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[nclarkwindowcleaningltd]

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[buckleyx]

Could you do something where the reader is from the UK or somewhere not America haha and she’s just moved to California and her apartment catches on fire or smth that makes her and buck meet and then he finds her again and asked her out and wants to get to know her. Pls haha. thank you.

LOS ANGELS E.B

the gif i used is not mine! all credit goes to the owner! @evansbucks

Author’s note: thank you for requesting angel! sorry it took some time but life threw a bus at me 😀 enjoyyyyyy x

Evan Buckley x gender!neutral reader

Warnings: mentions of a house fire buck being a cutie makes up for it (hehe)

masterlist

“Finally!” You danced with excitement as you admired your new apartment. It was beautiful and everything you have ever dreamed of. The kitchen was just as your liking and it was decorated just the way you pleased. The bedroom was spacious and the living room was gifted with these beautiful large windows that gave you an overview of the entire city. Los Angels. The city of dreams. But most of all the city of opportunity. This place was nothing compared to your crapy London apartment. Who knew when your company announced they’d be opening a branch in America they’d choose you as one of the leads. Finally it felt like all your hard work was paying off. “A new start.” Is what you proudly called it, after years of misery and barely making rent in your old city. 

A few weeks passed and as LA became warmer and prepared itself for spring, your hopes of a “new start” seemed to be crumbling as your mental and physical health already started declining. You worked every hour of the day, everyday of the week. You worked hard for this position and didn’t want to let anyone down. But the pressure of perfection and achieving was getting too much. 

“I’m aware of the numbers, just get the report done so I can look it over.” You sighed in annoyance. It felt like the hundred work call of the day and it was way after work hours. You poked your spatula in the frying pan as you held with your other hand the phone closer to your ear. It was late and you were tired and hungry. 

Your mind felt hazy as you finally ended the call and glanced over the time that read past midnight. “Jesus Christ.” You muttered to yourself, realising you still had a lot to do to prepare for your meeting that morning. 

Your eyes became heavy and your body almost limb with tiredness. “C’mon got to eat.” You reminded yourself before rubbing your eyes exhausted. You sighed deeply, throwing your head back as a frustrated groan escaped your lips. Work papers were scattered around the counter mixed with broken eggshells. You could almost laugh at the absurdity if you had the strength.

As the eggs cooked further you looked over some more documents. You read the files over, not taking your eyes off the paper as you accidentally knocked the pan of the stove onto the counter due to an attempt of grabbing your spatula again. “Shit.” You cursed, dropping the file to save your food. But just when you turned to the side you noticed the paper landing onto the gas stove and catching fire almost immediately, creating a chain of everything flammable on the counters. 

“No, no, no!” You panicked, suddenly wide awake as you tried progressing what was happening. You cried out. Your hands flew drastically in the air as you looked around for something, anything, to stop the fire. Once you realized it was way out of your control you quickly backed away, your head slightly hitting the counter behind you as you trembled to grab your phone from your pocket. 

“911 what’s you emergency?” 

The emergency services arrived quickly and the fire was out in no time. Yet for you it all seemed to have happened in slow motion. You sat frozen on your couch, the angle from where you were sitting gave you an overlook of your burned down kitchen. The firefighters were cleaning up and examining the damage, words seemed to fail you as you tried progressing what had happened. 

“Do you need anything?” A firefighter asked kindly, kicking you out of your trance. His voice was soft as he lowered down to kneel in front of you. “A blanket? Some water?” He offered before remarking on the cold night breeze that escaped through the open windows as ventilation. 

“I’m okay, thank you.” You muttered, unable to pierce your eyes away from the sight in front of you. There was a short silence as you looked at the damages and you could feel the tears almost starting to fall. Your head was pounding but you didn’t know if it was from emotion, hunger or the hit you took from the countertops. 

The firefighter didn’t seem to believe your words as he grabbed a nearby blanket from your couch and threw it over your shoulders. You looked at him slightly taken off guard but grateful. “Thank you.” You whispered. And finally you looked at him. He had a warm smile as he introduced himself as Buck. He was kind and gentle and had these ocean blue eyes you could almost drown in. It was a horrible moment to be caught of guard by a handsome stranger but you just couldn’t help it with him. 

You told him your name and he complimented it before repeating it to himself with a smile. “So,” He started, tilting his head slightly to take a better look at you. “Are you sure you’re not in any pain.”

It was if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Your head was started to be a real pain but you were too hazed to acknowledge it yourself. “My head hurts a little.” You said quilty, rubbing the back of your neck to sooth the pain. “I took quite the hint from my cabinet.”

“Mind if I take a look?” He offered to which you nodded in approval. His fingers were soft as they traced over the spot you were caressing earlier. He had a concentrated look on his face, his eyebrows slightly knitting together as he examined you further. 

“I’ll give you something for the headache.” Buck offered, grabbing a painkiller from his kit. “It seems like that cabinet had it out for you.” He joked as he gave you a bottle of water. “Yeah I think so too.” You chuckled. 

“I don think it’s anything to worry about. But if the pain keeps coming back you come and see me okay.” 

“I will. Thank you Buck.” 

“Anytime.” 

Days went by and your kitchen was still under construction but luckily you got some time off of work. After working countless hours and weekends it was finally your first time to explore your new city and take some time off for yourself. You were thrilled and felt alive for the first time in weeks. You saw the kitchen incident as a firm reminder of the universe to set better boundaries when it came to your career. Even though the step was terrifying, it was very much necessary.

You went on a small shopping spree for new kitchen items before stopping at one of the local cafes people kept raving about online. You walked up to the entrance, ready to open the door but someone beat you too it. Smiling politely he held it open for you as you both entered. “Thank you.” You said kindly before looking up at him.

You pushed your bag closer to your body, completely caught off guard as you suddenly realized the cute firefighter from your apartment fire was standing in front of you. He was taller than you remembered and his eyes sparkled even more with the sunlight. He wasn’t wearing his uniform, just a white shirt with a blue denim jacket. His lips turned into a genuine smile as he said your name so perfectly again. You were surprised he remembered it and from the way his face lit up you could tell you had made a bigger impact on him than you realized.

