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k-hotchoisan · 3 months ago

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sticky web

when the Spiderman movie night with Yunho has its sticky complications because you're in a spider suit for him.

warnings: smut, pwp, suit fetish (kinda), reader is in a skin-tight venom suit, blow jobs, getting your lil suit dirty, unprotected sex, Spiderman movies and chill, Yunho fucking you through the suit, breeding kink

w/c: 2K

a/n: i'm posting this to appease my lovely readers (y'all) while I work thru your wonderful requests and my shitty writer's block )-: pls take this peace offering! <3 you know i love you guys sm 🩷 (also if you're wondering, spidey isn't my fav superhero but Dr Oct is one of my fav villains!!)

“You're really gonna get him fucked up when he sees you in this”, your friend teases, zipping your body con suit up. “His own girlfriend? Dressing up in a venom suit?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “It's a reminder that I'll be his little Symbiote.”

You look over to the mirror, feeling slightly subconscious at how much the suit is just hugging your curves despite how impressively breathable it was. And the reminder that you weren't wearing it out, at least for now, comforted you, mostly because, well, you weren't really wearing anything underneath this body hugging attire.

You had invited Yunho over for a Spiderman movie marathon to spend the Friday night, and the way his eyes lit up when you did? It's the cutest thing ever. You did your best to boost the ambiance too–dying the popcorn with red and blue sugar dyes, making spider web and spider-shaped cookies alongside some crystal candy that fit the theme for that extra crunch.

The doorbell rings, and you jump immediately to answer it when your phone reflects the text of Yunho mentioning that he's reached.

Unfortunately, you did severely underestimate the effect it had on Yunho, because the moment you opened the door, Yunho definitely got distracted, evident by the reddening of his ears when his gaze rests on your cute little costume.

You did tell Yunho to come in costume too, and he definitely did–in a red and blue spiderman patterned hoodie and red shorts.

“What? Don't you like my costume?” You poke for an answer, giving Yunho a full spin, missing the way Yunho swallowing hard, trying not to eye fuck you.

“You're… definitely dressed for the part”, Yunho manages out, his slender fingers covering his lips and nose, hoping you don't realise that he's growing as red as his hoodie.

He watches the material hugging your body tug and fit you just right, pulling at just the right places corresponding to your movements, and his feels his fingers twitch.

Yunho turns away, his attention on the assortment of food presented on the table.

“Red and blue popcorn?” He questions with a raised eyebrow as he settles onto the couch.

“It's just sugar dye”, you assure, sliding next to him, picking up a kernel, pressing it against his lips, your other hand mimicking the same action but to your own lips. Yunho smiles as he chews, the sweetness spreading all over his taste buds.

“What should we watch first? Should we start all the way from the first Spiderman movie?” You suggest flickering through all the Spiderman movies back to the first. Yunho nods in agreement, stuffing his mouth with a couple more colourful popcorn. Pressing play, you absentmindedly huddle yourself against your partner, not that he minded, and Yunho lets his hands curl around your waist.

Yunho is engrossed in the first thirty minutes of the movie, periodically munching on the snacks as the flick plays.

You're leaning lazily against his arm, letting Yunho feed you from time to time, mostly because you didn't want to get your costume dirty.

He blinks, wondering if he saw wrongly–your nipples poking through the fabric.

You're not wearing a bra underneath or anything?

Yunho shakes the thought off, trying to focus on the movie. Unfortunately his peripherals can't help but betray him, ever so slightly always trailing back to you.

You look up at him from below, and point to the popcorn.

“Yu, I want one more”, you request. Of course your boyfriend would feed you another one. When his fingers linger a little too long on your lips, you realise that his eyes aren't on the screen.

He's staring at you.

“Someone’s distracted”, you point out with a smirk.

You straddle his lap.

The movie is paused.

Yunho’s hands are running up your body, and even though it's separated by a layer of fabric, his touches give you goosebumps.

“I can't concentrate when you're looking like this”, he mutters to your lips, and you feel his palm grab a handful of your ass.

“Then concentrate on this”, you redirect, pulling him into a dizzy kiss–one that's just filled with moans and teasing. The both of you taste sweet, thanks to the popcorn.

You're rubbing against his erection while he dry fucks you, and you're both not lasting long.

You climb off him and sink to face his thick erection. Soft sighs as vibrations through the fabric of his shorts make Yunho shiver too. You palm his little problem, and hearing him groan while spreading his legs open is enough to make you clench your thighs.

Pulling his shorts down, your heartbeat accelerates at his fucking length–precum trickling down his bare cock, veins so thick and prominent.

Your tongue travels up his thick length, and your mind almost go dumb when you feel Yunho’s fingers tug against your scalp. You look up at him through your lashes, visually savouring the way he's getting undone with your lips around his cock, in his favourite costume. Yunho wants you to just choke you on his dick, maybe get his cum dripping down your tits on the tight fabric.

He only grows bigger in your mouth at the perverted thought and the way your eyes are slowly watering from his dick reaching to the back of your throat? He's not lasting long.

“Shit, that feels so fucking good”, Yunho groans, throwing his head back, pushing your head deeper, enjoying the sick sounds of you choking. Your mind is flooded with how good Yunho feels and fills your mouth, and it’s making you soak through your costume.

Yunho groans with every squeeze your throat gives him, pushing himself to hit the back of your throat.

“Gonna cum in your tight pretty mouth. You're gonna swallow it all, yeah?”

You nod quickly, trying to keep up the pace of him fucking your mouth. With a strained groan, his cock pulses in your mouth, warm cum seeping through, and it makes your mind so dizzy.

“Open”, he instructs, and you do, letting some of cum sleep past the corner of your lips and down your throat, then down onto your tits.

Yunho is getting harder.

Yunho grabs you and throws you over his shoulder, leaving you surprised, and he marches into your bedroom, then drops you onto your bed.

“Yunho-” you squeal when you feel his fingers press against the soaked fabric hiding your pussy.

“It's in the way, don't you think?” He asks rhetorically, eyeing the way the damp patch grows bigger when he massages it against your sticky folds, making you bite your lip. Of course you're not wearing any fucking underwear. Yunho should have realised.

Unfortunately, Yunho doesn't have the patience to take his sweet time to look for the zipper, so he does the more sensible thing–ripping a fucking hole at where your pussy is.

You blink in shock.

Shit, he really ripped a fucking hole down there.

You furrow your eyebrows.

“Yunho! This wasn't cheap!” You pout, closing your legs in protest with much futile effort, considering his arms are keeping them open.

He looks at you with indifference. “Then I'll get you a new one. Promise.”

Yunho grabs your thighs and drags you closer to him. His cum on his dick dribbles onto the suit, and Yunho smears it further, sliding his cock down, pressing it up against your creamy and puffy folds, with almost little to no friction.

“I was thinking of how far I can ruin this suit anyway.”

He swears he's fucking blessed–his gorgeous partner making such an adorable movie date night of his favourite character, dressing up for the occasion, and letting him fuck her dumb in this cute spider suit? He couldn't ask for more.

Your eyes slowly roll back when you feel Yunho’s cock push into your warm pussy, filling you up almost instantly. You hiss softly at the pressure, feeling your tight walls trying to accommodate him.

“So warm. Oh, fuck,” Yunho groans, already losing himself in your heat. He’s gotten a little more sensitive but he's gonna make it last as much as he can.

There's something so perverted that Yunho enjoys so much–fucking you fully clothed like this. He realises it gets him off so fast. He watches hungrily–the way your tits bounce under the suit when he thrusts deep into you, and how it's as if he's fucking you through the thin suit. His fingers trail up to your tits, and his thumb brushes against your bare nipples that harden under the fabric, throwing you into an additional layer of pleasure.

“Have I told you that you look fucking delicious in this? The Symbiote suits you so well.”

It's hard to formulate an answer when your boyfriend is fucking your brains out like this, but you know he doesn't mind the silence and the broken moans–it’s your answer.

A couple more heavy thrusts into you, the wet sounds accompanying your sobs before he instructs you to turn around for him.

You go on fours, and Yunho wastes little time to pin your head down onto the mattress by your neck before he fits in wet dick right into you again.

His free hand wanders across your ass, then he gives it a tight slap, making you squeal and tighten on him.

You're clawing the sheets, the pleasure filling you up and you can't concentrate on anything else other than Yunho’s cock filling in and out of you, hitting your sweet spots over and over again. You've surely soiled the costume to hell, but honestly, at least Yunho was making full use of it.

“So good”, you mutter, your pussy clamping down on the feeling of Yunho stretching you out with his fingers pressing the sides of your throat. You swear you were drooling.

“Is it?” Another heavy thrust.

Oh shit, you're not sure how much more you could handle. And it seems that Yunho is in a similar situation–his thrusts are getting heavier and sloppier. His mind is in the gutter now, especially when he's forced to watch your pussy leak sticky cream down your folds and stain your inner thighs, mixed with his cum.

“Cumming-” you cry, your legs shaking. “So good. Can't think-”

“Make a mess for me, babe”, Yunho chuckles, his palm stroking your ass, grabbing a handful before he fucks himself deep once more.

Your mind melts with your orgasm hitting you in waves, your pussy convulsing uncontrollably on his dick, your moans forming a melody for his ears, and it pushes him far enough to make a mess in you, thick and warm cum filling you up that you’re forced to take. You hear him curse and groan behind you, and you drop your hips onto the bed, his cock popping out of you, completely covered in a glisten of cum, some still seeping out from his cock head.

He tugs your ruined folds open, watching his thick cum leak out of your spent hole, dripping onto your thighs, soaked up by the suit. Yunho takes in the sight of you panting, with probably more than half of the suit soiled with fluids, and your pussy, other than your face, both uncovered and in a complete mess.

Fuck, he just might get hard again.

“Yunho, this isn't a good idea–fuck”, you whimper, completely losing yourself to him once more.

Yunho had washed you up a little after that, and he wouldn't let you take off the suit, at least, not yet. You thought finally, maybe you and him could actually watch a Spiderman movie or two, but when Yunho pulled you onto his lap, you knew that plan was out of the window considering that he got hard again, and had you seated right on his cock. None of you are focusing on the movies.

“Don't be mad at me, babe. I'm just making sure that I make full use of this movie night you're giving me”.

Another thrust into your spent pussy once more, and your thoughts leave your head.

He's certain of having you fucked and filled with his sticky web by the end of the first movie, that's for sure.

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bunny-jpeg · 2 months ago

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love is a kick to the stomach

max verstappen - sequel to: lust is a loaded hand gun

tags: smut/fluff, pregnancy & kids, falling in love, dad!max, body worship, tenderness, plot, cowgirl position

a/n: this was made possible by the support of over a dozen people asking for a sequel! i hope you enjoy it <3

"are you sure you're going to be fine on your own?" your former teammate charles asked as he helped you pack the last of your suitcases. your apartment in monaco was bare, and for good reason, you were going home.

you replied with a shrug, "i'll be fine. i mean if i could sustain a driving career for as long as i did. i can handle raising a baby." you rubbed your lower back a little bit.

charles said,"i guess so, you know, monaco isn't a terrible place to raise a child." he gestured to himself with raised eyebrows.

"as much as i'd love to." you said, "i think people will start to raise eyebrows when they see max's look-alike running around. plus, i guess it's a way to get away from it. something simpler for my kid."

you hadn't spoken to the father of your son, max didn't know you were pregnant. and it was the best for everyone if he never knew that you had a child with him.

you remember the first time you held nicolas in your arms, it took you close to ten hours for you to deliver him. you had to say, the aches and pains of racing were nothing compared to the rising anxiety and pain of delivering a child. didn't help he was stubborn like this father. you tried not to think about max too much during the moments of lessened pain. part of you wanted him there, while you were determined to raise your child alone. the moments of weakness you felt during delivery made you want to hastily unblock max's number and call him before the next contractions came.

"okay, okay. just you and me, baby, just you and me." you told yourself as you laid in the hospital bed with your belly swollen from the months of carrying your son. you hissed through your teeth as another contraction hit.

in the end, you had nicolas. or nico as you called him. tired, over-heated as you pushed out your baby. the nurse told you it was a boy. wrapped in a blanket as he was placed on your chest. you could only describe it as maternal warmth as you cried. this was your baby. your little nico. "congratulations." the nurse told you as you held onto him gently. when you gave birth to your son, max was in monaco streaming with the rest of the redline team. fully unaware that you just had his child.

you lived a quiet life after that, but sometimes you could still feel the rumble of the track in your soul. it pulled you in, there was no reason for it to come back. there was no way you could, nico needed his mother and you made the choice to start a family of your own.

"nico!" you giggled towards your toddler, nico was now close to three years old! you picked him up from his spot at the coffee table, surrounded by papers and markers. you gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "remember uncle charlie?" you swayed a little with the child in your arms.

the little boy nodded, "uh-huh." charles sent you and nico christmas presents every year. he even visited once or twice during summer break and spent a week with the two of you, he loved the time away from the hustle and bustle of racing. nico knew uncle charlie mostly because of leo, you had to teach him how to be gentle with the dog.

"well, he is inviting us somewhere. we're going to see him race, just like what mama used to do." it was the pre-season testing, it would be nice to see everyone. see how things changed in the three years since you left, "i know you've been asking about the cars." you smiled at the little boy.

nico really was the son of two racers, even now he was colouring pages of cars and he learned some of his colours from the cars in your neighbourhood. his expression light up, "the cars?"

you chuckled and said, "yes! we'll see the cars go really fast." it felt somewhat silly to say that raising a child felt more fulfilling than any of the titles you won.

it was almost more challenging with more rewards. driving was intense and lit an inferno in your stomach. but, you were constantly swarmed by the media with people yelling in your ear at all times. you were both hated and loved by the press, the organization and the fans. and while parenthood was harder in a lot of ways, it was nice. it was quieter. you saw friends, you found interest in painting, you read all the books you bought on your travels as a racer. the best part about having a kid was having a travel buddy. you weren't your stats or your trophies, you were just you.

but driving was a drug, and you also wanted to see the cars go very fast. so within a couple of weeks you were on the track for the pre-season.

"and that nico, is a racing car." you pointed towards the red ferrari car. a similar one to the one you drove. and you watched your young son light up the way you did all those years prior.

you knew you were going to see max. it was stupid to think that you could not see him. he had won the previous year's wdc, he was everywhere. so while you spoke to lewis and charles, you caught sight of him. and he caught sight of the toddler in your arms.

charles looked over to where your gaze was and said, "oh shit." then tried to shift over to sort of usher you and nico away from the gaze of max. but you reached out and touched your former teammates shoulder.

"it's fine..." you assured him. the past year, as it felt like nico was growing so much everyday. the feelings about max had resurfaced. while you believed that you and your network of friends and family could raise nico just fine. max didn't know that nico existed. a night of passion was just that in max's mind.

you shifted your toddler in your arms and looked over to max. you smiled and gave him a small wave. and you could see the expression cross max's face.

nico let go of the front of your shirt and made child's grabby-hands towards the man. and max took a bold step forward, and then another, and then another before he was crowded in your space. an expression across his face as he looked down at you and nico.

"hey." you said.

"hi." he replied. he raised his hand for a moment, but stopped himself. he swallowed and asked, "who is this?"

you looked down at the boy who was holding onto your shirt once more. you smiled at max, "nicolas. but everyone calls him nico. he's my son."

our son.

max swallowed and looked at the boy. he patted him on the top of the head and smiled, "well, hello nico. your mama was an amazing driver." he looked at you once more before you were pulled away by charles to see the rest of the ferrari team. max watched you walk away, just as he did all those years prior.

