#and I’m pretty sure I see a brow under there 👀

[mabryart]

did a live action skimp on zuko’s scar … AGAIN??? his scar should have clear tissue damage and creases! his eye shape is affected! he’s missing an eyebrow! it was SEVERE Netflix PLS this just looks like a minor bruise!!!

[lovebugism]

you’re writing for carmy now omg i’m frothing at the mouth 😭 i love the trope where reader is quiet in bed and needs to be coaxed a bit but… i feel like it would be kind of hot if reader was the one coaxing carmy? 👀 no worries if you’re not feeling this one!

ty for requesting! — you teach the bear how to use his voice in the bedroom (new relationship, inexperienced!carmy, experienced!reader-ish, smut 18+)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Carmy never notices when he’s quiet. His head is always so loud in comparison — it’s easy to forget he isn’t saying anything out loud when his mind’s constantly racing. He doesn’t mean anything by it, though. He’s just chronically observant. And painfully silent with it.

He lays on his back, pressed between unmade sheets and your warm body. The covers bunch at your bare hips as you roll in languid thrusts over his lap. A satiny summer breeze smooths over your burning skin from a cracked-open window. Every time the curtains billow, more of the moonlight peeks in. It drips in silver shades over your naked skin and your pretty face, now twisted in a look of undeniable pleasure — brows scrunched, eyes closed, mouth wide open.

Carmy’s tattooed hands rest impatiently on your hips. His fingers dig into the plush of them as he rocks you back and forth over his cock. You make pretty noises for him every time your clit brushes his coarse thatch of pubic hair, so he angles his hips just right to make sure you keep hitting that spot. 

“Carmy,” you moan in a whimsical sigh that makes his chest swell. “Just like that. ’S so good like that. Please don’t stop—”

His face, made of dark shadows and sharpened edges, is pinched in a look of acute concentration. A distant feeling of deja veux swims in his stomach. It makes him wonder if he’s seen this in a painting before. One of those Renaissance types. The kinds that are harrowingly realistic and always heart-wrenchingly beautiful in a way. 

It makes him want to draw you. Just as you are now. Head tossed back, mouth gently agape, lashes fluttering over glowing cheeks. He wouldn’t be able to do any of it justice, but he tries to memorize the soft lines of your face, anyway. 

Your hips slow to a stop. Reality hits him hard.

“Woah, woah— Hey,” Carmy mumbles in protest, brows pinched in confusion when he comes down from the clouds. Through labored breaths that make his sweaty chest rise and fall, he wonders, “What happened? Why’d you stop?”

His icy blue eyes dart over your face, searching for any sign of harm. In true Carmen Berzatto fashion, he immediately thinks he’s done something wrong — that he got too far in his own head and hurt you in some way without realizing. The anxiety is fleeting, but he feels the pinch of it anyway — right where your palm rests flat on his chest, just over his pounding heart.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, similarly panicked. Your bare chest sparkles with a thin layer of sweat and catches the moonlight with every uneven inhale.

Carmy nods rapidly, chestnut curls brushing the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m— I’m great. Why?”

You exhale a small sigh of relief, growing sheepish under his unwavering gaze. You feel a bit silly for stopping now. “You just aren’t… You aren’t really, you know… saying anything,” you answer shyly.

“Am I supposed to be saying something?”

You giggle quietly to yourself until you realize he’s being genuine. Your smile ebbs as you stammer, “Well, no, it’s just— Some people usually moan, I guess— When they feel good.”

Carmy nods firmly in reassurance. “I feel good.”

“Okay…” you nod back, slower and more unsure. 

“I promise,” he tells you, tattooed hands squeezing your sides. He shifts nervously on the mattress, similarly victimized by your adoring stare. “I just… I just like watchin’ you, I guess…”

A shy smile quirks the edges of your mouth as you peer down at the boy beneath you. “You’re sweet, bear,” you coo in a honeyed murmur.

“You’re sweeter,” Carmy insists. You think you see the faintest hint of a grin on his lips, but it’s hard to tell in the low light. “Wanna taste?” he teases a second later.

Wordlessly, you bend down for another kiss, far too chaste for his liking. He almost says something about it until you roll your hips again. The words of protest disappear when he inhales sharply through his teeth.

“Does that feel good?” you ask him.

He nods silently, squeezing your sides in a feeble attempt to move you faster on top of him.

“Tell me.”

“Feels good,” Carmy obeys through gritted teeth.

The subtle assurance makes you moan — a pretty, breathy thing that spills accidentally from your opened mouth. All he can think about is getting you to make that sound again. 

“Do you like it when I talk to you?” he wonders aloud, very innocuously curious.

You nod, brows furrowed as you grind over his lap. The bed frame squeaks quietly when you roll your hips forward. When you roll them back again, he can hear the faint sounds of your wet pussy — the quiet schlick-ing of his cock fucking into you. The two noises play one after the other in rhythmic tandem. The sinful sounds of sex.

Carmy racks his head for something to say in the not-so-silent meanwhile. You watch him get lost in his mind and cup his cheeks between gentle palms. “Don’t think so hard about it, bear,” you say with a wavering smile. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay.”

You duck down to kiss him again. The angle shifts. Carmy bends his knees and fucks up into you, mercilessly and without warning. Your mouth hangs open in another weak moan that fans across his chin. 

“That good?” he pants.

“Yes,” you whine. “Carmy— fuck— You’re so deep…”

Babbles spill from your mouth in thinkless slurs. They tumble from your swollen lips with an admirable effortlessness, which Carmy has never thought himself to possess. He tries, anyway, to talk to you with such sinful ease. 

“You’re huggin’ me so tight,” he mutters through a clenched jaw. The very first thought to come to mind as the velvet confines of your cunt pulsate around him, squelching quietly in time with his thrusts. “Can feel you throbbin’ around me, babe— Shit— It’s like a fuckin’ heartbeat.”

Your whine fills the quiet bedroom, adding to the symphony of bed squeaking and skin slapping. 

Carmy shifts his hips upward. The new angle allows his cock to reach a spongy depth inside you and pins your swollen clit against his happy trail, which now glimmers with a layer of your honey.

“Right there?” he pants.

You nod wordlessly until the words catch up to you. The tip of your nose brushes the bridge of his. “Yes,” you whimper. 

His brutal thrusts pick up pace a second later, never wavering in their wicked pursuit. “Let me hit that spot,” Carmy mumbles to himself like a man crazed. “Let me hit that spot, let me hit that spot.”

Pleasure swells within you, overwhelmingly so. It’s a warm and sparkling feeling in the pit of your stomach — a tightening coil, a fraying rope, a dam about to burst. The intensity of your inevitable orgasm frightens you.

“Carmy…” you whimper.

“I know,” he nods sympathetically, right before he plants his feet on the mattress. He strengthens his thrusts, which have slowly started to lose their rhythm. “It’s okay. C’mon. Cum for me— I can feel you fuckin’ drippin’ on me, baby— C’mon.”

Your jaw clenches to fight back the scream clawing at your throat. It comes out in a pitiful whimper instead when you tense over his lap. Your orgasm washes over you in waves that leave you shaking, thighs trembling on either side of his hips.

Carmy goes accidentally silent once more as he watches you, swelling with pride as you reach the height of your pleasure. His light eyes flit over your features in a feeble attempt to memorize them — the furrow between your brows, the wrinkles beside your shut eyes, the spit-slicked sheen to your kissed lips.

You’re painting brought to life. A heavenly thing he can’t believe he gets to touch with unworthy hands.

“That’s it…” Carmy murmurs lowly. The words bubble in his throat and fall from his mouth mindlessly. He doesn’t even have to think about them now. It just feels right to praise you like this. “That’s it. There you go. So pretty… Always so pretty for me.”

As your body racks with aftershocks, you seek refuge in his arms. Your weight rests entirely upon him as your tense limbs slowly relax, but Carmy doesn’t mind. He just wraps his tattooed arms around you and holds your trembling body closer.

“I got you,” he promises through labored breaths, chapped lips brushing your temple with every word. “I got you. ’S okay. You did so good for me, baby. Thank you.”

You don’t have the words to tell him that you should be the one thanking him.

[shitsndgiggs]

„my boyfriend reacts to my instagram dms“ with kenan? 👀 i feel like that would be fun 😭

INSTAGRAM DM’s - KENAN YILDIZ

Kenan reacting to your DM’s

Kenan Yildiz x fem! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿

I set my phone up on the kitchen counter, hit record, and turn to face Kenan, who is sitting next to me, looking curious yet slightly suspicious.

I have a grin plastered on my face, excited to see how this is going to play out.

“Alright, babe, I hope you’re ready for this,” I say, barely containing my laughter.

Kenan’s brows furrow, his lips twitching into a hesitant smile. “Ready for what?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, already sensing trouble.

“We’re doing the ‘Boyfriend Reacts to My Instagram DMs’ challenge!” I announce dramatically, making sure the camera catches every second of his reaction.

His eyes widen immediately, and he chuckles nervously. “Wait, what? Your DMs?” he repeats, like he didn’t quite hear me the first time.

“Yes!” I reply with a giggle. “Your job is to just… react.”

Kenan’s face breaks into a mischievous grin. “Alright, alright, hit me with it. I’m not scared,” he says, though I can see his curiosity mixing with a hint of nervousness.

I scrolled through my phone, picking the first message that had caught my eye. Clearing my throat, I read, “Here’s one: ‘I’d swim across the ocean just to meet you.’”

Kenan snorted, unable to hold back his amusement. “Yeah, well, I hope he knows how to swim really well because that’s a long way to go for a rejection,” he quipped, shaking his head with a grin.

I burst out laughing, and he can’t help but grin. “Okay, okay,” I say, trying to compose myself. “Here’s another: ‘I’d love to see what’s under that pretty dress of yours…’”

Kenan’s face turns from amused to downright indignant. “Wow, okay. This guy… Just no. That’s a solid 0 out of 10, report and block. Like, does he think he’s smooth? Nah, dude, keep dreaming.”

I can’t help but laugh harder. “Alright, alright, calm down. Next one: ‘If I were your boyfriend, I’d never let you out of my sight.’”

Kenan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, that’s real healthy. Stalker vibes, much? And newsflash, buddy, she already has a boyfriend who’s got a perfect balance between protective and giving space. Unlike you.”

I’m laughing so hard I almost can’t speak. “Alright, this one’s kind of spicy… ‘You should be with a man who knows what to do with you.’”

Kenan’s jaw clenches a little, and he huffs out a breath. “Oh, please. First of all, I’m that man. Second, what’s he gonna do? Take you to McDonald’s and tell you you’re special? Amateur hour.”

I laugh, nudging him. “You’re getting so riled up!”

Kenan smirks but there’s a protective edge in his eyes. “I’m not riled up. I’m just stating facts.”

I continue with the next DM. “‘I don’t usually do this, but I’d make an exception for you.’”

Kenan rolls his eyes dramatically. “Wow, you’re so special that he’s willing to break his ‘mysterious rules.’ How romantic,” he mocks. “Dude, get in line with the other guys who think they’re original.”

I shake my head, biting back more laughter. “Okay, here’s a bold one: ‘If you ever get tired of that guy you’re with, I’d love to show you a real good time.’”

Kenan’s face darkens with jealousy. “A real good time?” he echoes. “Listen, man, her idea of a good time is binge-watching series in her PJs, with snacks and cuddles. And trust me, I’m the best at that.”

I giggle, loving his serious expression. “Alright, last one. And this one… oh boy. ‘‘I’d give up my whole life just for one date with you.’”

Kenan’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned forward, his expression full of mock concern. “Oh, buddy,” he said, pretending to look sad. “That’s… that’s just sad. I mean, at least aim for two dates. Show some confidence!”

I giggle a little at that, smiling softly. “Okay, you survived… barely.”

Kenan grins, still a little worked up but leaning back in his chair. “Oh, I did more than survive. I won. And these guys… they don’t even come close. Not even in the same universe.”

I lean closer, feeling the warmth in his voice, and he mirrors my movement, his lips brushing mine in a soft, sweet kiss that seems to erase all the silly DMs from memory.

As we pull back, Kenan gives a playful smirk. “You know, I think next time we should go through my DMs… just to be fair.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “No way, I’m not ready for that kind of drama.”

