanky panky or just have a quick “I love you” in the tub or the brief talk about family at the end. There are so many conversations they could have had. There are so many scenarios with the potential for romance even with their chastity belts firmly in place due to Murphy’s injuries. This isn’t about sex. This is about fulfilling a precedent that Butcher purposely set up and then just seemed to wave it off for some reason. I’m not saying the book is bad because we didn’t get the content; I’m saying it would’ve been a lot goddamn better if we’d gotten that content. 

Butcher’s gonna Butcher. No one can change it. I can’t make demands. My fifteen bucks doesn’t mean I get to call the shots and tell the man what to write.

But I just want to note that I thought it was a pretty shitty choice to exclude it.

Sigh. See you guys in Battle Ground, I guess.

And also AO3.

I’m gonna write a fuckton of missing scenes and no one can stop me.

[rushingheadlong]

Take My Breath Away - A Brian x Reader fic

Summary: Brian has a thing for drawing sex out for as long as possible, but it's harder to do that when breathplay is involved... at least until you come up with a bit of an unorthodox solution: corsets.

Wordcount: ~20k

Tags/Warnings: 18+; Unspecified reader (including smut with ungendered language); Kink exploration and negotiation

Kinks: Corsets; Breathplay including choking; D/s, mentions of switching but with a focus on sub!Brian, some subdrop and aftercare; Dirty talk; Orgasm denial; Penetrative and oral sex

Notes: I set out intending to write a short 5k companion piece to my earlier corset fic… and then everything spiraled out of control and this happened. A huge thank you to @tenderbri​ and @jackolynsparrow​ for being my cheerleaders, letting me bounce ideas off them, and helping me edit this monstrosity. I hope you all enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!

[There are also more detailed notes about corsets at the end of the fic if you are interested in that!]

It begins almost on accident.

You’re half-watching a movie with Brian. He’s pretending to read and you’re pressing kisses along his neck, trying to entice him to pay attention to you instead of his book. The TV isn’t turned down low but it’s still easy enough to ignore, at least until there’s a flurry of shouts and action and you glance back to see that the tight-laced heroine has fainted in her corset.

You almost laugh at the cliché of it all, but then you hear Brian’s breath hitch at the scene on the TV and you turn to him with a knowing smirk. “See something you like, Brian?” you tease, trailing one hand up his chest and settling it lightly over his throat.

“You know I do,” he answers, arching up into your touch.

“Maybe I like hearing you say it.” Your hand slots into position under his jaw, thumb and forefinger pressing up underneath his tongue to restrict his breathing. It’s safer than pressing down on his arteries and making him pass out, though you know how to do that too if that’s what he wants. “Use your words, babe. Tell me what you want.”

“This,” Brian says, voice strained from the way you’re practically forcing his jaw shut. “Just this, don’t wanna pass out, just- Y/N, please-”

You lean down and kiss him, and neither of you last long after that- mostly because you can’t make this last long, not when Brian’s neck is literally on the line. You jerk him off quickly, your other hand pressing hard against his throat, and Brian's hands fumble against you as he struggles to keep breathing but that’s alright, because the sight of him coming undone and his first gasp when you remove your hand are enough to tip you over the edge anyway.

The routine after that is familiar: check for bruises and damage, even if you’re confident there aren’t any, because you can never be too safe; clean off yourself and Brian while he’s still catching his breath; grab a glass of orange juice and wrap your arms around him to stave off the subdrop that he falls into as easy as… well, as easy as breathing.

You like the routine. It’s comforting and grounding, and lets you check over Brian without worrying that you’re missing some important step. But lately the sex itself has felt like part of the routine as well, or at least the breathplay part of it has. Funny how one of your more dangerous kinks has become so methodical that you’re almost bored by it.

And Brian feels the same way. You've seen his small moments of displeasure in the past, but this time when he curls up around you after you’ve checked up on him he sighs and mumbles, “Always wish we could make that last longer.”

You bite back a sigh of your own, and instead press a kiss to the top of his unruly curls. “I know.”

Because you do know. Brian’s always had a thing for drawing scenes out for as long as possible. When you tie him up he’ll gladly stay in bondage for hours, and when he feels like being in charge he enjoys teasing you until you’re nearly incoherent with want. It’s harder to do that with the breathplay when you need to be careful about not leaving marks around his neck, and when keeping one hand in the correct position on his throat inherently limits your options for different positions.

If Brian had his way he’d spend half a day struggling to breathe, each inhale careful and deliberate and shallow, and you’d love to see him in that position… but if there’s a way to make it work, without leaving behind damning evidence, you have yet to figure it out.

“We could try the mask again…” Brian tries to suggest.

“No, Bri,” you tell him, as gently as you can. “The last time we tried a mask you panicked. Same with the gag.”

“But if we tried a different style-”

“Brian.” You gently grab his chin and move his face so he has no choice but to look at you. “You know that I am willing to try almost anything to make this work. But you hate having your face covered, and so the masks and gags don’t work for us. I’m sorry, but they just don’t.”

Brian whines and when you let go of his face he burrows it into the crook of your neck, hiding there as he admits, “I know, but I still want…”

“I know,” you say again, as you wrap your arms around him and hold him close, only this time you add, “We’ll think of something eventually, I promise.” Because right now, while he’s still coming down from this particular high, he needs that promise even if you both know that you may not be able to keep it.

And because you want to keep the mood light, you joke, “Maybe we should just get you a corset like that woman in the movie.”

Brian snorts, and you can feel his smile where he has his face hidden against your neck. “Right. I don’t think putting me in lingerie will solve the problem.”

“Hey, you never know!” you say with a laugh… and now that you’ve gone and said it, you find that you can’t get the thought of your mind.

Something about it sticks with you, for the rest of the night and the next day while Brian is at the studio. Why shouldn’t it work, after all? Corsets are designed to bind, to constrict. Even if the fainting is exaggerated for Hollywood, there’s still a kernel of truth to it. Better yet, with nothing touching Brian’s neck or face, the danger would be more limited, the chance of outright panic lessened, the marks- if there even would be any- more easily hidden…

“Everything alright, Y/N?” Brian asks, later that evening after dinner. You’re both sitting on the couch, almost in the same positions as you were the previous night, before the idea of corsetry had ever crossed your mind. “You seem… well, a bit distracted.”

“I’ve been thinking about our little problem from last night,” you say, because there’s no point in lying to Brian about something that directly concerns him.

Brian gives you a curious look. “The breathing problem?”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose,” you say with a laugh. “But yes, I’ve been thinking about that.”

“Y/N…” Brian reaches out for your hand, and you lace your fingers with his. “Look, you know what I want, but if there isn’t a way to do that then there’s nothing we can do. Worrying yourself about this isn’t going to change that.”

You take a deep breath, and turn so you’re facing him properly for this conversation. “That’s the thing, though. I might have a solution.”

“Really?”Brian asks. “What is it?” He looks both surprised and tentatively hopeful and you bite your lip, nervous to share your thoughts despite knowing that you have to.

“I was joking when I mentioned it last night, but then I started actually considering it, and… Well, it’s corsets,” you tell him.

Brian lets go of your hand, his face twisting up into an unreadable expression. “You’re not serious.”

“I actually am,” you say. “I know it’s a bit out there, even for us-”

“It’s lingerie,” Brian says, an echo of what he had said the night before.

“And you wear women’s clothing on stage, and a collar at home when the mood strikes you,” you point out, and Brian predictably doesn’t have a response for that. You sigh, and ask, “Will you at least listen to my thoughts about this, before you completely write it off?”

“Alright,” Brian says, after a moment of consideration. “I’ll listen.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, and you do mean it. “So. Let’s assume that we do this properly.” Because if you were to try this, there’s no question that you would handle everything properly. “We’d get a corset that fits correctly and that was designed to be laced that tight, so I think it would be safe to assume that this would work, at least to some extent. Agreed?”

Brian nods.

“So, let’s pro/con this,” you continue. “Pros: It wouldn’t cover your face, so you’re less likely to panic like you did with the mask and gag. It doesn’t touch your neck, so it’s probably safer-”

“I think that’s a stretch,” Brian interrupts.

You roll your eyes. “Fine, we can debate how safe it is, but at least it wouldn’t leave marks on your neck like a belt or noose would. And any marks it left on your torso can be hidden by your shirt- I mean, assuming you can bring yourself to do up an extra button if you need to.”

“Oh, you ass,” Brian says, but he’s laughing as he says it.

You grin and ask, “Can I continue, or do you want to keep insulting me?”

“No, no, by all means, keep going,” Brian says. He’s starting to relax a little now, and you’re glad to see it. You really do think that this could be the answer to all of your problems, and you would have been irritated beyond words if Brian had stubbornly dismissed it out of hand.

“Well, there’s also the fact that we already know you like tight bondage, and you particularly like it when I tie you in a harness,” you point out. Brian had told you once that he liked the feeling of being “held” by the rope, and you imagine that a corset would provide a similar sensation. “And corsets are designed to be worn all day, so surely it could handle a few hours of being laced maybe a little tighter than usual.”

Brian shifts at that idea, his face starting to flush with desire at the very suggestion of being in any sort of scene for several hours, and you know that he’s starting to come around to the idea. “And the potential cons?” he asks, his voice dropping a note lower than it had been before.

“The expense, for one. I can’t imagine buying a proper corset will be cheap,” you admit. “Not to mention actually getting the corset so it’s sized correctly for you, and making sure we know what to do with it once we have it. I still say that cutting you out of a corset will be safer than trying to pry a mask off your face if something goes wrong, but I’d obviously rather not get to that point at all.”

You shrug, just a little, and add, “That’s all I have, really. What are your thoughts?”

Brian is quiet for a moment, and it makes you a little nervous. He’s always been thoughtful, prefering to mull over his options before making any decisions, but given how eager he’s been recently to find a way to make this kink work you were expecting a bit more of a reaction than this.

And then Brian lets out a small huff of laughter and shakes his head and says, “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting this, and it’s- Well, it’s a lot.”

You reach for Brian’s hand again, and you’re glad that at least he doesn’t pull away from you now. “A lot in a good way, or in a bad way?” you ask.

“Good, I think… but it is quite a bit to consider and I’m having a hard time getting past it being a corset,” Brian admits. “I know that at the end of the day it’s just another piece of gear, but even so it still feels different than anything else we’ve bought or tried before. Not to mention that just getting the damn thing seems like it’ll be an ordeal, and-”

He sighs and you squeeze his hand gently, giving him the space to gather his thoughts rather than pushing him to speak before he’s ready.

“I want to find a way to make the breathplay last longer, you know I do, but you weren’t wrong when you said that the masks and accessories don’t work for us,” Brian says at last. “I’m worried that this will just be another disappointment, only this time we’ll be out a lot more time and money and stuck with something specially made for only me that I am not wearing outside of this context.”

“But it could also work,” you point out gently. “Doesn’t that make the risk worth it?”

Brian smiles, a little crookedly, and jokes, “Well, it wouldn’t be breathplay without a little risk…” You roll your eyes and knock your knee against his, but Brian just laughs and moves his leg so it’s pressing fully against yours. “Do you really think this will work?”

There’s a hopeful sort of note to Brian’s voice, even though he’s still holding himself back. The disappointment of the last few failed attempts had hit him hard, and you aren’t surprised that now that he’s not coming down off a scene that he’s a little more wary about trying something new.