"can i watch nico?" charles asked while

"i can watch him just fine. i've been doing it for three years." you chuckled as you grabbed a chip from the bag and ate it.

charles crossed his arms and looked at you, "when was the last time you had a break? plus me and alexandra are thinking about, maybe, having a child once my career winds down." he smiled a little, "want to make sure that i can handle a three year old."

you looked to your son on the carpeted floor playing with the duplo blocks that you had brought with you. you then looked to charles and asked, "so you're probably assuming that if you can handle the son of me and him, you can handle your own child?"

charles nodded, "the child of ferrari's princess and mad max. must be a handful." he laughed a little.

"he's not the son of satan, charles." you playfully shoved your former teammate. and he shrugged. you were thankful in a way that you didn't go with charles' plan for him to father your child. you felt like that would've been more complicated than what you had now, since you liked charles' current partner.

"take the night off or at least a few hours. go do something for yourself." charles gave you a sympathetic glance. and you had no choice to concede.

he was right, since nico's birth you had no time for yourself unless he was asleep. but usually you fell asleep too. in the end you dressed nicely, in a pencil skirt and a white blouse. you had your purse on hand and told charles to text you if there were any issues. and you made nico promise you to be good. you kissed the boy's cheek before you headed out.

you ended up at a bar. it wasn't busy and you blended in with the other patrons. the press didn't bother you too much, you had been out of the spotlight for long that it was mostly making the public aware that you still existed and now you had a kid.

"well, well, well." a man's voice caught your attention. you looked up from your phone to see max by your table, "has ferrari's princess finally come back to her castle."

you swallowed, "hi, max."

"where's the little one?"

"with charles tonight."

max nodded, "i was going to make a joke about him being the father... but i know that's not true." he sat down across from you at the table. he rested his forearms on the table, his watch shined in the low light of the bar, "what happened?"

"nothing happened. i just retired."

"with my son... a son i knew nothing about." his voice was low, "why didn't you tell me? do you think so low of me i wouldn't have tried to help? you ran off back home and blocked me..." there was a look in his eyes.

"i didn't want to burden the world champion." you lied as you took a sip of your stiff drink. you felt tension in your shoulders as you took a sip. your heart rattled in your chest, "i didn't expect you to do anything. i didn't need you to."

max reached across the small table and took a hold of your wrist to bring your closer. then he locked his fingers with yours. he said, "maybe i wanted to... did you never think i wanted to be a father?"

you swallowed, "no." you assumed he didn't. not after everything, you heard enough of his father's berating in your karting career. the angry dutch words followed by insults in english so everyone knew what was being said. and that apprently only scratched the surface of what had been done to him. you thought max was a good fit because he would be so disinterested in being a parent. but as he looked at you, hand in yours. you realized you made a grave error. you said, "being a parent isn't easy."

max chuckled, "i know. i'm not stupid. i thought about that night we shared, it comes back to me. i've never wanted someone the way i wanted you. and to know you carried my child, it only pulls me in more."

you took another sip of your drink with your free hand and said, "and what are you going to do about it, verstappen?" you may be a mother now, but you were ferrari's princess, the temptress on wheels. you'd still go toe-to-toe with any man.

max simply smiled.

you ended up in max's hotel room. his hands on you like they were all those years ago. he touched you the way a lover would as the two of you passionately made out. you moaned against his lips and you held onto his strong shoulders.

"i thought about you every day of your retirement. i wanted to know what happened. i thought you were sick." he kissed along your neck, his hands at your waist.

"i mean, i did have quite the stomach bug. took ten hours to get him out." you moaned a little bit as his lips grazed over your pulse point. you could feel a surge of pleasure through you. you had been with anyone intimately since max. you didn't have time for dates let alone hook-ups.

"i should've been there. i would've been there in a heartbeat. you, me, nico... a family." he said as he looked to you once more and you toyed with the material of his shirt, "i always had a fondness for you. you let nothing stop you."

you smiled, "i always thought you wanted a model... not a driver."

he pressed his chest against yours and looked into your eyes, "maybe in another time. i wish i could've seen you pregnant." he swallowed as his hands touched your breasts.

you chuckled lowly, "someone wanted a milf?"

he shook his head as he pressed his forehead to yours, "no, no. i wanted to see your body change from what we made. the child we made together."

"but racing..."

he groaned, "fuck it. choose between another trophy taking up space in my apartment... or a home with you and nico. such a hard choice, don't you think?" he chuckled as he held you so close to him. he groped your breasts, "a man who finds more fulfillment in pieces of plastic and metal than having a home to go to is a stupid man."

you chuckled, "i guess i didn't want to be your wag either."

he shook his head, "i don't think you can be a wag if you played the sport. if you are worried about there being expectations placed on you, then don't worry. if you can't drive, then i'll drive twice as hard for us. any ten second gap i have will be twenty seconds, because i know you only expect the best."

you felt warmth in your cheeks. and eventually he led you to the bedroom. you ended up on the bed with max undoing your button up. you giggled, "ah, does someone like mothers?"

he groaned with his nose against your heated skin, "only when they had my kid... nico looked exactly like me." he said as he got the button up off your shoulder.

you moaned, but then yelped as he pushed you back onto the bed. you looked up at him, "i'm on birth control." you licked your lips as you got out of your bra and max took off his t-shirt, "fuck, now i remember why i wanted to have a baby with you."

he put his hands on his hips and smiled. tiny waist, broad shoulders. a certain strength to him, but he didn't look like a dehydrated mess. he was strong in a way that excited you, but you also knew that he loved a good meal. long before he gorged himself on your cunt, he happily ate the meals you cooked. you remember he even said, "you'd make a great wife." which honestly sowed the seed that led to nico.

the night of passion that led to the making of your son. you could feel max's eyes wander across your body and he licked his lips. he said, "you look good. bit more curves than when we last were like this."

"yeah, i had an eight pound baby." you chuckled as you got the rest of your clothes off. max's hungry gaze lingered, "i got a few more curves that a track as carry him for nine months, you know he was three days overdue."

"stubborn." max laughed as he unzipped his jeans, "just like his mama."

you narrowed your eyes, "no, just like his old man." and max was all over you. the kissed became hungry and needy. neither of you had been intimate with another person since the night you made nico. three years ago. you were busy with a baby while max couldn't get you out of his head. he tried to find another woman, he tried to be close to someone. but you always pulled in the back of his mind.

both of you were into the hotel room and max kissed at your breasts. your breasts were roughly average size before you got pregnant. the training and weight guidelines for racing prevented you from having a big chest. but you went up at least a cup and a half during your pregnancy. and max loved kissing the heated skin.

"fuck." you gasped. both naked on the bed, moved against one another. it was like being in a familiar place. you knew max's body just as you did all those years ago. you kissed him and ended up straddled max's waist.

he was up against the pillows and your knees on either side of him. your hands roamed his chest and he shuddered. he looked up at you with those blue eyes, "please, fuck. please, give me a chance. give me a chance to be there for you and nico.."

you swallowed, you never expected that from max. a man on the top like that wouldn't easily quiver at the aspect of being a father. but max wanted it. he wanted the family. he wanted a home. you sighed to yourself, you guessed an apartment full of trophies wasn't enough.

you put a hand on his chest before you sank on his cock, "max. if nico decided not to peruse racing.... would you still love him?" that was a conversation you had to have with yourself. you loved racing, that was your passion for years. but you promised yourself to never be the parent that you saw early in your career. twisting their children to make them conform to the parent's standards. to force them into racing.

he said, those blue eyes gazed up at you, "if nico wanted to race. i'm behind him a hundred percent. if it doesn't, nothing changes... he is still my son. i'm behind him through everything."

you leaned down to kiss max on the lips, "fuck, max." you sank down onto his cock and continued to kiss him. you splayed your hands across his broad chest and continued to move against him.

"shit." he shuddered. he felt a certain euphoria that left him needy for more. never had he had soemthing like this. not since the last time he had you. it was a amazing. to have you so close once more. he wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you. the kisses shared between you two were hot and heavy, it left him feeling tense in a good way. to have you on top of him, close to him was a feeling he wished he could never forget.

even after three years you still occupied his mind in ways that left him shuddering against you. after three years, after all this time, he still wanted to map your body with his tongue. even the changes post-pregnancy. he held onto you and kissed at your heated skin. he wished he was there, seeing the progress of you carrying nico. to be a father. he moved against you, he held you. he loved you, but he had been holding onto that love for some time. unable to properly display it, and to find out you had a child with him only fueled the passion for you. the two of you moved against one another, you both felt the intense pleasure from the heated movements against one another.

this was how you should've been a long time ago. if max had known you wanted a baby, he would've happily had one with you. but he should've been there for every moment of it. even if you couldn't race because of the pregnancy, max would kiss every winning trophy in your honor, he'd race for both of you. and then come to the paddock with you and nico, a family of three. a family he always wanted.

he wanted to kiss you in front of the cameras. even if you were retired, he wanted to make you feel that every winning was for both of you. he kissed at you heated skin and you moaned, he felt the warmth of love in his gut. you two should've been married by now, a house somewhere quiet. it didn't even have to be in monaco. max would happily pack up his racing sim gear and his cats, and move to anywhere you desired. he hoped that you two could be a family.

to come home after a triple header and see you and nico. the boy looked so much like him. those round cheeks, those wide eyes. the excitement on the track and his need to be close to his mother (you). it screamed a young max, but max wanted to be a better father. he wanted to be present, he wanted to be there for his son.

he groaned, "please, please. let me into your little family." he kissed as your larger breasts and moved against you. the pleasure was deep inside of him. to have you once more felt like a dream.

you held onto his short hair for a moment, you groaned a little bit as you felt the immense heat between you two. you leaned down and kissed him on the head with such tenderness. this wasn't the kind of sex you had all that time ago, this was something more softer. more gentle. less like a means to an end, and more like you two were becoming familiar with each other's bodies again.

"you look perfect," he said lowly, "i'm surprised you hadn't picked uo a husband after all the time." he held on a little tighter and worked your body against him. the pleasure shot through the both of you which only spurred you on the move faster.

your bucked your hips against his, you felt the inferno in your belly as you held his face and kissed him once more. if he wanted to be in nico's life then you'd allow it. you'd let max be involved, be the father he wanted to be. you thought his trophies were more important, but seeing him, his eagerness to be in nico's life made you realize that he wanted a family, a home. you kissed him once more as the two of you thrusted against one another.

you knew racing would always pull you back in eventually. it had that effect on people. it was infectious, even tucked away in your domestic life. you still sat on the couch with your rambunctious toddler and watched the races at odd hours.

"why do you want a life with me and nico, you could have any-"

"i don't want to hear it. nico deserves a father and you deserve a loving partner... hell, maybe even a husband." he said with total conviction as he moved against you. the pleasure felt like it was going to boil over soon.

you moved against him, eagerness in your movements. you couldn't think of anymore things to prevent max from being part of your family. your movements staggered and you felt the pleasure bloom into something more. you hissed, "fuck," while you moved against him. you felt the inferno in your soul, the need for him in ways you didn't need any other man.

this was the father of your son, and you carried feelings for him just as you carried nico. the combination of you two, the affection you had for one another in a brief moment. it was something you wanted to expand on. you wanted to love max verstappen.

you held onto the father of your child. you came around his cock and arched your back. you felt the fury of lust through your body as you moved against him. you laid a heavy kiss on his lips as your pussy clenched around his cock, "fuck." you said, words muffled by the kiss. max wrapped his strong arms around you and moved against you further. you felt his cock nudge against some of your softest areas and it made you toes curl through climax.

he groaned into the kiss and continued to move against you. a few more heavy strokes and he finished inside of you. he practically melted against you and you smiled against his lips with affection. his brain felt swamped with emotion as he said, "i love you."

and without thinking you replied, "i love you too, max." then kissed him once more with total affection for one another.

max swallowed as he held you as you slowed your pace to a stop. he craned his neck to press his cheek against your soft stomach, "don't leave again... please."

"max." you panted and combed your fingers through his hair. he held onto you tighter as if you were going to slip away.

he said, in a tone you never thought you could hear from a world champion, "don't.. don't leave." this was supposed to be simple. max was a means to a child, but he wanted to be in nico's life. he wanted to be a father.

you wrapped your arms around him and held him close to your abdomen. you exhaled deeply and said, "i don't want to pressure you into being a father... if you're going to be in his life, you're going all in. he needs stability."

max lifted his head to look at you. those blue eyes dazzled in the low light of his hotel room. he held onto you a little tighter, not enough to bruise however. he said, "i'm all in. you, me, and nico." like a promise.

maybe it was the post-orgasm hormones or maybe because you became a tad more in touch with your emotions after having a child. but when max said that, you cried.

"go nico! go, go!!!" you shouted as your nine year old sailed past the finish line in first place and you broke into a grin. your husband wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close into a kiss. you laughed into the kiss and said to your husband, "oh man. ow, ow. okay, okay!" you looked down at your swollen middle, "someone isn't happy about the excitement."

"sorry there, little one." max's hand rubbed your swollen middle. his wedding band gleamed in the afternoon light. you were welcoming a son in four months and could already feel the commotion of racing.

you smiled at max for a moment before your son got out of the cart and you were moving as fast as you could to greet him. with his helmet off, you cupped your son's chubby cheeks. he was looking more like max every day, but smashed records the way you did.

you were soon a family of four. you didn't live in your home country and max had moved away from monaco when you got married. max was a good father, as he picked up nico with ease.

"you did amazing, nico. good job!" he beamed at the little boy and the boy beamed back at him. you knew that people shouldn't have children to heal a part of themselves. you learned that when you were pregnant the first time. but when max gave praise to your son, he was giving the young boy the support he never got. that if nico was going to eventually end up in formula one, it wasn't going to be the way that max was brought up.

he'd do it right.

stern when he needed to be. you'd both push nico to be the best, but also give him the love a wide-eyed, chubby cheeked boy needed. and as you leaned down as best as you could to kiss your son on the cheek. you felt like a family. it felt like home.

you were confident that you could've raised both nico and your future son by yourself. but it was an adventure you'd rather share with max. <3

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captainfantasticalright · 10 months ago

Text

In 1985, one of the only persons interested in an interview with a “new” writer called Terry Pratchett, after his publication of the Colour of Magic, was one Neil Gaiman. Neil Gaiman was writing for Space Voyager at the time. "The Colour of Pratchett" was the name given here:

It ran exactly one page inside the June/July issue of that year. The interview took place in a Chinese restaurant in London.

Here is Neil many years later holding that issue. You can see it here if you want. Warning: extremely emotional video.

Neil arrived wearing a grey homburg hat. “Sort of like the ones Humphrey Bogart wears in movies” he later wrote. (Before saying that in fact he did not look like him, but like someone wearing a grown-up’s hat). Terry Pratchett, photo courtesy of one @neil-gaiman, was in a Lenin-style leather cap and a harlequin-patterned pullover. At this point, Terry was already a hat person, although not that hat.

Terry offered Neil this : "An interview needn't last more than 15 minutes. A good quote for the beginning, a good quote for the end, and the rest you make up back at the office"*. (Terry Pratchett had worked many years in journalism by this point ).

But the meeting went terribly well. The two of them realized they had "the same sort of brains". So well indeed, that in 1985, Neil had shown Terry a file containing 5282 words, exploring a scenario in which Richmal Crompton's William Brown had somehow become the Antichrist. Was a collaboration in the cards as of that moment? Not really. But Terry found in Neil someone to whom he could send disks of work in progress and to whom he could pick up the phone sometimes when he hit a brick in the road of his writing.

Terry loved it and the concept stayed in his mind. A couple of years later, he rang Neil to ask him if he had done any more work on it. Neil had been busy with The Sandman, he had not really given it another thought. Terry said, "Well I know what happens next, so either you sell me the idea or we can write it together". **

On collaborating together:

Here is a video of Sir Terry saying why he chose to collaborate with Neil, another video talking about the technical difficulties of writing a book when the two of them where miles apart ,and some pages from Interzone Magazine Issue 207 published December 2006:

An Interview with Sir Terry Pratchett and his works- and Neil Gaiman, where he shortly addresses the process of writing Good Omens.