“Buck.” Your heart was pounding in your chest as he moved closer. His hand breezed inches away from your waist as he gestured for you to move with him further inside. “You remember me?” Buck playfully scoffed as if he was surprised that you even asked that. “such a cute face I can never forget.” He admitted, flashing a warm but teasing smile that made you feel fuzzy.

“How’s the kitchen?” He asked curious.

“Still under construction.” You answered with a tired sigh. The thought of the situation was still delicate to you since you hadn’t fully processed it all, not to mention all the stress renovating and organising a new kitchen brings with itself. “I took some time off work to wrap my head around everything.” You admitted.

“That sounds like a smart idea.” He said genuine. “I sometimes forget that after my job, putting out the fire, for most people then the real mess begins.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well I- I am terrible at paperwork, I have got a captain to prove that to you but-,” He grinned, slightly fixing his posture. “I am great at fixing things. So I will give you my number and if you need literally anything, I’d be happy to help.”

You felt your heart racing and your cheeks heat up. There was a short silence were you just looked into each other his eyes smiling, completely caught of guard that you almost forgot to hand him your phone. But in that small moment, you just knew. Eyes sometimes say so much more then words and in that beat you felt such a connection to each other that the universe was basically screaming at you to take up on his offer.

“Yeah- yeah, of-of course.” You were snapped back to reality. Messily looking and hitting every pocket to find your phone. You both laughed at the clumsiness’s and he commented how he almost never could find his own phone.

Buck put his number in your phone, payed for coffee and you both stayed talking. He shared stories of his work and his friends and you talked about life in London and moving to LA. Buck vowed to take you out someday and show you the city, not wanting you to miss out and everything Los Angels had to offer. You couldn’t believe how much you had in common and how natural and easy conversation with him felt. You could listen to his stories for hours but sadly you had to get back and he had to start his shift. So with a hug goodbye and a promise of a text you both parted ways for the day.

Luckily you kept your promise, Buck helped you with your kitchen and your place felt back like home. Who new that because of all this you met your soulmate and were able to make Los Angels your true new forever home.

My requests are open :)

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[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 19: Refuge

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content Word count: 5.5k

Masterpost Previous chapter Next chapter

Author's note: In celebration of our first official sneak peek at Benophie today, here's a long-awaited steamy treat 💙

One week later, Sophie joined the Bridgerton women in the morning room just after breakfast. Violet had stepped out for an appointment and Sophie settled into a corner chair to hem ribbons. Everyone had fallen into their typical preoccupations: Francesca played gently upon the piano, Kate sat with Hyacinth and exercised the patience of a saint in training her at tea service, and Eloise meandered over to the bookshelf. She ran her fingers over the spines, selected a small volume then moved to stand by the window and flip it open in the light.

“Ugh, oh no.” She suddenly groaned, grimacing down at the street.

“What is it?” Kate asked.

“Cressida,” Eloise spat. “She and Lady Cowper appear to have waylaid Mama on her way out.”

Sophie’s blood ran to ice. They were back. The Cowpers were back in London and they were standing right outside of the house. It was a good thing her fingers froze in place or else she would have dropped her sewing entirely. She held her breath, heightening her attention. She had to remain calm and not make a scene.

“What do you mean?” Kate pressed.

“Mama left ten minutes ago but she’s only made it through the yard and is on the street talking to them. They do love to prattle on. Probably about themselves,” Eloise grumbled.

“Eloise, that is not kind to say.” Kate chastised, though Sophie sensed the admonishment was obligatory rather than sincere. 

Eloise ignored her, continuing to glare out the window. “God, I hope they aren’t trying to invite themselves over. That’s the last thing we would need, for them to come to tea.”

Sophie had to remind herself to breathe. Everything around her was starting to spin. The Cowpers were here and they knew the Bridgertons. Of course they would, they were both prominent families in the ton. The Cowpers were invited to the Bridgerton masquerade which had spiraled her life into everything that had happened since. She should have known she couldn’t avoid them. She should have prepared for this. She shouldn’t have been so foolish.

“Oh good, Benedict is coming,” Eloise relayed. “He’ll know what to say to free Mama. Unless Cressida tries to sink her claws in him, of course.”

Sophie jolted but fortunately it went unnoticed as Hyacinth managed to knock over the sugar bowl at the same time. Kate sighed and tried to restore order while the young girl burst into laughter. Sophie took advantage of the distraction to stand, mumble something about needing more thread and march stiffly out of the room. Once in the privacy of the hallway she allowed herself to gasp for air, relenting to the trembling that was overtaking her. 

Cressida’s face, which had previously grown into a hazy, anguished memory, came snapping back into focus along with Araminta’s sharp eyes and sharper words. She remembered them looking down their long slender noses at her, smirking as she bent to clean up their messes. Long cold fingers that had slapped her cheeks and scratched her arms. Doors slammed in her face and locked behind her. She had left but they had never gone anywhere. They were still in London, ever so close to her, and they knew Benedict. They were talking with him right now. Eloise made it sound as if Cressida was pursuing him. The thought of Cressida and Benedict…

Her stomach heaved and she staggered against the wall. She couldn’t breathe. She had to hide. She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t let them find her.

Blindly, she bolted down the hall toward the nearest servants’ stairs, trying to bite back her panic until she was in solitude. As she passed the top of the main staircase she vaguely registered a voice calling her name from below. 

Oh god, what if it was them? What if they had come into the house and spotted her? She couldn’t bear to look. She sped on toward the servants’ door hidden in a hallway panel. She moved so fast, her mind in such a blank state of terror that she didn’t remember descending the two flights of stairs to the servants’ level. But she did hear someone enter the staircase behind her from the main hall, call her name again and begin to follow. 