He chuckles, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Good. Because I have nothing to hide. And besides,” he leans in closer, whispering just for me, “you’re the only girl that matters.”

[house-of-lovin]

legally binded - drabble (1)

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

masterlist | series mast. |

Drabble #1: The Week in Coachella

Summary: After getting caught in some hot waters with the press, you are forced into an unexpected agreement with America's sweetheart, Jenna Ortega to save your career.

Warnings/Tags: dual!pov, famous!reader, actress!reader, mentions of substances, intoxication, mature language, real people. (do not read if any of these make you uncomfortable)

(this is all fiction!)

Note: a little insight as to the ‘domestic bliss’ J was referring to 👀 this takes place during chapter 4, the week leading up to R’s peformance. the first of many drabbles (hopefully)

Word Count: 3.8k+

Monday: 

“Turn it off… Jenna, turn it off!”

You whined, aimlessly swiping your hand on the covers in hopes it hits the other actress. 

The alarm blaring rudely in the dark, quiet air interrupted the solitude of the early morning.

You hear her groans but it sounded muffled under the lump of covers and pillows. “You turn it off…”

“Jenna…” You groaned but she still refused to move from her seemingly comfortable position. With a huff, you throw the covers off your head, squinting in the unlit room. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, what the fuck?

Reaching over Jenna’s body, you grabbed your phone on her bedside table. You must have fallen asleep with it in your hand again and Jenna must have placed it there for you. 

“It’s not even mine.” You muttered, reaching for her phone instead and snoozing the alarm. Then you flung yourself back into your side of the bed, sighing in satisfaction because the annoying alarm wasn’t blaring in your eardrums anymore.

“Was it my phone?” Jenna lifted the cover off her head but remained under. Her hair is a mess after a night of tossing and turning and yet she still looked… pretty. You’re not blind, she’s gorgeous but there’s something about her, being the first thing you wake up to that makes your heart palpitate uncomfortably.

Probably heartburn from last night’s dinner. Yeah. That’s it.

“Mhmm.” You hummed. It’s too early for words.

She groaned dropping the covers to hide again. “I have pick up at 5.”

“You’re working?” You questioned.

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you.” You hear and feel the shuffles of Jenna climbing out of the covers. “Are you going to be okay being alone with my family today?”

Cracking a single eye open and even through the darkness in the room, you see her brows knitted worriedly. “I’ll be fine, Jenna. I’ve been here for two days now, I’m settled in.”

“Are you sure? You can come with me to set if you want. I think I’m only filming some promo videos of Dior.” She urged. When you hear the concern in her voice, you opened your eyes fully, sitting up. 

“Jen, I’ll be okay. I promise. It’ll be nice to just chill today too ‘cause I’m not needed for soundcheck again until Thursday.” You reassured, blindly placing your hand on her bare thigh.

You feel her tense under your touch and you were about to pull away and apologize, not meaning to place your hand there but she placed her palm atop yours. “Okay… but if you need me to come back–”

“I won’t need to, but I will text you if anything happens, stop worrying.” You rolled your eyes, pulling your burning hand away. “Now go get ready before you’re late. I will be going to bed.”

“How can you go back to sleep so easily?” She questioned, climbing out of the covers. 

“Mhmm… magic.” You slur, already on the verge of sleeping.

You miss Jenna watching you for a few, long seconds with a fond smile after you’ve fallen asleep. You also miss her panic once she realized what she was doing, promptly turning on her heel to walk into the bathroom.

*** 

It was around 8:30 when you woke up again and like last time, it wasn’t on your own accord.

“Dad says wake up.” You spring up from the bed, eyes still closed.

You weren’t even sure if you were still dreaming but you swore you heard a voice.

“Over here.” Blinking your eyes open, you see Aliyah leaning against the doorframe with a smug smile. “Nice hair, is this what Jenna’s been waking up to every morning?”

“I see you and her share the same need to make fun of me.” You grumbled, wiping your eyes as they adjusted to the sunlight peering into the room.

“Mhmm. That’s how the family shows we care, we tease.” The younger girl shrugged, “Now come on, there’s breakfast downstairs and then chores.”

“Chores?” You asked but she already left.

Fucking chores? What the hell did you sign up for?

Swiftly, you threw on a presentable sweatsuit and brushed your teeth before hopping down the steps. From the moment you opened the door, you could already smell savoury waft of the morning meal awaiting you in the kitchen.

When you round the corner, entering the dining room everyone was already there, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Natalie smiled when she saw you. “Sorry Aliyah woke you up like that,”

You see her send her daughter a warning glance but you just laughed, waving it off. “No, it’s alright. Worked like a charm.”

“Come sit and eat.” She ushered, and you noted her uniform. 

“I assume you’re working today?” 

“Yes, it’s just going to be you kids in the house today.”

With Coachella weekend coming up, you had forgotten you were currently staying in a house with people who worked regular, 9-5 jobs.

“Oh, alright.” You smiled gratefully when the matriarch placed a plate of food in front of you.

“Dad and I have to go, you guys be safe okay? Call if you need anything.” She called out to the rest of her kids.

“You guys are carpooling?” Mia asked.

“Yup, the car’s not starting again.” The man grumbled, rising from his seat.

You perk up at that comment. “I can take a look at it for you if you want?”

All heads turn to you.

“You know cars?” Jenna’s dad asked, skeptical. This is the first time you’ve talked directly to the man.

“Yes sir.” You clear your throat, sitting up straighter. There was something about the man, maybe it was his constant silence or just Dads in general that made you a bit tense and feel out of your depth. “Used to work on them with my best friend, just a hobby but I learned a thing or two.”

He raised a brow but didn’t say anything. Natalie spoke up for him. “You don’t have to do that Y/N, but we would appreciate it regardless.”

You nodded, sending them a small smile. Aware that the man still hasn’t given you an answer but hey, you’ll take what you can get.

“We gotta go.” The parents bid goodbye and when the door shut, an awkward silence hung in the hair.

You keep your head down and pretend your breakfast was the most interesting thing on Earth.

“So, you got plans today?” Mia asked.

Lifting your head, you pointed to yourself, “Me?”

“Who else?” She raised a brow, and suddenly you’re made aware that sarcasm runs in the family.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you drop your spoon. “I don’t have plans.”

“Perfect. We’re all doing something.” Mia grinned.

You looked at Aliyah and Markus sending them apprehensive looks. “I… don’t like the way you said that.”

“Relax, superstar… when was the last time you let loose?” Mia grinned leaning on her elbows.

You glanced at the three siblings warily, “Fine… but if Jenna asks, it wasn’t my idea.”

“We’ll deal with her.” Aliyah matched her sister’s grin.

***

“This was your idea of letting loose?” You heaved exasperatedly, leaning against the leather headrest of the driver’s seat. 

The three siblings’ laugh resounds around you, agitating you further. Is this what it was like to have siblings? Maybe you’re not missing out on much.

“I thought you were an action star? Don’t you guys get paid to work out for Marvel?” Aliyah asked from the backseat. 

“I’m out of commission.” You glared through the rearview mirror. “And I hate hiking… why did we pick that?”

You started the ignition, cranking the AC to full blast and sighing in relief as the cool air relieves your sticky-red skin. 

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed. But there isn’t much to do around here.” Markus piqued up from beside his sister. “So when we all get together, we like to go hiking. Jen can’t make it most of the time, but I guess you’re the next best thing.”

He joked prompting his sisters to laugh but you flushed under the suggestion. You chose not to comment, instead pulling out of the parking spot. Clearing your thickening throat, you asked, “Where to?”

When you get back to the house, you're instantly met with an unimpressed look from the actress.

“You guys hung out without me?” Jenna crossed her arms as she stood in the foyer of her home, watching her siblings plus you trickle into the house. It’s fair to say that the younger actress was quite confused when she came back to an empty house. 

“Yup…” Mia responded, sipping on her drink as she walked passed the shorter actress. 

One by one, she glared at each of her siblings as they walked passed her until only you remained. You smiled sheepishly, holding out a drink. “They said you always get this smoothie… don’t be mad?”

Jenna stared at the drink in your hands. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. “Thanks…”

You send a large, goofy smile, pleased with yourself, “No worries.”

***

Tuesday:

The jury’s still up for debate if you’re enjoying yourself.

See you thought you were. Sure sharing a single queen bed with Jenna is… less than ideal, the home-cooked dinners have been delicious, and her family has been nothing but hospitable. You should be having a good time, right? Except, right now you’re seriously debating changing your answer cause you’re stuck.

Tied down, would be a better description.

“Jenna, please. Help!” You managed to pull out a free arm from one of her cousin’s firm grip.

Why do these kids have such strong hands?

Jenna turned at the sound of your desperation, cutting her conversation with her sisters short then she laughed, taking her phone out to record.

“No, please.” You nearly cried out, flailing your free hand.

“Show us your superpowers, Spider-Woman!” Another child yelled, jumping in front of you.

“Ow..” Your footing stumbles with the added weight, trying to hold the kid up in your arms.

“I count… one, two, three… oh and there's a fourth one hiding behind your legs, how cute.” Jenna circles you, recording all the children clinging onto you for dear life.

“Jenna, please. I’m gonna drop this child…” You begged again, arms burning uncomfortably.

You’re one kid away from toppling over if she doesn’t help you. If you do, you’re taking her down with you.

“I thought you do action movies? Use that action star training…” Jenna teased just like her sister, in turn, you glared menacingly.

“If I do go down, I’m taking you with me…”

She rolled her eyes, put her phone away then walked over to grab the kid in your arms. “Come on, guys… let’s give her some space.” She shooed off.

They groaned, echoing ‘you’re no fun’ at Jenna,  and you’d laugh at her offended face if you weren’t thankful that you feel 100 pounds lighter.

“You sure took your time,” You scoffed at her, watching as Jenna lets the toddler down on the ground after she got too fussy in her arms.

“Mmm… it was just too adorable.” She pulled out her phone to show you the multiple pictures of your panicked face, flailing hand and the small army of kids sticking to your side.

“Delete that…” You attempted to swipe her phone, but she stuck her arm out of reach, too quick for you.

“No!” She laughed, leaning back. You leaned forward, trying to swipe at the phone again but she pressed her hips against yours — pushing you back.

“Delete it!” You grabbed the dip in her waist with one hand; the phone now just at the tip of your fingers.

Jenna curled into a ball, clutching the phone to her chest making you wrap your arms around her body – practically embracing her.

“Seriously?” You laughed at the childish antics.

“Let me keep it!” She snickered, body shaking as she laughed and you couldn’t help but join in, forgetting about the embarrassing photos.

“Fine.” Rolling your eyes, you dropped your arms to your side, stepping back. “But if you post that, you’re dead.”

Jenna uncurled, standing straight with a lop-sided smile, “Who’s gonna stop me?”

You stare back challengingly but once you saw the up flick of her brow, you knew it was a done deal. With a sigh and a drop of a head, you muttered. “Whatever…”

Then you walked back to your seat beside her sisters.

Reaching down on the grass to grab your drink, you pretend not to hear Aliyah and Mia telling Jenna that you two are cute.

Pulling out your phone, you ignore everything going on around you. You feel Jenna take her seat beside you. 

“Hey Y/N,” Aliyah spoke up, phone in hand.

You flick a brow up, “What’s up?”

“You know this song?” She tapped her phone, connecting it to the speaker and playing a song that sounded faintly familiar.

Furrowing your brows, you shake your head, glancing at Jenna who had a confused look as well. “No? Did I write it?”

“You don’t know what songs you wrote?” Jenna asked, turning to you.

“No? There’s too many and sometimes if it doesn’t fit me, I just take writing credit or I produce it for someone else.” You shrugged.

Aaliyah shook her head, gaining your attention. “No, listen.” She smirked.

When the singer started singing, you froze, the tips of your ears reddening.

“I don’t get it?” Jenna asked.

“This is Nonsense by Sabrina Carpenter,” Aaliyah commented.

“Okay?” Jenna was lost. “Am I missing something?”

“Nope. I don’t think so— you wanna go for a walk?” You stood up swiftly, nearly giving Jenna whiplash as her eyes followed your movements.

You wiggle your fingers for her to take, but Jenna stayed put. 

“Later —“ She dismissed you, turning to her sisters who wore smug smiles on their faces, “What’s so special about this song?”

“Ask her…” Aliyah nodded toward you, currently pretending like you couldn’t hear the conversation around you.