Terry shortly mentions,

“Neil doesn't rule out another book with me and he was good to write with...yep, it could happen. With anyone else? I don't know, but probably not.?”

Neil says,

"Terry took that initial 5,000 words of mine and ran it through the computer (because I’d lost the files in a computer crash) and made it the first 10,000 words, and it was definitely Good Omens at that point. Neither one thing nor the other, but a third thing.”

"I think Terry could do a very good impersonation of me if he needed to, and I could do a very good impersonation of him; so we knew the area of the Venn diagram in which we were working. But mostly the book found its own voice very quickly. It helped that we were both scarred by the William books when we were kids...”

And as you know, unless you’ve been living in Alpha Centauri, the rest is history. That was the beginning of what would become William the Antichrist and later would get the name Good Omens:The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. (Title provided by Neil Gaiman and subtitle by Terry Pratchett).

More about the writing process:

Terry took the first 5,000 words and typed them into his word processor, and by the time he had finished they were the first 10,000 words. Terry had borrowed all the things about me that he thought were amusing, like my tendency back then to wear sunglasses even when it wasn't sunny, and given them, along with a vintage Bentley, to Crawleigh, who had now become Crowley. The Satanic Nurses were Satanic Nuns.

The book was under way.

We wrote the first draft in about nine weeks. Nine weeks of gloriously long phone calls, in which we would read each other what we'd written, and try to make the other one laugh. We'd plot, delightedly, and then hurry off the phone, determined to get to the next good bit before the other one could. We'd rewrite each other, footnote each other's pages, sometimes even footnote each other's footnotes. We would throw characters in, hand them off when we got stuck. We finished the book and decided we would only tell people a little about the writing process - we would tell them that Agnes Nutter was Terry's, and the Four Horsemen (and the Other Four Motorcyclists) were mine.

From the introduction to William the Antichrist:

“In the summer of 1987 several odd ideas came together: (..)I found myself imagining a book called William the Antichrist, in which a hapless demon was going to be responsible for swapping the wrong baby over, and the son of the US Ambassador would be completely undemonic, while William Brown would grow up to be the Antichrist, and the demon would need to stop him ending the world. The unfortunate demon, whom I called Crawleigh, because Crawley was a nearby town with an unfortunate name, would have to sort it all out as best he could.

It felt like a story with legs.

Terry took the 5,000 words, and rewrote them, calling me to tell me what he was doing and what he was planning to do. The biggest thing he was going to do, he told me, was split the hapless demon into two characters – a would-be-cool demon in dark glasses (which was, I think, Terry’s way of making fun of me, a never-actually- cool journalist in dark glasses) who had renamed himself Crowley, and a rare-book dealer and angel called Aziraphale, who would embody all the English awkwardness that either of us could conceive.”

William the Antichrist being a direct inspiration of the 1976 film The Omen. If the baby swap had just been a little bit messier and the kid had gone off somewhere else he would have grown up as somebody else. “And then there was a beat and I thought, I should write it, it will be called William the Antichrist” says Neil. ***

“The first draft of Good Omens was a William-book. It was absolutely in every way it could be a William book. It had Violet Elizabeth Bott, it had William and the Outlaws, it had Mr. Brown”.

Over time they realized that they would have more creative freedom if they in their own words filed off the serial numbers. William and the Outlaws becoming Adam and the Them.

But the spirit of Just William was never far away.

The joy for Neil was to construct “perfectly William sentences”. The one when Anathema tells Adam that she has lost the Book, and he tells her that he has written a book about a pirate who became a famous detective and it is 8 pages long… that’s “a William sentence”.

If you want to read more details about William The Antichrist, here are some slides I made.

Good Omens was also inspired by a particularly antisemitic moment in The Jew of Malta and John le Carre's spy novels. (Neil’s ask)

Then I was reading The Jew of Malta by Kit Marlowe, and it has a bit where the three (cartoonishly evil) Jews compare notes on all the well-poisoning and suchlike they’d done that day, and as a Jew who never quite gets his act together, it occurred to me that if I were the third Jew I’d just be apologizing for having failed to poison a well… And suddenly I had the opening of a book. It would be called William the Antichrist. And it would begin with three Demons in a graveyard… (x).

“When we finished the book we estimated that the words were 60% Terry’s and 40% mine, and the plot, such as it was, was entirely ours.” -Neil Gaiman

"Neil and I had known each other since early 1985. Doing it was our idea, not a publisher's deal." "I think this is an honest account of the process of writing Good Omens. It was fairly easy to keep track of because of the way we sent discs to one another, and because I was Keeper of the Official Master Copy I can say that I wrote a bit over two thirds of Good Omens. However, we were on the phone to each other every day, at least once. If you have an idea during a brainstorming session with another guy, whose idea is it? One guy goes and writes 2,000 words after thirty minutes on the phone, what exactly is the process that's happening? I did most of the physical writing because: 1) I had to. Neil had to keep Sandman going -- I could take time off from the DW; 2) One person has to be overall editor, and do all the stitching and filling and slicing and, as I've said before, it was me by agreement -- if it had been a graphic novel, it would have been Neil taking the chair for exactly the same reasons it was me for a novel; 3) I'm a selfish bastard and tried to write ahead to get to the good bits before Neil. Initially, I did most of Adam and the Them and Neil did most of the Four Horsemen, and everything else kind of got done by whoever -- by the end, large sections were being done by a composite creature called Terryandneil, whoever was actually hitting the keys. By agreement, I am allowed to say that Agnes Nutter, her life and death, was completely and utterly mine. And Neil proudly claims responsibility for the maggots. Neil's had a major influence on the opening scenes, me on the ending. In the end, it was this book done by two guys, who shared the money equally and did it for fun and wouldn't do it again for a big clock." "Yes, the maggot reversal was by me, with a gun to Neil's head (although he understood the reasons, it's just that he likes maggots). There couldn't be blood on Adam's hands, even blood spilled by third parties. No-one should die because he was alive." -("Terry Pratchett : His World”)

(Here are some slides of mine where I go into some other details concerning the origins of Good Omens).

Another wonderful insight with Rob Wilkins in "The Worlds of Terry Pratchett".

*Quote: from Terry Pratchett A Life With Footnotes by Rob Wilkins, but said by Terry of course.

** All the quotes, facts listed here : see above.

***all other quotes by Neil Gaiman from various interviews and asks I’ll link.

#good omens #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #good omens fun facts #the colour of magic #the colour of pratchett #space voyager magazine

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sundrop-writes · 4 months ago

Text

BRAINWASHED

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

Everything’s clean - except for my thoughts. (Thinking about me getting you off.)

Can’t stop thinking you got me B R A I N W A S H E D .

Summary:

Stiles likes you. He really, really, really likes you. It's bordering on obsession, but he likes to believe that he has it under control.

So when you accidentally leave a pair of your panties in his presence, ripe for the taking, and they're in his backpack faster than he can blink - he realizes that he might not have it as under control as he would like to think. But he can't find it to be too much of a problem when he has those panties wrapped around his cock.

Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Best Friend!Fem!Reader. Pining!Stiles/One Sided Fantasies. Panty Stealing. Smut/PWP.

Word Count: 8,000

Teen Wolf Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: the reader uses she/her pronouns and is described as having a vagina; Stiles and the reader have been best friends since childhood and they are in high school now (they are both the same age) (for argument's sake, they are both 18, but the horny parts were motivated by the hotness of a 20-something actor so idc what age you interpret the characters as); the reader's looks are mostly undescribed and left neutral in terms of race, hair texture/colour, height, etc. however the reader is implied to be fat/plus sized; mentions of the reader wearing dresses and tights (things that the other characters on the show would typically wear); mentions of the reader having a cat - I did not give the cat a name so you can imagine it's the same as your cat's name/what you would want your cat to be called if you had one; use of Y/N and L/N (as in Last Name); brief mention that the reader would like wearing bikinis; the reader calls Stiles 'good boy' in non-sexual contexts and it turns him on; mentions of Stiles looking up the reader's skirt when she doesn't know it; some slight dubious consent because Stiles steals the reader's underwear without her consent and uses them in a sexual act (his masturbation); masturbation (Stiles touching himself); this is a one-sided/pining fic - all the sexual acts take place inside Stiles's mind as sexual fantasies while he masturbates; the reader character is described in these sexual acts as they play out in his mind, so that's why she is included heavily in the warnings; Stiles is submissive (even in his own fantasies) and he fantasies about the reader being dominant toward him; Stiles becoming aroused by the idea of the reader not shaving her pussy; technically there is edging - because Stiles edges himself to make his fantasies last longer; panty sniffing (though the panties Stiles took are freshly launder and not used ones); scent kink/sweat kink - Stiles likes the way you smell, including your sweat; kinks and sexual acts mentioned only in Stiles's fantasies (taking place only in his mind in this fic): car sex (in the back of the Jeep (typical, I know)), fingering (reader receiving), degradation kink (Stiles receiving - he likes the idea of the reader insulting him and being mean to him); pussy eating (Stiles fantasizes in depth about this); Reader makes a joke about spanking Stiles and Stiles has a small fantasy about being spanked by her; I think that's finally it.

A/N: Title for the fic comes from the song Brainwashed by Waterparks. Warning - Stiles might be a bit OOC in this because I wrote it before I started re-watching Teen Wolf again (and before I started watching Season 1 for the first time, because previously I had only seen 3B and beyond). In this, I have said that he's flunking classes and he's not really great with studying, while in the show, he's really smart and bookish and really well studied - but it could just be chalked up to the fact that he has a huge crush on the Reader that is distracting him from studying. So, interpret it how you want. I hope that you enjoy it, and please read through to my end notes to find out about a potential sequel to the fic!!

...

Stiles was hopeless.

That was the only way to describe his current state of being. Completely, utterly hopeless.

He was a complete and total loser, hopelessly in love with his best friend. And he was getting more stupidly caught up in that crush every single day. And of course, he didn’t even have the courage to admit his feelings for you so that it could be awkwardly out in the open. So that the two of you could get the rejection part over with, at least.

Basically - his feelings for you were slowly ruining his life.

Stiles had been in love with you for as long as he could remember. Well, maybe not that long.

See, you, him, and Scott had all been friends since the beginning of kindergarten, and naturally, Stiles always liked you as a person. He always thought of you as a good friend, even if he gravitated toward Scott more.

But he distinctly remembered the first moment when he had started to develop a crush on you. It was a very special memory to him - the day when you shifted in his eyes from annoying, slightly nagging friend to a beautiful, fierce woman.

It was the day when the three of you were out on Halloween night during the third grade - and that was around the time people started whispering about crushes in school, when people would have playground girlfriends and boyfriends that they broke up with every other week. That night, a group of eighth grade bullies began chasing the three of you, trying to take your candy.

Without hesitation, you picked up the largest rock in sight and threw it at one of them, causing a large cut across his forehead - and you loudly told them to ‘fuck off’ (the first time Stiles had ever heard such a word when it wasn’t coming from his dad). They had run away, somehow terrified of a girl a foot shorter than them.

That night, you had become his hero.

And since then, you had been the only object of his affections.

Of course, over the years, Stiles had plenty of opportunities to tell you about his feelings for you. He just… always felt too cowardly to do so.

In seventh grade, he had come very close to asking you out to the winter dance - only to have Scott beat him to the punch. When he pulled Scott aside to ask him about it, Scott confessed to him that he also had a crush on you. This resulted in their first ever fistfight. The first ever true rift in their otherwise close, brotherly friendship.

The boys didn’t speak to each other for days. Which, naturally, annoyed the hell out of you. Especially because, of course, neither of them told you why they were fighting, not wanting you to know that you were the source of the rift in their friendship. And to you, this only made the fight seem more stupid and immature.

So finally, when you demanded it, they called a truce. They agreed that they didn’t want to lose their friendship or lose you. They didn’t want to make you choose between them when it wouldn’t make any of you happy.

So Stiles proposed that the three of you should go to the dance as friends, which you loved, and they both got you a corsage, one for each wrist - and the three of you still laughed at the pictures of you holding each of their arms.

Eventually, Scott grew out of his crush on you and moved onto other girls, and he loved that he got to keep you as a close best friend, someone he could go to for dating advice if needed. Scott kept trying to convince Stiles to simply ‘man up’ and tell you about his feelings, but Stiles kept that same sentiment they had concluded upon years ago. Telling you about his feelings would only ruin the friendship. Not just between you, but between the entire group - it would fuck up the pack.

Though it felt like the more he tried to ignore his feelings for you, the more they festered like a tumor. While Scott was able to mature past his crush on you, Stiles only grew more intense, and more insane when it came to his ‘crush’ on you.

Over the years, his crush on you had grown from something sweet and childish into something much more. When puberty truly took over and lust was added into the mix, he now had to deal with the fact that you had grown into a gorgeous woman. He could barely control his arousal when looking at you, hearing your voice, smelling you, talking to you, thinking about you - even simply being in your presence made something in his mind melt. And it was growing much worse with each passing day. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t wake up with a raging boner fueled by sexual dreams of you.

And naturally, he would say that not telling you about his feelings for you was ultimately the best thing for him. He would steadfastly refuse to admit that him being distracted by all these fantasies of you was slowly eroding your friendship from the inside out. Slowly, bit by bit, his worst fears were coming true - your friendship was being ruined by his crush anyway.

But he tried to ignore that. Even if you were the most gorgeous, perfect being ever put on the planet, he tried his hardest to simply enjoy the platonic version of you. He tried to act like he wasn’t stupidly, head over heels in love with you.

He tried not to act like it.

But on nights like this, it was just so hard.

Tonight, the two of you were studying for an upcoming English mid-term that would be worth a decent portion of your final grade.

Logically, Stiles knew that he should have locked himself in his room and forced himself to study independently. Or he should have taken up Scott on his offer to study with him and Allison.

But no, he just had to ask you for your ‘help’.

And you pitied him and said yes, because he was doing poorly in the class. The only reason for that being because it was one of the classes that he shared with you, and he spent all of his damn time staring at you across the room during it. He had tried to tell himself that he really would study tonight, that he would really take advantage of your intelligence here and now to get his shit together in order to up his grade.

But no. That was just one of many daily lies that he told himself. Since the moment he had set foot in your bedroom that afternoon (and it was dark out now, well into the evening) - he hadn’t been able to focus on anything but you.

Sure, sometimes that worked to his benefit. Hearing you recite Shakespeare, the words coming off your sweet lips - it did force him to focus on the material at hand for at least a short period of time. But it wasn’t like he was actually retaining any of it. He was just thinking about how gorgeous your voice sounded and how amazing you would be in an adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. One where he played Romeo, of course - and he would get to use someone else’s well-crafted words to romance you, finally getting to kiss you for the first time.

Again - he was hopeless.

Currently, Stiles was laying diagonally on your bed, sitting among a mess of books - the English textbooks, the assigned novels, the published copies of the play, along with binders of your notes and other notebooks, stray papers. He couldn’t pay attention to the notes he was supposed to be writing, not for a moment, not if his life depended on it. Not when you looked this stunningly beautiful while busy writing your own notes.

With the soft lighting from your bedside lamp brushing across your skin, making that skin look even softer, you were a goddess-like vision sitting on the bed across from him. You were wearing the simple dress that you had worn to school earlier that day, your modest tights since shed off in the name of ‘comfort’ (and so that your cat wouldn’t rip holes in them while crawling across your lap, you had remarked to Stiles). When you had stood at your hamper and peeled them off your legs, Stiles had a hard time not letting the drool spill out across his chin.