Oh god, oh god…she was being chased. She tore through the lower halls toward her room. All the other servants were busy with their chores. No one saw her but she wouldn’t have cared if they did. None of them could help her anyway. Only once she was in sight of her quarters did she chance a look over her shoulder to decide whether to keep running straight out of the house or to hide in her room. Her pursuer rounded the corner into view. 

It was Benedict, eyes wide and utterly confused.

“Sophie!” He called out worriedly as she crumpled against her doorframe, entirely breathless. She was reeling, shaking with fear and adrenaline and relief, unable to get any air despite how her lungs wheezed. It was only Benedict. She was safe, for now. 

Then he was holding her steady by the arms and searching her face, though she couldn’t hear everything he was saying. The blood was pounding in her ears and everything seemed rather far away. She clung back to him, gulping in her breaths.

“Ben…” It was all she could manage to say. “Ben…”

“Sophie, what’s wrong? Why were you running?”

When she didn’t answer and just continued to look fearfully down the hall, he pushed the door open and walked them both inside. She continued gasping, rattling in his hands. He had seen Anthony like this before. He knew what it was. Terror. Panic. Something that was sudden and all-consuming and nearly impossible to scrabble out of alone, like falling into a well. He knew what had worked to help calm his brother. Perhaps it would help Sophie too.

He softened his voice and bent to catch her gaze. “Sophie, look at me.” Her eyes snapped to his, wide and dark like a hunted animal. “You must try to breathe, alright? Just focus on that.”

He seemed to break through to her and she nodded tightly, nearly hiccuping as she fought to steady herself. He closed the door behind them and guided her to sit with him on the bed. 

“Just breathe,” he nodded with encouragement as she managed to take a solitary, shaking inhale followed by a long exhale. Her trembling started to slow. They sat wordlessly for several minutes, gripping onto each other, Benedict coaching her back to normal breaths.

Sophie felt herself scaling down from the precipice of terror, could feel cool air in her lungs again. Her muscles began to loosen and grow heavy with exhaustion. She wanted to curl up and recover but her mind still raced with how to overcome her larger predicament.

“Now, tell me what happened.” Benedict’s voice was quiet but insistent.

“It was the Cowpers,” Sophie croaked, unsure of how he would react but too far gone to fabricate a story. “Eloise said they were outside the house.” Benedict’s face creased with confusion, but she continued. “I…used to work for them and we…did not get along. I was scared they might see me. I don’t want to cause any trouble for your family.”

Benedict’s brows tilted upward, touched that Sophie had concern for his family but largely surprised that this vibrant woman would fall to pieces at just the thought of encountering a bad former employer. He sensed there was more she wasn’t telling him, something more serious. He would figure it out, but in this moment he only wanted to comfort her.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” He slipped an arm around her shoulder. “They don’t seem to have a high opinion of anyone except themselves anyway, so you’re in good company.” He shot her a grin which she returned weakly. He pulled her closer. “They don’t know you’re here and I’ll make sure it stays that way.”

“Thank you.” She whispered, her eyes glittering with something he couldn’t recognize.

Sophie drank in the sight of Benedict, the man she loved, and in that moment she accepted that she would lose him. Likely sooner rather than later. He couldn’t keep her hidden in Bridgerton House forever. She would have to go into the city and she would be recognized eventually by the Cowpers or maybe even Phillip Cavender. London suddenly felt like a field of traps waiting to snare her when she rounded the wrong corner. It was a far cry from their days at Aubrey Hall where she and Benedict could be together on acres of his private land, hidden in their own little paradise. Perhaps the safest way to stay in London with him would be as a mistress, tucked away in a fancy apartment where Benedict could have everything brought to her, or she could at least dress so nicely that none of her prior employers would be likely to recognize her. But of course, she had made up her mind against that.

She would lose him. Whether to discovery and scandal and jail, or to the debutante lucky enough to become his intended, she would lose him. Her anchor. The person who brought her the greatest happiness and deepest contentment she had ever known. The one who made her feel beautiful, who made her feel wanted, who made her feel safe. She may only have days left with him for all she knew, and they hadn’t even… 

Every moment with him was precious and she had to make it count.

Without a word she wound her arms around his neck and brought her mouth to his, kissing him deeply. His lips were plush, dancing back against hers softly. He tasted so wonderful, smelled so wonderful. How she would miss this.

She kissed him harder, gripping into his silky hair. Benedict’s hands moved to her back, pulling her tight against him. It was so much like their first kiss in the nursery, what seemed like ages ago. The memory of it threatened to bring tears but Sophie fought them back. She couldn’t linger on what had happened before. She had to make more memories with the remaining time they had.

She pulled back, resting her forehead against his, both of them breathing heavily as the heat between them rose.

“I need you, Ben.” She said firmly. “All of you. Now.” 

He stilled in her grasp, eyes searching. He didn’t pull away but he didn’t say anything either.

“Please, Ben. I am ready.” She hoped her voice was steady enough not to betray the pounding of her heart, though she suspected he could feel that anyway, particularly when he asked: 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She nodded against him. Of course she was nervous. What young woman wouldn’t be? But her need for him far outweighed her anxieties and she wanted him to her very bones. She needed him as close to her as possible, to be a part of her even for just a short time before she lost him forever. Maybe she would never find a husband and Benedict would be her only experience. She needed to know what it was like and she knew she would never regret that it had been him.

Benedict leaned forward and captured her lips again, communicating his agreement. But his movements stayed slow, gentler than they ever had been during their encounters. He kissed her softly, drawing all her focus to the movements of his mouth while his hands deftly unpinned her hair then loosened the buttons down the back of her dress.

Before he did anything further, he paused and pulled back to look into her eyes. He placed a hand upon her cheek. “I want to know that you trust me.” 

Her breath caught in her throat. His gentleness, his patience, all of his best qualities were there for her, concerned for her, just as she had known they would be. Admiration flooded through her and she felt magnetized to him like never before. His sincerity demanded honesty in return. 