You want to reassure him that this is the perfect solution to your problem, nothing to worry about, everything will finally work out for the two of you this time… but Brian would see through the lie in a heartbeat, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned from exploring these sorts of kinks with him it’s that they only work if you’re both open and honest every step of the way.

“I don’t know,” you tell him, because that’s the only answer that you can really give him. “I think it’s the best option that we’ve come across in a long time, and I’m more hopeful about this than I was with the gag… but I just don’t know. You might panic once it’s put on or not be able to tolerate wearing it long-term. Or maybe a properly-designed corset won’t restrict your breathing like that at all, I have no idea.”

You take a deep breath and smile at Brian, and that alone is enough to get some of the concern to fade from his eyes. “But I do know how much you enjoy breathplay and how much you want to find something that will work for longer than a few minutes at a time,” you tell him. “So if this has even the slightest chance of giving you that… Why shouldn’t we at least make the attempt?”

Brian smiles back at you, bright enough to dispel your lingering fear that you’d gone too far with this suggestion. “You’re right. After everything else we’ve already tried, I suppose this is worth a shot as well.” He laughs, sounding almost disbelieving of his own words, and adds, “God, I can’t believe I’m going to wear a fucking corset.”

You laugh as well. “Well, provided we can figure out where to get one.”

You bite back the other comments you want to make, the ones about how lovely you know he’s going to look wearing it, because you can tell where Brian’s boundaries are with this and you know he won’t appreciate the compliment- at least, not right now.

Instead you close the distance between you and Brian, small as it may be, practically climbing onto his lap and draping your arms loosely around his neck. Brian’s hands settle on your hips, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt to tease along your skin.

“Well, hello there,” Brian says with a broad, easy grin. “I’m assuming you’ve finished with our little conversation, then?”

“I think we’ve made enough big decisions for one night,” you say lightly. “If you wanted to keep talking about the minutia of this I guess we can do that, or we can do something a bit more fun…”

“Oh, is that so?” Brian’s hands start drifting higher, pushing your shirt up as he goes, and he leans in to press a few gentle kisses along your neck. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

You gasp and arc into his touch, and breathe, “Whatever you want.”

You catch a glimpse of Brian’s brilliant smile before his lips catch yours in a fierce kiss. You’re momentarily overwhelmed with just how much you love this man- and then Brian gathers you in his arms, picking you up as he stands from the couch, and you shriek in surprise and delight as he carries you towards the bedroom.

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

You immediately dive into research about corsets, at least as much as you can with the resources available at the library, and what you find doesn’t seem promising at first. You’re head spins with endless lists of measurements and jargon you don’t understand, and you still can’t figure out if this will actually work the way Brian needs it to or if that’s all just Hollywood nonsense.

Even the few shops you manage to find that sell corsets don’t seem likely to work for your purposes. The lingerie stores seem to sell mostly fashion corsets, which probably can’t lace tight enough even if you could get them to fit on Brian’s body, and the wedding boutiques are an immediate no-go from the start.

In the end it’s Brian who comes up with a solution- or at least, that’s what you can only assume has happened when he comes home from the studio one day in a bit of a whirlwind and says, “Fred’s found a corsetmaker for us.”

You blink in bemusement, listening as he sheds coat and keys in the foyer and waiting until he pops his head into the living room before saying, “Hi, honey. Mind explaining how Freddie got involved in this little project of ours?”

Brian huffs in vague amusement, and crosses the room to give you a quick kiss in greeting. “All I did was ask him if he knew any designers who also did corset work, since we weren’t having any luck finding someone on our own,” he says, leaning over you as he talks.

But it seems that’s the extent of his explanation, because he straightens back up and asks, “Do you want tea? I think I’m going to make myself a cuppa.”

“I would like a bit more detail about Freddie and this corsetmaker,” you say. “But yes, I’ll take the tea as well.”

Brian, it seems, is in somewhat of a mood, because he continues the conversation as he walks away, calling over his shoulder, “Like I said, we weren’t getting anywhere and Freddie knows loads of designers and artists so I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask him…”

You stand up and follow him into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway and watching as Brian fills up the kettle and pulls out your mugs with a bit more verve than usual.

“...and obviously I didn’t tell him what it was for. I might have actually implied that it was for you, not that it did me any good because he came back to me today with a name of a corsetmaker who he said would treat me quite well.” He huffs and braces himself against the counter, and you can see the line of tension in his back. “What is it about me that makes it so obvious that I’m going to be the one wearing lingerie?”

“Why does it bother you so much?” you ask, far more quiet than Brian’s own testy ramblings.

Brian clearly hadn’t heard you follow him, because he startles at the sound of your voice and turns to face you in surprise. “Why wouldn’t it bother me?”

“Because like I pointed out before, you’ve worn women’s clothing in the past. Quite frequently, in fact,” you remind him. “Why is this different?”

Brian gnaws at his bottom lip, clearly fighting to find the right words to explain this. “Because, being told that I look like I should be wearing something like this feels like people are making assumptions about me,” he finally admits. “I just wear clothes that I like, regardless of whether they’re intended for men or women. It has nothing to do with what I like in the bedroom, and I hate feeling like people are drawing those sorts of conclusions based on what I wear. They’re never completely right anyway, and it always feels demeaning and degrading.”

There’s a horrible and heartbreaking sort of logic there, especially when combined with what you know of Brian’s deep-seated self-esteem and body issues. You know that society at large doesn’t look favorably on men wearing lingerie, and certainly doesn’t consider them to be much of a man at all. In that context, Brian’s initial visceral reaction against the corset makes a lot more sense.

“Have I ever made you feel that way?” You hate how small your voice sounds as you ask the question, and you hate that you have to ask it at all.

“No,” Brian says immediately, without hesitation. “Never. It’s always just been me, getting too caught up in my own worries about things. Which is exactly what happened today with Freddie, because I know he wasn’t insinuating anything, but I still…”

The kettle goes off and Brian turns away and busies himself making the tea rather than finishing that sentence. You stay quiet, knowing he needs this moment of privacy to gather himself and his thoughts.

It’s a testament to how worked up Brian is that he’s not quiet as he thinks over his next words. The silence in the kitchen is broken by sighs and frustrated huffs, until Brian all but slams the kettle back down and bites out, “It’s one thing, you know, when I have those knee-jerk reactions around you, because you somehow always know what to say to help me actually think things through and calm down. But now I have a phone number for a corsetmaker who I’m going to have to discuss this with and it’s- it’s a lot harder to feel good about this now that other people are involved.”

That gets you moving forward so you’re standing next to Brian, one hand coming up to gently rub his back- but then Brian turns, pulling you into a tight hug and burying his face against your shoulder, and all you can do is hold him as he shakes in your arms.

It’s a long time before Brian pulls away, and when he does he looks exhausted and embarrassed. You kiss him softly to cut off his feeble attempt at an apology, and ask, “Do you want to go sit in the living room?”

“I want tea, but I think it’s gone cold,” Brian says instead, picking up the cups he prepared before his small breakdown. They’re both lukewarm at best, and he dumps them into the sink as you quickly refill the kettle and start heating it again.

You stay pressed close to Brian’s side as you wait for the water to heat up. He doesn’t move away from you but he does say, “I’m fine, you know. I just let it get to me a little too much for a moment there.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. “Because I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“What other choice do I have?”

You can’t hold back a small, frustrated noise at Brian’s question. “Any other choice in the world, Brian! We can take this entire stupid idea and shove it for all I care, because your comfort is more important than some damn kink!”

“But I do want to give this a try.”

It’s said quietly, evenly, no heat or urgency in Brian’s voice, just a statement of fact- and for a moment, you almost hate him for that. You want Brian to be angry so that you can be angry, so you can push and needle at him until all of his insecurities are laid bare for you to systematically refute until there’s no part of Brian that still feels like his self-worth can be determined by his kinks or his clothes.

But you know that’s not the best approach to take in this situation, so instead you take a slow breath to ground yourself and ask, “Then what can we do to make this as stress-free as possible for you?”

You half-expect Brian to respond with “Nothing”, and are bracing yourself for the frustrating conversation that is sure to follow. But instead Brian actually considers the question, humming thoughtfully as the kettle whistles and he remakes the tea for both of you.

“Can you call the corset shop?” he asks after a moment. “If they’re going to have a problem fitting a corset on a man…”

Brian’s voice trails off again and when it’s clear that he’s not going to finish the sentence you say, “I can call.” Because if the conversation goes badly, you know you can handle that better than Brian will. “Is there anything specific you want me to ask them, besides that?”

“If they can make it from my measurements, without me needing to go in at all?” Brian jokes weakly, but it falls somewhat flat and he sighs, and says, “We do need to make sure that they’ll be discreet, and I’d rather not have to ask Jim for an NDA for them to sign.”

You bite your lip to stop from laughing at the mental image of Brian having that particular conversation with Jim Beach. “I agree. Let’s try to not to tell anyone else about our plans, shall we?”

That gets Brian chuckling, and it’s such a relief to hear that you find yourself smiling brightly up at him. “Yes, well, at least telling Freddie got us the name of a corsetmaker, which is more than we had before,” Brian points out. He hands you your cup with a smile of his own and kisses you on the cheek. “Come on, let’s go sit down before we ruin this tea as well.”

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

The next morning you wake late, after Brian has already left for the studio, and as you stumble into the kitchen in search of caffeine your eyes fall on a small note left on the counter. Corsets by Charlotte, it reads in Brian’s handwriting, followed by a phone number.

Right. You did say that you’d make the initial phone call…

Even setting aside Brian’s insecurities it does make more sense for you to call anyway. You’re not recognizable like he is, and you have more time and privacy on your hands than Brian does on recording days, but you still find yourself jittery as you dial the number and listen to it ring, nervous about everything even though you know you shouldn’t be.

The call connects and a bright voice on the other end says, “Costumes by Charlotte! This is Vicki speaking, how may I help you?”

The Costumes part of the greeting throws you for a loop and you find yourself stammering, “Ah, I’m- Well, I was told that you might sell corsets…?” You desperately hope that Freddie’s information isn’t outdated, because you’re not sure where else to turn if this lead is a dud.

“We do, but you’ll have to talk to Charlotte directly for that. Hold on a second, let me get her.”

You tap your foot nervously as you wait, twisting the phone cord around your finger, and you jump when a new voice suddenly says, “Lottie here! Vicki says you’re interested in buying a corset?”

“I am.”

“Wonderful! Corsets are a bit of a passion of mine, so it’s always a treat to get a new order,” Lottie says, and even through the phone she sounds genuinely excited. That already puts some of your worries at ease, even before she asks, “Now, is this for yourself, or for a friend…?”

You bite your lip, hesitating for only a split-second before quickly deciding that you can’t beat around the bush with this. “It’s not for me. It’s for my boyfriend.”

“Alright then, that’s not an issue at all,” Lottie says easily. “Do you know what he’s looking for in a corset?”

She sounds matter-of-fact about it and you slump against the wall in relief. “To be honest, this is pretty new territory for both of us. We don’t exactly know what all the options are for everything.”

“Not a problem! It can be pretty overwhelming for beginners,” Lottie says. “Let’s start with the basics. Why does he want to wear one? Is it for fashion, for medical reasons…?” You hesitate for another moment and Lottie laughs lightly and says, “Would it be easier to just make an appointment to come into the shop and we can discuss everything in person?”