Your thighs were gorgeous. Thick, wide, spread out like a buffet for his eyes to feast on every single time you sat down. From his angle, laying down the way he was, he was up close and personal with the dimpling cellulite and stretchmarks you had there. The hem of your dress had ridden up when you had adjusted your position to get comfortable, and he felt absolutely spoiled by how much more of your thighs were revealed to him.

A few times throughout the evening, he had to physically clench his fingers, tight, to remind himself not to reach out and touch. To remind himself that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The last thing he wanted to do was to creep you out by randomly reaching out and touching your thigh. But he wanted so badly to touch.

How many times had he imagined what those thighs would look like bouncing and jiggling while you rode his cock? How many times had he imagined those thighs clamped around his head while he licked your pussy? (Far too many times for the good of his own sanity.)

Not to mention the concentration spread across your face - you were so fucking hot when you showed off your intelligence. Hell everything about you was hot - your sweetness, your laughter, your sarcasm, even your bitchy side. But your bookish side had to be one of Stiles’s favorites.

The way you would nibble your own lip when thinking, the way your brows furrowed slightly in thought. Everything about you - from the bra strap sticking out of the neckline of your dress to the chipped edge of your nail polish where you had chewed on it - you were a fucking vision. And Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tried.

It was a wonder that you didn’t notice Stiles staring at you - not as often as he did it.

Stiles felt strangely caught when you put down your pen and looked up from your notebook, then. He quickly scrambled to grab his own pencil and start writing something, to look busy. But of course, he just looked like more of an idiot when the eraser end began scraping across the page in nonsense patterns.

“Stiles,” You scolded him with a sigh, a way he was used to hearing his name come off your lips. “Have you gotten anything done? I told you to copy down at least half my notes-”

Of course. You pegged his blank page as simple laziness, rather than his brain slowly melting out through his ears due to his inability to think about anything but you (especially when he was in the same room as you). At least he hadn’t been caught staring at you in that creepy way yet.

You snatched up his notebook to check his work, and his heart dropped - if you looked too carefully, then he would be caught. In the back of that notebook, there were about three pages of his name and yours in hearts, and a few times he had practiced writing his signature as ‘Mr Stiles L/N’. (He was a feminist, and he liked the idea of starting a new tradition.) There was even a drawing he had made designing your theoretical wedding cake, including a cake topper where he was Superman and you were riding on his back while he was flying.

“Y/N, uh-”

He quickly snatched the notebook back, causing a glare from you while he sighed in defeat.

“Fine.” He shrugged, knowing that he had to admit to a smaller crime in order to cover up the larger one. It was something that he did with his father all too often. “I didn’t get anything done. I was slacking off. You caught me.”

“Stiles!” You scolded him again, reaching out to gently smack his shoulder. “If you keep this shit up, you’re never gonna graduate!”

Sadly, you were probably right. His crush on you was absolutely going to ruin him.

“Well, you could just let me copy off you,” He replied, giving you a wide grin that let you know he was mostly kidding.

You rolled your eyes in reply, and soon your gaze caught sight of the clock on your nightstand.

“Well, it seems like you have wasted enough of my time for tonight.” You scoffed sarcastically.

Stiles knew that you had intended this to be a joke - but he couldn’t help the twinge of pain the words caused in his gut. The idea that he was truly just a waste of time in your life. He pressed his lips tightly together to suppress a frown and didn’t say anything more, and then you continued.

“It’s almost your curfew anyway.” You pointed out, gesturing toward the clock. You were right. Stiles hadn’t even noticed how late it was getting - too busy enjoying his time with you. “We’ll pack it up for the night - but you should meet me at the library tomorrow morning, early, so we can go over everything again before the exam.”

Of course, you were still invested in the idea of him getting a good grade, even if that seemed unlikely to happen.

“You’re gonna make me get up early?” He whined, hating the idea of missing out on even ten extra minutes of sleep.

“Yes.” You stressed. “I want you there at seven o’clock. Sharp.”

Your ultra serious voice ordering him around was undeniably a turn-on for him. No matter what sexual fantasies Stiles cooked up about you in his mind, he could never picture himself having full control over you. In fact, most of the time, he found himself covered in cum at the idea of you having complete control over him. And it was likely because this was how most of your friendship went - you told him what to do, and he did it. And that was a huge part of why he fell for you in the first place.

When he didn’t verbally confirm the time, too caught up in his infatuation yet again, you let out a gentle growl of frustration.

“Stiles!” You called out his name. “You have to be there at seven. So you can’t get out of bed at seven - you have to set your alarm for like six-thirty, got it? Don’t make me come over there and get your ass out of bed like last time.”

This thought caused Stiles’s stomach to clench.

The last time you had come to his house to wake him up for school (because he had agreed to help you with some bakesale project and you were pissed off that he wasn’t there early to help you set up tables and whatnot) - you had charged into his house in a fury. You had your own key, of course, and his dad wasn’t there to busy you with conversation or pleasantries.

And you charged right up the stairs and nearly caught him with a hand around his cock, jerking off to a picture of you in a bikini from the summer before. And he had rushed to shove the picture in his nightstand and cocoon himself in the comforter to hide his body just as you made it to the top of the stairs, shouting at him for being late. Luckily, he had gotten away with the lie that he had slept in, rather than revealing the truth that he had been distracted because he had woken up with morning wood after having a heated dream about you.

When Stiles didn’t respond yet again, you grabbed a smaller decorative pillow from behind you and lightly hit him with it for emphasis, causing him to burst into laughter.

“Promise me you’ll be on time!” You said, smacking him with the pillow again.

“Yes, yes! I promise!” He finally agreed, his face becoming pink from laughter.

You dropped the pillow then, and leaned down, causing his eyes to inadvertently go straight to your cleavage while you gave him a gentle, friendly kiss on the forehead.

“Good boy.” You responded, praising him for agreeing to your terms. Obviously, it was another joke.

But these praising words combined with your lips even slightly brushing against his skin, along with your tits dangling so close to his face, had his cock swelling to hardness nearly instantly. He grabbed the pillow then, trying to look subtle as he put it over his crotch, desperately trying to hide the very obvious bulge that had popped up at the front of his jeans within seconds.

He was lucky when you shifted your attention away from him, now busy with cleaning off the bed, gathering your textbooks in a pile and moving to put them on your desk in the corner. You being distracted gave him a few moments to try and mentally will his dick down, which worked slightly. Only slightly.

“You could help me, you know.” You mocked him lightly - distracting him from his thoughts of baseball, trying to will the blood out of his cock.

He looked up and saw you standing there with his backpack, putting away his textbooks and notebooks now. He had been so dumbly distracted by his own dick that he hadn’t noticed you taking the kind initiative to clean up his things for him too.

“Right, sorry.” He jumped into action and did so, taking things from your hands and shoving them into his bag with haste.

“You don’t have to rush out, I just need the bed cleared off so I can pick out my clothes for tomorrow.” You told him.

“Wait - you actually pick out your clothes in advance?” He asked, thinking that this was entirely adorable, and explained why you were always so well dressed.

(And it explained why you were always so punctual in the mornings while Stiles was usually a mess - running around his house still half-asleep, shoving his head into a shirt that he had sniffed to see if it was clean, shoving things frantically into his bag in order to get out the door five minutes late.)

“Well you know not all of us are okay with just throwing on last week’s mustard stained tee shirt,” You said, playfully pointing to a mustard stain that he had on his shirt from lunch.

He rolled his eyes in return, trying to ignore the slight twist of embarrassment that wanted to swell up inside of him at the comment.

There had been a point where he used to make a very pointed effort to impress you. Back when his crush on you had first gotten serious - likely around the beginning of high school. He used to get up early every single morning, spending a lot of time being intensely picky about the clothes he wore. He drowned himself in cologne (until you had complained about it), he wore certain colors just because you mentioned liking them. But none of it seemed to garner any more of your attention than usual.

And so, he resigned himself to be the loser best friend who would always just float at the corners of your life, drowning in his secret affection for you until some better, hotter guy came along and swept you off your feet one day.

He was just glad that day hadn’t come yet.

Stiles was hesitant to leave - he wasn’t done being around you for the day yet, too emotionally attached. But he guessed that he would need to get some decent sleep before waking up at the asscrack of dawn in order to see more of you the next morning. (Even if it would include the horrors of studying at the library.)

“So - I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” He posed, ready to take his leave as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.

“Ooh, wait one second.” You said, eagerness twinging through your voice.

His heart pounded hard in his chest for a moment, wondering if this could be the moment he had been waiting so long for - would you stop him there, grab him by the shoulders and kiss him hard, and then tell him that you had been feeling the exact same way as he had for all these years?

“Which one?” You asked, spinning around from your closet to face him, holding up two dresses on hangers.

Oh. You were asking for his opinion about what you should wear to school the next day.

“The blue one.” Stiles said, motioning towards it. “That shade of blue looks beautiful on you - it compliments your skin tone well, and it makes you shine. But ya know, you look gorgeous in everything. You could wear a paper bag to school and everyone would still be jealous of how amazing you look.”

He rambled on for a moment too long, and realized that his genuine fondness for you - something straying too far into romantic territory - was slipping out.

“But - uh, yeah. I’ll see you later.” He quickly added on, now eager to leave before you could make any further comments.

Then he dashed out of your room and down the stairs, getting out the front door so fast that he practically left a poof of cartoon dust behind him.

He got into the Jeep and tossed his bag into the passenger’s seat - which, he hadn’t realized was not even zipped up. (A habit you often scolded him for - going around with his bag unzipped.) Papers and books spilled across the seat and underneath it, and he let out a loud growl of frustration.

“Idiot!” He screamed, scolding himself as he leaned down, trying to clean everything up. “Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

Partially, he was feeling so idiotic because he had just been so vulnerable with you and you probably thought he was weird for it. Actually, that was mostly why.

As he was picking up his things, he realized that - yup, he was missing his English textbook. He had forgotten it in your room. He heaved out a sigh and collapsed back against his seat. He could leave without it - but then he would get an earful from you in the morning about how he was ‘forgetful’ and ‘irresponsible’. Ugh.

He got out of the Jeep again and shuffled his way back into your house - your mom was working late, so there was nobody there to question him running out of the house at top speed and then appearing back so soon. All he got was a curious chirp and a head tilt from your cat, who was sitting on the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Stiles remarked to the animal, stopping for a moment to pet him. “I’m pathetic. But you can’t rat me out, okay? I know she thinks highly of your opinion and I need you to put in a good word for me. Got it?”

The cat purred and pushed his face into Stiles’s hand, so he assumed that was a positive affirmation that he would root for Stiles - or at the very least, keep his secret.

Stiles linger for a moment to scratch the cat’s furry cheek, and then he stepped over the cat and made his way back toward your room. He passed the closed bathroom door and heard the shower running, and he almost cheered. If you were in the shower, then you wouldn’t notice him slipping back in to grab his book, so you couldn’t scold him for being a forgetful idiot.

He went into your room, and the second he made it through the mouth of your open bedroom, his eyes locked onto your bed like a hot target. Your clothes for the following day were spread out so neatly, and right there, on top of the blue dress he had suggested - there was a pair of lacy purple panties that were something right out of one of his fantasies.

Stiles had thought about your underwear before - many times. Too many times to count.

He had even caught small, passing glimpses of your underwear before - when you had worn dresses without tights and bent over in front of him. But he had only seen enough of it to determine the color, not to know if it was lacy or silk or cotton. And even that was enough to send him into a tailspin that had him rushing to the bathroom to relieve his aching cock.

In the back of his mind - or truly, the forefront of his mind whenever he jerked off to thoughts of you - he always wondered what kind of underwear you wore. What kind of decorative wrapping your pretty pussy would come in if he ever got the other-worldly privilege of getting his hands up your skirt.

Would they be simple, practical cotton underwear? Would they be cute? Would they be sinfully sexy? Would they be those underwear with the days of the week written across the front?

But seeing this now - seeing the tangible evidence in front of him that you actually planned to wear purple lacy lingerie to school - it was something that had all sense draining from his mind as blood rushed to his cock once again. He barely had time to think about it - and he didn’t think about it. Because then, they were in his hands, in his pocket, and he was back in the Jeep, hiding his stolen goods in his bag and hastily zipping it up so he could slam his foot on the gas and race home.

He didn’t even have a chance to think about the fact that he left without the textbook that he had gone back into your room looking for. He didn’t have the attention span to notice that said textbook was in a stack along with your own - almost as if purposefully kept there like an excuse to lure him back into your room, rather than clumsily forgotten by him.

…

When Stiles got into his room, he slammed his bedroom door shut behind him, now entirely frantic, and thankful that his father was working a late shift again. He sat down on the edge of his bed, his hands shaking with anticipation as he unzipped his bag and pulled out the thing he had so hastily snagged.

His mind was warring with so many sensations. Guilt for taking the panties, paranoia that he would get caught, shame that he even had the urge to take them in the first place - but all of that was easily toppled over and forgotten in the name of lust. Overwhelming lust and arousal that he felt for you. Greed and joy at knowing that he had something so private of yours in his hands now - something so secret that he shouldn’t have. A perfect little piece of you.

His little secret piece of you.

He still couldn’t believe that this was the kind of underwear you wore on a daily basis.

Just imagining that this was what you wore to school - thinking about the fact that this was what you were wearing under your clothes during your everyday interactions with him: it drove him wild.

He easily pictured this pretty lace sticking to your cunt when you were wet, the lavender colored material getting slick and slightly darker, soaked through and visibly sticky when you spread your legs for him to see. He wondered if your pussy would be shaved or not - but you didn’t have a boyfriend, so currently, you didn’t have anybody to shave for.

He remembered a conversation from a few weeks ago where Scott had wondered if he should shave his pubes for Allison and you had remarked that ‘putting a razor near your junk’ was ‘ill-advised and stupid’ - so you probably didn’t even like shaving your pussy on principle.

This immediately put a picture in his mind of your pussy being covered in soft hair that matched the shade on your head - maybe a bit darker. It would clump together with your juices and become soaked when you got wet. The little hairs would probably stick out cutely from the sides of the bikini cut underwear, peeking at him.

Your pussy would be the prettiest thing he had ever seen, he knew that for certain.

Stiles imagined getting you in the backseat of the Jeep one night after a game.

He would still be covered in sweat from his efforts, worn out from trying his best. Sure, he wasn’t the best player, but you wanted to ‘reward’ him for his efforts on the winning side, even if he hadn’t directly contributed to the win.

So as soon as the game was over, before he even had time to change out of his pads or shower, you hauled him to the parking lot and shoved him into the car. His gear was only half-off, ditched hastily by your feet, and you were in his lap - a perfect prize after all the hard work he had done, sitting astride his already sore thigh muscles while you kissed him - hard. Your mouth greedily sucked the oxygen out of his lungs while you shoved your tongue past his lips, painting his tongue with your sweet spit - and fuck, it felt like he was made for this.

He got sucked so deep into the fantasy - it felt so damn real.

He imagined having his hands splayed out against your beautiful, plump ass, gripping you tightly, noting wanting you to separate from him for even a section. While you held on tightly to his face, sealing him into the kiss until his lips were sore. And you would only pull back to look into his eyes with glossy desperation and utter out:

“Please, Stiles. I need you. I need you to touch my pussy.”

And what else could he do but obey?

So he would lift up your skirt - a particularly short skirt that you had worn with nothing else but a pair of knee-high socks. Something that you knew he loved to see you cheer for him on the sidelines while wearing. Even though it was a chilly night, you couldn’t feel too cold when you saw him glancing at you every single chance he got. Of course, those distracted stares had gotten him screamed at by Coach more than once. But he loved the way your skirt would flutter up in the nighttime breeze, teasing him. The way the fucking beautiful thick fat of your thighs would jiggle whenever you would jump around in order to cheer him on.

He was a man of simple, divine tastes.