“You said you would make sure I did not fall pregnant.” She bit her lip, questioning.

He grinned, running his thumb across her cheek. “Yes, I will make sure of that.”

Sophie nodded, closed her eyes and leaned into him. “Then I want to try, with you.” His exhale was hot across her skin. “I trust you,” she murmured against his lips. “I trust you.”

Benedict was resolved. “There will be pain, but only for a moment and only this first time. If I hurt you in any way at all, tell me to stop.” She nodded against him in response, overwhelmed by his tenderness. Then she gave herself over to him completely. She was ready for this. It was still intimidating, but she was ready, and she wanted it.

Silently he stood and pulled her to her feet. His tongue parted her lips as he slipped her dress down her shoulders. Her chemise fell next. Then his long fingers went to work loosening the ribbons of her stays as his mouth moved down the length of her neck. Sophie sighed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, lost to the familiar trance of his kisses, to the anticipation coursing in her blood. She rubbed her thighs together, already anxious to build friction as her stays slid off. She stepped out of her slippers and was now in nothing but her stockings, pliant under his hands as he pulled her body against his, large hands splaying across her backside. 

“Lie down,” Benedict rasped. Sophie moved to lay across her mattress, feeling mildly self conscious as he looked down at her from the bedside.

His expression was somehow the most gentle and yet most possessive she had ever seen. His lips, glistening from their kisses, were lightly parted and his breath was becoming audible. His eyes were positively burning.

“You are a dream,” he breathed, nearly paralyzed by the beauty of the woman spread before him. The beauty not only of her body but of her character, her soul. Her fierce strength, her keen mind, her fathomless kindness, all entrusted to him. Asking him to lead her through life’s most gratifying dance. He didn’t know if he was worthy enough to be the recipient of such a gift, but there was no way in hell he was going to refuse it.

“Touch yourself, Sophie,” he instructed. “You must be pleasured first. It will feel better for you.” 

Breathless and unable to tear her eyes from him, she gave the faintest nod and tentatively moved a hand between her legs. She was buzzing with such intense desire, she would do anything he asked of her. As her fingers began to press against her throbbing bud, she inhaled sharply. Benedict began to untie his cravat, staring at her like a starving man stares at a banquet.

“Very good,” He rumbled in a voice she knew was reserved just for their trysts. “Don’t stop and keep your eyes on me.”

Sophie had no intention of looking anywhere else but felt such a rush of satisfaction obeying his requests. A flood of moisture spread out of her and she twirled her fingers faster, setting a steady pace. As she stared Benedict slipped the purple silk from around his neck then worked his way down his buttons, jerking each open in turn. His jacket and waistcoat were shrugged off together then he crossed his arms and lifted his shirt over his head in one sweeping motion, leaving his hair tousled while his tongue darted out to lick his lips.

Sophie clenched at the sight of his naked torso, those rippling lean muscles she had kissed and caressed but could never get her fill of. She wanted to trace them, to lick them, to feel their warm strength surging against her. Her hips writhed and her fingers moved faster, any embarrassment completely forgotten now. 

“Put your fingers inside yourself,” he commanded, “like I would do.” 

Sophie kept her eyes on his and slowly reached her other hand to her hot center, probing curiously. She had not done this before. She had, on more than one occasion since traveling to London, brought herself to climax as Benedict had shown her, always at night in her bed when she was missing him and found herself overwhelmed with need. But she had never reached into herself and gasped at the intensity of the heat she discovered within her own body. The invasion of her own fingers was almost as pleasurable as Benedict’s. 

Her mouth fell open into a small ‘oh’ as she glided her fingers within herself, swirling faster and faster with her dominant hand. Benedict was flushed, chest heaving as he bent and slid off his boots then tugged open the buttons of his trousers, letting everything fall so that he was bare too. Wrapping a hand around his erection, he strode to the foot of the small bed. 

“You’re beautiful, Sophie,” he groaned, fist tugging slowly at his length as he loomed over her. He watched her chest rise as she panted and the coordinated dance of her hands between her legs. Christ, he had never wanted a woman more, had never delighted so much in watching someone else experience pleasure. He needed to touch her, to taste her, to bury himself within her.

“Can I help you come?”

“Yes,” she gasped, feeling herself flutter just at his words and the sear of his eyes boring into her. She was approaching her climax and knew that his touch would rocket her there.

Benedict planted his arms to frame her hips, the muscles in his shoulders rippling like a tiger cornering its prey. When she felt his breath warming her wet flesh, Sophie instinctively withdrew her fingers and they were sucked into his hot mouth, his tongue pulling along to devour her slickness. He released them with a sound like a kiss and buried his face against her, the muscle of his tongue sinking deep within her opening as his nose nudged at her crest, pinning her nerves between his face and her frantic fingers.

Sophie arced her back as they moaned in unison. She drove her fingers faster, spiraling higher and higher as Benedict plunged his tongue in and out of her core. Soon she was breathless, her feet beginning to slide across the blanket as she neared her peak. Intuiting what she needed as always, Benedict pulled her hand to the top of his head and pressed her fingers to grip into his hair. His hands moved to her hips, pinning her down and holding her tight against his mouth. Sophie curled her knuckles into his dark locks and tugged him rhythmically into her, guiding his movements, harder, deeper. She bucked, she whined. Benedict was groaning, his breath erratic as he fought for air but never withdrew his tongue from her body. 

With a final jerk her spasms erupted, squeezing around his tongue and trekking up through her whole body, radiating through her arms and legs. Her breath stuttered as an uncontrollable smile spread across her face. What her life was before she knew this feeling, she couldn’t remember. It felt like a gift each time, a gift Benedict had given her. Yet one more thing she would always be grateful to him for.

As she panted, euphoric while her muscles continued to pulse, Benedict moved to lie on top of her, trailing kisses up her neck to her mouth, sucking at her lips though she was still too mindless to respond with much fervor. 