“Probably, yes, but… Well, you see my boyfriend is a bit well-known, and given the nature of all of this-”

“I understand, and if it’s any reassurance he’s not the first public figure I’ve made a corset for. Not even the first male one, in fact.” Lottie reassures you, which certainly piques your interest.

“The storefront is fairly discreet, especially since we branched out and changed the shop name to Costumes,” she continues. “We can schedule an appointment in the evening after regular business hours are over, so there’ll be no other customers, and since I handle all of the corset orders myself you’ll be dealing with me directly. And, of course, if you want me to sign an NDA I have no problems doing so.”

You are so grateful for her no-nonsense response that you don’t hesitate to make the appointment. You’re pretty sure that the band doesn’t have studio time scheduled for Saturday evening, but Lottie reassures you that rescheduling won’t be a problem if something comes up and you take her word for it.

You jot down the shop address on the note that Brian left and tack it to the front of the fridge, where you let Brian discover it when he gets home that evening. You fill him in on the brief but illuminating phone conversation as the two of you make dinner, and you’re pleased to see that Brian is genuinely and enthusiastically excited about the upcoming appointment.

You’re even more pleased when, later that evening, he pulls you into the bedroom to work out some of that excitement with you.

He knows your body as well as you know his. He knows the spots that make you squirm, make you sigh, make you scream- knows where to kiss and where to bite, knows how to bring you to overwhelming pleasure again and again with his mouth and his fingers, and his cock when he finally, finally, pushes inside you.

And as much as Brian loves to tease you, once he finally starts fucking you he doesn’t hold back at all even as he remains attentive almost to a fault, bringing a hand between your bodies to make sure that you reach your peak before he follows you over that edge.

Brian collapses on the bed next to you, breathing heavily and fumbling for your hand. You find his and gently lace your fingers together, knowing that Brian likes little gestures of contact like that after sex. There’s still a vulnerability to him in the afterglow, even when he doesn’t sub and even when kink isn’t involved at all, and after several minutes you kiss Brian on the neck and rouse yourself to get a washcloth to clean up- despite Brian’s protest that he was just about to do that himself.

Brian’s excitement lingers for most of the week, but his nerves return with a vengeance when Saturday morning finally dawns. He frets about the house for most of the day, tense and on-edge, and nothing you try seems to calm him down. You half-expect him to call the whole thing off, and you’re more than a little surprised that Brian doesn’t hesitate or put up any protest when the time comes to leave for the appointment.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” you ask as Brian parks the car and sits for a moment staring at the storefront across the street.

“Yes. I’m fine.” Brian turns to you and smiles, and it’s a little forced but he doesn’t really look like he’s dreading what’s to come. “A bit nervous, but I think I’m allowed to be.”

“You are,” you agree. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

Brian takes a deep breath but nods, and the two of you finally step out of the car.

The storefront is closed, but as you approach the door it’s opened and you’re greeted by a brightly smiling young woman. “I’m Lottie,” she introduces as she ushers you inside. “I’d ask if you’re my evening appointment, but I can’t imagine any other reason why Brian May would be stopping by my little shop.”

Brian laughs, self-conscious, as Lottie closes the door and locks it again. “Yes, that would be me. Guess it was too much to hope that I wouldn’t be recognized.”

“The hair is a bit of a giveaway,” Lottie jokes. “And, of course, I know Freddie from university. He always said he’d send business my way, but I wasn’t expecting it to be one of his bandmates!” She laughs and shakes her head, before adding, “But come on, let’s head into the back and we can have a nice little chat about what you’re looking for here.”

She leads the way to a smaller room in the back of the store, with several ready-made corsets hanging on a rack in the corner and a few chairs set up around a table. Once you’re all seated she grabs a notebook, smiles at the two of you again, and gets right to the point. “Forgive me for being blunt, Mr. May, but you’re looking for a corset for, shall we say, intimate reasons, aren’t you?”

Your eyes immediately bug out in shock and Brian’s face flushes bright red with embarrassment. “I, ah, I don’t really see why the reason is important-”

“On the contrary, it’s very important. Why a corset is worn determines how it is made- what materials are used, what size it is, how much stress it can withstand…”

Lottie jots down a few notes, and then sets her pen aside and folds her hands over the notebook, giving both of you a no-nonsense look. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush with this, so let me lay all of my cards down on the table and you can decide if you want to proceed or not. Prices for a custom-made corset from me begin at £30. It will be fitted to you perfectly, so there are no returns after it’s made.”

You and Brian exchange a quick look, before he says, “The price isn’t an issue.”

“Well I’m certainly glad to hear that,” Lottie says. “Now, if I’m wrong about why you want the corset please let me know so I can make sure we’re on the same page here with regards to its construction but I do need to know something about what you want out of this.”

When neither of you are quick to say anything she sighs and adds, “If it makes you feel better, most of my customers buy for modelling or fetish play since corsetry isn’t exactly fashionable these days, so if that’s why you’re here I don’t mind in the slightest. I only mind when I need to make something for a wedding.”

“Why do you mind if it’s for a wedding?” you ask, curious.

Lottie smirks and says, “Because it is a nightmare dealing with picky brides.”

Brian laughs, and you’re surprised to hear how genuine it sounds. When you glance at him he seems fairly relaxed, considering the setting and the conversation so far, and that helps you calm down a little as well.

“I can see why Freddie recommended we come to you,” Brian says, sounding amused despite himself. “And…” He huffs and, with a small shake of his head, admits, “Yes. You’re right about why I’m here. Can I ask how you knew, though?”

“Like I said, models and fetishists make up the bulk of my corset clientele- outside of film productions, of course,” Lottie says. “You’re not a model, and you’re certainly not going to wear a corset for one of your concerts, so it was an easy guess from there.”

“Easy. Of course,” you mutter. Brian grabs your hand underneath the table and gives it a gentle squeeze. His palm is a little clammy, a testament to his lingering nerves, but if he hasn’t bolted from this conversation yet you suppose you can’t get too testy about Lottie’s bluntness.

“Now, can I ask where your interests more specifically lie? Do you need this to be practical, or is it purely decorative?” Lottie asks.

“Practical,” Brian says. “I, ah-” He clears his throat but doesn’t finish that particular sentence.

“Thank you, that’s good to know.” Lottie quickly scribbles a few more notes, and then stands abruptly and grabs a tape measure that’s hanging off the end of the corset rack. “Please stand up, Mr. May. I need to take your measurements.”

Brian stands and you watch as Lottie wraps the tape measure around him and takes several quick and precise measurements along your torso. Brian stands completely still, eyes locked with yours and a look of bemusement on his still-flushed face as Lottie works.

“There, that should do it for now,” she says after a moment, tossing the tape measure aside again. “Now, have you worn a corset before?” Brian shakes his head and Lottie tsks. “Do you want to try one on?”

Brian gives you a questioning look and you shrug, and tell him, “I think it’s a good idea, if you’re comfortable with that. I’d hate to spend this much money only to get home and find out you hate it.”

“That’s a fair point,” Brian agrees, turning to Lottie, “Alright. Let’s try one on, then.”

Lottie takes a moment to find a close enough match for Brian’s measurements and from there she makes quick work of wrapping it around his body and doing up the clasps in front. “Now, you always want to fasten up the busk in front when it’s fairly loose,” she explains as she steps around to the back and gathers the laces in her hands. “I won’t do this up too tightly, just enough to give you a bit of an idea…”

Brian is facing you and you can see the exact moment that the corset starts to tighten. He gasps quietly and his eyes widen in surprise - but you can tell from the look on his face that it’s not a bad sort of surprise at all, and you shift in your seat as you watch Brian adjust to the sensation.

Lottie ties off the laces after a moment and says, “There, that’s not too tight, is it?”

Brian shakes his head quickly. “No, not at all.”

“Good-” The rest of her response is cut off as a phone rings elsewhere in the shop. She sighs in irritation and says, “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me for a moment…” before ducking out of the room.

You stand up quickly and round the table to stand in front of Brian. His earlier hesitation has been entirely replaced with arousal, and it matches what you’re feeling yourself as you give him a slow once-over.

“You look good in that,” you tell him. You want to shower him in a thousand compliments but you’re not sure how they would be received, so instead you find yourself asking, “What does it feel like?” Brian doesn’t answer right away and you hum impatiently and add, “Compared to our usual sorts of games, anyway.”

Brian rolls his eyes at that but he says, “It feels… different.”

You laugh softly, just a little, and tease, “Well, I should hope it feels different than a hand around your neck.” You press up against him, hands dropping to his waist- and, god, it’s barely cinched in at all but he still feels smaller under your touch. It’s such a small thing, but it makes you flush with a twisted sort of desire. “Describe it for me, baby. I wanna know what it feels like.”

Brian groans, breathy and a little needy already even though you’ve barely done anything. “It’s just there,” he says. “It’s not uncomfortable but I can feel the pressure of it all the way around me and I can’t get away from it. Every time I breathe I can feel it, and if I try to take a deep breath I can’t, and-”

He whines and rocks against you, desperate despite himself, despite the fact that you’re almost in public, and Lottie could be back at any moment. “It feels so good, Y/N, god-”

“Yeah? I’m glad to hear that.” And you are glad that this harebrained scheme of yours is looking like it’s going to be a success, especially given Brian’s earlier nerves, but the sight of Brian coming undone in front of you is eroding away your control as well. “Now just imagine how good it’ll feel when I pull it even tighter,” you purr, smirking as Brian tries to bite back a whimper at the suggestion. “Or if I do this as well…”

And you move one hand, slowly, to rest over Brian’s throat- not pressing in, not here, but even that smallest of tease is more than Brian can handle and he arches into your touch, begging, “Y/N, please-”

You hear footsteps approaching and step back just before Lottie reenters the room- and frankly, it’s not a moment too soon. You’re not sure what you would have done, how far you would have gone, but you’re pretty sure you would have regretted it after the fact. You’re thankful that at least neither you nor Brian are aroused beyond what’s easily hidden, and if Lottie suspects anything she’s tactful enough not to mention it.

“My apologies for that, let me get you out of that corset now…” Lottie says, untying and deftly loosening the laces. “Feeling alright, Mr. May?”

“Yes,” Brian says, dark eyes locked with yours. “Perfectly alright.”

“Wonderful!” Lottie says. She hangs up the corset as Brian sits back down. You want to touch Brian, tease him, make him keep begging for you… but you settle for finding his hand again underneath the table, and gripping it a bit tighter than you had before.

“Now then,” Lottie says as she joins you at the table, picking up her pen and giving both of you a bright grin. “Let’s talk about your corset now, shall we?”

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

“I’m sorry for almost starting something back in the shop. We have our rule about no public play for a reason, and I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you apologize the moment you and Brian get home.

Truthfully, that’s not all that you feel uncomfortable about. Despite knowing about Brian’s insecurities and reservations with this, you still found him so gorgeous in the corset that it almost took your breath away. You don’t know whether to compliment him or offer up an apology, but you’re pretty sure neither would be welcome so you don’t voice that particular thought at all.

Brian shakes his head and is quick to reassure you, “Believe me, you didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to - and nothing I haven’t done to you once or twice before myself. And you stopped things before we actually went too far. I certainly wasn’t thinking straight enough to hear Lottie returning.”

“Did the corset actually feel that good?” you ask. “It seemed like you enjoyed it, but…” You shake your head. “I don’t know. Maybe I was just expecting more breathlessness, but you seemed fairly composed. I mean, all things considered.”