So - he would lift up that perfect skirt to find those purple lacy panties underneath; to find the perfection of your wet cunt waiting for him, growing slicker by the second, more needy for him. You were humping yourself against his athletic cup, which his hard cock was practically dying inside of, bursting to get out of the hard shell of plastic to touch you. But he ignored his own needs for a few minutes longer in favor of yours. Reaching forward, sliding his fingers along the wet spot at the front of your panties, absolutely indulging in the beautiful gasp you let out when his touch grazed across your swollen clit through the fabric.

“Stiles, please.”

He could almost hear it - it was so fucking clear inside his mind. The way your voice would be so pitched with desperation, so perfectly needy curled around his name. He wanted so badly to hear it in real life.

And he would push those panties to the side, pushing his fingers inside of your hot, wet cunt-

Back in the real world, Stiles’s cock gave a needy pulse, leaking into his boxers.

He heaved out a sigh, his cock practically vibrating with blood. He had driven home the whole time trying to ignore that boner, but he simply couldn’t do that anymore. He just had to give in.

He hesitantly put your panties aside - already feeling a strange sense of attachment to them - and reached to his nightstand, grabbing the bottle of lube that he had in the drawer. Shamefully, it was already half empty, mostly due to the fantasies that he had about you. He undid his pants and had them around his ankles in record time, and whipped off his shirt for good measure, knowing that he was quite a ‘splasher’ and not wanting to get cum on it to pair with that ugly mustard stain.

He lubed up his cock more than a healthy amount, knowing that it would contribute to the fantasy of you being so wet around him. It was a distant fantasy that he would never actually get to achieve, but hell - a man can dream. Then he began to slowly pump his cock in hand, wanting to milk it and truly enjoy it, and he let his mind get back to work.

He thought back to your place. A place he was comfortable, spent a lot of time at hanging out with you.

He imagined that early that night when he had forgotten his book, rather than you being in the shower, he went back to your room and found that you had been getting ready for bed. You were rubbing sweet-smelling lotion on your arms, pulling back the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of cute little socks, a tiny camisole - where he could very visibly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, with the natural teardrop shape of your breasts bared to the eye, your nipples poking through the fabric - and those purple lace panties.

When he would appear in the doorway, you would gawk at him and ask:

“Stiles? What are you doing? Did you… forget something?”

But you would be positioned half leaning over the bed, taking back the covers so it would be comfortable for you to sleep - and your ass would be unintentionally on full display. Your sweet pussy lips peeking at him from behind, the roundness of your ass so fucking inviting, daring him to leave bite marks across the beautifully fat flesh.

And after a few moments of him staring so brazenly, saying nothing, simply drinking in the gorgeous sight of your body bent over, wearing so little clothing, wearing those perfect little lace panties-

(Stiles sped up his hand on his cock, the lube sounding downright sloppy in the silence of the room.)

You would stand up to your full height, come to him in the doorway, put your face so close to his and say:

“If you’re gonna spend so much time staring at me like a gaping idiot, then you should do something about it.”

Stiles had to stop the swift movements of his hand and clutch his grip tightly around the base of his cock, making his entire dick throb hard as he edged off his own orgasm.

He still wasn’t sure why the idea of you calling him an ‘idiot’ in such a brazen tone made him want to cum so hard - but he didn’t have time to unpack all that now.

He grabbed up the panties again with his non-lubed hand. Something in the back of his mind thought that it would be a crime for him to get them dirty. Another part argued that he would absolutely love to get them covered in his cum, not clean them, and then return them to you. That it would be fucking thrilling to have you wear them in that dirtied state.

Though he knew that would never fucking happen.

If he returned the panties to you covered in his cum, then you would slap him, call him a pervert, and likely have Scott beat the shit out of him with his newly harnessed werewolf strength. Stiles pushed this thought to the back of his mind, though.

Out of curiosity, he lifted the fabric to his nose and took a whiff. They smelled like fresh laundry - a nice lemony detergent. Of course they weren’t ones you had previously worn - they were a pair you had been planning on wearing tomorrow.

He distantly wondered if that meant you would not be wearing underwear tomorrow, because he had taken your intended pair. And that could have led his mind down a whole different filthy track, but instead - he began to wonder what a pair of your dirty underwear might smell like.

You should take a pair of used ones. A voice in his mind told him. Snatch them right out of the hamper. Come on, you’re over at her place all the time. She won’t even notice them gone.

Terrible idea. Terrible rabbit hole.

But what would they smell like?

He wasn’t deluded enough to think that pussy smelled like roses. He had never been close enough to one - a real pussy - before to actually know. Yes, he was a virgin. He could have said that he was waiting, ‘saving it’ for you - but every other girl, including you, was smart enough to look past him. There were plenty of other guys who were better looking and more charming than him, and probably better in bed than him, that girls had chosen instead of him.

He wondered if your pussy smelled like that perfect bit of sweat that you gathered at the end of a long day. Sometimes when he went to hug you before the two of you parted ways, he would catch a whiff of the tiniest undertone of musk, a good amount of sweat paired with the berry scented body spray you had put on that morning, and orange tic-tacs you had popped after lunch. It was a delectable combination.

He imagined that your cunt would smell like that bit of sweat, combined with the blueberry body wash you used - the one he knew about and loved because of the time you had insisted he use your shower while stinking up a study session because he had skipped the showers after lacrosse practice when he was late to be with you.

He imagined getting hints of that blueberry body wash smell coming off your thighs when his head was buried between them. What would your cunt taste like? That was a mystery he wanted to solve live.

He could always imagine the other aspects so well.

He could imagine the feeling of the heat under his tongue, the perfect feeling of your wetness mixing with his spit. He imagined getting to bounce your swollen clit against his tongue and while feeling your moans and cries of his name vibrate through your body as he pleasured you so well - the feeling of your pubes brushing against his cheeks as his entire face became soaked with your wetness.

But the taste - that was something he could never conjure up in his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

He knew that eating your pussy would be perfect. Not just because he would be giving you pleasure, serving you. But he so often dreamed of having his head smothered by your thighs, having you grab his head and shove him tighter into your cunt, you purposeful and demanding. You having that beautiful control over him while he drowned in your wetness.

He knew that he would likely cum in his pants from eating you out if he ever got the privilege of doing so, and even if you laughed at him - stupidly, he would find that hot too.

Stiles picked up the pace again, pumping his cock in hand evenly and firmly - even reaching down with the other hand to cradle his balls, gently rolling the flesh in his hand as he got lost in another fantasy of you.

He imagined the two of you in his bed - textbooks forgotten and pushed off onto the floor, your dress hiked up around your hips, and again, those fucking purple lace panties. He was on top of you, hovering on his knees so that his hard cock wouldn’t brush against you (even through his jeans) while the two of you sloppily made-out.

It wasn’t long before you pulled away from his kiss-swollen lips.

“Stiles,” You purred into his ear, kissing along his neck. “You know, you’re so pathetic.”

These words had his cock jumping, spurting out precum - in his fantasy, it made his underwear messy as you undid his fly.

In the real world, it made his hand messy as he continued to rhythmically jerk his cock.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck me.” You told him, contrasting these words with your intentions as you put your hands inside his waistband and shoved his pants and underwear down over his hips - down to his knees until his hard, throbbing cock was exposed. “Not until you prove yourself.”

Before Stiles could ask the question, the beautiful, fantastic you that he had made up inside his mind gave him the perfect answer.

“Get yourself off by rubbing your pathetic dick against my panties. And then - I might let you fuck me.”

In the real world, Stiles let out a throttled moan - a choked sound that surely would have had his father knocking on the door to ask if he was okay if he was at home. And then he rushed to grab the panties again, and without even thinking, he used his sticky lubed up hand to position the fabric around his dick. It was a coarse roughness compared to the slick smoothness he had previously been feeling, but it did wonders to complete his fantasy as he delved back to the you inside of his mind.

He started rubbing the slightly lube-sticky rough fabric up and down his dick at a very slow pace as he imagined it:

Being perched between your thighs, with the fabric of the panties stuck to your wet cunt, his cock hard and leaking as he tucked himself right up against you and began to rub his dick against you in order to get off. Just like you wanted, just like you had ordered him to do.

“Please.” Stiles chanted, the words leaking out of his lips, chanted into his empty bedroom as he pleaded to the imaginary you that would always have a hold over him - just as tight of a hold as the real you had. “Please, please - oh fuck.”

He moved the fabric over his cock faster as he moved his hips faster in the fantasy, imagining how hot your pussy would feel against him, imagining your nails digging into his hips as you looked up at him with mocking and adoration in your eyes. He imagined you forcing his hips faster, trapping him in place with your knees bracketed around his thighs, showing him absolutely no mercy.

“Please, please, please.” He chanted, knowing with a distant part of his mind that he must have sounded utterly delirious. “Please, Y/N, lemme cum-”

“Cum for me, Stiles.”

Confirmed by that fantasy version of you and truly unable to hold it any longer, Stiles arched up off the bed, cumming all over his own fist. Just as he had predicted, it was an utter, uncontrollable mess. He shot cum all over his stomach, and absolutely soaked the fabric of the panties - making a horrible mess of them. Which, the lube had definitely already done. He laid there for a single moment catching his breath before it truly hit him.

Fuck. He had fucked up.

You would definitely notice the underwear missing after a while and he certainly couldn’t return them to you in this condition.

…

Stiles spent the next hour in the bathroom, absolutely panicking over how to get them clean. Luckily, he wasn’t a total idiot and he looked up the washing instructions online - and after hand-washing them in warm water with a ‘gentle’ detergent (handsoap was the best that he could do), they came out perfectly clean.

The only problem?

Hang to dry.

He set his alarm for early, earlier than you suggested, and prayed that he wouldn’t sleep through it. In fact, he set three more alarms just to make sure. He couldn’t have you or his father barging into his room to wake him up when he had a pair of your stolen panties pinned to his corkboard in order to properly dry them so that he could sneak them back to you in good condition.

…

The next day, he departed for school by 6:45 with the stolen goods hidden away in his bag, ready to sneak them back into your room later that afternoon. He made it to the library ten whole minutes before seven, and you seemed shocked that he was not only on time - but early.

“Wow.” You said, having just gotten there yourself, spreading out your items at a table - including a tray with some coffees. “You know, Stiles, I am impressed.”

“You don’t have to act so - so shocked.” He replied, partially interrupted by a yawn.

You leaned over to get a pen from your bag, and Stiles’s eyes immediately went to your ass, unconsciously trying to spot panty lines through your dress and tights - wondering if you were even wearing underwear because he had stolen the ones you had intended for today.

Focus, Stiles. Focus.

“Well, if you weren’t here by seven sharp like I told you, I was gonna pour this in the garbage.” You told him, taking his coffee out of the paper tray and sliding it toward him.

“You don’t have to be so mean.” He chuckled, airy and light - very secretly annoyed with the way your ‘mean’ streak affected him sometimes. Why did he have to be turned on by you scolding him and punishing him? Why?

“Hey, if I’m not mean then you never get anything done.” You told him truthfully. “And you know how it works by now. Good boys get rewards and bad boys get spanked.” You told him, letting out a bright laugh - indicating that it was clearly meant to be a joke.

But instantly, it shook his mind with imagery of you bending him over the table, ripping his pants down and spanking him until he came untouched and cried for mercy, forcing him to agree that he would behave and listen to you. He became downright dizzy at the thought.

You meant it as a joke - he had to sharply remind himself. But the way you so casually called him a ‘good boy’, said that he was deserving of a ‘reward’ - it sent chills down his spine and already had his cock waking up. Too early. Bad rabbit hole.

If he was any sort of brave, he would have pushed it more and asked you what kind of ‘reward’ you had in mind. But he wasn’t, and he was too tired to analyze the potential consequences.

“Oh!” You said, as though suddenly remembering something. You moved to grab your bag again and Stiles closed his eyes to forcefully keep himself from staring at your ass. “You left this at my place last night.” You told him, sliding his English textbook across the table toward him.

He was too busy trying to calm his own lust that he missed the smirk on your face - the mischief lingering in your eyes, the intention in your tone. He was too caught up, drowning in his own affections for you that he never would have pieced together that you had taken in and hidden it on purpose as a ploy to get him to come back. That you had put out some other bait for him to find.

“Thanks.” He said quietly. “So - what do we need to go over before the test?”

“Everything.”

Stiles groaned.

...

Due to much pressure, not the sequel has been posted. I am fully of the belief that this fic is complete and perfect on its own, but if you would like to keep reading, click on the link below. I highly encourage you to leave a comment before you press on, though, and tell me what you enjoyed about this fic since you have gotten this far.

Happy reading!

Keeping Reading Here: Stupid For You - Virgin!Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader

#sundrop writes #stiles stilinski x reader #dylan o'brian x reader #dylan o'brien smut #stiles stilinksi smut #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinski #stiles x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf smut

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johannestevans · 19 days ago

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A Transphobe Ruined His Own Night Because I Was Existing Next to Him

Hate is a miserable business — but in this case, not for me!

Originally published here in Prism & Pen.

My partner and I went to DILF Leeds for the first time this week — DILF, which obviously stands for Dad I’d Like To Fuck, is a regular gay dance night that runs here in the UK. It runs all over, in Manchester and London and a bunch of other cities, as well as more locally to us in Leeds.

I will be the first to say that dance music is not my vibe as a rule, and a lot of the DJing unfortunately struck me as closer to noise than music — we’d meant to go before but had to miss the event, so we were really excited to go this week. I did have a significant moment of doubt when I realised that the event started at ten o’clock, because despite the night being aimed at older men particularly, I am in my heart much more tired and crotchety than any of them could be, but we went along.

We arrived just as the night opened, and a few guys were stripping out of their day gear into their club gear underneath, or were changing into it.

We logged all our stuff in the cloakroom, and to begin with I didn’t strip down too much — my partner stripped down to his Christmas suspenders and jock strap earlier on, and once it was a good deal busier (and thus a lot warmer), I stripped down to my colourful flared trousers and my leather vest.

There’s honestly so few nights and spaces that are so beautifully liberated as nights like these. There were some men that stayed fully-clothed the whole of the time, either in colourful Christmas or holiday jumpers, or in their jeans and their novelty t-shirts — with basic but emphatic slogans like SLUT, or a good favourite of ours for the evening, FEED ME TO THE BEARS — but a lot of people were dressed in fetish and clubbing gear.

Rubber suits, leather and latex harnesses, jockstraps, lingerie, beautiful underwear and bodysuits, leather collars and fetish gear — and even more exciting than the diversity of the outfits (including those in just their birthday suits) was the diversity of the bodies in the room.

A reason we were interested in DILF rather than a random gay club night was that it focuses explicitly and specifically on celebrating different men’s bodies beyond the twink and the twunk — DILFs and daddies and older men; bears and and otters and bulls, fat men and big muscle men, and all the men in between.

They also have a very explicitly inclusive policy when it comes to trans men:

1. DILF creates events for like-minded queer men (including gay, bi + trans men) and male presenting non-binary people over 18 years old to celebrate + express themselves. 2. There’s no room for racism, homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, body shaming or any other kind of hate speech and intolerance at DILF’s events. — (From their website.)

And I saw other trans men too, not to mention that apart from having a wider variety of weights and sizes in the men in attendance, there were a lot more brown and Black men than I often see at events in Bradford and Leeds, and it’s obvious that DILF does more than just pay lip service to the idea of diversity, in their organisers and staff, in their promo photos, and in their target audience for attendees.

I also brought my cane with me and spent a good part of the night either sitting down or leaning against a wall or surface, and I got no comments on it, nor even any funny looks, honestly. I cannot readily recollect a night where I’ve gone out and danced with my cane to hand, where no one’s been a dick about it, but also where I’ve genuinely let myself rest enough through the course of the night that I’m in less pain at the end of the night than I am at the beginning.

The night was good.