“Are you ready?” he murmured. He wanted to take her while she was still in the throes of bliss, to distract and dilute any pain that she may feel. Sophie was only half aware of the enormity of the moment, feeling as if this was the most natural progression in the world. 

“Yes,” she gasped, eyes glassy as her arms wrapped around his muscular back. Benedict kissed her again, tongue sweeping gently as she felt something nudging at her entrance, sliding up and down before pressing forward into her center. Now something was inside of her, larger than she had ever felt before and her breath hitched, her body going rigid underneath his.  

“Just breathe,” he coached gently, echoing his words from minutes before. Holding him tighter, Sophie did as he said and inhaled steadily as he inched his way further. He was entering her so easily, though the pressure was strange. She was being stretched, invaded, and yet she wouldn’t say it felt bad, exactly. Then she felt him reach a barrier and knew that this was the moment she gave herself, this milestone of her life, to Benedict. She didn’t care about the pain, she just wanted him to be the one to unlock her.

Her eyes blinked open and met his. They didn’t need words anymore. He took one of her hands into his own and interlaced their fingers, a sign of reassurance. She gave him the faintest nod then breathed deeply as his hips rolled forward and he pushed through to the hilt, filling her. 

Sophie let out a small cry at the twinge and dull ache. Benedict spouted some completely unintelligible nonsense and turned to bite - actually bite - his hand to keep himself from coming right at that moment.

“Are you alright?” He managed, his voice hoarse.

She lay completely still beneath him, taking steadying breaths. “Yes,” she panted. “Yes, I am…I…I feel so much all at once.”

Whatever pain there had been, it had already subsided. The pressure too had lost its strangeness and she felt so magnificently full. The weight of Benedict settling in and around her felt like restoring some piece of herself that had been missing. It was overwhelming and completely wonderful. The man she loved, seated within her body. A part of her. 

Benedict couldn’t breathe. His mind was gone. The heat of her wrapped around him nearly choked him with ecstasy. Though she was astoundingly tight, she took the length of him with ease. They fit as perfectly together as a key in a lock. The tight, tingling sensation between them was begging for attention.

“I’m going to move,” he warned, watching her face as he slowly slid back then embedded himself in her once again. A pleasurable gasp escaped her lips and her eyes fluttered closed, a hundred needy little expressions dancing across her brow and lips. He repeated the action, moving his hips at a languorous pace. Sophie clutched at his back, pulling him against her as tightly as possible. 

“How is this?” He whispered, feathering his lips across hers.

“Oh Ben,” she sighed. “This is so perfect.” This is precisely what she had wanted, what she had been dreaming about whenever she pictured giving herself to him: being a woman ravished by the man she loved. Benedict was moving his body inside her own and she delighted in every inch of him. Being completely underneath him, pressed down by the weight of him, consumed and controlled by him. She wanted to be a ragdoll in his arms, owned and loved by him alone. She didn’t know if her desires were romantic or perverse, but she didn’t care. The feeling of him completely enveloping her made her wildly aroused.

Benedict slid in and out of her rhythmically, dipping his head to warm her breasts with his breath then suck at her nipples, taking each one in turn. His thick, springy hair tickled her chin and she chuckled in delight. When he bit her teasingly she squealed, her channel clenching around him. This clearly pleased him because he slid an arm under her waist and gripped her tightly as his hips began to pump faster. Sophie had never felt so desirable, so powerful, knowing her body and its movements could drive this gorgeous, experienced, aristocratic man into a frenzy. 

“You feel so good, Ben,” she gasped. “So good.”

After a few more thrusts he stuttered to a halt, breathing raggedly. This was too good, too much sensation. It was taking all of his strength not to pummel into her and lose himself entirely. He wanted her to climax again, to experience the full intensity of the act. Fortunately, she had been forthright with her preferences in their prior encounters. In one sweeping motion he wrapped his arms beneath her and pulled them both upright so that he sat against the cool stone of the wall and she straddled him, arms around his shoulders. 

Sophie’s eyes flashed from surprise to excitement as she oriented herself in their new position. Benedict smirked and pushed her mussed hair behind her ear.

“Ride me, like you did before.”

He watched her elation transition into a bashful hesitation as she perched on top of him. He reminded himself that this was new for her. He would show her the way, gently. He pushed his hips up tentatively, sliding himself slightly deeper into her, if that were even possible. Sophie’s mouth opened and a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Their eyes and bodies began to communicate everything words could not and she followed his cues, staying above him as he slid out of her, only just so, before sliding back in again. She could have screamed it felt so good. It was tickling that feeling again, that feeling that cried out to be chased. 

Led by instinct and the pull of his hands, soon enough Sophie was doing all the moving, riding Benedict with a steady rhythm, thrilled at the rigidity of his cock, the way it moved so smoothly within her, the way she felt a surge of electricity each time she sank against him. It was amazing. Benedict could only watch her and marvel. To feel and hear and see her in this way after dreaming of it for so long. Her limbs working in concert, her breasts bouncing, her head tilted back, lost in the feeling. To see her uncover this part of herself and to know that he was the one helping her, it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever experienced. She was winding him tighter, driving him higher than any woman he had ever been with. It was like his whole body was singing, vibrating with a note of heady pleasure heretofore undiscovered. He let his hands travel down to her lovely smooth bottom, up to her breasts, across the muscles of her back, tracing the angular tendons of her neck. But he knew where she needed to be touched the most. With a crooked smirk he brought a hand between her legs and pressed, massaging the bundle of nerves that she had been rubbing against his pelvis.

Sophie yelped and gripped into his hair, breathing hard. She ground herself against him, mewling like an animal. “Ben, I…it’s…”

“Shhh,” he pushed more hair out of her face. “Do what you want.”

Sophie looked as if she might cry, overcome with sensation. Her eyes glistened with a heartbreaking look of gratitude which quickly darkened into a hungry need. She continued to push against him, hips circling as his fingers played against her slick flesh. Her nails bit into his scalp and shoulders, a groan stuttering deep within her chest. She began to ride harder, setting a pattern with her swirling hips to take him in and find pleasure at his fingertips simultaneously. Her breath quickened and her spine stiffened. Her eyes squeezed shut and he could feel her quivering inside, tensing around him. 