Brian takes a moment to consider his answer before he responds, and you like the reassurance of knowing that whatever answer he gives is going to be true, not just the first thing that popped into his mind.

“Breathing in it was easier than I expected, once I adjusted to it,” he replies. “Maybe that will change when it’s laced tighter or when there’s more exertion involved- I mean, it probably will, I would expect it to, at least. But I did enjoy how it felt today. It still felt restrictive and…”

He hums, searching for the right words to describe it all. “There was a threat to it all, I suppose. Every time I breathed I felt that restriction, and even if it wasn’t much the possibility of more was always there. And you know that I enjoy being teased with choking almost as much as I enjoy the act itself.”

You laugh a little, because it’s true and because Brian’s explanation lifts a weight of worry off your shoulders. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it, and I, for one, enjoyed seeing you in the corset as well,” you tell him, hoping that that little bit of honesty isn’t pushing too far. “I think once yours is done being made, we’re going to have a lot of fun with it.”

“That sounds like you’re already plotting things…”

“And you aren’t?”

Brian grins at you, a little wickedly. “No, I definitely am,” he admits without reservation. “But I’m very curious to see what you come up with as well.”

“Mm, of course you are.” You push Brian back against the wall, pressing in close to trap him there, even though with his height advantage it would be easy for him to get away if he wanted to… but you know he doesn’t want to. His eyes are wide and dark with desire, and when you slot your thigh between his legs you can feel that he’s already (or still) half-hard.

“I bet that’s all you’ve been thinking of since you put that corset on in the shop, isn’t it?” you purr. “You were sitting there pretending to be so calm while we talked about your corset, but the entire time all you wanted was to get laced back up as tightly as possible. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Brian gasps. He rocks against you and tries to lean down to steal a kiss, but you keep just out of his reach, brushing your lips barely over his but not giving him what he wants. “Please, Y/N…”

“Please, what?” you tease. “Please kiss you? Please touch you? Please tell you all the dirty plans I have for you once I get you into that corset?”

“Yes- yes, all of it, please-”

You surge forward and kiss him roughly, hotly, tangling one hand in his hair to hold him in place as you undo his jeans with your other, shoving them down just far enough to pull out his cock.

“You wanna hear what I’m gonna do to you, baby?” you murmur against his mouth as you start to stroke him, teasing at the head of cock and smirking as he whines and bucks into your touch. “Gonna lace it so tight, Bri, you won’t be able to think let alone breathe, and then I’m gonna pull it even tighter. Gonna tie you up and leave you like that for hours, darling, leave you squirming and panting for me…”

Brian is squirming now, thrusting desperately into your hand and writhing against you. Normally you’d be inclined to punish him for that but he looks so beautiful like this, coming undone so easily and with the barest amount of effort, that instead you speed up your strokes to hurry him towards his orgasm.

“Maybe I’ll be nice and play with you, make you come over and over until you can’t catch your breath at all and you’re begging me to stop.” You twist your hand and tighten your grip in his hair, and he’s so close now, whimpering and shuddering beneath you, and you lean in close to murmur in his ear, “Or maybe you’ll be so fucking turned on that I could leave you there alone and you’d come completely untouched all over your pretty little corset-”

With a loud cry Brian’s orgasm crashes through him and he clings to you, shuddering and gasping as you stroke him through it, until his knees buckle and you ease him to the floor. He leans against you, panting and shaking, and you give him a few moments to recover, carding your clean fingers gently through his hair to ground him.

After a few moments he nuzzles against you and you gasp, biting your lip as you try to stop yourself from grinding against his face. “Babe, you don’t have to-”

“Let me, please,” Brian mumbles, still clearly coming down from his orgasm, but he reaches up to undo your jeans, and how can you possibly deny Brian anything right now?

Brian’s mouth is positively sinful, his tongue quick and clever against your most sensitive parts, even when he’s sex-drunk and so far under that you can gently tighten your grip on his head to guide his movements to the exact rhythm that makes you see stars.

“Bri… Brian…” you pant, feeling your peak approaching almost embarrassingly quickly. “You’re so good for me, so fucking good…”

Brian looks up at you with slightly glazed but adoring eyes- and that’s enough to tip you over. You buck against Brian’s face and he groans against you, the vibrations of it making you cry out in heightened pleasure. When the sensations become too much to bear and you take one stumbling step back, Brian’s mouth is soaked with spit and come and you moan at the sight of it all.

You kneel down as well, gathering Brian in your arms, and he slumps against you as the two of you catch your breath. You kiss the top of his head and murmur praises that are mostly lost in the mess of Brian’s hair, but he nuzzles against you with a happy sigh so you know he understands the intent behind your words at least.

It’s only later, well after you’ve both gotten cleaned up and moved on with your evening, that Brian brings up corsets again. “You know, you’re more into the corset thing than I was expecting you to be,” he remarks, out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” you ask and you give him a curious look. You’ve always been supportive of Brian’s kinks, like he is of yours, so you’re not quite sure why he’s surprised now. “I know how much you like the breathplay. Why wouldn’t I embrace this with you?”

Brian shakes his head. “No, no I mean- the corset itself. You, ah- you seemed to enjoy seeing me in it, even aside from the breathplay aspect. And you really seem eager to lace me up in my corset when it’s done.”

“Why wouldn’t I be eager to lace you up?” you ask, because it’s safer to focus on that than the rest of Brian’s question. “Honestly, I never thought of it before but seeing your waist cinched in like that… It’s like when I tie you up and use the rope to accent certain parts of your body. It’s like I can physically see the control you give me in those moments, and I like that.”

“Oh. Huh. That would make sense,” Brian says, voice thoughtful. “So it’s not really about the corset itself at all then?”

You can feel your face start to grow hot with embarrassment. For a moment you seriously consider lying to Brian even though you know that wouldn’t be fair to him, but you finally admit, “All kinks aside, you did look very nice in the corset, Brian. It was very flattering on you, but I didn’t want to say too much and make you uncomfortable-”

“Y/N, it’s alright,” Brian interrupts, with a small laugh. He kisses you, soft and tender, before adding, “I don’t have a problem with compliments if they’re coming from you. Especially when I’m subbing, you know that.”

You do know that. Brian thrives off praise and adoration, which is good because he always looks gorgeous and he makes it so easy to shower him with a thousand well-deserved compliments. But you’re still nervous about this, and you can’t help but ask, “Are you sure? You were so worried about the idea of the corset at first, that I don’t want to cross a line anywhere…”

“I appreciate that very much, but I honestly don’t think you will,” Brian tells you. “And if you do, I’ll speak up and we’ll talk it over, like we would for anything else. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, and you manage to give him a small smile.

Brian’s reassurances have soothed away most of your lingering unease and guilt. You curl against his side, sighing contentedly as he drapes an arm around your shoulders to hold you close, and you ask, “Anything else on your mind?”

Despite the conversations you’ve already had, and the time its taken to even get this far, you’re not naive enough to think that you’ve adequately discussed every subject or angle with this. You also know that it’s not really possible to do that, but you wish it was. You wish you could analyze every single detail so that when the scene was finally underway there were no hiccups and no reservations and nothing ever went wrong.

Even if you don’t say any of that Brian knows you- and your anxieties- far too well. “Nothing else right now,” he says. “If anything else comes up we’ll talk it through, but I think we’ll be alright. All we can really do now is wait for Lottie to finish the corset anyway.”

And, as it turns out, you don’t have very long to wait for that after all. Brian has his first fitting a few days later, which he insists on going to alone- “So we don’t get up to any more antics in the shop,” he jokes- and it’s only a week after that when Lottie calls to let you know that the final corset is ready to be picked up.

“Are you sure you want me to come along? Maybe I won’t be able to control myself this time…” you tease as Brian hands you your jacket and ushers you quickly out of the house. You’re both eager to get over to the shop, and Brian isn’t bothering to hide his excitement at all.

He laughs as he opens the car door for you. "Lottie wants to go over proper lacing techniques with us, so we need to control ourselves- at least until we get home.”

As with last time the shop is closed when you arrive, and Lottie greets you with a bright smile. “Can I just say, I’ve had a wonderful time working on your corset,” she says as she leads you into the same room as before. “Especially after-” She laughs, glancing at Brian, and says, “Well, let’s just put this on you and see how it looks!”

You give Brian a curious look, but he just smirks and strips out of both his jacket and his dress shirt, leaving him only in a thin t-shirt.

“Now, the oils of your skin can damage the fabric- and this isn’t something you can just throw in a washing machine, you know. I’ll send you home with a liner or you can wear a t-shirt like that one,” Lottie says.

You have a moment of wondering what Brian would look like wearing less than he is now… a tank top perhaps, to show off his arms, or just the liner that Lottie mentioned so all that beautiful skin is on display for you… and then you notice the corset that Lottie is wrapping around Brian, and you nearly lose the ability to think entirely.

The original corset plans had been straightforward and simple: all white, in a simple but sturdy cotton fabric. Functional first and foremost, and decidedly understated to avoid something that looked too much like lingerie and would trigger Brian’s insecurities.

The corset that Brian is wearing, that Lottie is carefully tightening, that has Brian gasping and flushing and looking at you with dark eyes, is not that corset.

This one is still white, technically, but now sewn up in a heavy brocade with a subtle pattern that shimmers as it catches the light. The corset is trimmed in black, with black laces that Lottie ties off with quick precision… and black lace appliques now decorating the middle of the corset, resting along Brian’s hips and drawing the eyes to point where his waist is cinched in.

You only realize that your mouth is hanging open in shock when you hear Brian’s soft laugh. “You like it, then?” he asks, with a knowing little smile. “After our little conversation, I asked Lottie to change up the design a bit when I came in for that fitting.”

“Like it?” You let out a breathless laugh and, unable to help yourself, surge forward to kiss Brian, though you keep it brief and chaste. “Baby, I love it. You look absolutely incredible.”

And he does look beautiful. His cheeks are rosy from both arousal and a hint of embarrassment but he’s beaming at you with a wide smile, and when your hands settle around his waist he makes an aborted move to rock against you, before he catches himself and stops.

“I’m very glad you both like it,” Lottie says, with a smile of her own. “Now, there’s one last thing to discuss, and that’s how to break the corset in.”

Some of the dazed excitement fades from Brian’s eyes, but he asks, “What do we need to do?”

“I usually recommend the 2-2-2 method. Tighten it by two inches, for two hours a day, over a period of two weeks,” Lottie says.

“Two weeks?” Brian echoes, sounding dismayed.

“Obviously once you leave the shop I can’t control what you do,” Lottie says. “But if you try to lace it too tightly right from the beginning you can damage the corset, or hurt yourself if you’re not careful. That corset can lace in tighter than two inches and your body isn’t used to that, after all.”

“We’ll break it in, don’t worry,” you tell her. Brian huffs, and you give him a pointed look. “There’s no harm in taking your time with some things.”

Brian’s eyes widen as he picks up on the hidden meaning in your words. The whole point of this new adventure was, after all, to find a way to take your time with the breathplay. Maybe this wasn’t quite what you had expected, but your mind is already racing with possibilities for the next two weeks.

“Good. I hate seeing my hard work ruined by someone’s impatience,” Lottie says. “Now, the corset is laced in about two inches now, so that’s what you’re aiming for over the next two weeks. And I think that’s about everything so, Brian, do you want me to take that off, or do you want to wear it out of the shop?”