She raised her brow, noting your weird demeanour. “What’s so special about this song?”

“Nothing.” Jenna raised a brow. You sighed, sitting back down beside her with a slump, ignoring the three others piercing stares. “Except it’s about…. me, or so I’ve heard, I don’t know.”

Jenna’s brows raised in surprise, her cheeks reddening when the next line plays. “It feels so good I had to jump the octave?”

You flushed, covering your face in embarrassment. “God, this is my worst nightmare.”

Her sisters’ watched with satisfied smiles as you continued to be embarrassed, actively avoiding everyone’s eyes and Jenna, who was stunned in silence but honestly looked more bothered the longer the song played.

You’ve never actually heard the song in its entirety, too embarrassed when someone said it was about you. You only saw the other singer one, two, three maybe even four times — so you were shocked.

“How fast can you take your clothes off, pop quiz?” Jenna reiterated as the song ended.

“Please, stop!” You groaned into your palms.

If Jenna wasn’t so satisfied with your embarrassment already, she might even admit that she’s a bit… irritated, for reasons unknown.

“Okay, Aliyah enough.” Jenna glared when the song replayed by accident.

Her sisters tried to chuckle lowly, but Jenna glared until they took the hint and scurried away, leaving just you and her.

“Are they gone?” You peeked through the opening in your fingers. 

“They're gone.” She chuckled, but the silence that followed was slightly awkward. “So… you and Sabrina? Didn’t know that.”

You cleared your throat, dropping your hands. “Yeah—uh. It wasn’t really anything.”

“Sounds like it was something…I mean she wrote a whole song about you.” Jenna questioned and for a second you wondered if she was jealous.

No, no way.

“That’s just fan theories and shit. I actually don’t know if it’s about me.” You felt the need to clear up. “It didn’t mean anything to me, at least.”

Jenna scanned you for a few seconds, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the intense gaze. “Mhmm. Cool.”

You blinked, unsure what that meant. But before you could say anything she’s standing, holding her hand out for you to take.

“Wanna go on that walk now?”

You nodded, slipping your fingers in between hers.

***

Wednesday: 

“Have you seen Y/N?” Jenna peeked her head inside her brother’s room.

“Not recently…” Markus responded, not looking away from his computer screen. “I think I saw her an hour ago though.”

“Where?” She huffed, leaning against the door frame.

“Don’t remember…” He replied distractedly. Jenna sighed, knowing she wasn’t gonna get a straight answer from him. 

Making her way down the stairs, she rounded the corner, entering the living room. “Has anybody seen Y/N?” 

She was met with silence. “Hello?” Jenna spoke up agitated.

“She’s with Dad, relax,” Aliyah answered and the actress couldn't even hide her shock. “She’s checking the car or something.”

“They’re together? Alone?”

Her sister nodded, confused.

“Yes? Why?’

“No reason…” Jenna lied.

“Is she scared of Dad?” Aliyah asked, a smirk on her lips.

Jenna rolled her eyes, not answering. Turning on her heel, she walked swiftly to the garage. You never admitted it out loud but she could see how tense you are around her Dad. It amused her more than anything.

Upon opening the door, she’s expecting to be met with silence as you worked on the car. Instead, her Dad’s laughter filled the room. 

“That’ll teach you to make a bet with her…” Her dad continued to joke. 

Stepping closer, she can make out your muffled chuckles from under the car. “Yeah… that one was on me, honestly. Robbed me clean of a thousand dollars.”

“Oh hey, honey. What are you doing here?” Her dad asked, noticing her standing by the door with a dumbfounded look on her face.

“Is that Jenna?” You asked.

“Yeah…” He responded.

Jenna blinked out of her stupor, walking to the hood of the car where her Dad waited patiently as you lay underneath the vehicle. “What’s going on here?”

You slid out from under the engine, using an old skateboard as a mechanic creeper; some oil splotched on your cheek. “Your Dad said the car wasn’t starting, so I offered to have a look at it.”

Jenna watches on as her Dad extended a hand out to haul you up. Exchanging the wrench in your hand for a wet rag to wipe the dirt off. She flicked a brow up in surprise. “I didn’t know you knew cars like that…”

You match her raised brow, “what, you think my cars are just for show?”

She rolled her eyes, not answering while you grinned, taking it as a win. She allowed her gaze to drop, noting your engine oil-stained white shirt hugging your arms tight and dark washed-out denim jeans. Looking like a real mechanic. 

“I think it was the transmission, try turning it on.” You said to her Dad. 

He follows your instructions, pushing the key into the ignition and turning it. Sputtered sounds of the engine roughly kicked back until eventually, it settled into a low, even rumble. You send her Dad a gratified smile. “What’d I say?”

“Impressive…” He scratched his chin, “I went to three different mechanics and none of them could tell me what was wrong.”

“Those guys are useless. You call me anytime there’s something wrong with her.” You popped off the hood struts, putting it back in its place before dropping the car hood closed with a loud slam, tapping on the top contently.

“You actually fixed that old junk?” Jenna crossed her arms, a little impressed but she’d never say it out loud.

You spin, flicking an unamused brow. “You doubting my skills, Ortega?”

Jenna tried shrugging impassively, walking closer to observe the running car. “Every single one of my siblings learned how to drive in this car, including me. Dad refuses to get rid of it.”

You run a hand over the hood again. What the younger actress said must’ve added to your satisfaction. “Just makes it more special then…”

“See, she gets it.” Her Dad peeks his head out from the driver's seat. 

“We’re not starting this…” Jenna spun in her heels, walking back into the house. She ignored her thudding chest.

***

Thursday:

“Hey, how was Soundcheck?” Jenna looked up from her book, watching as you trudge into her childhood bedroom in slow steps.

“S’okay…” You mumbled,  lazily dropping your shoulder bag on the foot of the bed. With a heavy sigh, you sat down and let gravity do all the work as you fell onto your back. Sighing in relief when it connects with the soft mattress. 

“What’s wrong?” Jenna crawled to the foot of the bed, rubbing your shoulder. She watched as your eyes fluttered closed in fatigue.

“Long day… too hot.” You muttered causing Jenna to chuckle.

“Well, we are in the desert.”

“Should have thought about that when I agreed to perform…” By now, Jenna’s fingers worked their way through your hair. Softly scratching your scalp. 

“Speaking of performing…” Jenna tried not to pay attention to the way you practically purred under her touch. “Who are you going on with?”

You grinned adorably, like when a baby smiled in their sleep. “Nice try…”

She tugged on your roots a bit, “Tease…”

“You’re the one tugging on my hair…” You cracked an eye open, staring up at her. Jenna flushed, choosing to ignore your words. 

“Why don’t you take a shower and we can finish watching Breaking Bad? Relax before your performance tomorrow?”

“That sounds perfect.” You scrambled up to grab some clothes from your suitcase before running to the adjoining bathroom. 

Jenna shook her head in amusement, ignoring the butterflies thrashing in her stomach. She moved up the bed, getting your side ready, and propping up the pillows to your preferred angle. Then she grabbed the remote, exiting out of the trashy reality show that she wasn’t really paying attention to. Only choosing the program to pass the time as she waited for you to come… home. But only because she’s honourable and chooses to uphold her side of the agreement; not to watch Breaking Bad without the other. 

20 minutes pass when the bathroom door creaked open and you stepped out, looking far more relaxed than when you first came in. 

Sliding into your side, you wiggled around, trying to get comfortable. “You kept your promise and didn’t watch the next episode.”

“Surprised?” She raised a brow.

“Mmm… a little.” You shrug, shooting her a chaffing smile. 

She elbowed your side, “idiot.”

“Okay, okay, just play the episode. I’ve been looking forward to watching it with you all day.” You covered a blanket over your lap, not realizing what you just said. Jenna stares at you, not speaking.

You turn, pulling a face before it contorts to an amused smile. You grab the remote out of her hands, not calling her out on her silence. “Come on, get down here.”

Still unspeaking, Jenna’s body moves automatically, sliding in close beside you; shoulders pressed together. The younger actress doesn’t have it in her to admit that she’s been waiting for you to come back because recently, she finds she can’t sleep without you.

Jenna chooses not to comment when she feels your head lean comfortably against hers.

—

(a little treat before ch 7🫢 )

***

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[typicalopposite]

Shassie prompt- one of them is feeling sorry for themselves (make it as angsty of you'd like) but the other one comes in and tells them how great they find the other because it's the only way they know to help (bonus points if it's pre-slash and they're trying desperately not to add "and I love you" to the end of the reasons they like them because they think it's one sided while the other is like 'I didn't think I could fall for this guy any more but I just did')

Ok so… heh… this got a little longer than intended and became a full fic 👀 I’ll probably throw it on ao3 later!

<3 <3 <3 <3 <3

Lassie has been quiet…er than usual.

He’s never been a big conversationalist; unless, of course, you were talking about the law, or weapons, or that little revolutionary role play thing he’s into— that’s beside the point… He is overtly quiet today. He’s not clapping back at Shawn’s antics with his snark, and teasing… or threats. He honestly seems a little sad. 

It’s weird enough Shawn has asked if he was okay several times. He got an “I’m fine,” once; an “I said I’m ok, Spencer” the second time; then it was “if you ask me one more time I’m going to rip your foot off and shove it down your throat!” So Shawn stopped asking after that. But he still senses that Lassie is lying to him. 

He’s clearly bothered by something. It’s driving him crazy that isn’t able to deduce it down to anything. “You need to leave this alone,” Gus tries as he speed walks to keep up with Shawn. “Lassiter is going to kill you if he finds out you’re asking people about his business.”

“Gus… don’t be the little engine that couldn’t,” Shawn says before taking a sharp left into Chief Vick’s office and closing the door before Gus can get in.

He pulls the blinds closed, too, and spins on his heels; Vick is looking up at him from her mountain of paperwork. “Can I help you Mr. Spencer?”

“Uh— yeah, Chief,” Shawn says, giving her his brightest smile. “I’m hoping you can, anyway.” Shawn licks his lips trying to think of the best way to go about pleading with her to spill the Lassie-tea. “You see, you are so amazing at what you do. You run this department with such care and compassion… you have a good relationship with all the people who work under you. Heck I bet you even know all their juicy personal details.”

“You want me to tell you why Carlton seems off today.” 

“Oh my god, Chief! I didn’t know you were a little psychic too,” Shawn says with a grin. “But yes. I mean… you see it, don’t you? It’s driving me crazy!” 

She laughs, shaking her head and signs her signature on the form in front of her. “Mr. Spencer, I do—as you said—have a pretty good relationship with all the people who work under me. What makes you think I am just going to tell you about my head detective’s very personal and private business?” 

“Well—” Shawn says, pauses, and tries to think of a good reason she should tell him. “I just— I want to—”

“You want to help him,” she finishes. Shawn nods. “Yeah, well,” she says, with a laugh. “Couldn’t you just… find out from the spirits?” She cocks a brow and smirks. 

Shawn laughs. Shit. “Actually, well… unfortunately it doesn’t work like that. They tell me what they want to tell me. And they are far less appreciative of me coming to them for personal matters than you are…” 

“Ahh, I see…” Vick sets her pen down, and sighs. “Listen, when you go back out there… Can you ask Carlton to check his calendar and make sure he has his next scheduled evaluation with your mom written down, so he doesn’t forget it.” She lifts her brows, waiting for Shawn’s response. 

“Uh… yeah sure Chief,” he says. She smiles and nods towards the door, so he turns and walks back out into the bullpen. 

Gus is leaning against the wall, arms crossed and pouting. “Well, did she tell you anything?” 

“Actually… I think she did,” Shawn says, trying to wade through the confusion to the meaning for his given task. They make their way towards Jules desk, but Shawn stops first at Lassie’s; he notices Lassie's hands. How they are loosely clasped together as he watches a security clip from a robbery case he’s working on. One finger gently strokes the space in his left ring finger where a wedding band once sat. “Hey man, Chief said make sure you have your next appointment with my mom written down.” 

Lassie looks back at him like he’s just said the most outlandish thing ever. He shuffles through the mess on his desk, pulling his calendar from under the paperwork. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I wrote it down… Faster I get it over with, the faster your mom can leave me the hell alone.” 