“Ben,” she moaned. “Mmmmhhm…”

He pressed his fingers deeper. “That’s it, “ he coaxed. “Yes, Sophie.”

She bucked her hips against him, her arms locked around his neck, gasping louder and louder. His fingers twirled faster. Her thighs began to shake on either side of him. Her walls clenched, and then she came apart.

“Oh, Ben,” she cried out. “Oh, my love…”

He froze - just for a fraction of a second, and he wasn’t sure if she knew that he’d heard her. But he didn’t say a word, just buried his face into her dewy neck and held on as she succumbed.

Heat rushed through Sophie’s veins and ignited every point of contact between her and Benedict - her hands on his shoulders, his arm around her waist, all along her inner thighs and burning right up through her center where he was thrust inside. Squeezing around the full girth of him intensified the ripples of blinding rapture that spread across her entire body, right down to her toes. She felt as if her heart had stopped, but had also never felt more alive. She was utterly overcome.

Benedict choked as Sophie trembled in his arms. She looked glorious, sounded glorious, and her pulsating walls around his cock threatened to take him as well. He couldn’t withstand it. In a flurry he pivoted to lay her back beneath him. He didn’t have time to worry about alarming or confusing her. He wasn’t going to last. Grunting in desperation he pumped into her, just a few quick thrusts, and then wrenched himself away to finish with his hand, spilling his seed on the sheets with a stuttering cry.

The bed was so narrow that when he collapsed, he was half on top of her again. He was dimly aware that he was probably crushing her, but unable to move a single muscle. He should say something, tell her something about how wonderful it had been. But his tongue felt thick and his lips felt heavy, and on top of all that, he could barely open his eyes. Pretty words would have to wait. He was only a man, and he had to catch his breath. He nestled against the gentle rise and fall of her chest and felt her wrap her arms around him and kiss the top of his head.

For a few moments they lay in blissful silence. Benedict listened to her heartbeat as it slowed from a thundering race back to a steady rhythm. The heat between their bodies was the most comfortable blanket he had ever been wrapped in - not stifling, but warm enough that he just wanted to stay naked with her and not cover themselves at all. This didn’t feel like he imagined it would. He had dreamed of this for so long, of taking Sophie in all kinds of positions, in all kinds of places, but now that it had happened, it didn’t feel like a debaucherous romp as it had with every other woman. This felt deeper, gentler, like something with real significance.

His chest was tightening again, chasing away the last haze of his climax and bringing him back to himself. He lifted his head and looked down at Sophie.

“How are you feeling?”

Light shone out of her eyes, her whole face bright with flushed cheeks and perspiration. She had never looked more radiant. “Thank you, Ben.” She smiled. “That was…it was perfect.”

That was precisely the word he would use to describe it as well, almost as if she had read his mind.

He knew he was treading into dangerous territory, but had to ask her. “Sophie, now that we…”

“Benedict, please.” She immediately knew what he was going to say and cut him off, her eyes growing stern. “You already know my answer. I’m not going to give up my livelihood and be your plaything until you find your wife.”

His wife. What wife? He felt now that he was never going to find his mystery woman. And the thought of marrying any other debutante was about as appealing as a stint in jail. If he finally allowed himself to let go of the lady in silver, he realized that he had no one else that brought him joy or even the faintest flutter of interest, except Sophie. It was just her.

“I am grateful to you,” she continued, raising a hand to his cheek and searching deep into his eyes. “I love…” She swallowed. Benedict remembered what she had cried out only moments before and his heart made a strange thump in his chest. 

“...spending time with you.” After a pause, she found her resolve again. “But I can’t become dependent on you or anyone. It’s not a reliable way to survive for people like me. It’s not in my nature.” 

Benedict couldn’t fathom how someone he wanted could be this close - locked into his eyes and pressed right against his bare flesh - but also feel so unobtainable. A memory floated back to him, words from a friend years ago. To be in the same room with someone but feel oceans apart. He didn’t understand then, but he did now, and everything inside him ached.

He gathered her into a desperate kiss, inhaling her deeply, his mind spinning, determined to unravel this mess. It was now untenable. He had thought her a dalliance at first. A beautiful, mysterious dalliance. But his feelings had undeniably grown with each of their interactions. She had come to mean so much to him. It had been a slow, sneaky process, quietly coloring his emotions until he realized that without her, his life lacked all meaning. 

She stirred something more than his body. She stirred his soul. He knew that it was time to make a choice.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away @benophievisuals

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is Trellick Tower built in 1972 on the Cheltenham Estate in North Kensington, London, UK and designed by Hungarian-born architect and designer Ernő Goldfinger. A 3bd, 1.5ba unit on the 19th floors is for sale for £1,000,000 / $1,248,735.

The building is split into the main block of flats and the imposing service tower. To maximize living space, Goldfinger put the lifts, stairs and even communal laundrettes into the tower. The heating system and water tanks are housed there, too, in the plant room at the top, which allows water to run down to apartments using gravity, minimizing piping. 

The tower stairs look so clean. Probably nobody uses them.

Yellow lift hallway.

The connecting hall from the lifts to the apts. looks dated.

Since the connecting halls from the tower are on every other floor, this unit's entrance is on the 18th fl. below.

Hall at the top of the stairs.

For the price, this is a small living room.

Opens to a narrow balcony.

The kitchen isn't oversized, but it's nice.

The primary bedroom is small.

This bedroom is being used as a den.

And, this one is a nursery. The window seat is nice, but I don't think that you could fit a bed in here.

The 1.5 baths are right next to each other.

The view.

I think that I would rather live in a longboat on the canal. I just don't think that this unit is worth the price.