Brian looks at you questioningly, and you give him a small shake of the head and a tiny shrug. You may take on the dominant role when it comes to the breathplay, but this isn’t a decision you can make for Brian. The thought of Brian driving home with a corset hidden under his jacket makes your entire body light up with desire but neither of you are typically ones for public play, and you won’t force Brian even further outside his comfort zone.

“I think I’ll wear it home,” Brian says, and you have to bite your lip to hold back a moan.

“Wonderful! Now, as we discussed at the fitting, the final cost is £50. I’ll have your invoice ready for payment up front whenever you’re ready,” Lottie says, and then she leaves the room.

It takes more effort than you thought was possible to let go of Brian’s waist and take a step back. “I want to fucking ruin you right now,” you say in a low voice. “God, Brian, that corset is stunning- you’re stunning, I can’t stand it-”

Brian exhales sharply, and when he reaches for his shirt you can see that his hands are shaking slightly. “When you told me that you liked how I looked wearing the corset, I wanted to make sure the final product was something you’d enjoy as well.”

“I would have enjoyed seeing you in the plain corset we originally planned… but I can’t deny that I do love the changes you made.” You give him a quick peck on the cheek, because you don’t trust yourself not to get carried away if you kissed him on the lips, and you do up two more buttons on his shirt. “You can’t leave this as open as you usually do, darling, or someone will see our little secret.”

Truthfully, there's nothing to see once Brian has his jacket on. His clothes are loose enough to hide the cinching around his waist, and only his ramrod-straight spine gives away the slightest hint of what’s hiding beneath the surface.

You steal the car keys from Brian when you leave the shop, telling him, “I think you might be a bit too distracted to drive right now.”

“And you’re not distracted at all?” Brian says dryly- but his composure is ruined as he sits down in the car. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, already sounding strained. You watch as he tries to arch his back to find a more comfortable position, but there’s no give to the corset. “Sitting is, ah, harder than I was expecting…”

That’s not the only thing that’s harder. You can see the tell-tale bulge in Brian’s jeans, and he’s not the only one affected by the situation. Brian squirms in his seat the entire drive home, the worst sort of temptation, and you grip the steering wheel so tightly that your knuckles are practically white.

As soon as you get home you lead Brian into the bedroom. You kiss him roughly, drawing it out long enough to strip off Brian’s jacket and coat, undo his belt and push his jeans down his thighs. When you pull away you’re breathless, and Brian is gasping as he struggles to draw enough air back into his restricted lungs.

“Color, Bri?” you ask, and his answering, “Green,” is breathy but his conviction is firm.

“Good.” You take a step back and start to strip off your own clothes as you order, “Finish taking your jeans off and kneel for me.”

“Pants too?” Brian asks, as he quickly pulls off his jeans.

You shake your head, and sit down on the edge of the bed, naked. “No. Leave them on- and kneel, Brian. I won’t ask again.”

Brian sinks, slowly, down to his knees with a quiet gasp. “Oh- oh god, Y/N, you have no idea what this feels like…”

He reaches down to touch himself but you stop him with a sharp, “No, Brian. Hands behind your back. You’re not to touch yourself, do you understand?”

Brian moans but he does as you say. He grips his wrists behind his back and looks up at you with eyes blown wide with lust, panting and trying so hard to stay still for you.

“Fuck, Bri, you look gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous, babe,” you praise, reaching one hand down to touch yourself. You’re not going to last long but that’s okay, because you know this is only the first of many scenes like this. “You’ve never had better posture than this, honey, should’ve gotten a corset ages ago just for that alone…”

Brian whines, needy, strained. He squirms but the steel-boning and heavy fabric of the corset have such little give that even as he shifts his entire torso remains straight and unyielding. “Y/N, please, let me taste you, let me touch you, please-”

“Not today,” you tell him, groaning as your fingers tease over yourself. “Today you’re going to kneel there and describe what it feels like while I get myself off.”

“You know what it feels like,” Brian tries to deflect. “I told you that first day we went to Lottie’s shop-”

“Tell me,” you order. “I want to hear it now, when you’re kneeling in front of me in your corset, when you’re laced down two whole inches and so fucking desperate for me.”

Brian whimpers but he is desperate and he starts to babble, “Fuck, Y/N, it feels- it feels tight and strong and- and there’s no give, not anywhere, and the pressure feels sharper when I’m not standing, and- and-”

Brian is trying to subtly rock his hips, but you let it slide. You can see how the corset limits the movement, even around his hips, and anyway there’s nothing for him to rub against, no way to get friction against his painfully hard cock. He looks nearly wrecked already, even though you haven’t touched him, even though the corset is nowhere near as tight as it can go, and it’s enough to drive you wild.

“How does it feel to breathe in it?” you ask, speeding up the movement of your hand, your other drifting up to ghost across your chest, tease along your nipples. “What’s it like to feel it against your chest with every inhale?”

“Good, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good,” Brian moans, shameless and desperate. “I can’t- it feels like I can’t catch my breath, feels so good, Y/N, please let me come-”

Brian’s begging tips you over the edge and you cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, so hard that your vision almost whites out, and you shake and writhe on the edge of the bed as you work yourself through it, Brian’s moans and breathless panting sending fire licking up your spine, until you collapse, boneless, against the bed.

Brian is still whimpering and begging, and when you look down at him you can see that he’s still kneeling in the same position, his hands still behind his back, though he’s practically shaking with need. He’s so turned on that he’s winding himself up without you needing to do anything at all. Even if he had no problems breathing in the corset under normal circumstances, he’s panting so heavily, breathing so shallowly, that you know that he has to be feeling light-headed by now.

You sink down to kneel in front of him, gathering him in your arms and murmuring, “You can move, Brian, you did so well, you’re so good for me…”

Brian’s hands immediately fly up to cling to your shoulders and he begs again, “Please let me come, please please let me come-”

“You can come when the corset comes off,” you tell Brian and the noise he lets out would have been a sob, if he had enough breath for it. “The first time you come while wearing that is going to be after we break it in, when it’s laced as tightly as I can possibly get it. So you’re going to stay like that, laced up and desperate to come, until today’s two hours are up. Do you understand?”

Brian whines and buries his face against your neck, but he nods and you can feel him trying to calm down, to take slow and deep breaths despite the corset restricting his attempts.

“Color, Brian?” you ask again, because even though you’ve played similar games with Brian in the past the corset brings an entirely new element to this and you need to be careful here.

“Green,” he says, without hesitation, and his voice sounds a little more calm than it had been even just moments before.

“Good boy.” You rub one hand along his back, and press a kiss to his temple. “My perfect, good boy.”

You feel Brian shudder at the praise, before sagging against you- at least, as much as the corset will allow him to.

———————————

You and Brian learn a lot about corsets over those first few days. You learn how easy is it to lace Brian’s corset to the required two inches, and how easy it would be (will be) to lace it even tighter. Brian learns how to breathe without hyperventilating, and how to get to that point when he wants it. You learn the patterns that the corset leaves on Brian’s skin, and he learns how quickly they fade and how to hide them if they linger.

You both learn that two hours is a fickle amount of time. When Brian isn’t laced up two hours can pass in the blink of an eye, but the moment he puts that corset on two hours feels like a small eternity. You don’t always start a scene when Brian puts it on, but regardless of how those two hours are spent you’re firm on not letting him come while he’s wearing the corset. Maybe it’s silly of you, but you want the first time you properly and fully explore the breathplay possibilities of the corset to be something special.

And then, barely a week into breaking in the corset, you learn that Queen are almost done with this block of time in the studio. There’s a break planned afterwards, before they return to recording later in the year, but you know that they’ll still want these first few songs to be perfected before the band goes their separate ways for a few months.

Brian’s days start getting longer, beginning earlier and running later into the evening. He comes home half-exhausted, puts off being laced into the corset for as long as possible, and when you do take it off there’s no frantic desperation to come. Brian falls asleep early, leaves before you wake up in the morning, and it’s an unfortunate routine that you’ve grown used to over the years but it feels wrong, somehow, now that you’ve fucked up the timing and mixed kink in with it all.

On the third-to-last evening of breaking in the corset, Brian dozes off on the couch while still wearing it. Unable to properly slouch in his sleep, Brian’s head is instead slumped against the back of the couch while his torso remains rigidly held in place by the corset. It looks like a horrifically uncomfortable position to be in and, even though you know he needs the rest, you gently shake him awake.

He blinks blearily at you and tries to shift, forgetting in his exhaustion that he’s still wearing the corset. He groans as it restricts his movement and the sound does absolutely nothing to rile you up.

“Sorry, but you would’ve had the worst crick in your neck if you kept sleeping like that,” you apologize, gently brushing his hair away from his face.

“‘s fine,” he mumbles. “How much longer do I have to wear this tonight?”

And in that moment you are so done with this entire process, and you say, “We can take it off now, if you want.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fucking exhausted and the last thing you should be worrying about right now is this damn corset,” you say, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice despite your efforts to remain calm. “Maybe we should put the whole thing on hold, just until you’re done recording.”

Brian, stubborn as ever, shakes his head. “No, we’re almost done, let’s just see this through and-”

“And what?” you interrupt. “Even after we break it in, I’m not tight-lacing you in it when you come home from the studio half-asleep every day!”

“I’m not asking you to. Let’s just finish these last few days of breaking it in, and we can set it aside until the band goes on break,” Brian says.

“There’s only a few days left, though. Why don’t we stop now and pick it up again later?” you ask.

Brian sighs, closing his eyes and slumping down as much as the corset will allow. “Because it’s important to me that we do this properly first.”

“But-”

“Y/N, please,” Brian cuts in. “I’m too tired to fight with you about this now. All I’m asking is that we finish out the next few days, so that when I’m not dead on my feet we can jump straight back into this.”

You immediately feel awful for pushing the issue so hard right now. You kiss Brian’s cheek and apologize, saying, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, I just hate seeing you this tired.”

Brian sighs. “I know. But honestly, apart from how it restricts my movement the corset isn’t that uncomfortable laced like this anymore. We’re doing something right here with breaking it in, and I want to finish this so we don’t have to worry about it later.”

“Alright,” you agree. You’re still not thrilled at the idea of Brian putting himself through this for the next few days, but it helps to know that he’s not in pain during these two hours- just tired beyond belief, which he’d still be even without wearing the corset. “Well, to answer your original question, you only have about twenty minutes left of wearing it tonight.”

“Good, because I just want to go to sleep.”

You laugh softly, just a little, and you can’t help but tease, “Yeah, that was obvious from your little cat-nap…”

Brian smiles and lets his eyes slip shut again, just for a moment, before he slowly forces them open with a tired blink. “Well, another week or so and we’ll be done in the studio, so…”

True to his word, Brian finishes breaking in the corset over the next few days, after which you’re more than happy to leave it hanging in the closet until Queen is done in the studio and Brian can rest up a bit. You do your best not to fuss over him too much, knowing that his patience wears thin when he’s running on fumes like this, and you count down the days until he’s done recording.

And then Brian tells you that Queen has extended their studio time by another week. Silently, you wonder whether the universe has decided to just conspire against you to make sure that you and Brian never get the chance to have wild, kinky sex ever again.

Aloud, you tell Brian, “Okay but, for the record, I kind of want to strangle whoever suggested that you keep working yourselves to the bone.”