Shawn zeroes in on his calendar. There it is! Chief Vick, you sly dog. Today’s date is circled; Anniversary penned in Lassie’s nice and neat handwriting. 

~~~

Shawn and Gus hang around the station until everyone is leaving for the day. Not because Gus wants to… but because Shawn now has a plan and if it falls through—which is the more likely outcome—he needs Gus there to give him a lift back to the office. “What are we waiting for, Shawn?”

“Shhhhh,” Shawn hisses, watching the stairs for Lassie to finally come down. 

When at last the detective turns the corner he hears Gus suck his teeth next to him. “I told you to leave it alone, Shawn… he clearly isn’t going to—” Shawn is already crossing the room towards the stairs, he is vaguely aware of Gus saying he’s leaving without him. Oh well, he’ll just have to walk off the rejection then. He takes a deep breath and stops in front of Lassie. 

“What the— what do you want Spencer?” 

“Uh— erm— I just wanted to see if… you felt like going out for some drinks,” Shawn says, sticking his hands as far down his pockets as they will go.

Lassie narrows his eyes. “Who told you?” 

“Wha— hah— told me what? No one told me anything!” Lassie’s eyes burrow into him, and he can feel his face heating up. He goes to lift his hand to his temple, fully prepared to put on his whole bit to drag him out of this hole. Instead he drops his arm and sighs. “Look man, it doesn’t matter how I figured it out… What matters is me helping you get over this hump—which ironically is on hump day,” (it’s Wednesday) he laughs; Lassie does not. 

“I just want to go home, Spencer,” Lassie sighs. He seems too deflated to argue, otherwise Shawn is sure he wouldn’t let the whole ‘who told you’ thing go. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired… and I have to go home to an empty house and spend what was supposed to be a celebratory day alone; just another reminder that maybe she was right about me.” He exhales, long and slow, running a hand over his face. “Now I’m sitting here telling you all this like you even really care.” 

“I do,” Shawn says, maybe just a little too quickly; a little too enthusiastically. “Come on, Lassie! You got so much going for you, don’t let one person’s image of you get in the way. You are tall and dark—minus the few grays but we’re gonna ignore those—and hawt.” He says it in a playful voice to cover up the fact he very much means it. “You have the ability to crack jokes unintentionally and in the middle of an anger fueled insult.”

“These don’t seem very—”

“Aht, tut tut…” Shawn says, throwing up a finger in his face. “I’m not done!” Lassie groans and crosses his arms. “You are an amazing detective, and you genuinely care about justice… you just care with a very angry and uncaring stature. You’re smart, and talented—especially with a gun…

.

.

.

…you’re a good driver—although most cops are probably too scared of you to give you a ticket, that's beside the point.” 

“If I just agree to get that drink with you… will you please shut up?” Lassie asks. His arms are no longer crossed, and he actually has a soft smile on his face. “Good god you sound obsessed with me.”

Maybe I am… just a little. Shawn admits to himself. He can’t help it, he's practically head over heels in love with him after all. Not that Lassie would ever know that… or reciprocate it. “I— uhm— yeah, I’ll shut up now.” 

“Okay,” Lassie laughs—like, legitimately laughs—and Shawn’s insides do a cartwheel. He goes in his pocket, and groans. “Shit I left my keys on my desk. I’ll be right back.” 

“Okay— yeah— I’ll be— I’ll be here.”

Lassie turns and disappears up the stairs passing Vick on the way. She smiles, chuckling to herself as she descends. “Wow,” she says down to Shawn. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look before.” 

“What look? Did he seem upset?” Shawn asks.  “No… he definitely did not seem upset,” Vick replies. “You two… have a good time.” She pats Shawn on the back and walks past him, not saying another word.

[cloveroctobers]

BARRY OBX — spring prompts 🕊️

A/N: although this fandom isn’t for me…there’s no way you thought I wouldn’t be writing something for Barry. Also only just finished episode six but thanks to tik-tok I was able to see a Barry edit for this season that was 👏🏽🙏🏾 👀 and further motivation to write this small thing. We still stanning over here! Also where are the new gifs at for this man?

Prompts are from this list & I’m using 4.) taking deep inhales of the fresh spring air + 24.) lying under the sunny sky and watching the clouds.

༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*

The sun gave just the right amount of warmth against Barry’s skin, which fought off the brisk air the now blossoming season provided. Barry found himself completely relaxed, laying on his back, arms folded behind his head and staring up at the puff of clouds that drifted along the sky.

He hardly had the time to just enjoy the weather, if he wasn’t working—scheming—depends who you ask. It felt pretty damn good to just be in the park, surrounded by the trees that whistles a sweet tune every so often. He was so comfortable and free that he finally felt his eyes slowly begin to close.

A harsh cough was released, making Barry snap his dark eyes open to realize that the sound was coming from the silhouette that was actually sitting on top of him.

You so happened to be sitting right on his lap, almost hacking up a lung with a hand on your chest.

Barry pushed himself up onto his elbows, furrow in his brows as he asked, “what’s happening, bloom?”

Once you caught your breath, you glanced back at Barry and wheezed, “I think something with wings went down my throat.”

“And how that happen?”

“I was just taking in the fresh air and the earth betrayed me like I’m not one of her own.”

Barry snorted to himself, sitting upwards to slip his hands from the sides of your ass to lock them around your waist. He then placed a kiss to the back of your neck, enjoying the weight of you on him.

He was really bonding with nature, your words not his and forgot that you also made yourself comfortable on his lap. If the both of you didn’t have a warning for “indecent exposure,” from mr. Park control (thanks to last time) then Barry would definitely initiate some freaky deaky actions to really promote this peaceful outing.

“Here, drink some.” Barry reached out and into the extra bag you brought with you.

His hand pulled out a glass bottle and squinted at the label then read it out loud, “elderflower rose lemonade. Don’t know where the hell you got this from but i hope it helps.”

Next he popped the bottle cap off with his teeth before holding it out for you to grasp.

Holding the bottle up in cheers, you went to sipping as Barry settled to the side back on his elbow. He then dragged your bag over by the books of the month the both of you were reading asking, “I think it’s about time we eat somethin’ don’t you? I sure hope you ain’t bring none of those croissants with that green shit that’s not weed sprinkled on top of it.”

It was your turn to laugh, remembering the look of disgust on Barry’s face when you brought him some matcha croissants. He was all for pastries but felt like once you started adding unnecessary items to the original? He had something to say about it.

“Lucky for you, there’s just sandwiches and chips in there. No funny business.” You replied, sliding off his lap to lay on your stomach beside him now.

How ironic of that statement to be made as the both of you got a view of a few familiar faces making their way through the park. Sarah peddled by on her bike with Cleo standing on the back of it, the two being oblivious to the couple as they carried on through the looped pathway; followed by Pope roller blading backwards after them, and lastly JJ who was on his skateboard, sending a middle finger mostly Barry’s way.

“I’ll chuck this bottle right at his wheels, send that boy skidding real quick.” Barry warned, fingers just itching for your drink.

Instantly, you slipped a hand up Barry’s collarbone, pass the gold chain on his neck, and continued traveling it up to his jawline to turn his attention back to yours.

“Nope, none of that. We are only focusing on the good weather today, all the new growth that’s comes with my favorite season, and how good i look in these jeans.” You encouraged.

Barry couldn’t help but to let his eyes trail downwards, making a dimple appear in his cheek as he placed a hand on the small of your back, before leaning forward to place his lips right on yours.

Which also erupted a smile from your own before you pulled apart, “and oh you’re not so bad to look at either…even if you chopped that luscious hair off.”

You ran a finger over the scar in Barry’s hair who scoffed, knowing you still felt some sort of way about his new-do…although that didn’t stop you from touching it—

Barry then let out a sigh and threw himself onto his back, getting another view of the vibrant sky and once more thinking about all the good possibilities that spring can bring. And as he turned his gaze from the clouds and focused back on your easy smile, he understood why you were named bloom.

༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*·˚-‘๑’-༊*

Continue along with my spring anthology prompts here.

[jjungkookislife]

Little Mouse Ch. 9

pairing: frat boy!jk x f. reader

genre: college au

wc: 713

warnings: none?

a/n: we’re just gonna pretend it didn’t take me almost 2 years to continue this 👀 as always, I'd love to hear from you here ❤️

date: January 8, 2023

You’ve chickened out. 

Seeing Jungkook made you nervous as you went over to his place. You ended up curled up in his bed with his arms around you, listening to him talk about his classes. Any courage you’d built up with Taehyung has dissipated on your walk over. 

“Is everything okay?” Jungkook asks as his hand rubs your shoulder. You nod as you avoid his concerned gaze. Was this the time to bring it up?

“Just tired,” you fib. 

“Oh, we can take a nap or I can walk you home if you’d prefer,” Jungkook offers. 

“Uh, no. That’s fine, Kook. I’d rather stay here,” you answer honestly. At least that’s a start. You’re not entirely sure why you’re this nervous. You think you’ve read the situation correctly enough to deduce Jungkook wants a relationship, but what if you’re wrong?

You felt like you were in too deep already. It wasn’t like you to become this attached to someone and the feeling both surprised and confused you. You didn’t want to mess this up, but you had to know.

Jungkook sits up when you do, his hand in yours, thumb softly rubbing circles into your skin. A soft kiss is planted on your shoulder.

“Jungkook?”

“Hm?” he responds, locking eyes with you.

“Can I ask you something?” you bite your bottom lip, and Jungkook quirked his head to the side. He’s never seen you so nervous. You’re usually bold with your words and clear with your thoughts, so he knows something must be bothering you. He hopes you’ve built enough trust to confide in him.

“Of course, anything you want,” Jungkook assures you, his hand squeezing yours.

“Do you, maybe, perhaps,” Jungkook raises a brow as he waits for you to finish your sentence. “Wantagirlfriend?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, trying to process what you’ve just said and it takes him a second before he clears his throat, cheeks rosy.

“I do,” he answers bashfully, avoiding meeting your gaze. His hand never leaves yours, though, and that alone is enough to reassure you.

However, Jungkook quickly wipes the smile from your face when he teasingly asks, “do I want a girlfriend, or do I want you to be my girlfriend?”

Your brain short circuits as you blink owlishly, feeling your face heat as you look down at your lap. You mumble something under your breath and Jungkook leans in closer to hear you but you refuse to speak until his lips press against yours and his tongue meets yours when he deepens the kiss by cupping your face. 

“Answer me, baby,” he commands with another kiss placed on your lips and your stomach flips at the pet name. His lips are gentle as they trail kisses down your neck, his body pressed to yours as you fall back onto the bed with him on top. Your hands find their way to his curly hair, tugging and pulling just to hear him moan your name in that way that makes your heart beat between your legs. 

Now, with Jungkook kissing you like you’re the only one for him, you’re almost embarrassed to think he wouldn’t want you as his but you still don’t answer him, not until he’s sucking on your neck, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. 

“Me!” You gasp. “Me! Do you want me as a girlfriend?!” 

Chuckling, Jungkook slowly ceases his attack on your neck and shoulder, his marks littering our skin but you don’t care as he sits up.

“I do,” he answers honestly, a small smile on his pretty pink lips. “Though I was planning on asking you after a few more dates.”

“Oops,” you smile sheepishly as he laughs, his pretty eyes squeezed shut and his nose scrunching cutely in that way you love. 

“So I’m impatient,” he scolds playfully as he pulls you to him, kissing your forehead. 

“I needed to know,” you grumble, earning another laugh from the sweet boy. 

“And now you do,” he grins as he kisses your cheek and you curl into his side, thankful that your worries were for nothing and perhaps Taehyung was finally right about something, all you had to do was ask Jungkook. 

“So,” Jungkook laces your fingers with his, bringing your joined hands to his lips. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

thank you for reading! ♡ if you liked it, please let me know! 💌

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

[marvelmusing]

Hiiiii! 🙃

Happy Holidays 🥰

I'm reading IAL from the beginning and I'm here bc 2 things came to my mind...

1. I'd looooooooove to hear Aleksander's comments when he reads the book. Especially on chapter 2 when Reader is still guessing what he thinks about her and the stuff they talk about

2. His reaction to the nightmares 👀

Pretty please gimme gimme 🥺 (no pressure!!!! I'm just a bit obsessed curious 🙈)

Hello!!!

Happy Holidays! ❤️🎄

I’ve actually been thinking about rewriting some IAL scenes from Aleksander’s point of view, but I’m not sure which ones people would want to see (so if you have any ideas let me know)

In Another Life AU drabble under the cut

-

The day after the In Another Life bonus scene…