[snogfairy]

style, flair, and a head of red hair – she’s the nanny?!

oneshot. 5k. human au. the story of how crowley becomes a nanny. no, not that one. the other one. the fine type. this fic was inspired by @densewentz and this stunning piece of The Nanny/Crowley art that blew my socks clean off. i had to write it.

She is entirely perfect and utterly boring.

Aziraphale Edenson, ever the picture of perfect pleasantry, has recited three consecutive poems in his mind while she's been speaking, and he could almost swear one of them had been the entirety of Ginsburg's Howl. He can't be certain, as he's drifted. In front of him, the Mary Poppins palimpsest is finishing her impassioned speech that had begun somewhere in her childhood only to end, in a satisfying narrative conclusion, he is sure, in the childhood of Warlock, his unexpected teenage protegé, and somehow between those two childhoods she had also wedged in his, Aziraphale's, childhood too, though he isn't sure quite how that is possible. It seems she has done her research rather thoroughly. 

It is not polite to interrupt people, so Aziraphale does not. He smiles, he nods at the right moments, and he offers more tea, and then he ushers her to the front door with perfect manners only to say, in one last moment of mental impasse, "Well, thank you so very much, Mrs Poppins, I will be sure to contact you by the end of the week. It has been so very lovely to meet you."

It only occurs to him half an hour later why her smile had faltered, and he smacks his hand to his forehead, producing a noise that sounds very much like oh, bugger. 

A string of interviews follow this initial one, and after a fortnight, Aziraphale gives up. It’s not that the applicants are unsuited: rather the opposite, their credentials battle each other for excellence: if one has twenty years of experience in royal nanny service, the next will present a doctoral degree in Nannyology straight from Harvard. After all, Villa Eden is not only a beautiful and prestigious estate in the nicest part of London, but he offers a pay check that the best paid nanny in the world might have envied, promptly losing her her title. An honest wage for honest work, he thinks, and he certainly does not know what to do with a twelve year old boy. So if someone does, money shall not be the issue. 

The thing is: hiring a nanny is… it’s like selling books. Aziraphale is selfish. Aziraphale does not want to hire a nanny. He does not want to share his space, his routines, his library, his home. He can do it for Warlock, for a few months, because it is the right thing to do. He does not love it. But he likes the kid enough. Especially because his parents… well, they don’t. Not properly, not like they should, and that is enough for Aziraphale to feel a bristling sense of injustice, and a burning desire to bestow the boy with a love that might not live up to the parental ideal, but make him feel safe and liked and cared for, at least. 

So maybe he has to hire the Mary Poppins nanny, after all, to help him realize his wish, to support him in his quest, to breach the friendly but unbreachable rift between the old, reclusive neighbor and the bright, young boy that has been parked here by his parents, like a pet, while they are away for travel for half a year. Aziraphale huffs. 

He stares out the window of his conservatory, but can’t make out the expanse of his glorious estate. That’s because it is cloudy and gray and rainy and grim, and also winter, which might have something to do with it. Darkness has settled over the hill and his mansion like a heavy blanket. His clock chimed five not a minute ago, and yet it is already pitch-dark. Aziraphale likes winter. It grants you more alone time that needs not be justified as much as during other seasons. The weather today suits his mood. With a grim face, he makes up his mind to hire the nanny. 

In a dramatic last minute coincidence not at all necessitated by the narrative, the doorbell rings precisely in the moment Aziraphale starts to dial the number on the resumé.  

Aziraphale puts the receiver back down. He walks to the main entrance. 

(He does not believe in servants: for the same reason that he does not believe in nannies.)

When he opens the door, it takes him a moment to make sense of the picture of personified misery he is presented with. 

“Cosmetics,” the picture of misery says. 

“Excuse me?”

[continue reading]

[betweenthings2]

can you do 2) a bare back

Thank you for the ask!! The January prompts are here and there will be February prompts up on the first =)

Jan. prompt 2 is technically seven stitches and 3 is a bare back, so I've written 3 because I've written 2 twice =)

George is still in bed, laying on his stomach, when Matty gets back to their hotel room with coffee and breakfast. The duvet and sheet are bunched up at his waist, revealing his bare back, tan from the week of holiday they've had because Matty complained for a week straight about how cold London was, and well-muscled. Matty hadn't expected him to be out of bed, but he had expected George to be awake or react somehow when he got back. There's no reaction, though, nothing, so Matty sets the cardboard drink carrier and paper bag with pastries on the desk before he strips down to his boxers and climbs into bed, pressing a kiss to George's bare shoulder and draping an arm over his back.

"I got coffee," Matty murmurs. "And pastries. Couldn't decide what to get so I got a couple."

George doesn't say anything, but Matty can feel him tense a bit, so Matty moves to rub his back gently.

"I know you're awake, darlin'," Matty continues. "You don't have to do anything or say anything if you don't want, but I'd like it if ya did."

George doesn't say anything, but he seems to appreciate Matty rubbing his back because he relaxes a bit.

"I love you," Matty offers. "So much. I know you, um, you want your space sometimes, so I'll go if you want me to, but I'd like to stay."

Finally, George rolls over to face Matty. He looks empty, vacant. He's quiet for a moment, like he's gathering the strength to speak, then says, "Don't go."

"I won't," Matty promises. "You hungry? Coffee?"

George shakes his head.

"C'mere then," Matty says, opening his arms so George can get close. George does, draping one arm over Matty's ribs and tucking his head under Matty's chin, close and quiet, breath warm against Matty's skin.

"Wanna talk about it?" Matty offers after a little while.

George doesn't say anything, so Matty takes it as a no.

"Do you want me to talk?" Matty asks. "Or do you want quiet? 'cause I can't make promises about quiet, but I'll do my best."

George is quiet for a moment, then, "You can talk. Please."

So Matty talks, a stream of everything he's been thinking about lately. He makes a point to keep his voice quiet and steady, comforting rather than animated like he knows he can be, and he rubs George's back as he talks.

After a while, but before Matty has run out of things to say, George cuts him off. He doesn't move, but he mumbles, "Thanks."