It was a busy night, it was a busy night full of sexy men, while the music was not my thing one could mostly dance along to it, and it was sexy as Hell. People were grinding on one another, making out, but obviously it was a cruising night as much as a dance night, so while no one was getting bent over and reamed over a bar table — not that I saw, anyway, but perhaps we left too early to enjoy it — but people were giving and receiving blowjobs, handjobs, and frotting a good bit, which one does love to see.

I don’t know what it was that made this dude clock me — I haven’t had top surgery and was only in a leather vest worn open, but my tits are fairly small and given that he was a much bigger man than I am, his were far bigger than mine are. It might have been my chest, it might have been that I had short hair, it might have been that because I was wearing eyeliner and colourful trousers he thought I was nonbinary — who knows? Who cares?

But this fella turns to me and says something to the effect of, “You know this is an event for gay men, right?”

And my partner and I were like, “Uh… Yeah? Duh?”

“Men who are GAY.” And I didn’t initially understand what his problem was, and just sort of looked at him very blankly, whereupon he very snottily said, “Hmph, good luck!” and turned away.

What followed was an interesting exercise in creating one’s own misery.

My partner and I sort of looked at one another with the typical, “What’s her problem?” look one often witnesses in gay clubs like this one when someone’s being a bit of a prick without an apparent reason, and then as we sort of half-observed, we watch this guy go to the friends he was with and complain whilst pointing in my direction. We obviously couldn’t hear what he was saying over the music, but he started with his friends, and then spoke to a few others… and then a few other random guys after that.

All of them, to a man, glanced in my direction, and then gave their mate a look like, “Um… okay? So?”

Thus adding to his frustration and apparently spurring him on to complain to the next man at the audacity of a gay man at this gay men’s event that he didn’t personally approve of.

Several of his mates continued to chat and make small talk with us here and there throughout the night, exchanged horny and admiring looks, et cetera and so on — and this guy’s temper tantrum obviously made no significant change to my night whatsoever.

No one gave a fuck that I was trans — they might have thought my outfit was a bit odd because I wasn’t in nicer fetish gear because I just don’t have any yet beyond some sexy assless underwear and I haven’t yet gotten hold of a harness for myself, but like I said, there were other trans men present, other effete and effeminate men, other guys who were on the skinnier side. On no point was I unique in the room — and people still flirted here and there, had conversations, and so on.

The only night this guy really impacted for himself was his own — focusing on some dude he didn’t want to be present rather than being flirty and having genuine fun with other men, and also embarrassing himself to all his friends, who all kept glancing at him with the same glance of, “Girl, what?” whenever he apparently worked himself up again.

The thing about the anti-trans obsession in recent years is that it’s a fixation on other people’s existence and behaviour that doesn’t impact you in any way — until this guy had made that comment to me, I hadn’t even said hello to him. We were just sitting on the same bench against the wall, and one of his friends had been laughing while helping my partner off with his skinny jeans, all in good fun.

He didn’t get everyone baying for my removal, or complaining about it to staff, or anything else. He didn’t get any of them to get out pitchforks or start burning trans effigies.

He got secondhand embarrassment on his behalf, because he was making himself look ridiculous to his friends because of his obsession with trans people, actively lowering their opinion of him and for what? The one trans dude he noticed vibing nearby, with no direct interaction with him at all that he hadn’t started?

If I was going to be cruising and fucking anybody, it’s not like he had to partake with me! There were plenty of guys to choose from!

This man was in his fifties or so, I would estimate, so by the time he was old enough to be exploring his own sexuality, being gay would have been legal, but he would have been living through the worst of the AIDs crisis, and certainly, a night like DILF would never have been able to be so openly advertised, nor I doubt as well attended or put on as often as it can be today. It’s always funny when I see such silly and self-sabotaging bigotry from men who are old enough and more than experienced enough to know better, but in the meantime, like…

I’m glad I still had a good night, and I’m honestly so pleased to have attended an event where the common consensus was very obviously at this dude’s problem rather than against the trans minority, especially when the world so often feels like it’s the other way around.

It’s a nice reminder that as vocal as they can be with their whinging and complaining, the bigots aren’t the majority they’d like us to believe they are.

#musings #transphobia #trans men #ftm #leeds

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salemlunaa · 5 months ago

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WE SHIFT ALL THE TIME, WHY ARE YOU SO SCARED??

the void and shifting aren’t that scary ༄

many people are in my dms, saying that they are avoiding the term “reality shifting” and maybe a lot of you guys have exaggerated this as i make alot of posts for my permashifters and respawners as not many people do

when it comes to "shifting realities", the term isn't as deep as you think, to shift realities you don't need a 360 change, sometimes it can be small, but that's all manifesting is, shifting realities. For example let's say you have blonde hair, if you were to watch a subliminal for natural jet black hair and you get it, you have just shifted to the reality where you have black hair, nothing else changed just that you now have jet black hair instead of blonde. You can have all you want while still keeping many aspects the same for example, friends or family, you don't need to change everything o shift

We are shifting all the time, another example, let’s say you’re out shopping with a friend and they ask wether the red skirt or the blue skirt would be better, you pick red and now you have shifted to the reality where that friend owns and wears that skirt, and if you were to pick blue you would have been in a different reality where your friend owns and wears a blue skirt. We shift with everything we do. Manifesting is shifting, Shifting is manifesting. The void is just a meditative state that allows us to change even the most “impossible” things without any resistance, but you’re changing shit everyday.

The reason i’m saying this is that i mostly speak about permashifting and respawning, so people automatically think that if they shift, everything will change drastically. It won’t. Although i love you guys so much, it’s the funniest shit ever when yall ask me if you’re ever gonna see your family again because you want to enter the void to change the colour of your eyes 💀 (like damn you lot can be so dramatic). You’re subconscious KNOWS you so whatever you don’t want will not be there and whatever you do want will be waiting for you, wether using the void or simply affirming, you don’t need to spell it out, because again the void isn’t some genie, it’s YOU and you know you!

And to those who want to respawn or permashift, i want you to see this message and know that shifting isn’t that deep, the void isn’t scary or some huge thing and what you want to do (shift realities) is something that you already do and have been doing since you came to be.

shifting is and will always be as easy as breathing

SHIFTING IS AS SIMPLE AS BLINKING, DONT LET IT CONFUSE OR SCARE YOU ❄️💋

#salemlunaa #shiftblr #permashifting #reality shifting #shifting #law of assumption #success story #void state #the void #void concept #loa #respawning #desired appearance #desired reality #the void state #voidstate #void state tips #manifesting #master manifestor

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11rosebunny · 8 months ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬 (𝐁𝐎𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍 + 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍)

content: f!reader. fluff. togame being an asshole per usual…

word count: 2045

Haruka Sakura

You two were simply at his house for a small hangout, it wasn't anything too special after you both started dating. You've grown accustomed to going over to his apartment and just being in the same room together.

So when you slip on one of his plain white shirts, he knows immediately that it's his because he doesn't own many coloured shirts like you do. He lost his mind.

The sight of you in his floor bed with his shirt.

Right away, he'll question you, "Is that my shirt?" As blush creeps up on his cheeks.

You answer "Yes." Without much thought but in his head, he was going crazy.

He tries to act like it's nothing and brushes it off, but the way his eyes never leave your body and the way he keeps fidgeting with the hem of the shirt you're wearing makes you question what he's doing. He doesn't say anything the whole time which made you curious and knew something was up.

Hajime Umemiya

He has to do a double take on your body when he comes across you wearing something of his own. The first time it happened, you were relaxing on the school roof top with him, seeing that you guys finished gardening fairly quickly, the shirt you were wearing had gotten a little too dirty to your liking, so to fix the solution he looked at you, then his shirt.

"Do you want to borrow mine?"

You eyebrows knitted in confusion as your eyes went wide. You kept protesting and telling him to keep it, besides, what was he going to wear then? He quickly solved the problem by saying if you'd like to borrow his sweater instead. This time, you agreed to those terms.

You quickly changed in the washroom before heading up to the rooftop again. The school was empty and luckily Sugishita had plans that day (which is very rare causing the both of you to question what he was doing today). Upon returning, he was in the hammock he usually takes naps in and was busy on his phone after not being on it for a few hours. Momentarily, you sat in front of him feeling awkward and shifting your chair. He peered up from his phone and looked at you, then smiled.

"Wow that suits you huh?" He placed his phone down on his chest. You jumped at his compliment.

"It's not even mine..."

"Looks better on you though." A cheeky smile was brought to his lips.

You felt the tips of your ears burning as he motioned you to come with him. You were dating by then and yet you still felt awkward whenever you two got a little to intimate. He knew of this thought of yours but he found it cute. So when you stood up and made your way over to him, he quickly grabbed your wrist making you stumble onto his chest as he let out an airy laugh when you yelled in shock.

"You're going to break the hammock you asshole!"

Toma Hiragi

He really hated the way you dressed that day. Normally whenever you two would go out for a date night, it was usually at restaurants or a late night walk for drinks or ice cream, but today was special and you two decided to do something different.

The both of you agreed to visit the bowling arena.

It was open till 12AM and mostly older adults and few rowdy teenagers would roll up around those hours due to the alcoholic beverage that were available to order. Of course, you and him don't drink so your plans was just to bowl.

However when he picks you up from your house and sees your outfit, he could a feel a vigilant sense coming to his nose. The top you wore was a bit too showy and tight for his liking, even so, he refrained from telling you at first.

However, to your dismay, a lot more teenagers that you two expected to be there was out of your assumptions. The groups around your bowling area was rented out by the same rowdy teenagers he feared. The entire time he purely tried to focus on your date and ignore the hormonal boys that kept eyeing up and down. It was driving him crazy to not just drag you out the place and have a date night at home.

After it was your turn, he had enough of the whispers and stares about his girlfriend, so when you walk up to him to indicate it was his turn now, he takes his leather jacket from the couch where both your belongings were placed and in a swift move, he wraps it behind your back.

"Oh, are we going now?" You ask feeling sweat drop from your head.

"...No." He replied as you slipped in your arms through the sleeves. From the corner of his eyes, he could feel the stares of the group of teenagers mumbling under their breaths.

You didn't understand for the first few minutes till you watched him walk up to the stadium and saw him glance at the group of boys if they noticed you were wearing his jacket.

You smiled softly and held the jacket closer to your body.

Taiga Tsugeura

He barely has any interesting shirts, Nirei desperately tried to help him find his style sense, but when the others visited his house and browsed around in his room, Mitsuki looked in his closet to see the same exact shirts in different shades of grey. He took a picture and sent it to the group chat.

The four made that an inside joke.

Even so, you were aware of his limited choices of clothing, when you asked for a shirt at his house, on the outside he seemed normal about it. It took him awhile for it to click in his brain what you asked till he saw you in his shirt asking him if he's ready to go out yet.

The both of you were just going to go on a small walk around town having been bored at his house so the entire time he's outside with you he's extra giddy and smiley thinking about the fact that you are wearing his shirt.

You can tell he's in an extra good mood by the way he seems to blush and smile more while at the same time, taking glances at the shirt you're wearing every now and then.

Mitsuki Kiryu

His clothing of choices are very interesting. Aside from his loud patterned shirts, he still owns a fair amount of cute looking ones.

When you first looked into his closet a tiny part of you was jealous seeing how nice they were, you even told him you were going to steal some because of how good quality it was, and to your surprise he said,

"Go ahead. I don't mind." With a cat-like smile.

In doing so, you ended up putting a fashion show on for him.

He laughed the entire time and rated each outfits you presented to him, having different names for each of the fits making him place down his phone and put all his attention on you.

As much as he enjoyed the little game you made, he loved the way your body fitted some of his clothes, he falls into the shorter category of guys. Standing at a whopping 5'5 ft tall, some of the clothes fit you very well. He finds it amusing the way some of them still look baggy on you, making you look like blob of laundry.

He wouldn't mind if he saw you in public wearing one of his jackets.

Hayato Suo

You really hate his clothes. It's not the fact that it's ugly or weird, Suo tends to go for the Chinese clothing due to the hemp material he likes. Loose pants and kung-fu shoes, they're basically similar material types.

However, when you had to wear one of his jackets due to the weather being colder than usual, you fought with yourself thinking you'd look stupid wearing a Chinese tang-suit in public paired with your [Clothing style] would make you look ridiculous.

But once you refused, the dark-haired boy put on a faux smile and told you to put it on now.

There you were, in his tang-suit jacket.

It wasn't as bad as you thought, eventually you forgot about the jacket when you two continued your date outside. The whole time, he would glance at you whenever you weren't looking and look away with a proud smile.

"Suo is something wrong?" You ask questioning his silent smile.

He looked away and continued walking, "Nothing." He answer before wrapping his fingers with yours.

Jo Togame

Monk working clothes and matching sweatsuits.

He doesn't care much about style if he's being honest. The chore of running errands to spend money on clothing he's going to wear for 2 days and end up throwing them into the washing machine seems like a bother, so he keeps his wardrobe simple.

When he finds you stealing one of his grey sweaters, he notices right away.

"Is that mine?" He asks pointing at you laying in his bed with your phone in your hand.

He already knows the answer when you reply, "Yeah."

He chuckles to himself before walking over to you and placing the towel from his shoulders on his chair. His hair was still wet after having a short bath and threw on grey sweatpants and a random sweatshirt.

When you're just going through your phone and not paying much attention to your surroundings, the 6 foot man launches his body onto yours making you scream in surprise.

Instantly, he wraps his arms around your waist while messing up his wet hair on the sweater you wore. The phone in your hand dropped causing it to fling to the floor and create a crashing sound. The moment he got his hands on you, you tried breaking free.

"Togame stop! Your hair is still wet!" You kicked your legs and began to push yourself away from him but his grip was too strong.

You could feel a smile form on his lips against you as a lazy but purring voice replaced his tone of voice, "But you look so good [Name]."

"Let me GO!"

Tomiyama Choji

His outfits relate to similar clothing of streetwear and he's not even aware of that. He picks his clothing at random and goes for tight-fitted pants with sneakers. He's very short and light so most of his clothes fit you.

When you two are simply going out to eat and you accidentally spill water on your shirt, your mood shifts and becomes sadder.

He wasn't expecting something like this to happen, and thought about any solutions.

"My shirt is all ruined..." You whined across from the chair he stood in. You began to wipe down the liquid that wetted your shirt while he frantically began to clean up the table that had the water spills.

"Hey it's okay, you can always borrow my jacket." He looked up at you with his prominent smile.

You blinked at his offer but was he really going to give you a choice? The answer was no.

You went into the washroom to go change and slip on the the hoodie he wore for your date, and when you walked out he widened his eyes in surprise as a tiny of blush covered his cheeks.

"Sorry, I'll return your sweater back next time okay?" You walked out the restaurant with him with you wet shirt stuffed in your bag.

He shook his head and that's when you realized he seemed a bit more quieter than he usually is. Normally, he was loud and outgoing but in this moment, you senesced something was coming up.

"No it's okay, you can keep it."

"Really?" You smiled back at him as the two of you began walking.

He remained his eyes on you in a daze before the two of you wrapped your hands together, "Yeah. It suits you better."

You blushed at his statement.

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comicaurora · 9 days ago

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A bit of a strange question, but if there were any of your videos you were to "remake" today for any reason (ex: you feel like you misrepresented the original text or spread misinformation), which would it be and why? None of them is a perfectly valid answer

Again: bit of a strange question, but I've been thinking about my own creations and how I could have done so much better with some of them, but I also know that is a sign of my growth and constantly chasing "what if I did this instead" isn't always healthy for nurturing a creative mindset, and I was wondering what your opinion might be as a Creator of Things with a bit more experience than I

There's been a few trope talks where I've thought later of other angles I could've explored that might warrant sequels or part 2s, but I don't dislike any of the summaries enough to justify a rework.