When you find Aleksander seated at his usual chair in the war room he lifts his head up to watch you enter the room. A soft smile tugs at your husband’s lips as you make your way around the table towards him.

He shifts some of his papers out of the way, and you lift yourself up into sitting on the table, your legs knocking lightly against Aleksander’s knee as you swing them casually.

Looking down at the papers he had shifted, you spot a green book with a familiar title. Your voice is soft as you nudge the spine away from where it’s digging into your thigh.

“Is this?”

Aleksander’s smile is sheepish as he looks down at the cover.

“I know we started reading it together last night, but I couldn’t help myself.”

A smile tugs at your lips as you watch his expression fondly.

“So, that’s why you’ve hidden yourself away here all morning.” Aleksander chuckles quietly. “You’ve finished it?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m around halfway through Chapter Six.” You raise a brow at him, which prompts him into elaborating, “Mal has just found the stag.”

For a moment there’s a sense of deja vu. Only now Aleksander is the one telling you about the events in a book. His fingers curl around your knee, squeezing gently.

“I never meant to upset you.” He adds softly.

A frown creases at your brows.

“When Alina arrived at the Little Palace, I know we both kept our distance from one another, but I never meant to hurt you.”

To avoid meeting his eyes, you open up the book, adjusting the cloth bookmark placed between the pages at the point in which Aleksander has reached.

Your skills in reading Old Ravkan have improved over the last month, but the sentences still require a considerable amount of concentration for you to translate them.

His hand slides soothingly up your thigh, his thumb tracing circles over the fabric of your trousers.

“I know you weren’t trying to hurt me, Sasha.”

You curl your fingers around his wrist, squeezing in reassurance. His other hand settles on yours, and the warmth of his palm brings a small smile to your face.

He shakes his head.

“But I should have talked to you.” He sighs softly as he appears to consider something. “Do you know why I kept my distance?”

Frowning, you tilt your head slightly as you breathe out a response,

“No.”

“It had been several centuries since I last relied on someone else - confided in someone else.” His thumb traces lightly over your knuckles. “And here you were, offering to help me despite the fact that you knew who I was.”

Aleksander’s eyes are fixed on your hands, fingers entwined.

“I knew you hadn’t lied to me, but I was still struggling to believe that your intentions were genuine. It was almost too good to be true.”

“That’s why you searched my room.”

“I don’t know what I was expecting to find. Some letters, or a diary perhaps.”

“Instead you found the book.”

He nods.

Shadow and Bone was now tucked away safely on the top shelf of the bookcase to your right. Neither you nor Aleksander had opened it since the first time he had read it.

“I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.” He says quietly.

“I understand why you didn’t.”

“I was the only person you could talk to, and I pushed you away.”

“Don’t blame yourself for that. Please.”

His head tilts aside, affection and admiration in his eyes as he stands. Hooking a finger under your jaw, Aleksander presses a kiss against your cheek.

“I don’t know how you did it. How you managed to keep going in an unfamiliar world, with the odds against you at every turn.”

“Well I wasn’t alone.” You say with a small smile. “I had you. I knew you would keep me safe. That you would do anything to protect Ravka and our Grisha.”

Aleksander’s own smile is soft as he listens to your words. Our Grisha. There’s a small crease between his brows as he looks down for a long moment.

“I have something for you.” He tells you.

You frown. Only last night, he had gifted you the book sitting beside you - the one that detailed your life over the past year. You breathe out a fond laugh,

“Another present?”

There’s a peculiar sparkle in your husband’s eyes as he nods,

“You’ve allowed me to read your thoughts and experiences over the last year.”

He steps over towards his desk which sits at the side of the room, and pulls open a drawer. When he turns back to you, there’s a black leather-bound journal in his hands.

“I believe I should return the favour.” He says softly, holding the book out towards you.

The letters A.M.K have been embossed into the corner of the leather cover. No doubt it stands for Aleksander Morozova-Kirigan. Enough of his true name for him to feel like it’s his own journal, but enough of his current alias to discourage suspicion should someone find it.

There’s an intricate metal clasp that you struggle to open. Aleksander flicks his fingers delicately and a wisp of shadow slides into the clasp, unlocking it.

His smile widens slightly when he sees the impressed look in your eyes.

Opening up the pages, the delicate scrawl of your husband’s handwriting greets you.

Taking note of the date recorded on the first page you realise that this particular journey begun around a week before you arrived in Ravka.

Looking up at Aleksander, you find him studying your expression. For a long moment you’re not sure what to say.

“Sasha, are you sure?”

He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“If I am to know every part of you, then you deserve the same from me.”

[atherix]

👀👀👀👀 any birdie related wips in your back pocket

mmmmm Birdie related wips huh? I think I may have shared all but like... one. But this one is, yet again... MAJOR spoilers. And this time it is MAAAAAAAJOR 👀 That being said... continue at your own risk <3

--

The Alley is eerie from a distance but downright terrifying up close, Jimmy can’t help but think, his pale yellow wings curling around himself as he walks down the street. Barely old enough to make the trip to the temple on his own- his first time taking the Alley Roads and he has already veered off of his path, his offerings for the gods left beside the rickety wooden stairs out of the cavern.

It’s dark, only the light of his torch and the dim sunlight filtering in through the holes in the ceiling. For a ruin, he thinks, the Alley is surprisingly intact; the wood is still rich in color with no signs of rot. If it weren’t for the stones that had fallen through the roofs, crashed into the ground- if not for the charred edges of where fire burnt away an entire section of the city, it would look like a ghost town instead of a corpse.

It’s silent, and he imagines what it must have been like back then- bustling with life, full of energy.

He imagined a city full of people just like him.

He walks through the city, foot catching on loose stones occasionally, and turns around, looking at the ruin towering over his head. It looks like home, he can’t help but note. He wonders if there’s stone under the facades, too.

“What are you doing here?”

Jimmy screams, whirling around and stumbling back. No one is supposed to be here!

When he lifts his torch, the firelight just barely glimmers off of colorful wings and purple robes. It reflects in golden-brown eyes, and Jimmy’s breath catches in his throat.

A Watcher?

The stranger is perched on a bench, balancing on its back as if the wood isn’t more than a hundred years old already, tilting its head at him. “Well?”

“I-I’m sorry!” he stammers, too startled and uncertain to even so much as bow to the god in front of him- because certainly this is the god who struck down the Alley, this must be the god who punished the wayward gods who abused their power, tricked its people into following them into a whole new prison. “I was just- curious! About this place! My, uh, my grandparents told me stories! You see, their grandparents were born here but were brought to Icaria when they were young, and I was just trying to find their old house, and-”

“Ah, so that’s where the survivors went,” the god says, perking up. “I’m glad! I always worried they died on their way out of the Alley- the magic those Watchers released was very strong, it caused quite a... disaster here. Very few people survived, you see.”

Jimmy doesn’t quite understand what the god’s talking about but he nods anyway, smiling tightly. “I didn’t mean to intrude or anything, I’m just curious-”

“Oh, stop your trembling,” the god laughs, jumping off of the bench and stretching its arms above its head. “I’m not a Watcher, you silly bird. Well- I am, but not.”

“Huh?” Jimmy tilts his head now, confused, and draws his wings tighter around himself. “Uh- but you’re... in the Alley?”

“I was born here, too,” the god- or person, Jimmy isn’t sure now- laughs, waving a hand dismissively. “My name’s Grian. Grian Xelqua.”

“Grian...?” Jimmy repeats slowly. “Uh- oh, right, I’m Jimmy!”

“Weird name,” Grian deadpans, and Jimmy squawks. “Is that just a thing out there? Names like that? How do you even say that sound- that doesn’t sound Craftian to me. Sh? Gri- dri- Timmy? Nailed it.”

“My name’s not Timmy!” Jimmy protests, frowning. “And it is Craftian, thank you very much!”

“Mm, I’m not sure about that,” Grian says, raising a brow at him. “Sounds pretty- well, to be honest I haven’t exactly been anywhere else. But I have never heard that before.”

“You live in an abandoned cave- wait, did you say you were born here?” Jimmy asks, Grian’s words catching up to him. “Wait- how in the world- it’s been abandoned for like a hundred years now!”

“Right,” Grian agrees, nodding. 

“How in the world-”

Grian laughs, spreading his wings and taking off. “Well, Timmy, I think that is a mystery for you to figure out!” he calls down, and for a moment Jimmy swears he sees eyes.

He swallows. A Watcher but not, Grian had said. Something else- or something in between. "If you were born here!" he calls before Grian can fly away. "If you were born here, do you know anything about the Solidarity family?"

Grian pauses. "Solidarity..." he repeats slowly before dropping down again, landing in front of Jimmy- inches from his face. His eyes are calculating, curiosity and interest flitting across his face. "Now that you mention it, yeah, I see it. You look a lot like her."

"Who?" Jimmy asks.

"Emmy," Grian answers, wings ruffling. "Emmy Solidarity. Sweet lady- the Palace adored her embroidery. She made all our robes. She had a young son when the Alley fell."

"Emmy! Yeah, they named me after her," Jimmy says, wings puffing up in excitement. "She was my grandfather's great grandmother!"

"I see," Grian murmurs, scanning over him. "That explains a lot, actually. Do you feel drawn here?"

Jimmy blinks and opens his mouth, a denial on his tongue- but he stops, because...

Yeah. I do.

As if reading his mind, Grian grins. He holds out a hand to Jimmy. "I see. Well, Timmy, I suppose I can let you stick around. It's nice to talk to a person again."

[zappedbyzabka]

Saw your post on Older Paster Bobby x Younger Johnny and it gave me this idea of Bobby introducing Johnny to his closest friends Dutch, Jimmy, and Tommy and as soon as the three of them sees Johnny for the first time there thought is : “yea I’m going fuck this blonde twink”

👀👀👀👀

They can tell as plain as day that he has at the very least a crush on Bobby, and they suspect it isn’t unrequited.

Though it doesn’t look like they’ve done much together yet, Johnny still has raging virgin written all over him, and they think Bobby is insane for not doing something about that already. They can tell Johnny is aching for it, and not just from Bobby. He’s almost demure when speaking to them, looking perky and pretty, all "yes, sir." And "no, sir" when they ask questions, listening earnestly when any of them tell a story, and laughing at all their unfunny jokes.

Dutch especially likes the hint of an attitude that peeks through from time to time. He wants to make him even worse—to bring him to the dark side, so to speak. He can get Johnny past the whole staying pure till marriage thing. Though, the way Johnny looked at him when he talked about his time in jail tells Dutch that maybe that won’t be so hard. He would like nothing more than to pop Johnny's cherry, and he knows at least Tommy feels the same way because he’s being well-behaved, the way he used to act when girls were around way back when, small smiles much different from his usual bright grin and only quick glances at Johnny's cute little tits, but he’s becoming much less behaved the more he drinks. Jimmy is polite, as always, but makes an effort to talk to Johnny—asking questions and charming Johnny with his shy demeanor, not a single thing giving away his thoughts about breeding the boy over the very table they're sitting at, reaming that hole that he’s sure is just as sweet and tempting as everything else about him.

Bobby holdsJohnny’s thigh under the table, hand gripping tight and possessive. He knows his friends, and he knows what they want to do. Not that he’s completely opposed to the thought.

He feels extremely annoyed when Johnny sits up to use the bathroom and insists that Bobby stay and "talk to his friends; he doesn’t need a babysitter." Dutch following after him shortly after, and the other guys (Tommy) talking his ear off, preventing him from going after them.

And boy, does Dutch take advantage.

Johnny is already washing his hands when Dutch enters the bathroom, meeting Dutch’s eyes in the mirror when he walks closer, a coy smile on his face. "Hi."

Dutch smirks, stepping up to Johnny’s side and putting a hand on the counter.

"Hey, pretty boy."

Johnny raises a brow. "You need something or?…."

Dutch lets his eyes wander to Johnny’s behind, his hand itching to grab. "You could say that. Has he fucked you yet?"

Johnny’s eyes widen, and his cheeks turn pink. "Excuse me?"

Dutch presses himself up against Johnny’s back, his other hand going to Johnny’s hip. "You heard me. Has he even made you cum yet?"

"I…I can’t talk about that."

Oh. The answer is yes.

"Okay, go Bobby. Didn’t know he had it in him."

Johnny's hands clench into fists. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

There’s that attitude.

"Don’t worry, doll. Nothing against Bobby—that’s my guy—I just know he doesn’t tend to make the first move with that kinda stuff; he likes to make us work for it. And if I’m being honest...." He looks Johnny over in the mirror, "I liked the idea of being the first to ruin you."

Johnny spins around, grabbing Dutch’s shoulders roughly and kneeing him in the crotch. "Don’t fucking touch me." He snaps, leaving with an angry huff.