"'course, baby," Matty murmurs.

"I had a dream," George starts carefully, "that, um, you were gone. You just disappeared. I, I looked for you, looked all over London, everywhere that I used to look for you, and then everywhere else and I just couldn't find you." He pauses, then continues, "You were gone when I woke up."

"Fuck," Matty says. "I'm sorry."

"You were comin' back, I knew that," George responds. "Your side of the bed was still warm. I just keep havin' that dream and usually you're there, or I hear you, 'cause you've never made coffee or tea quietly in your life, and you were gone."

"'m sorry," Matty repeats. "You never have to look for me like that again. Promise."

"Do you remember?" George asks. "All those nights, and mornings, that I brought you home to sleep it off?"

"Not really," Matty admits. "But you won't do it again. You won't."

George shifts a bit to press a kiss against Matty's chest where he can reach, then agrees, "I know. You come home now. I like it."

Matty runs his fingers up George's bare back, feeling his way up George's spine, gentle and careful, and says, "I like it, too. And I love you. And I'm sorry I freaked you out."

"'s ok," George murmurs.

"Think we should stay in today," Matty decides. "Order room service, smoke out the window and have to pay the cleaning fee."

"There's a balcony, Matty," George says, laughing a bit.

"I know," Matty says. "Thought I might make ya laugh, though."

"I love you," George says. "And stayin' in sounds good."

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[wolfpants]

all these fic ideas sound so lovely! your mind <33

sorry if these have already been asked about but i would love to hear more about weightless and a weekend in the city

Thank you so much lovely! My mind has been a bit of a scramble this year but I'm slowly piecing the bits back together.

I have a little bit to share for both of these!

-

A Weekend in the City

(where Drarry move in together straight out of Hogwarts and spend the next 10 years pining, fighting, falling out, and falling in love)

“The accommodation comprises a lounge, separate kitchen, two double bedrooms, a bathroom, and—a private balcony, where we can—”

“—host our parties,” Harry said.

“Host our parties,” Draco intoned in a whisper, lips pulling up at one corner, his ankle shaking rhythmically beneath the table. “Location extremely convenient. Moments away from Barbican Underground station.”

The private balcony turned out to be no bigger than the flat’s pokey, narrow bathroom, and it was full of old, weather-worn furniture: a two-piece garden set, a barstool with a deep crack in the seat, a rickety clothes horse, and, bizarrely, what looked like a miniature Christmas tree, wrapped in dull silver tinsel. 

“Everything comes with the flat, obviously,” their estate agent said without looking up from her Filofax. She’d parked herself at the flat’s entryway on arrival, leaving them to wander the space freely, from the small lounge and adjoining galley kitchen to the stairs leading upstairs—floating cement steps, metal handrail adorned with tangled, plastic fairy lights. The floors were clean but old and worn, a yellowish wood that didn’t look warm or cold. There was furniture: chests of drawers, wardrobes, and wooden bed frames and mattresses in the bedrooms; a blue, two-seater pull-out sofa, an orange beanbag, a coffee table and set of boxy shelves in the living room. Upstairs, there wasn’t much difference in the size of the bedrooms, but Harry already had his eye on the smaller one. It looked cosier, with a square window and the boiler fitted into the build-in cupboard by the door. He suspected Draco would feel more at home across the landing, in the bedroom with the antique-looking desk and the view that looked down onto the estate’s shared gardens.

After ten minutes of pretending to know what they were doing—Harry inspected the vinyl-wrapped kitchen counters and the slightly cracked grey tiles underfoot with interest, Draco slid a hand over the boxy television set and twiddled the dial on the thermostat in the living room, nodding in satisfaction—they looked at each other, said “yes” out loud, and signed the contract on the spot. They filled out their Muggle bank account details on the estate agent’s forms and suddenly, they were five hundred pounds poorer and the proud new owners of a London tenancy agreement.

-

Weightless

(a Dron Muggle surfer AU set in Cornwall)

The grubby little carpark outside of the Shore Protectors’ main office was the perfect location to have a smoke and a minor mental breakdown.

Ron could only see the first few letters of George’s poorly constructed text message, but he knew what he wanted, and quite frankly, he didn’t have the time or brain space to respond right away. He possibly didn’t have enough credit left, either.

He opened the text.

m8 I promised id take ang out l8er bt no £

Ron quickly sucked the last drag of his rollie and tossed it into the metal ashtray bolted to the brick wall at the industrial estate’s entrance. The units curved in an L-shape around the edge of the carpark: a carpet and blind manufacturer, an accountancy firm, a real estate agent, a family and divorce lawyer, a laundry services firm, a catering services company, and, finally, Shore Protectors CIC, Cornwall’s beach cleaning charity. They’d only been in the estate for a few years; before then, the entire operation had been run out of founder Oliver’s university digs. The office itself wasn’t much of a step up, but at least they had an industrial photocopier.

Ron looked down at his phone, rubbing his thumb across the screen. He had enough credit for one more text message. He was miles from the nearest newsagents. What if Hermione texted? What if his mum needed him urgently? 

He sighed roughly. George was the only person he knew who ever needed him urgently.

just come 2 the beach tonight. every1is coming. we have drink n stuff. g2g starting wrk

After this, he would go to the newsagents, get a new scratch card of phone credit, and—well. He could check his bank account later, maybe. The last fiver in his wallet was going towards lunch and a couple of bottles of cider for tonight. 

Ron shoved his phone into his back pocket and pushed the office door open, stepping onto the worn blue carpet. The radio was on. Oliver was at his desk at the back of the room, surrounded by placards and rolled-up posters they took with them to fundraising events. Lee stood by the tiny kitchenette, kettle in one hand, mug in the other. He lifted the latter in greeting.

“Wotcher, Ronald.”

“Alright?” Ron crossed the room, nodding at the blond stranger sat in the single plastic chair propped next to the photocopier. Above his head, a poster of a sea turtle in sunglasses. Turtley awesome!

-

Ask me about my WIPs!