He lets out a bark of laughter and asks, “Do you promise?”

You recognize that spark of amused mischief in his tired eyes and sigh, but can’t quite keep a fond smile off your face. “You’re the one who asked for more studio time, aren’t you?”

“It’s mainly my song that’s holding us up so, yes, I did,” Brian says. “I’m sorry, I know you’ve been waiting for us to finish recording so we can properly try out the corset, but-”

“But Queen is more important than that,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine, Brian, I don’t mind.” He gives you a look and you roll your eyes, adding, “Fine, I mind that you’re not getting nearly enough sleep these days, but honestly the kink can wait.”

You take a step closer to Brian and drop your hands to his waist, hands sliding up under his shirt to stroke along his back and sides. “Besides,” you say in a low purr. “The longer we wait, the more time I have to plan things out… maybe I won’t be strangling you, darling, but I promise everything will still be better than perfect.”

Brian whimpers, and you can feel him shiver at your gentle touch. “That’s not fair, Y/N.”

“What’s not fair, baby?” you leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Brian tries to chase it but his movements are slow and sluggish, and he whines low in his throat when you pull away. “Teasing me when I’m too tired for sex,” he says, a mumbled complaint that makes your heart ache with fondness.

You lean up to give him a proper kiss this time, and even though you know he’s exhausted you still enjoy the way he melts against you. “Who said anything about sex?” you ask, the words almost lost against Brian’s lips. “Just let me take care of you, Brian. Let me make you feel good.”

Brian moans softly, but he’s still holding back. “If I come, I’m gonna fall asleep before I can return the favor.”

“I think I can take care of myself for one night,” you tell him, trying not to laugh. “Come on, Bri. Let’s go to bed.”

Brian is soft and pliable under your touch, but he really is too exhausted for you to feel good about teasing him too much. You help him strip out of his clothes, and once he’s spread out on the bed beneath you you don’t waste any time in taking his cock in your mouth even though he’s still a little soft. He finishes growing hard on your tongue as he cries out and shakes beneath you, his hands holding your head even though he doesn’t have the energy to direct your movements.

Brian may like it when you draw things out, but tonight you’re quick to swallow him down almost to the base, drawing back to tease at the head of his cock only when you need to breathe, and it only takes a few repetitions of that before he arches up and comes deep down your throat with a wordless cry. You swallow around him a few times before drawing back to suckle at his tip, only stopping when his moans and whimpers start to take on a note of pain.

He does fall asleep before he can make any motions about wanting to get you off as well, but you expected that and frankly your own pleasure is the last thing on your mind at the moment. You curl up next to him in bed and pull the covers over both of you, and when Brian is once again gone before you wake up in the morning you just remind yourself, yet again, that he’ll be done with this stretch of recording soon enough.

Brian calls you from the studio on the last day they have booked and you brace yourself for him to tell you that they’re extending things yet again. But instead he tells you, tired but cheerful, that they’ve wrapped up the songs they were working on and are going out to celebrate, just the four of them, that night.

“I mean, if you don’t mind, that is,” Brian adds at the end of his rambling explanation.

“Why would I mind?” you ask with a laugh. “Go out and have fun, you guys deserve it.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Brian says, “I didn’t know if maybe you had plans now that we’re done in the studio.”

You know what Brian means immediately. “I told you, Bri, we aren’t doing anything until you’re well-rested again,” you tell him. Brian huffs, and before he can try to talk you into this you add, “No. I’m not taking any risks with this. You can wait another day or two, it won’t kill you.”

“Maybe it will, you don’t know,” Brian says, and you don’t feel bad about laughing because you know that he’s joking now. “You sure you don’t mind me going out, though? I’ll probably be back pretty late.”

“I don’t mind, honestly,” you assure him. “Go out, have a few drinks, tell the others I said hi. I’ll see you when you get home, whenever that is.”

You aren’t expecting Brian to be out too late, given how tired they all have to be by this point, but it’s still nearly 10 o’clock by the time you hear his key in the lock. You can hear him fumbling with it, and you get to the door and open it before Brian manages to figure out how to do it himself.

“Y/N!” he says, with the loud exuberance that only drunk people seem to manage. “‘s you!”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say with a laugh. Brian is swaying unsteadily on his feet and you’re quick to wrap an arm around his waist to hold him upright as you close the door and start carefully shuffling him towards the bedroom. “Seems like you had a good night out.”

“Was fun, but I missed you,” Brian says. He tries to nuzzle against you but leaning down throws his balance off and you both nearly topple over, before you manage to deposit him clumsily on the bed instead.

You pull off Brian’s shoes and wrestle him out of his jeans and shirt, the undressing made difficult by the fact that Brian keeps trying to grab your hand. He whines when you disentangle yourself from him, and as you start to leave the room he tries to stand up and follow you.

“Bri, no, c’mon stay here, I’m just getting you a glass of water and some painkillers.” You push him back down onto the bed and kiss the top of his head. “I’ll be back in a minute, I promise.”

“You better,” Brian mumbles, and you have to hide a fond smile as you duck out of the room. Drunk Brian is always a bit of a handful, but when it’s just the two of you he’s so affectionate and sweet that it makes your heart melt a little.

Brian is lying down in bed when you return, which means you have to coax him back upright to drink the glass of water and down the painkillers. “C’mon Brian, if you don’t your hangover will be worse and you’ll be miserable in the morning,” you try to reason with him.

“‘m not gonna have a hangover,” he insists, burrowing against your side and refusing to move.

“Yeah? How do you figure that?” you ask.

“I’m done in the studio, which means it’s corset time so I can’t have a hangover,” he explains.

You bite back a laugh at his simplistic drunken-logic, deciding that it would be too mean to remind him that you already said you weren’t doing anything until he was completely rested up. However you’re not above using this to your advantage and you tell him, “There will be no “corset time” unless you drink this glass of water and take these pills.”

Brian groans but leverages himself mostly-upright, somehow managing to down the water without choking on it before falling back against the pillows. You climb into bed as well and he rolls over to wrap himself around you. His hair is in your face and you know he’s going to be miserably hungover in the morning, but there’s still no other place you’d rather be than here in his arms.

“Love you. So much,” he mumbles, his voice slurred with both alcohol and exhaustion. “Sorry ‘m drunk.”

You smile fondly at him, even though he can’t see it, and tell him, “It’s fine, and I love you too.”

There’s no response from Brian, but his even breathing tells you that he’s already fallen asleep. You close your eyes and relax in his embrace, and it’s not long after that that you’re asleep as well.

The following morning you wake up before Brian for the first time in several weeks, and you take a few minutes to savor the moment. Brian looks peaceful when he’s asleep, even if the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble along his jaw are a testament to how worn-down he is from the long days of recording. You’re glad that he’s getting some rest now, and even more glad that the band has a nice stretch of time off before they need to do anything else.

You kiss Brian’s sleep-soft lips, and untangle yourself from him slowly so you don’t accidentally wake him up. He mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over into the space you vacated but stays asleep, and you slip quietly from the room.

It’s several hours before you hear Brian moving around in the bedroom, and you put the kettle on and start making toast before he finally emerges. His hair is even more wild than usual and he blinks at you with bleary eyes as you push him down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“How’s the hangover?” you ask him. His answering groan says everything, and you chuckle as you pass over a cup of tea and grab a plate for his toast. “And to think, last night you were convinced that we’d be diving into a scene today…” you tease gently.

“If you put me in that corset I think I might vomit on you,” Brian mumbles. He grabs the cup of tea, holding it in his hands but making no moves to drink it yet.

You kiss his temple as you set the plate of toast down in front of him. “No corsets today, but are you well enough to talk about things? I want to touch base with you again before we do anything.”

He sighs, and rubs at his eyes. “Give me a few hours to wake up first?” he asks, and you agree to that easily. God knows he wouldn’t retain anything you try to tell him now.

Later that afternoon, when Brian is more awake and slightly less hungover, the two of you settle down in the living room to talk. It’s more neutral territory than the bedroom, and you keep a slight distance between the two of you to stop yourselves from getting distracted.

“Before we talk about whatever you have on your mind, can I just ask… You do still want to do this, don’t you?” Brian asks.

He seems genuinely nervous, and that takes you by surprise. “Of course I do! Why, did you think that I had changed my mind or something?”

Brian shrugs a little, and says, “I don’t know. Every time it’s come up lately, you’ve deflected and put it off and I thought… I don’t know, that maybe once we took that break and things had calmed down you were having second-thoughts.”

“No, not in the slightest,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry if I gave you that impression. I’ve just been worried for you, Brian. I was scared that if we did something while you were still tired from recording that I’d accidentally hurt you, or you’d end up panicking during the scene like when we tried the masks and gags. I just wanted to make sure that nothing went wrong when we finally did this, that’s all.”

“Something could still go wrong, though,” Brian points out with a tentative smile. “You can’t control everything with this, Y/N.”

“No, but I can make sure we aren’t taking any unnecessary risks either,” you say. “Which is why I want to make sure we’re on the same page with this now.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Brian admits. “What did you want to talk about, then?”

“What are your expectations for this scene?” you ask, without preamble. This isn’t the first conversation of this sort that you’ve had with Brian, though it’s been a little while since you’ve had to have one. “How long did you want it to last, how tight do you want the corset to be…?”

“As long as we can and as tight as you can get it,” Brian says. You let out a small, frustrated sigh, but he continues talking before you can say anything. “The whole point of getting the corset was to make this last longer, and I want to explore what that actually looks like… and, frankly, after the two weeks of breaking the corset in I am very much looking forward to getting it laced tighter than just two inches.”

You bite your lip, considering Brian’s words for a moment, before asking, “You’ll safeword if it gets to be too much?” You know that he will, because he has in the past, but you still need to hear that confirmation now.

Brian knows that, and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you, “Yes.” He also doesn’t hesitate to ask you in return, “And you’ll safeword if it gets to be too much for you as well, right?”

“Yes,” you assure him with a wry smile. “And if you panic again, I will stop everything immediately and I’ll cut you out of the damn corset if I have to.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

You laugh, despite the seriousness of the conversation. “That’s what I said back when we first talked about this,” you remind him. “And now look at us, you’re the one eager to get going and I’m the one with all the hesitations.”

“You’re not hesitant. You’re just being safe and practical,” Brian says. “Although, you are killing me a little with the anticipation for this. How much longer are you going to make me wait before we finally do this?”

“A little bit longer,” you say, evasively, and you grin when Brian groans and slouches dramatically down into the couch. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t like the build-up as much as the actual scene itself.”

“I do but this has already been in the works for weeks, Y/N,” Brian whines, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips that tells you that the complaint is good-natured.

“Yes, so just think about how satisfying it’ll be when you finally wake up one morning and see that corset laid out and waiting for you…” You lean over and kiss him, just a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, adding, “I promise it’ll be this week. I just don’t want to ruin the surprise of when it’s going to happen.”

“Well, alright then,” Brian says, as he pulls you into his lap. “I suppose I can live with that.”

———————————

You don’t do anything else that day, though you know Brian wasn’t expecting you to. The next day you see his look of disappointment when you don’t take the corset out of where it’s hanging in the closet, but he’s still just tired enough that he’s content to spend the day lounging on the sofa watching movies with you (no period dramas this time, though).

On the third day Brian is visibly antsy, which you were expecting. There’s nothing stopping you from doing anything today, except that you just don’t want to. You want Brian nearly tripping over himself in anticipation first… and, you have to admit, you like watching him squirm as he tries so hard to be good and not pester you about your plans.