Okay, he deserved that—maybe even worse, Dutch thinks as he lays on the floor with his hands clutching at crotch.

He walks back out a few minutes later, determined not to have his tail between his legs despite the rejection—even if Bobby raises his brows at him like he’s saying, "You’re a dipshit."

Johnny is practically curled against Bobby, unable to look in Dutch’s direction, but he is looking at Jimmy—seeming very interested in everything he’s saying, and from Dutch’s perspective, he seems more focused on Jimmy’s arms and hands; Dutch can’t blame him.

"So, uh…" Jimmy makes eye contact with Dutch, his brows pinching at the look he’s given. "I, uh…"

Jimmy then makes eye contact with Johnny and gulp. "I have to go."

Tommy pouts, reeking of liquor. "But you said you’d do shots with me," he drawls out.

"You know he has a low social battery, Tommy; just let him leave." Bobby buts in firmly, and Dutch smiles at the way Johnny squirms.

"I’ll walk you to your car!" Tommy slurs, standing up and immediately tipping to the side, falling against Jimmy.

"Woah. "I think I should take you home too, bud."

Tommy says something incoherent in protest, but lets Jimmy pull him towards the door. "Bye, guys! Bye, Johnny!" He yells cheerily, and Jimmy keeps his head down so as not to see the annoyed faces of everyone in the bar. He’ll have a lot to think about when he gets home.

Dutch clears his throat. "So, where are you guys headed after this?"

Johnny looks at Bobby, and Bobby blinks at Dutch. "Probably my house?"

Johnny leans in, whispering something in Bobby’s ear, before pulling away with a small smile when Bobby whispers something back. "We’re gonna go too. Need a ride home?"

Dutch bites the inside of his cheek. "I’d like a ride alright," he murmurs, picturing a lithe blonde in his lap. "No, I’m fine, man. I have my motorcycle."

Bobby’s nostrils flare a little. "I don’t like when you ride that thing after drinking, what if—"

Dutch puts a hand up. "I only had, like, two drinks. I’m not a lightweight."

"But—"

"Just go, Bobby. I want to look for a hook up anyways."

Bobby narrows his eyes, but there’s worry in them. "Hook up as in?…"

Dutch grits his teeth. "Hook up, as in, I’m gonna find someone and fuck their brains out."

He takes great satisfaction in the way Johnny freezes up.

"Real nice language, Dutch." Bobby says blankly. "Just…be safe, okay? I don’t want you back in jail, or worse. We all care about you."

Dutch says nothing, just nods, then rests his chin on his hand and looks around the bar for a decent lay, ignoring the sound of Bobby walking out.

A hand touches his shoulder, and Dutch flinches a little.

It’s Johnny with something clenched in his fist. "I don’t want any issues with Pastor Brown’s friends, okay? Even if they’re a creep like you. So, here—" He drops the crumpled tissue on Dutch’s lap. "Bye."

Johnny doesn’t hesitate to walk away, giving Dutch zero chance to speak.

He cautiously picks the napkin up with his pointer and thumb, wondering if he pissed the boy off enough to drop a dirty tissue in his lap, but he drops the caution the second he straightens it out a little and sees numbers scribbled in clumsy ink.

Oh. Isn’t that a nice little gift?

He takes a sip of his beer, pulling his phone out of his pocket and typing in the digits.

[aurorag98]

This is how I imagine them in the car 👀

sorry this is so long, but it was all for framing and highlighting

“Well, I’m not, and never have been, the president of the United States.” “And if you were?” I looked at him from over my shoulder, a playful smirk appearing on his lips.

Olive believed in him, before everyone else, I know he keeps her in his heart (Mencken has a heart? it is very difficult to dive into this man's mind).

“He was from Brookline. My mom is from Medford. They would meet up in Hyannis to, ya know, rendezvous. Away from his wife.” He glanced over quickly, his brow sloping at the arch as he watched my face change at the realization.

And you do the same man? son of his father, god that makes me uneasy, the question Olive, do you want to be Jill (I do haha).

“Pretty sure the sheets have been washed in the last forty years, Olivia.” He squeezed my thigh reassuringly. “Some stains never come clean, Jeryd.”

exactly Olivia, run away while you can (I don't blame you if you don't 🫠).

Ironically enough, I wasn’t sure if I was talking about the stain that blemished my soul by proving that the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree in his regard.

Ouch 🥺 (beautifully written by the way)

If god was a woman, I figured, she wouldn’t be too mad at me for what I did. What I would do in the grand scheme of things.

What else are you going to do, Olive?

I love the way you write the smutty parts, they are very good, the intimacy of these two, the way they laugh, their chemistry, I love it.

“Those aren’t bad looking oysters.” Kimmy commented, a smirk appearing on her face as she sized Jeryd up.

Hahahaha no way! I really like Kimmy, but we won't know if she will be discreet or not, I'm laughing my ass off, I love romcoms.

Once Kimmy paid for her loot while I stood awkwardly to her side like a lost child, we followed her outside and down the block where my father sat unsuspectingly under a large parasol. Jeryd had tried and failed to walk the opposite way down the street, Kimmy giving us both a look as I pulled him back to me, knowing full well what had transpired in that bathroom, loving nothing more than to watch me sweat.

I take it back I don't love Kimmy so much anymore, how mean, but hey, how awful! poor Olive 😭

That’s when it hit me. Seeing them together, how close in age they were, wondering how many daddy issues I had to have for this particular moment to happen to me. Was there a set amount, like a ticket token, to hit the fucked up jackpot that I seemed to have won in that very moment. If I could have shed my skin and slithered away, I very much would have.

God, Olive, you're fucked up haha, this happened to a friend who's boyfriend is 45 and her dad is 50 💀 her mom said "well, they're almost the same age right?" hahaha.

“Make sure you stay away from those bad oysters, Liv.” Kimmy called out and I waved sheepishly back at her as Jeryd and I walked in the direction where he had parked the car.

She's just giving good advice to her stepdaughter hahaha although I wouldn't take that advice either, eat more bad oysters, Olive, all you want.

“You looked like a little kid at the adult’s table back there,” he finally said to me when we were inside the cottage, staring silently at one another across the kitchen bar.

😭😭😭😭 He's a son of a bitch! ( sorry Jill) but yeah, poor Olive, she's only 22 years old and she's in a relationship with a married man!! who is also her recent boss, how the fuck did he want her to react? she panicked.

“Yeah, like you haven’t been dragging me to hell everyday since I’ve known you!”

aaah Yes, Olive, tell him!

“I swear to god, the only thing that would make you happy is if I slapped a collar and leash on you and led you around town all night.” He said with a groan.

he's so hurtful, I don't know what I expected, poor Olive 🥺

“You let my mother fill your head with fucking delusions and get disappointed when I don’t meet your expectations.”

oh so his mother likes to say that to all his mistresses 🫠

cackling shrilly when he told me he would be president one day and would take me to the White House with him.

the truth is out hahaha

I rolled my eyes, “Maybe they’ll turn this place into a museum once you’re president and I will forever be emblazoned into American history.”

you're joking, but you like to believe it because it means that everything else he told you is true, Olive.

Sorry, I want to underline the whole chapter, everything is so frameable, I want to frame it haha, I loved it, I think it's my favorite chapter so far (even though I love this story too much 🥰) because it brings out all the problems in this relationship.

I really hate Jeryd for doing this, haha for blaming her for acting like a child when there is no way to act any different when she was hit with the reality that you are with an older person who is also married and the whole aspirational story thing about being president, what a low he fell, he sweetened her ear with lies or illusions anyway, by this point, I think he believes all his own lies too.

I can't stand the fact that he manipulated her, until then Olive was aware of what this was, (nothing really) it's true she fell in love and thought this was something more, but he crossed the line, at this point he made it personal, he really gave her hope and reality hit her with the appearance of Mencken's wife's car, God, it's so heartbreaking, I love him.

Sorry for how long this was, but every time I see the possible ending of this it's worse, up until then it was all in Olive's mind, now we know Jeryd actively contributed to those lies.

The Girl Next Door part VIII

Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC

Warnings: dubious content, affairs, sexual content, age gap, my improper use of commas. MDNI

A/N: When I tell you guys this chapter was a labor of love, I fucking mean it. We’re almost at the end, my friends. If anyone can predict accurately how this is going to end, I will give you one (1) forehead kiss. As always, thanks to @runningwiththefoxes and @vivalafae for dealing with my neurotic ass.

WC: 4426

My delusions hit an all time high when I woke up plastered to his chest the next morning. My hair, like inky black tendrils, spilled across his neck and shoulders, the rest of my limbs fitted to his, melting so dangerously close together that it was hard to tell where I ended and he began.

His gruff voice pulled me to the present, vibrating my caged chest.

“Hold still.”

I only hummed in response, too sleepy and drunk off him, his scent, to come up with any verbalisation that would’ve made sense at that moment.

We zoomed at one singular pace then, his hands finding purchase clasped together at the small of back, as I dozed back off.

When I woke again, I had rolled to my side, the comforter pulled up to the pillows where he had once been.

Walking around someone else’s house scantily clad made me feel dirtier than anything else we had done up to that point. Not that I was modest, heaven knows modesty was a trait I’d try my hand at and fail over the course of my life, but my presence felt like I was tainting someone else’s memories the cottage contained.

I floated lightly in the kitchen, tiptoeing about as I put a kettle of water on to boil. Jeryd was nowhere to be found and I only assumed he was out for a run or taking in the morning air. My curiosity getting the better of me, I eased down the hallway, to the first door on the right, my fingertips grazing across the penciled in heights and their corresponding dates along the door's frame.

Cautiously, I opened the door, revealing two twin beds, their comforters checkered in identical blue and black plaid, against two opposite walls. A photo of two young boys sat atop the small nightstand separating the beds. Simultaneously the kettle’s whistle and a set of hands on my shoulders caused me to shriek.

“You’re a bad influence!” I turned around and eyed him intensely before swerving past to grab the kettle off the eye.

“Never have I ever felt so sneaky and slithery!” I called from the kitchen, hearing his footsteps draw nearer.

He appeared behind me within seconds, leaning against the counter as I filled two teacups with scalding hot water, turning around to look at him as the tea steeped.

“Tell me, will I always be the blame for all of this or will you open your eyes and see yourself as a willing participant?”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “You’ve got me up here, half naked, making tea at daybreak, trying to figure out whose house I’m in.”

He mirrored my stance, closing his eyes with a deep sigh. “Okay, well, I didn’t ask you to make tea.”

He reached forward and grabbed the box containing the teabags, reading the back label with squinted eyes.

“This shit has probably been here since the sixties.”

“No,” I shook my head, “I snagged it from the store yesterday.”

“The sixties?” I questioned, “Whose house is this?”

He reached beside me, grabbing his respective cup of tea.

“My mother’s,” he stopped long enough to blow away steam and sipped carefully, “Do you want to see the deed for the house or do you believe me?”

I rolled my eyes at him.

“I believe you.”

“Shocking,” He commented sarcastically as he made his way over to sit at the breakfast nook.

“You fight in your sleep.” He commented, his voice still gruff and laced with sleep.

“I had to pin you close to me last night to keep from taking a right hook to the face.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to cuddle.” I laughed breathlessly as I snagged the chunky blanket from the arm of the couch and wrapped it around myself, making my way over to sit across from him.

“Hardly.” He eyed me over the rim of his teacup.

“What do we do after this?” I thrummed my fingertips across the tabletop. “When we get home... Surely a mission trip can’t last more than a few weeks.”

I slyly laid out a chance for him to come clean about his wife’s whereabouts.

“What are you going to do after Georgetown?” He asked, leaning back in his seat to eye me with the curious coolness he always undertook when regarding these subjects with me.

“I asked first.” I countered, sipping my tea confidently as I stood my ground.

“In terms of love, marriage, and a baby carriage?”

I shifted awkwardly in my seat, “Uh, not exactly what I meant for us.”

“Then what did you mean, Liv?”

“I have a soft spot for PR,” I watched as he stood up, grabbing his teacup, carrying it over to the sink, “but I think going the corporate route might be right for me, I don’t know.”

“Don’t deflect, Olive.” He chided, rinsing out his teacup, shaking his head at my poor attempt to cover my scent.

“I’m not,” I sighed, “I answered your question.”

“I answered your question last night.” He walked over, placing a firm finger over my lips before I could open my mouth to speak.

“Go get ready. Let’s have a good day, yeah?” He nodded down at me pleased with my obedience as I tucked my tail between my legs and made my way to the bathroom.