I always find "I could've done this better if I made it now" to be a bit of a fallacy. I'm only better at making things now because I made all those earlier things. If I knew everything I'd learn from making a project before I started the project, it wouldn't come out the same.

I think when it comes to the "rework remake perfect" instinct, it helps to zero in on what the impulse is really grounded in. In my experience, more often than not, it's not actually about making the art better, except incidentally. It's usually about showing that you are better. It's demonstrating your competence and your higher standards and your skills, and more importantly it's overwriting the proof that you were once less than perfect. If people look at your old work and think that's all you're capable of, they'll be judging you poorly!

If that's the motivator, it's a very unhelpful one. You can't control for being harshly or incorrectly judged. It's a fruitless effort to stave off potentially upsetting outdated criticism, and it's not even going to work. Fear of critique is an unreliable and untrustworthy motivator.

If it really is about making the art itself better, perfecting your magnum opus with your newly leveled-up skills, that's a little more solid. But from where I'm standing, it's always better to use those skills to make something new instead of polishing something old. The older, unpolished work has already acquired its audience that finds it appealing for reasons that might never occur to you. Trying to bury or overwrite it just deprives that audience of the thing they like, and maybe makes them feel bad for having liked it in the first place. Also, usually when you look back on the older work, you'll conclude that the problem is everything and it'll need to be torn down and started from scratch. I know when I revisited the first three chapters of the comic, when I let my critic brain spin up, it wasn't shading or lineart I wanted to fix - it was panel composition, overall pacing, the entire structure of the chapters as a whole. I would've had to make them all over again to be happy with them, and they wouldn't be the same story by the end.

I've been thinking a lot about the Discworld through this lens lately. It ended up over 40 books long, but everyone agrees that the first two are not what you should start with, because they're the worst ones. They're entirely parodic, purely referential of at-the-time major fantasy series, and borderline mean-spirited in places. If you haven't read Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser and Dragonriders of Pern, you're not gonna understand like a full 50% of The Colour Of Magic.

It's clear that when he started in on them, Pratchett was entirely focused on taking the piss out of a genre he found mostly shallow and unimpressive. But the Discworld wouldn't leave his head, and everything he made fun of he clearly eventually found himself overthinking. He'd make little one-off jokes in the early books about Dwarves having no women and a hundred words for gold, and then twenty books later he'd have a Dwarf gender revolution make waves across the Disc, and then he'd write Thud!, a book that delves deeper into the nuances of Dwarf societal structure than Tolkien ever did.

If you look for them, there are continuity errors everywhere in Discworld. In his introductory book, Carrot defused a dwarf bar full of rowdy brawlers by guilting them all into writing to their poor lonely mothers back home. Shortly thereafter, Carrot will be outraged at the mere concept of an openly female dwarf. Pratchett even eventually wrote Thief of Time, a book that loosely explains that the Disc makes no sense because history has been broken and put back together incorrectly twice, and therefore any continuity errors are because of that.

He's the writer. He could've gone back and fixed it, edited the reprints to be less disruptively discontinuous with the later books. Instead he continuously moved forward and allowed the world he made to grow without cutting it off from its roots. And because he didn't bury his older, far worse work, we have the privilege of following the Disc's evolution from the very start, and seeing how this shallow, stock fantasy world parody became something incredibly rich and complex without ever pretending like its early installments never happened.

Anyway, that's why I think it's better to move forward. You make more good stuff that way.

#asks #not aurora #writing stuff

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wlw-imagines · 10 months ago

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It’s Not What It Looks Like - Eloise Bridgerton/Reader (Bridgerton)

request: “can you make like a eloise bridgerton and her lover get caught?” - anon

a/n: very excited to have the time to be writing again, happy days -- set at beginning/mid season 2 ig?? also regency homophobia? pft the bridgertons are above that shit (mostly... so this is a sprinkling of regency homophobia warning ig but more gay pride really !!)

back to new fresh writing from this year (how is it 2024 wtf) - word count is almost 6k yo + no editing because i do not want to

The two of you giggled like little children as you raced one another up the stairs. Eloise pulled on your arm in an attempt to overtake you but you just about managed to beat her to the spot - despite her cheating tactics.

You tangled your fingers with hers, holding onto her hand as you opened the door to her room, “We should cause a nuisance to your Mother more often.” You looked over your shoulder and made eye contact as you spoke, grinning mischievously.

Her cheeks turned a sweet rosy colour as she mirrored your smile, letting go of your hand in favour of wrapping her arms around your waist from behind, her hands rested on your hips.

“Hmm, what a punishment to get sent away to be together.” Eloise expelled an over-dramatic sigh before letting out a light laugh. “After all, we are just doing what we’re told.” She shrugged innocently and moved around you, sitting down and landing on her bed with a bounce.

You laughed, letting your gaze linger across her room, acquainting yourself once more with Eloise’s own space and all the small things that had changed since you were last here, “It seems extremely unlike you to ever do what you are told, my love.” She rolled her eyes with a smile, before patting the space next to her.

“Come here, sit.” She smiled and shifted slightly to the side, “Perhaps close the door first.” You let out a small laugh and turned around, gently pushing the door shut.

Turning back to Eloise, you quirked up an eyebrow and smiled, taking a few steps back to stand in front of her, “Is the door shut so we may have further deep discussions about the poetry you leant me? Because if so-”

As soon as you were close enough, Eloise interrupted you and pulled your body between her legs, pressing against her front. Before you could try to finish your sentence, El had her hand resting on your jaw and had pulled you towards her to kiss you.

Her kiss was, as always, full of emotion and meaning, though today it was also a kiss with a hint of urgency. You let yourself relax into her as she kept your body firmly against hers in as many ways as possible - craving your touch.

You pulled away gently and rested against her. She closed her eyes and smiled, “I must admit to wanting to do that for the longest time.”

Putting your hand back under her chin, you whispered, “You may do it again, if you so wish.”

She wrapped her arms around you, rolling and pulling you onto the bed so you were lying on top of her and she giggled, peppering your face with kisses.

“We should be careful, my love.” You said, pursing your lips and glancing at the door as you pushed yourself up. El sighed and pulled you back against her, a slight pout on her lips.

She jutted her chin up slightly in defiance and her pout gave way to a soft smile, “Maybe I do not want to be careful.”

You let out a small snort and gently raised an eyebrow again, “Hmm,” You pressed a few soft kisses to the corner of her mouth, before moving yourself so you were laying next to her with your legs still across her lap - ignoring her protests. You felt something crackle beneath you and moved to grab it and, upon realising it was the newest Whistledown, you held it out to Eloise, “Did you read the latest gossip?”

She groaned lightly in frustration at your distraction tactics but humoured you all the same, rolling onto her side and propping herself up on her elbow, “I may have been distracted half way through. It arrived just before you did.” Her hand came to rest on your stomach and she gently traced her fingers over the material of your dress.

“Where did you get to?” You asked, the gossip already opened as you re-read the pieces you had seen earlier in the day. Eloise raised her head slightly to look at the paper in your hand and gestured to the third paragraph of the first page.

“Perhaps around there?” She shrugged slightly.

Your eyes widened, “Oh, but you completely missed the best bit!”

“Read it to me?” Eloise asked, looking to you through her eyelashes. You smiled, blushing at the intimacy of the moment.

“Surely there are more romantic things for me to read to you?”

She just hummed and rested her head against your shoulder, “My heart is so full for you that anything you do makes it beat faster.”

“You’re very soppy, you know that right?” The blush on your cheeks increased tenfold and you couldn’t resist pressing a soft kiss to her lips, brushing your noses together before moving back slightly.

Before you could get another word out, Eloise’s door burst open and Hyacinth fell into the room, a broad grin on her face. Her eyes skipped around the room, looking for the two of you, “Hello? Sister, please - please may I borrow your silk ribbons for m-

You did your best to scramble up and put a bit more platonic space between yourself and Eloise, “H! Good afterno-”

Eloise lazily rolled over, glancing over her shoulder to see her sister, “Hyacinth? Go away. We were in the middle of-”

Hyacinth cleared her throat and had already begun retreating backwards out of the room, her face bright red, “Oh... I didn’t- Sorry, excuse me.”

Your heart was beating faster now and you called out in an attempt to stop her. You wanted to try to explain that it’s not what it looked like at all, “H, wait-”

“Don’t, just let her go. Stay here with me.” Eloise took your hand and tried to pull you back into her again but you resisted this time.

“No, El, what if she tells someone?”

Eloise sat up next to you with exaggerated effort and huffed, “What would she say? Besides, I still want to do this...” She leant towards you, her hand brushing against your hips as she gently connected her lips with yours, “And you were going to read to me?” She whispered, mere inches away from capturing your lips with hers once more.

“What would she-? Really, my love? What would you say if you were to see... the Duke, for example, practically straddling your sister?”

“Straddling? We weren’t straddling, we were just- It’s not...” The realisation dawned on her as she looked at you and considered the close proximity - her hand on your lower stomach, your legs tangled together. Her face went pale as she whispered, “Oh, fuck. Hyacinth! Sister, it is not what it seems.” She untangled herself from you and jumped off the bed, gathering her skirts as she chased after her sister. “Hyacinth!”

You took a second to panic before pushing yourself off the bed and you followed El out the room, almost crashing into her back on the landing outside, “Where has she gone?” You asked El, who shrugged and you could see the similar panic in her eyes, mirroring your own.

“Mama!” Hyacinth’s voice drifted to you from below. Your head snapped round to the stairs.

“Bloody hell!” Eloise muttered under her breath, running around you to get to the stairs. She thundered down them and, if you weren’t worried about Hyacinth, then you would have laughed at her complete unladylike stomping.

Hyacinth’s voice wailed again as she looked around for her family, “Mama!”

“Oh my, whatever is the matter?” Violet’s voice joined the mix once Hyacinth had found her, evidently exasperated with all her children’s drama.

“It was Y/N and Eloise! They were... together.”

It felt as though there was an audible eyeroll before the two of you heard a response, “Well, yes, I sent them both upstairs to talk about their books and other such stuff. They were too loud down here with all their... chatter.” Just as she finished talking, both you and Eloise hurtled around the corner and into the sitting room, in which the whole family was sitting.

Eloise quickly - and loudly - voiced her objections to whatever accusations she had been picturing her sister making, “Mother, whatever Hyacinth has just said... she is lying. She is withholding the truth from you, as she often does, and-”

Hyacinth’s nostrils flared slightly in annoyance, “I do not!” She interrupted, frowning over at her sister, who quickly (and childlishly) responded right back.

“Do too!”

“Eloise, be kind to your sister.” Lady Violet quickly put her hands up to signal for the two sisters to stop talking and to find some kind of peace, “Besides, she has said nothing but that the two of you were talking.” She shrugged and began to turn back to the rest of the family but Hyacinth piped up again, more confusion and irritation lacing her voice this time.

You quietly and quickly prayed to any deity listening that Hyacinth’s words wouldn’t be utterly discriminating, you still had a chance to wriggle your way out of any current accusations.

“No, I don’t mean talking.” Hyacinth rolled her eyes and her cheeks turned red, “Mama, you must believe me. They were... together!”

Violet let out a deep breath and shrugged apologetically, “Darling, I do not know what you mean.”

You clear your throat and try to shrug nonchalantly, but ends up an awkward flail, “No one does- I mean, it’s fine. Let us all go back to what we were doing, how about that?” You try to move the conversation on - desperately, you must admit.

Simon raises an eyebrow and tilts his head ever so slightly at you, you blush and shake your head. This immediately causes a smirk to break out on his lips, which he clearly does his best to suppress or to hide but this just brings Daphne’s attention to him. You are sure your blush is a permanent feature now.

“Hyacinth, you always cause such a rush and a chaos, running down here to announce nonsense. What do you mean ‘they are together’?” Daphne herself chooses to chime in, frowning at Simon with a questioning glint in her eye.

Eloise lets out a breathy chuckle and shakes her head, “I rather think she means nothing, so-”

Anthony sighed deeply and in an over-exaggerated manner, leaning his head on his palm before snapping, “No more breath need be wasted on this subject. They were together, so what?” He shrugged, clearly bored of the conversation and fuss, and dropped his hands to his knees.

Eloise brightened up and gestured towards him as she looked and nodded to the rest of her family and then focused her gaze back to Anthony, “Well said, brother!”

“Eloise!” Colin gasped and you did all you could to suppress a groan of disbelief. Anthony immediately straightened in his seat, a fresh interest lighting up his eyes.

“What?” She looked to you with slight alarm, sensing she had done something wrong.

“Agreeing so vehemently with Anthony? I never thought I’d see the day!” Colin leant forward, looking between Anthony and Eloise. He shrugged, raising an eyebrow, “Well, if my suspicions weren’t first raised by Hyacinth screaming the house down - now they well and truly are.”

Eloise took a deep breath in and shuffled her feet slifghtly before rolling her eyes, “Sometimes... I occasionally might agree with what he has to say.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest, staring defiantly at Colin.

“No, you don’t.” Anthony challenged, bringing everyone’s attention back to him.

Eloise frowned and gritted her teeth, “Yes, I do.”

He let out a scoff, “No, I am sure that you do not.”

“I simply insist that I do!”

You let out a small sigh and sunk down into the armchair next to Simon and Daphne. Simon sent you a glance that, at first one may think was sympathetic, but, upon further inspection, showed he was clearly enjoying your public annihilation. You just glared at him, which made him simply smile. Infuriating man.

Colin stood up between the two of them and gestured to Eloise, “Now look! You can’t even agree as to whether you agree.”

“So, what, pray tell, is going on?” Daphne raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and Simon and clearly clocking the looks you were giving one another.

You reluctantly cleared your throat, deciding now was a good time to take the heat off from Eloise who was clearly struggling, “I promise, nothing untoward is happening here. We were just playing games, weren’t we H?” You smiled over at Hyacinth, begging her with your eyes to just go along with it.

Hyacinth’s eyes lit up, “Like Daph, and the Duke!” You audibly groaned this time. This kid would not take any hints.

VIolet hesitated, her eyes flitting from one daughter to the next, Hyacinth to Daphne to Eloise, before letting out a confused- “What?”

“They were together... like them!” Hyacinth looked slightly triumphant as she pointed across to Simon and Daphne.

Simon raised an eyebrow and shook his head before muttering under his breath, “Oh, no. Please don’t drag us into this.” You wanted to turn to him and stick your tongue out, but realised that was probably not the best move to play in this very moment.

“Well, I rather think we should let the two in question answer us.” Daphne stared pointedly at the two of you.

“Here, here!” Simon quickly chimed in, wearing another annoying smirk on his face as he looked at you.

You were about to attempt to protest but as you opened your mouth Eloise defiantly piped up, “Fine.” She shrugged, as nonchalant as she could be.

“What?” You asked in a low voice with a bit of urgency, looking up at where she was standing above you.

You locked eyes and she nodded, clearly trying to convey a message (of which you had speaking slowly. “Y/N and I were...” She hesitated and you started to panic, knowing you had to come up with something in order to save her.

“Arguing.” Eloise said at the exact same time as you interjected with- “Dancing.”

Eloise swirled back around to look at you, “Dancing? Why in the heavens would we be dancing?” She all but hissed and you looked at her with equal confusion.

“Your sister and her husband dance together... I don’t know?” You rolled your eyes before gesturing at her as you stood up, “Better, in my lowly opinion, than arguing.”

“I had a plan! If you just let me say it then we would be fine right now.” She lowered her voice - as if that would stop everyone (who all had their eyes glued to the pair of you) from hearing your conversation.

You shook your head, “Eloise, you were floundering!”

“I was not.” El all but stomped her foot, “I was... pausing for dramatic effect.”