The fourth day, though…

You wake up and, at first, you act like it’s going to be another normal day. You can see Brian practically biting his tongue to stop himself from asking when you’re finally going to do something, and it takes all of your effort to hold back your pleased smirk at seeing him so eager for this. You’re not going to make him wait any longer and, after breakfast while he’s taking a quick shower, you finally make your move.

You’re familiar with Brian’s habits and quirks, and you know you don’t have long to get things ready. Brian will skip washing his hair today, towel off and throw on a pair of pants in the bathroom, and then come into the bedroom to finish getting dressed. You know this, and so you lie the corset out on the bed and sit perched next to it where Brian will see you the moment he walks in.

Brian doesn’t even make it completely into the room. He freezes in the doorway, first staring at you, and then down at the corset, with eyes that are already blown wide with lust and anticipation. “Y/N-” he chokes out and you grin at his reaction, delighted and amazed that you’re still able to work him up like this.

You crook your finger and motion for Brian to come over. He nearly trips over his feet in his eagerness, and you laugh as you lean up to kiss him one last time before you dive into all your plans. “You ready for this, babe?” you ask him.

“Yes, god, I’ve been ready,” he says, and he tries to deepen the kiss but you pull away and give him a small push back from you.

“Good,” you say, before tossing Brian the liner you had gotten from Lottie. He pulls it on quickly and you wait until he looks at you excitedly, expectedly, before picking up the corset… and holding it out to him. “Put it on.”

Brian makes a noise like all the air was suddenly punched out of him. "What?"

"Put it on," you repeat. Your smile is a bit too sharp to really pass as sweet but that's okay, because you know how much this simple order is affecting Brian. You can see it in his eyes, in the clearly visible bulge in his pants, in the way his hands shake as he reaches out and takes the corset from you.

He wraps it around his body and you tsk, and tell him, “That’s upside-down, Brian. Put it on correctly, now, or we won’t be doing anything today.”

Brian’s face is bright red with humiliation and arousal, but he flips the corset around and fumbles with the latches along the busk. Once those are fastened and he adjusts the corset so it’s sitting in the right position, he grabs the laces and gives you a questioning look. “Do you want me to…?”

“Yes, go on, lace yourself up,” you tell him. “I think I did enough work, lacing you up every night for the two weeks that we were breaking it in. It’s your turn now.”

Brian nods and starts to pull on the laces, letting out a tiny whimper as the corset tightens around him. It’s an absolute treat to watch Brian do this to himself, to watch the expressions he makes and the way you can visibly see his waist shrink as he pulls the laces in tighter. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a moan of your own, and it takes all your self-control to stay seated on the edge of the bed instead of jumping on Brian right now.

“How tight?” Brian asks. You can already hear the strain in his voice, and can see the shallower breaths that the corset is forcing him to take.

“As tight as you want it,” you say, and Brian lets out a broken moan. “Just make sure you get the lacing lying flat in the back, and tie it off in a pretty little bow for me when you’re done.”

Brian cinches the laces tighter one more time before he twists his arm back to check that he gathered in all the slack from the laces. You know that even doing that much has to be a strain when he’s laced this tightly, and sure enough when he ties off the laces and drops his arms you can see how badly they’re shaking.

“Turn around,” you order. “Let me see.”

Brian does, and you groan as you see just how much Brian has laced down. It’s far more than the two inches you did during the training, but more importantly there’s still room in the corset for it to go down even further. That’s going to be helpful later… if you manage to hold out that long.

You stand up and crowd against Brian’s back, hands dropping down to his now-tiny waist, as you nuzzle the back of his neck. “Perfect, baby, you’re so good, you look fucking gorgeous,” you praise. “So beautiful in your corset, god, you’re incredible.”

And Brian is gorgeous, with his waist forced into an uncomfortable hourglass shape and a flush spreading down the back of his neck and across his shoulders. If you turned him around you know you’d be able to see that flush extending down his chest, almost down to where his nipples are exposed above the top of the corset. You’d be able to see the long lines of his legs, his cock straining at his pants, the corset digging into his hips and miles of exposed skin waiting for you to kiss and bite and suck bruises into.

You wonder, briefly, what Brian would look like if his corset was accompanied by lingerie… The image of Brian in lacy panties or stockings, maybe with a plug inside him so he couldn’t help but squirm as you made him kneel for you, was certainly a delicious one, but you push the thought from your mind. Maybe, down the road, you’ll suggest that to Brian, but not today.

Brian tilts his head back to rest on your shoulder, and you can’t resist sliding one hand up to lay it across his neck. You don’t apply any pressure but you don’t have to- the gesture alone is enough to get Brian whining and begging, “Y/N, please…”

“So good for me, Brian.” You press a kiss to his jaw and ask, “Color?”

“Green, please-”

“And how’s the corset feel?”

Brian groans as he realizes that you’re in no rush to give him what he wants, but he reluctantly replies, “Tight. But it feels so good.”

“And how’s the breathing?”

“Difficult,” Brian admits, with a small huff of laughter despite himself, and he tries one more time, “Please, Y/N, I need-”

“We need to go do the dishes from breakfast, I think,” you say. Brian whines and you’re happy that he can’t see your amused smile at his, admittedly predictable, reaction. “And then I picked up a new album that I want to listen to and then…”

You chuckle, and spin Brian around so he’s facing you and, god, he’s already so far under that if you hadn’t just checked in with him you’d stop everything immediately to make sure he was still alright. “Then we’ll see where the day takes us from there, I suppose. Does that sound alright, Bri?”

Brian nods immediately, because no matter how turned on he is, how badly he already wants to come, this is what he’s been waiting for: being laced up so tight that breathing becomes a challenge, so that every inhale has to be carefully considered, so that simple movements become feats of exertion, and then forced to stay like that for hours, until his pleasure becomes a desperation and he’s so far gone that he’d do almost anything for you if you’d just let him finally come.

You set Brian to work drying the dishes as you wash them, because you don’t trust him to clean them properly with how wound-up he is. Plus, this lets you draw the chore out for as long as possible, far past the point where it’s even believable, because in truth you don’t really care about cleaning up after breakfast. The point of all this is to let Brian adjust to having the corset this tight, before you ramp things up even further, and to stretch out the experience like you know Brian wants.

So you listen as he finds a rhythm with his breathing, though it’s still noticeably shallow. Every time you brush against his arm or you “accidentally” bump hips his breath hitches and it takes him a few moments to bring it back under control. When you finally turn off the sink you pull him into a hot kiss, and it’s so easy to steal his breath and get him gasping against your mouth with barely any effort on your part.

“Go put on the record I left by the turntable, and then sit on the couch,” you order.

Brian nods, eager to move your game forward even though he knows that he’s no closer to coming. You watch, amused, as he leaves the kitchen, so constrained by the corset that it’s reflected in every movement of his body, from his walk to the way he perches, uncomfortable, on the edge of the couch when you join him in the living room a few minutes later.

You sigh and shake your head, putting on an air of disappointment, and tell him, “Sit with your back against the cushions please, love.”

“But-”

You give Brian a look to silence whatever complaint he was going to make. He carefully wiggles further back onto the couch, biting his lip although it does nothing to hide his whimpers as the new position makes the corset dig further into him.

You nod in approval and, without warning, straddle his legs and sit on his lap. His hands automatically go to your waist to help hold you in place, as you tangle one hand in his hair, pulling his head back so you can kiss along his throat, relishing the feeling of his gasping breaths beneath your mouth.

Even with the band on break you don’t dare leave bruises on his neck, but you risk a bite at the edge of his jaw, where his hair will almost hide it, and you drag the nails of your other hand along his chest above the corset, teasing at his nipples and leaving scratches that have Brian fighting to arch into your touch. But he can’t move his torso with the corset laced so tightly, can’t get enough traction to rock his hips up against you, can’t do anything but sit there, panting and whining and gasping desperately as you do whatever you want to him.

“Y/N- Y/N, please,” Brian begs, barely able to get the words out at all, which only makes you want to make him try to talk even more.

“Please what?”

“Touch me.” The words are gasped out, before Brian tries to draw in a deep, heaving breath only to be stopped by the corset.

“I am touching you,” you tease, thumbing over his nipple and tugging a little harder at his hair.

Brian moans, high and breathy, and only manages to say, “My cock…”

You laugh, just a little, and tell him, “Oh, baby, I don’t think so. If I touch your cock you’re gonna come, and I have far too many plans for you to let that happen now.”

Brian whimpers and squirms beneath you, unable to stay quiet or stay still when he’s this wound up. He tries to say something else but only manages a few broken syllables before he has to force himself to stop, and take several too-shallow breaths to center himself in order to ask, “Can I touch you?”

“I like the sound of that even more, but I think I have an even better idea.” You climb off of Brian, pulling him up off the couch, and quickly strip off your clothes, before sitting back down with your legs spread wide and telling him, “Kneel, Brian, with your hands behind your back. I want to feel your mouth on me and maybe if you do a good enough job, I’ll let you come.”

Brian falls to his knees so quickly that you know it has to hurt, but he doesn’t complain- frankly, you’re not sure he has enough breath to do so even if he wanted to. He obediently puts his hands behind his back and looks up at you, waiting for your nod before leaning down and getting to work.

Truthfully, it’s not the best job Brian has ever done, but you sort of expected that. You’re being more than a little unfair to him with this challenge. The corset makes it difficult for him to get his mouth on you at all, and he can only manage a few brief licks or a gentle suck before he has to pull back, gasping for breath.

“Oh, come on, Bri, you can do better than that,” you say, a little patronizing, and you grab his hair again and pull him down, hard, until his mouth is where you need it the most and his face is buried so close to you that his nose is nearly touching your skin.

And then you hold him there.

One beat, then two, and his tongue is still flicking against you but you can feel him struggling to breathe, can feel the tiny gasp of air that he manages to suck in that you know isn’t enough. You feel his head jerk in your hands as he instinctively tries to pull back, but you hold him in place for a second longer, before easing him away.

He gasps, raw and desperate, eyes blown wide with a panicked arousal that still makes you nervous to see, no matter how many times you’ve indulged in his breathplay kink. He gets off on this, you know that, but you still check in with him and ask, “Color, Brian?”

“Green-” he wheezes, and he’s barely finished speaking the word before you’re pulling him back down.

He works his mouth over you as best he can, all tongue and lips and the barest scrape of teeth in those moments when he fights for oxygen and can’t quite control himself. His mouth and between your thighs are drenched with spit as he sputters and chokes against you. Every time you pull him away so he can gasp in a few shallow and desperate breaths your pleasure ebbs away just enough that you keep pushing Brian further than you usually do, until there are tears in his eyes and his pupils are blown so wide that there’s barely any color left in his irises at all.

“Green,” he gasps, when you pull him away for the last time, anticipating the question before you can even ask it. He tries to lean back down even though he’s panting so hard that it sounds like it hurts, and you have to physically hold him back from suffocating himself against you again.

“No, Brian, that’s enough, you did good, you did so good,” you tell him, carding one hand through his hair and gently scratching at his scalp. “Catch your breath, that’s it, that’s my good boy…”

Brian nods, because there’s nothing else he can do- he certainly doesn’t have enough breath to complain. He shifts and ducks his head, and normally you’d let him rest against your leg but he can’t bend like that in the corset. You want to move him into a more comfortable position while he rests, but you’re not sure that there even is one so you settle for kissing the top of his head and murmuring praises as you watch for any sign that he’s about to pass out on you unexpectedly.