_________________________________________

I didn’t realize the extent of his hypocrisy back then, but it was, and still is, very much alive. Maybe that’s why I was so attracted to him; the hypocrite in me recognized the one in him. Or maybe it was the way we both compartmentalized any real feelings. No regard for his wife, my reputation, his reputation. I could choose when to feel my feelings, simply sliding them back on the shelf alongside my reservations, my nervousness, my general ability to know right from wrong, and everything else in between that kept me awake at night.

I sleepwalked through the museum he took me to, the only thought occupying my brain was the way he held my hand, coaxing me along through each exhibit.

When he finally spoke, I shook my head.

“What?”

“They preached traditional family values,” he motioned up to the photo of Jackie O and her young daughter swathed in JFK’s arms, “but he definitely had a wandering dick.”

“You’re not doing much to help your case.” I unlinked from his arm, reaching out to stroke a careful finger across the canvas.

“Well, I’m not, and never have been, the president of the United States.”

“And if you were?” I looked at him from over my shoulder, a playful smirk appearing on his lips.

“You ever heard of the Code of Hammurabi?”

I shoved him playfully, “Oh, shut the fuck up.”

The rest of the afternoon took on an airy feel. We lingered in downtown Hyannis before hopping back in his car, aimlessly driving until I suggested we visit Provincetown.

“We used to stay here every summer before my parents split.” I told him, eyes peeled to the window as I looked for any familiarity in the sites around us as the city unfurled itself.

“Funny,” he looked over at me, his right hand once again finding its usual spot, cradled against the meat of my thigh, “I used to spend every summer with my family in Hyannis.”

“Is the cottage a family place?”

“Well, sort of. No one has really used it since my dad kicked the bucket.”

I didn’t expect him to reveal that kind of information to me but I went with my first instinct, questioning, figuring he wouldn’t have given me that sliver of an inkling if he didn’t want to talk about it.

“When did he die?”

“I was sixteen, maybe? Heart attack on Christmas day.”

“Ouch,” I squeezed his hand, “that’s personal.”

“He was older.” He added, fingertips thrumming the dash and his thumb held closely to the wheel.

I nodded along, not really sure if treading lightly or shutting up altogether was the better option.

“He was from Brookline. My mom is from Medford. They would meet up in Hyannis to, ya know, rendezvous. Away from his wife.” He glanced over quickly, his brow sloping at the arch as he watched my face change at the realization.

I looked over at him, my eyes wide, “That’s scandalous, honestly, but I’m more worried about the bed we slept in.”

“Pretty sure the sheets have been washed in the last forty years, Olivia.” He squeezed my thigh reassuringly.

“Some stains never come clean, Jeryd.”

Ironically enough, I wasn’t sure if I was talking about the stain that blemished my soul by proving that the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree in his regard.

He smirked at me as he parallel parked on a side street.

We decided to hold off on eating until it cooled off, the June heat hitting its peak around the time we set off downtown, making us both amble in and out of the gift shops littering Commercial Street for any relief from its bleating rays.

“I could’ve spent the afternoon fucking you in the air conditioning, you know?” He grumbled as we walked back out into the heat.

I stopped, looking over at him, “Didn’t know that was an option.”

“Well, it was,” he grabbed my hand, pulling me closer to him, “but now we’re here.”

He eased behind me, hands on my hips, walking single file as a sea of tourists came our way.

“I could be right here,” he purred into my ear, his left hand snaking around my waist below my navel, applying pressure right at my pubic bone, “right where you like me.”

I looked around, sighing at the prospect of fucking him in the bathroom of a building that appeared to be painted with every color of the rainbow.

“How fucking old are we?” I asked as he dragged me inside the multi flavor shop, forgoing a response to the lady behind the counter as she waved and greeted us, her glazed over eyes following us with curiosity.

“Old enough to know better,” he flung the bathroom door open, slamming and locking it behind him as I backed myself up against the sink, “too stupid to care.”

It wasn’t long until he was fucking into me from behind, his hands grasped onto the porcelain basin as his nose found a place at the shell of my ear, occasionally rutting against the hair there.

Each time one of us glanced at the other in the mirror, we would laugh, each thrust distorting the sound amongst the sea of stickers, particularly ones that said Fuck The Patriarchy and God is a Woman, plastered along the neon tinged bathroom, the nineties track blasting loudly into the confined space.

If god was a woman, I figured, she wouldn’t be too mad at me for what I did. What I would do in the grand scheme of things.

Poetically enough, he pushed me to my knees, shoving himself into my eagerly waiting mouth. As his cock thickened and his whole body tensed, he pulled my head down to his root so he could come deeply down my throat.

A shrill knock on the door startled me and quickly scrambled to my feet, dragging my underwear ungraciously up my thighs.

“Uh, just a second!”

He clasped his belt and readjusted his shirt, reaching out to push my hair away from my face.

“Go and I’ll meet you out front.”

I nodded, cracking the door open enough so I could slide through the opening.

From behind, I didn’t immediately recognize her, but when she turned around, hands full of paraphernalia and niknaks, we both stood still, looking at one another in shock.

“Good god, Olivia, what are you doing here?!” She shoved her trinkets on an empty shelf by the bathroom door and pulled me into a hug.

“Hey, Kimmy,” I patted my step mother’s back whilst simultaneously feeling the blood drain from my face.

She pulled back to look at me, “Are you okay?”

I nodded profusely, reaching out to close the bathroom door as Jeryd tried to exit. The door unceremoniously bobbed open a few times, my hand applying more and more pressure against its spine as he tried the doorknob and I watched in absolute horror as Kimmy looked from me and over my shoulder as the door pounded on its frame.

“Had some bad oysters. You definitely do not want to go in there.” I lied, rubbing my stomach for a dramatic effect.

She nodded, eyes widening as she spoke, “Looks like they’re really putting up a fight.”

Once Jeryd really put his back into it, I went flying forward, the door creaking open as he walked out.

“Those aren’t bad looking oysters.” Kimmy commented, a smirk appearing on her face as she sized Jeryd up.

_________________________________________

Once Kimmy paid for her loot while I stood awkwardly to her side like a lost child, we followed her outside and down the block where my father sat unsuspectingly under a large parasol. Jeryd had tried and failed to walk the opposite way down the street, Kimmy giving us both a look as I pulled him back to me, knowing full well what had transpired in that bathroom, loving nothing more than to watch me sweat.

“Look who I found,” Kimmy announced as my father’s head swiveled around at the sound of her voice.

“Ollie!” He was on his feet in an instant, arms wrapping around me, lifting me off the ground momentarily.

“Hi,” I squeaked out, finding my footing as Jeryd shoved his hands deeply in his pockets. An unsettling smile pulled at his lips as he watched the scene unfold.

“What are you doing up here?” He asked and I looked over at Jeryd again like he was about to be my savior through the awkwardly crushing scene.

“Field trip,” I shrugged, “We broke off from some of the students to grab a bite to eat and ran into Kimmy.”

“Liv had bad oysters,” Kimmy added with a sympathetic nod, “She was absolutely dying in the bathroom when I knocked.”

Jeryd's eyes narrowed at me and I closed mine long enough to regain blood flow to my brain as it misfired along with Kimmy’s recounting of what happened.

“He’s a professor at Stony and I’ve been working with him. A bunch of us decided to, uh, come see Plymouth monument and hit the Kennedy museums.”

My father turned slightly, the heavy chair dragging across the pavement, and looked at Jeryd.

He stood, offering his hand, doing the awkward white male handshake that men of their age tend to default to.

That’s when it hit me. Seeing them together, how close in age they were, wondering how many daddy issues I had to have for this particular moment to happen to me. Was there a set amount, like a ticket token, to hit the fucked up jackpot that I seemed to have won in that very moment. If I could have shed my skin and slithered away, I very much would have.

“Why don’t you guys sit and eat with us?”

I looked at Jeryd for any sign of confirmation but he very much let me know, silently, of course, with a look, that I was in the lead here. When I sat down, he pulled a chair from the table beside ours and pushed it next to mine.

I heard my father explain something about an annual car show and if I spoke to my dad regularly, maybe I would’ve been able to avoid running into him altogether. Other than that, their words were muffled. My inner monologue bleating, debating on fleeing the scene altogether, I wished for nothing more than to be a man in that moment. Men don’t care when things are awkward, and from an outsider’s perspective, nothing was wrong at the table. But the way Kimmy looked at me, the way her eyes dragged along my face, I knew she would eventually want to know what exactly I was doing and who I was doing it with.

Somewhere between the constant droning about the weather, the political climate, and shared similarities, Jeryd and my father finally shut up. Their constant chatter had been filler for me, and I suddenly felt small when they all looked at me, waiting as if I was supposed to chime in.

“I think that dinner reservation is ready, Professor.”

Jeryd cleared his throat, “Right, of course, it was nice to meet you both.”

We both rose, him stepping back enough to give me space for goodbye embraces, listening to me make excuse after excuse as to why I hadn’t been to visit them.

“Make sure you stay away from those bad oysters, Liv.” Kimmy called out and I waved sheepishly back at her as Jeryd and I walked in the direction where he had parked the car.

_________________________________________

The ride back to the cottage was tense and quiet. He didn’t reach over to touch me, nor did he make any effort to speak to me.

“You looked like a little kid at the adult’s table back there,” he finally said to me when we were inside the cottage, staring silently at one another across the kitchen bar.

“What?” I shook my head, scoffing at him.

“You just,” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “you locked up. I’ve never seen you look so small.”

I shrugged, looking away from him in what I would describe now as hot, bubbling shame.

“I fucked up by bringing you here.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked into the living room.

“What was I supposed to do?!” I cried out, following him closely. “She saw us basically come out of the bathroom together.”

“You could have, I don’t know, let me walk away like I was trying to do.” He turned around and looked at me and for the first time, I saw him genuinely upset.

“But, no,” he continued, “you had to drag me right down with you, didn’t you?” He spat.

I laughed incredulously at him, all the while stepping closer and closer to where he stood. “Yeah, like you haven’t been dragging me to hell everyday since I’ve known you!”

He let out a shrill laugh, his canines showing, before leaning down closely into my face, “You know what this has always been about. You made your choice. You’re happy to take the perks that come with being my mistress. Don’t act like you’re some poor, innocent woman. You always knew exactly what this was, what we are.”

“Perks?! There are perks,” I let out a shaky laugh, “Please tell me what they are and where the fuck I can find them!”

He shook his head, walking over toward the window, maintaining a safe amount of distance from me.

“I swear to god, the only thing that would make you happy is if I slapped a collar and leash on you and led you around town all night.” He said with a groan.

“The only thing that would make me happy is if you weren’t such a lying hypocrite.” I stalked back towards the bedroom in a fury, grabbing my overnight bag, stuffing my strewn out contents wherever they would fit, dragging it to the bathroom to grab my toiletries and dirty clothes.

“What are you doing?” He appeared in the doorway, a look of discomfort and disdain painting his features at my very presence.

“Going home,” I brushed past him, making my way towards the living room.

“Like hell you are,” he jerked the bag I was holding, effectively pulling me back to him like a rubberband threatening to snap.

“Is this how you act every time your wife leaves?” I jerked the bag again but I was no match against his ironclad grip. “You do her like this?”

I watched as he unzipped the bag, dumped it upside down, the contents hitting the floor like broken glass at our feet.

“A fucking mission trip?” I laughed at him, “She fucking left you and it’s no goddamn wonder!”

He pressed me against the wall, his forearms resting on either side of my head as he seethed down at me. His jaw clenched and for a moment, I closed my eyes, gearing up for whatever he was about to unleash upon me.

“You let my mother fill your head with fucking delusions and get disappointed when I don’t meet your expectations.”

I shook my head, “I had expectations for someone I knew couldn’t meet those expectations, so that’s my fault for expecting anything from you at all.”

He moved away from me, allowing me to sidestep him, easing my way into the bedroom across the hall. When I locked the door, I heard him sigh, a heavy hand smacking against the door caused me to jump.

“I’ve never cried because of someone’s lack of feelings for me, you know? I’ve never had anyone to cry over in that regard. You’re the first, and you’ll also be the last, or so help me god through this embarrassment.” I yelled at the door, hearing him sigh again, footfalls growing more distant as he walked through the house and away from the scene.