“No, you always do that long pause whenever you are moments away from coming up with a lie. Everyone knows that!” Your voice rose slightly and you gestured to everyone in the room. In your peripheral vision, you could see Daphne raise her eyebrows before nodding. Even if you couldn’t keep the two of you a secret any longer, at least you had the vindication of winning that single point.

You watched as Eloise tried to come up with a rebuttal but, as already established, you were clearly correct. You grinned at her, utterly triumphant, and she just sighed before fondly rolling her eyes and letting her own smile mirror your own.

A clearing of the throat broke the brief silence and Colin’s voice soon followed, “It doesn’t take a genius to understand that the two of you are clearly lying but... really, Y/N? I mean, I must agree. Dancing? Eloise doesn’t dance lest she makes Mother believe she wants to be married off to the unlucky suitor.”

Eloise quickly shifted her glance to Colin and frowned, “I dance.” She insisted at the same time as you moodily grumbled out, “We dance.” and sat back down. To which Colin simply raised an eyebrow and opened his palms.

“Well, in that case, maybe Mother should marry her off to you.” He said and, seconds later, his gaze shifted to one of understanding. He went to open his mouth and shut it moments later.

Hyacinth let out a loud, frustrated sigh and pointed at Colin, “That’s my point! They were behaving like they’re married!”

“Right... I see.” Violet sat up stiffer in her chair and glanced down at her entwined hands before looking up to her daughter, “Hyacinth, go to your room.”

“But-”

Hyacinth went to protest but was quickly shut down with a steely one word response from her mother - “Go.” Reluctantly (and rather sulkily), she retreated out of the family room and stomped up every single stair before shutting the door to her bedroom rather loudly.

Throughout this, Violet’s eyes restlessly moved from her hands, to Eloise, and back, before eventually landing on Eloise completely. “Now, Eloise, I will only ask you this once. Were you- What was it that the two of you were... Tell me what Hyacinth means by...” Her mother danced around the subject, her hands working at the fabric of her dress, until Daphne sighed loudly and moved her body to sit facing Eloise.

“Mother remains to lack a certain skill of talking directly about... certain things. May I ask instead... are the two of you fucking?” She kept eye contact the whole time, hardly reacting as her mother physcially flinched and gasped, her cheeks turning rosy.

“Daphne!” Violet spoke, aghast.

Daphne eventually turned to her mother, “What? You cannot dilly-dally around with such a subject.” She shrugged and turned back to the two of you.

“I... yes. I guess perhaps... that is what I was getting around to in a way.” Violet’s gaze evetually settled on the two of you as well.

You knew this direct line of questioning (and outing by Eloise’s sister) was going to be slightly harder to avoid than previously. And even then you hadn’t managed to do a convincing job of it. Still, the two of you bravely (stupidly) fought on.

Eloise vehemently shook her head, “I- no! We don’t...” She put her hand on your shoulder, which would normlly be soothing, but you pushed it off, hoping no one saw (they clearly did). “I mean we weren’t-”

You squirmed in your seat slightly. Explaining your relationship with El’s family was not what you had planned for the day, “What Eloise is trying to say is-” Eloise shook her hand at you, trying to forge on with her own sentence.

“To say ‘fucking’ is too-”

Your eyes widened at the way in which this conversation seemed to be going, “Eloise!” You cut her off, cheeks ablaze.

She looked across to you with innocent eyes, “What! I-”

Before she could land you in it even more, you tried to steer this into safer territory - desperate not to have to talk about sex in front of Eloise’s family, “Okay, listen-”

Again, Eloise managed to charge on. You slumped back in your chair, exhausted from trying to keep Eloise under control and away from the topic of fucking, “You know, I find it very interesting that... pleasuring a woman is deemed purely a male pastime and not-”

You let out a groan of frustration and sighed, taking hold of Eloise’s hand and squeezing softly, “El, my love, not the time.” She kept hold of your hand and turned to you. You took this as an opportunity to actually talk, “She meant we were not doing anything of the... sort. We would not even perchance dream of-”

Before you could finish your sentence, yet another Bridgerton was interrupting you. You involuntarily squeezed Eloise’s hand, tense at having to fight off more allegations, “They definitely are... surely. Look at them.” Daphne spoke.

You looked around the room. To Simon, who looked in pain at how much he was having to hold in a laugh. Daphne, who looked victorious. Colin, who still had an annoying, clever (but not unkind) smirk on his face. Anthony, who - in all honestly - couldn’t look much more like he was living a nightmare - perhaps tortured was the word. He was probably not feeling up to dealing with yet another Bridgerton scandal or another duel at dawn (which, for the record, neither were you). And Violet, who had started to return to a more normal colouring in her face, was looking slightly more relaxed - although you still couldn’t really read the woman.

Then... Eloise, who, since you had interrupted her, had been gazing at you. You were fools to believe that you could keep this under wraps. You finally saw her as if you were looking from the outside in and she had the most ridiculous, overpowering, gorgeous love-eyes you had ever seen. You melted in your chair slightly. You’d do anything to not have to give this up.

Eloise squeezed your hand gently and enveloped you in a hug as she was still standing and as you were still sitting, squeezing you into her side. She took a step back and held out both her hands. You hesitated but nodded, slipping your hands into hers.

With her gaze holding yours she nodded, “Yes, fine, we’re fucking.”

“Eloise!” You gasped, letting go of her hands and swatting at her head. She let out a laugh as she ducked away from you. Simon, next to you, finally let out the laugh he had been holding and Daphne quickly joined in. You turned to them, with red cheeks once more, “It’s not funny! Eloise, you’re being crass. And an ass. And anything else that rhymes!”

“I’m just answering the question I was given!” She grinned cheekily, stepping close enough to tempt another attempt at a hit from you, before dodging it just in time and letting out another laugh. You couldn’t help but start to grin at the absurdity of the situations, Eloise laughing wildly as she jumped around you, Simon shaking with laughter next to you. Even Anthony may have let out a small laugh. Maybe.

“Okay, stop, everyone.” Violet’s voice interrupted the slight moment of insanity, “How long has this been going on for?”

Eloise, still slightly puffed out from dodging your attacks, shrugged the question off, “Mother, it’s not-”

“How long?” Violet’s eyes were steely as she raised an eyebrow, tutting when Eloise let the silence stretch on a bit too long.

“Perhaps just a handful of months? Two? Or three. Maybe four?” Eloise’s smile shrank with every word.

“Under my roof?”

You slid back into your seat and quietly mumbled, “Under many a roof, in all fairness.” Although Violet had clearly heard as she frowned.

“What is this?” She asked gesturing between the two of you.

“What do you mean?” Eloise asked, stubborn as always, pushing her mother further than perhaps necessary.

Violet sighed and her eyes raised to the ceiling, “Eloise? Is this just your way of rebelling away from what is expected? From society? From me?” She asked, eyes landing back to Eloise.

“Mother-”

You wished you could bring back the laughter from moments ago. You gritted your teeth, annoyed at the woman you practically saw as your own mother. You hadn’t planned on telling anyone. Really you were going to try to live your whole lives together without anyone finding out. Which, in retrospect, had seemed a bit foolish. But you had hoped that Violet, and the Bridgerton family, of all people would be slightly more free-minded than this.

You stood up, putting yourself between Eloise and Violet, “This isn’t a rebellion.” You huffed out, angrily and frowned at Violet to really prove the point that you were angry at her. As the silence drew on and Eloise didn’t voice her approval of your input, you started to doubt yourself. You slowly turned to Eloise, eyes soft with sudden worry and feeling of self-consciousness, “Is it?”

“Of course not.” She frowned in dismay, shaking her head as she held your chin in her hands for a few moments. She then moved forward so she was shoulder to shoulder with you, “Mother, I- I don’t work to society’s rules. I’m not... it’s not my fault. It’s just me.”

This was it. This was the make or break. You took in a deep breath and interlinked your fingers with Eloise’s. Stronger together. “El-” You whispered, your heart hammering. Violet had to accept you. She had to.

Violet’s voice came out slightly wobbly, “Eloise, of course it’s not your fault, you just-”

Before Violet could say anything more Eloise interjected, “I love her, I do. I love Y/N. Like you loved Father.” She sniffled slightly. You took a long sideways look at her and squeezed your eyes shut. Come on Violet. “I remember watching and wanting and yearning for what you had, ever since I was young. And I couldn’t understand why I could not even fathom that with any man in the ton. I haven’t known who I am. But I have that with Y/N, I do. You cannot blame me for finding that kind of love with her just because she is not a man, please.” Eloise’s eyes became glossy. You had to give it to her, she always pulled out a good speech. Well... not always actually. But this one was a good one. You squeezed her hand and didn’t stop until Violet answered.

“No, Eloise, I would never.”

“I know it may not seem right to many, but it’s... it’s not my fault... it’s who I am.” Eloise trembled slightly. Violet was on her feet before you knew it.

”Oh, my Eloise.” She herself had watery eyes. You could breathe a bit more easily as she swooped forward and brought Eloise into her arms. You let go of Eloise’s hand to let her wrap her hands around her mother’s waist. After a few moments, Violet pulled back, “Look at me. I know who you are. You’re a Bridgerton. You are one of the strongest people I have ever known. You are not at fault. How could you be when there is nothing to be at fault for?”

“You really think so?” Eloise asked.

Violet held both of Eloise’s clasped in her own, “Of course I do. A love like mine and your father’s, a love like yours, is rare so you have to hold onto it, yes?”

“I will.”

“Come here,” She hugged her again. “You too, Miss Y/L/N. Y/N.” She smiled at you and your face broke into a broad grin as she enveloped you into the hug too. You knew you could rely on her, always. Even if it took a little bit of time. “The two of you deserve the world.”

From the middle of the hug, you heard a soft clearing of a throat and Anthony once again piping up, “I don’t suppose you’ll be providing a dowry?”

Eloise pulled away from the hug, wiping at the tears grouping at the corner of her eyes, “Oh, shove off, Anthony.” She let out a half laugh and a half sob.

“I jest!” He grinned, “Unless...?” He turned to you, raising an eyebrow, a twinkle in his eye.

“I’m sure I have a few pennies to my name.” You smiled and Eloise’s arms circled your waist from behind.

“And I love her for more than just those few pennies!” She shouted over your shoulder, pulling you into her front.

Anthony put a hand on your shoulder and ruffled Eloise’s hair, “I am happy for you.” He finally admitted, a brotherly pride shining in his eyes.

You shifted away, letting Eloise and Anthony have a brief sweet moment (before one of them made a biting remark and it turned to hostility again). You decided to reclaim your seat next to Simon, who, with something akin to brotherly pride, put his arm around your shoulder.

“And I thought Daph and I caused quite the stir.” He grinned, bringing his arm back around to his side.

“Don’t, I’m embarrassed enough as it is.” You wriggled deeper into the settee, willing yourself to forget the majority of the embarrassing things that has just happened. The two of you watched as the present members of the Bridgerton clan all talked at the same time, spitting out jokes and jostling at one another.

Simon followed your gaze to Eloise and let out a deep chuckle, “You’re a rake!” He exclaimed.

You gasped in fake outrage and turned to him, “I am not!” You protested, a smile forming as he continued to laugh and elbow you in the ribs.

“You so are! Worse than me, you rascal.” He smiled, his own gaze settling on his wife, who was tormenting Eloise with ‘girl talk’.

“Stop! I’ve heard the stories of you and Daph. You’ve out-rascaled me ten times over!” You smirked.

He shook his head, “The big rake competition of 1815.” He hummed. You smiled as Eloise came to join you, making you squeeze up to fit herself next to you, as well as letting Daphne fit in her original seat.

As silence descended and everyone started to calm, Violet let out a contended sigh and leant back in her chair, her eyes turning to the settee the four of you were currently squabbling over, “I must say, I’m quite good at this love matching malarkey, aren’t I?” She asked. Everyone immediately stilled and there was a heavy pause before the noise began again.

Anthony raised an eyebrow, “Well, I wouldn’t say that you-”

Daphne let out an exasperated, “Mother!”

Eloise snorted, “You have done nothing to help our love matches!”

Colin sighed and shook his head, “God help the rest of us...”

Violet decided to ignore all her children and smiled serenely. And at that moment the doors swung open.

“Good afternoon one, good afternoon all, how are we?” Benedict swanned in, immediately clocked a plate of biscuits and helped himself, taking the whole plate in his hands. He munched for a few moments before looking around for an answer. When he didn’t get one from anyone he smiled, “What?” He finished his mouthful and wiped his hand clean before going for another biscuit anyway, “Well, have I missed something?”

There was another long pause before Violet almost burst with the answer, “Y/N and Eloise are together.”

Benedict’s eyes swerved to the two of you, practically sitting in each other’s laps in order to fit on the settee together. He paused before nodding and gesturing in your direction, “Yes, I can see that.”

Violet smiled and shook her head, leaning forward in excitement, “No, like, together together.”

The crease in Benedict’s forehead deepened as he glanced at you again, “Yes... as I say, I can see that quite clearly.” He let out a small laugh, looking around to see if there was some joke he was missing. “Is everyone okay?”

“Oh for goodness sake, can no one in this family communicate properly and succintly?” Daphne fumed, “They are fucking.”

“Daphne!” You groaned, having prayed that this day couldn’t get more embarrassing for you. And yet there was still more embarrassment to bloody experience. This family was torture (you still would do anything to keep them in your life though, that was clear).

“Okay, can we stop with the crude language?” Violet cast a look to Daphne, before looking at the two of you again with pride, “They are lovers.”

You felt Eloise recoil next to you, “Gross, Mother, no.” She shook her head and only stopped when she saw you looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “What? I mean, I love you but- lovers? Really?”

“Sorry, that’s the big news?” Benedict’s laughed again and his smile grew as he whirled around to look at his whole family again before shaking his head, “Well, obviously! These two are the least subtle ‘lovers’ in the whole bloody world.”

“Again, with the ‘lovers’.” Eloise muttered next to you.

You smiled and whispered back to her, “Shut up, you love me.” She squeezed your thigh quickly in answer.

“Does anyone actually pay attention to what goes on in this house?” Benedict walked over to the settee you were occupying and leant his elbow on the back of it, taking another biscuit and spreading crumbs as he went.

“Well, I thought we did a splendid job.” Eloise shrugged, removing her hand from your leg and crossing her arms over her chest.

Benedict shook his head, “I’ve seen you kiss at least seven times.”

“You’re counting?” You quirked an eyebrow up, teasing him as he threw his head back to laugh.

“No!” He protested, “I simply mean-”

You jumped up, ready to be the teaser rather than the teased, and grabbed a biscuit of his plate, “Do you keep a little notebook of each time we encounter one another?” You grinned, now finally the one who gets to revel in someone else’s embarrassment.

Eloise snorted, “Dear diary, Eloise and Y/N held hands for seven minutes and forty-two seconds today-”

“Leave me be.” Benedict rolled his eyes good-naturedly and swatted at Eloise as he started to walk away, back out of the family room.

You followed him, taking another biscuit, and continuing Eloise’s joke, “They kissed twice but one was simply a kiss upon the cheek so cannot be counted-”

“And here i was going to offer to be your beard.” He grunted. The rest of the family stayed seated, listening to your conversation.

Your laugh ringed out, “Total kiss-count to date: three.” You mimicked his voice.

“Now that you are essentially a sibling, I am not afraid to kick you down the stairs, you know.” Benedict’s muffled voice came from the bottom of the stairs. Your voices got quieter as you walked to the dining room and Violet looked around the room, smiling brilliantly.

“How marvellous. The family grows!” She winked at Eloise who sighed and left the room, not wanting to be without you now. Violet watched her go and hummed before turning to the rest with a frown, “What is a ‘beard’?”

Anthony took in a deep breath and quickly stood to his feet, “I think dinner is ready.” He cleared his throat and walked out, leaving the rest to slowly join him, and the three of you, at the table.

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