Luckily, that doesn’t happen and, although it takes a few minutes, Brian finally manages to ask, “Did I do a good enough job?”

You remember the promise you made him before having him service you and you smile at him and say, “You did such a good job, baby. In fact, you did so good that I’m going to give you a choice.”

Brian looks up at you with wide eyes and a still-flushed face, and ask, “A choice?”

“Yes, Brian, a choice. I can either return the favor and suck you off now, or....” You push his head back a bit further, putting just a bit more strain on his throat, before you say, “Or we can move to the bedroom to keep playing, and I’ll tighten your corset a little bit more.”

You know what Brian’s answer is going to be even before his broken moan and gasping, “Yes, yes, Y/N, please, tighten it, please-”

You stand up and Brian scrambles to his feet before you can even order him to. You swat his ass and chide, “Behave now. Go to the bedroom, brace yourself against the bedframe and wait for me.”

You take your time, putting away the record that stopped playing ages ago by now, and taking a few minutes to straighten a few things around the living room, just to let Brian’s anticipation build. When you finally walk into the bedroom you’re pleased to see that he’s waiting for you exactly where and how you told him to.

You press a kiss to the back of his neck as you undo the bow in the laces of his corset, being careful not to let it loosen at all. “Good boy, waiting for me so prettily like this…” you praise and, without any further warning, you give the laces a sharp tug.

Brian gasps, the whole line of his body tensing as the corset digs into him a little further, his knuckles white where they’re gripping the footboard of the bed. “Y/N… Y/N…” he says on ragged, panting exhales.

“Hmm, I bet we can still get it tighter than that…” you say, forcing your voice to stay calm and casual even though you’re so turned on just from Brian’s reaction that it’s all you can do to keep your composure.

Brian lets out a breathy moan as you start at the top of the corset and slowly, methodically, pull in each section of lacing as it crosses his back. Brian’s moans get quieter and are replaced with hitching, shallow inhales and soft, desperate whines as you repeat the process from the bottom of the corset, gathering all the slack in the laces in the middle.

You wrap the excess lacing around Brian’s waist a few times, because there’s so much of it now, before tying it off in another bow at his back. “Fuck, Brian, the corset is almost closed,” you say with a low groan, tracing a finger down the laces along his spine. “Another inch or two and both halves would be touching, god…”

“Y/N-” Brian gasps, and he doesn’t even have enough breath to get out please.

“Color?”

“Green,” he manages, but only just.

You’re straying into dangerous territory here, you know that. Brian is past the point of being able to properly adjust his breathing to compensate for the corset, which may have been your goal but also means that you don’t have a larger window of time to play with if you want both of you to come while he’s still laced up.

“Get on the bed, Brian, on your back,” you tell him, and Brian scrambles to obey. He collapses back against the mattress, struggling to move in the corset, and you help push him into a better position while saying, “You’ve been so good, Brian, so fucking good. Gonna ride you now, gonna fuck you while you’re in that corset and finally let you come…”

Brian’s cock is big, almost too big for you to handle without some prep, which today you rush maybe a little bit more than you should. You peel Brian’s pants off, finally freeing his aching cock, but you pass him the condom to put on himself. You’re sure that if you tried to do it, he’d come immediately.

As it stands, you’re still expecting him to come the moment you grab his cock to position it at your entrance and start slowly sinking down, but even though Brian’s head is thrown back and he’s gasping and shaking and crying underneath you, he holds himself together as you start to ride him.

There’s nothing slow about it. There can’t be anything slow about it, not when Brian is hanging on by the skin of his teeth and you aren’t far behind him. You brace one hand against the front of his corset as you ride him hard and fast, and bring the other down to work yourself towards your own orgasm.

“Close, Bri, I’m close,” you pant and Brian doesn’t answer because he can’t answer. His face is bright red and every breath is too small and too shallow, hitching and desperate and just this side of panicked, the sweet spot that you try so hard to get Brian to when you do this but it’s never been like this, never been dragged out for this long, never been so good like it is now-

“Gonna-” Brian gasps, the only warning he’s capable of giving you, but that’s enough for you to move your hand from his chest up to his neck, pushing up sharply under his jaw to cut off his breathing at the source as well and he comes immediately, silently, mouth wide as he struggles to draw in a breath that you won’t let him have.

You let go of his neck before he can pass out and all it takes is another few rocks on his softening cock before you follow him over the edge, crying out as you grind against him and work yourself through your orgasm, sacrificing the last moments of your own pleasure in favor of climbing off Brian to make sure that he’s alright.

Brian still looks dazed and overwhelmed, his face wet with tears, and he’s still fighting to take in proper breaths. Even though your limbs feel like jelly and you’re shaking a little from the intensity of your own orgasm you help leverage Brian upright, enough to wriggle behind him and undo first the bow and then the lacing running down his spine.

As the corset loosens Brian draws in loud, heaving breaths, each deeper than the last. He coughs and gasps and you murmur an endless stream of praise and reassurances as you quickly loosen the corset enough that it’s safe to undo the latches at the busk, and pull it away completely.

Taking off the condom and tossing it in the direction of the garbage is almost an afterthought, but once that’s done as well you pull Brian into your arms and breathe slowly, deeply, telling him, “That’s it, you’re alright, you can breathe, just listen to me, match your breathing to mine, that’s it, you did good, you did so good baby, just breathe now…”

Every breath Brian draws in sounds like it hurts and he can’t seem to stop shaking, even after his breathing calms down and his heart stops racing quite so much. You hope that you didn’t take things too far at the end there and you ask, a little nervous, “How are you feeling?”

Brian mumbles something slurred and unintelligible, and cuddles closer to you. It’s not exactly an answer, and you ask instead, “Color?”

“‘een,” Brian manages, because he can always manage at least that, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Are words too much for you now?” you ask, and you feel his answering nod against your body. It’s not the first time that Brian has gone nearly non-vocal after a scene, but it doesn’t happen often and you know it’s going to take some time for him to come back up.

You’re prepared for this, though. You lean over the side of the bed, careful not to jostle Brian too much or lose contact with him, and grab the small bottle of juice that you set on the nightstand before. He’ll need proper food and drink sooner rather than later, but for now you coax him into drinking the juice a few sips at a time as you gently wipe the tear tracks off his face.

The juice seems to help his throat as well, because his breathing evens out a bit more and doesn’t sound quite so harsh as you gently shift so the two of you are lying back down on the bed. You pull the covers over you both and stay cuddled close to Brian.

“Get some rest,” you say quietly. “That one took a lot out of you.”

You intend to stay awake, in case something happens and Brian needs you, but you’re worn out a little as well and you end up dozing despite your intentions. You wake up with a start when you feel Brian move away from you, and you bolt upright immediately. “What’s going on, are you alright?” you ask, a little panicked.

“Everything’s fine, Y/N, I’m just going to the bathroom,” Brian assures you. His voice is a little rough, and you can’t tell if it’s from sleep or the scene, but his eyes are clear and the smile he gives you is genuine. He doesn’t look distressed, and frankly he seems more composed than he has after some scenes you’ve done in the past, which helps calm you down.

“Sorry,” you say with a small, nervous laugh. “You just went under hard, and I was worried.”

“I know, but I’m alright now,” Brian says. He leans down to give you a quick kiss, and you watch as he leaves the room. He’s unsteady on his feet, but that’s to be expected, and you can’t see any bruising on his torso. All things considered, he’s doing a lot better than you were expecting.

That makes a little more sense when you glance at the clock, and see that several hours have passed since you and Brian fell asleep. You knew that this would take up most of the day, so you’re not entirely surprised to see that it’s nearing dinner, but that does mean that you need to actually get up and you’re not looking forward to that.

You stand up with a small groan and stretch out, feeling your joints pop, and you busy yourself with hanging the corset back up, getting dressed, and tidying the room a bit. When Brian returns you have pajamas pulled out for him already, and he gives you a kiss on the cheek in thanks before getting dressed.

“How are you feeling?” you ask. “If you can talk about it, that is.”

Brian shrugs. “A little low, a little sore, but not too bad. I don’t, ah-” He scrubs a hand over his face, struggling to find the right words. You give him a moment to collect himself and he finally says, “Can we pick it apart tomorrow?”

You know he means that he’s not up for a detailed discussion of everything that was good and bad about the scene, but you still want to check in a little more than that. “Can I ask one question?” Brian makes a small face, but nods. “Was it good?”

That startles a laugh out of him. “Y/N- Yes, god, it was good. It was perfect, it was everything I wanted, it was-” He huffs and shakes his head. “Yes. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Good. I’m glad,” you say, and you mean it, whole-heartedly.

“Can I ask you one quesiton now?” Brian asks. You nod and he grins, bright and happy, and asks, “Can we do that again?”

You laugh, and wrap your arms around Brian. He sighs and relaxes against you, and you turn your head to gently kiss his cheek. “Of course we can, you silly,” you tell him. “We spent enough money on that thing, we might as well make good use of it.”

“Good,” Brian murmurs. “Because I really did like that. A lot.”

You bite back a few teasing comments you could make, because by Brian’s own admission he’s still dealing with a bit of subdrop, and that needs to be your focus now. You can joke around and talk more in-depth about it all later, but you have other plans for the rest of the evening and you ask, “Wanna order takeout and cuddle on the couch?”

“Yes please.”

He doesn’t seem to want to let go of you but he eventually pulls away with a sigh. You take his hand, lacing your fingers in with his, and offer him an easy smile. Your usual post-scene routines have all gone out the window with this one, but you still know what he needs in moments like this. Offering him a gentle touch is the simplest thing in the world for you and as easy as…

Well.

As easy as breathing.

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Additional Notes:

First, a disclaimer: I know about corsets, and I know about breathplay, but I don’t have hands-on experience using corsets in kink. The smut parts of this fic have some assumptions made about how a scene would play out, but the rest of the information in the fic is fairly accurate at least with regards to my own corsetry experiences. And as with all forms of breathplay, please make sure that you know what you’re doing before trying anything out!

As for the corset details… Inflation calculators tell me that £30 in 1979 is equal to about £150 today (or $200 USD), and £50 in 1979 is roughly £250/$300 today. Average prices for bespoke corsets range from $200-500 USD today, so all things considered Brian’s is fairly middle-of-the-road.

All corset information is based on what’s common today, because I didn’t feel like researching corsets in the 70s/80s. I know they weren’t very popular back then, outside of niche communities, but I’m assuming it still would have been possible to find a corsetmaker. The shop in this fic is entirely made-up. Lottie’s passing comment about male celebrities wearing corsets is based on an apocryphal story of William Shatner wearing one while filming Star Trek.

Breaking in the corset (or “seasoning” it, as it’s usually called) is a very important part of buying a new corset. Seasoning it allows the corset to form to your body and helps prevent damage to the corset (or to yourself!). Different vendors will have different recommendations for how to approach this. The 2-2-2 method described here was chosen mostly because it’s the only one I felt was feasible the timeframe of events.

Finally, self-lacing is very much possible with both modern and historical corsets, despite what Hollywood would have you believe. Brian’s corset is laced with the “bunny ears” method, which laces towards the middle rather than the top or bottom. This video does a good job of showing how this works.

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