Eventually I fell asleep in one of the twin beds, its stale sheets and comforter providing me with a false sense of comfort amongst the discord.

_________________________________________

I woke up on my side facing the wall. For the most part, I slept contentedly, only waking when I heard Jeryd messing with the door, the knob jingling erratically as he tried unsuccessfully to pick the lock. I thought about asking him to stop a few times, wondering why he even gave a solitary fuck about getting inside, but realized my silence was far more personal than any words I could mutter.

“I’m tired of acting like I don’t care, because I do. I fucking do, and that’s what makes this even worse.”

I jumped as he spoke from behind me, rolling over to see that he had crammed himself in the opposite twin bed, legs bent and arms crossed against his chest, his words making him grimace as if his own honesty was poisoning him.

“Don’t,” I shook my head, “it’s too late for a death row confession.”

“I just spent three hours breaking into this room to get to you.” He sat up and looked at me, head cocking to the side when I didn’t flinch at his declaration, “I thought about leaving you here last night, you know?

I rolled my eyes, sighing. “I wish you would have.”

“I made a shitty decision and you’re a testament to that matter, but you don’t get to decide my feelings for you.” He said, finally looking comfortable enough to continue, “I may not sail a thousand ships for you, but if I didn’t give a fuck, I wouldn’t have continued this past the first night.”

Somehow over the course of us staring at one another silently, gauging eachother’s temperaments, he made his way over to my respective bed, climbing in behind me, molding himself around my body.

I listened intently as he told me about his train wreck of a marriage, “I chose my wife because she provided stability and consistency and safety and kindness and support. We were not exactly madly in love when we married. Our marriage was based on a set of rational, mutually beneficial criteria and we’ve built it from there. I make no claim that it is a passionate, fiery love. But we do love each other,” his long term political goals, cackling shrilly when he told me he would be president one day and would take me to the White House with him.

“She will wise up and leave me in the next few years.” He said in regards to his wife.

It was stupid to indulge myself in his fantasy but it felt good.

He told me how he and his brother used to lay in the twin beds, cooking up ideas on how they could both be President at the same time. Jason, who I later learned was the other set of initials on the doorframe, gave up and decided on being a professional baseball player sometime after he turned fourteen, giving it up altogether to become a lawyer once most of his childish notions left him. But Jeryd, he clung to his dream, and I felt somewhat flattered that he decided to share it with me.

It was far-fetched, but so was the idea of us laying together, spinning our web of lies, content to fall even deeper without any regard for how hard the impact would be when we landed.

Eventually we both fell asleep with his aspirations in full force in the background.

_________________________________________

Leaving the cottage felt almost bittersweet. On one hand, I felt like I had survived a war, and on the other, I felt like we had made a breakthrough of sorts amongst the rubble we were leaving behind.

Before we left, though, he made it a point to back me up against the guestroom’s door frame, marking my height against the wood, my full adult height paling in comparison to the teenage boy’s marked far above.

“A little pointless, don’t you think?” I asked as I turned around and watched as he marked my initials above the new line.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “You’ll be back and we will see if you’ve grown any.”

I rolled my eyes, “Maybe they’ll turn this place into a museum once you’re president and I will forever be emblazoned into American history.”

He managed to crack a smile at me before carrying my bag out to the car.

The ride back to Stony Brook felt shorter than it had on the way to Hyannis. We stopped once for gas and another time so we could climb in the backseat and fuck once we both realized we had gone twenty four hours without touching one another and the prospect of reentering secretive society really took hold.

We made plans to run together the following morning as we said our goodbyes in the university’s parking lot. I took the long way home once I was back in my car, timing it perfectly as I watched his front door close as I pulled into my driveway.

Only this time, his car wasn’t the only car parked in his driveway.

Taglist: @aurorag98

[pagesfromthevoid]

Okay so I just binged all of Whatever the Poets Say and I am obsessed. May I be added to the taglist please? 💕😊

Whatever the Poets Say | b.b. | 18

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Smut! Loss of virginity. Fingering. P in V. Porn with a plot. Slight cockwarming? But not really? Idk that’s what I felt like it was I’m sorry

Author’s Note: Yes! This is your first tag lol. Sorry for the late update, but hopefully it’s worth it 👀

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me

“We will take things as slow as you need, my love.”

Slow was not what she wanted, truthfully. Slow was agonizing; it was lighting a fire in her stomach that was spread lower and lower. It was not nerves that were making her tremble. Benedict’s observation was only half accurate. While she was shaking, she was not shaking because she was nervous. She was shaking from anticipation. All she wanted was him and all she needed was his touch –of which he had taken from her too quickly.

Back pressed against his chest still, she huffed some, considering what to do. She hesitated for a second then slowly unbuttoned her night gown, allowing a rather scandalous look into her cleavage. While she was still covered, the sides of the dress opened enough to expose her skin down to her stomach, resting on her shoulders precariously. Benedict looked bewildered as she took his hands in her once more.

“Benedict, please,” she insisted. As he tried to answer, she sat up, turning in to face him on her knees. His legs still spread, with her sitting between them now.

His brow furrowed for a moment as she placed his hands on her shoulders. Her hands rested on top of his, slipping her fingers between his now, and she slowly slid their hands down. The fabric of her nightgown slipped with their movement, sliding down her arms. The silky expanse of her skin was exposed to the air –exposed to him. The feeling of his calloused palms against her bare skin as her nightgown slipped off her was intoxicating, only adding fuel to the fire that was no longer a slow inferno. No, it was now a wildfire, spreading throughout her body and lingering in the places that his skin touched hers.

The angle that they sat at was a bit awkward, but as she guided his hands further down, pushing the neat fabric with them, she made sure to keep his hands on her skin. Benedict did not fight her; he allowed her to move him as she pleased, setting her own pace. If he was honest with himself, he would let her do anything she wanted to him even if she wasn’t trying to figure it out herself. But this was their moment to learn together, and he was not going to interfere with that.

Their hands slid over her chest next, back into place from earlier. Her nightgown was still covering her breasts, though it was certainly threatening to fall further down if she removed their hands. Benedict watched her for a moment, waiting to see what she wanted him to do next. However, when she didn’t make a move, he gently squeezed.

The sound that escaped her lips was positively sinful and Benedict was determined to hear it again.

She swallowed hard after a second, taking a breath. Then she pushed his hands away, allowing her nightgown to fall to her waist. She had nothing underneath it; no corsets, no chemise. There was never a need to wear such things to bed. But to suddenly know this –to suddenly be so aware that she was, in fact, naked under her nightgown did spurred something in Benedict. Seeing her bare before him –she was his. All his. And she was…perfection.

While she did not hide herself from him, allowing him to gawk further, she did keep her eyes anywhere but him. There was no shame she felt about her physical appearance; there was enough confidence in herself to know she was pretty. But she was suddenly aware that Benedict was staring at her, seeing her for the first time. And she was worried to see his face. Worried that –what if he did not like what he saw? There was certainly no way to back out now; not with how much scandal it would cause. Or the fact that she had given more to him than she probably should have as an unmarried woman. And that would be a mark in her ledger forever, she wouldn’t be able to find another husband if Benedict decided he –

“You are…the most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on,” he suddenly whispered, voice laced with awe as he fell back into the pillows of her bed.

Finally, her attention returned to him, taking in his wide eyes and slack jaw. Truly, Benedict Bridgerton was mesmerized by his future wife. She was a siren, entrapping him with her beauty and grace. Everything about her was just so enticing for him –slow seemed to have been stolen from his tongue and mind as he reached out and took hold of her hips. Her nightgown still rested at her waist, but Benedict was growing impatient, lifting her up carefully to allow the fabric to fall further down her body and pool on the bed at her knees. She looked down again, feeling the cold air of her room wrapping around her exposed lower half. But Benedict lifted her chin, coaxing her into looking at him.

“Let me show you how good you can feel,” he whispered, free hand holding her hip gently and pulling him closer. “Let me show you how much I adore everything about you, my love.”

She nodded once, slowly, as if she was considering otherwise. But the small smile that spread over her face said it all. “Show me, Benedict.”

Like a man starved, Benedict pulled her in by her chin and kissed her passionately. This kiss was different from the ones they had shared previously. This kiss was frantic, and hungry. He was kissing her like this was the last time he ever would. But they had kissed enough that she knew how to react to his movements, no matter how strong they were this time. She wrapped her arms around his neck, falling into him as her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. Benedict hummed in delight, his tongue parting her lips carefully –testing the waters. She followed his silent command, opening her mouth and allowing him to slip his tongue in.

Hand dropping from her chin to rest on her other hip, Benedict rolled them over. Their kiss broke as she looked up at him with wide, lust filled eyes and swollen lips and her back against the sheets again. He hovered over her, hands resting on either side of her body now as he looked over her naked form lovingly. Bare beneath him –like he had dreamed of so many times before –and she was even more angelic than he ever imagined. His deepest imaginations had nothing on reality. Every freckle, every curve –he wanted to remember everything.

“Let me paint you one day,” he whispered, looking her over slowly before finally meeting her eyes.

“Naked?” She asked, looking surprised for a moment.

“Naked, clothed, I don’t care. Let me paint you.”

She nodded excitedly, smiling brightly up at him as she reached up and pulled him back into a kiss. Benedict wasted no time returning the gesture, while also reaching down to remove her nightgown entirely. He threw it across the room, not caring where it went. Her hands moved from his jaw, back down his chest. Her touch was more confident now –she had done this once before. She didn’t need to be nervous again. The drag of her nails against his skin caused Benedict to hum in excitement, the sound vibrating against her tongue as they kissed.

It was when her hand paused just above his belt line, where his pants hung on his hips, that she finally looked up at him with concern. But Benedict simply smiled at her reassuringly, one hand resting on hers as he helped her slowly unbutton his pants and slip them over his hips. Her eyes dragged down his chest, flicking up to his face a few times, before she finally took in what she had only read about in books.

“That’s…that’s going inside me?” She whispered in surprise, as if she was trying to determine how it would be possible. “Is it…will it fit?”

Books did not necessarily explain the process; they simply indulged in it. It was not a guide; there was no explanation of the starting points. Just that it…worked. Typically, at least.

Benedict couldn’t help but chuckle, nodding as he reached up and ran his thumb over her cheek gently. “I promise it will. I need to help you feel ready for it, though.”

“And it is going to hurt,” she stated knowingly, frowning some.

He nodded again. “A bit, yes. If I am as skilled as I like to think I am, hopefully it won’t though. Not terribly, at least.” He paused for a second then his cheeks turned a bit red. “Have you…well…”

“Have I what?” She asked, frowning some.

He took a breath, trying to keep himself from feeling foolish. Benedict was the expert here; he needed to know. It was to help her feel good. “Have you ever…touched yourself? Under your skirts?”

She stared up at him, brow furrowing as she processed his question. It was a question she had never been asked. Not by a man, at least. Annalise had certainly told her about the sensation of…touching one’s self. Had explained that sometimes, men just weren’t very good at making women feel good. That sometimes, “a lady must do it herself. Like with most things in life.” Anna had made it clear that it was not a bad thing to do, even if Lady Everly had said otherwise. Her stories were what usually made her want to touch herself, but lately…

“I…I have, yes,” she admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up. But she couldn’t say it was from embarrassment –it was a new found confidence she suddenly felt. “To the thought of you, if I am truly honest.”

They watched each other for a moment, Benedict’s body going rigid at her admission. He was hard against her thigh, and it took all her willpower not to look at him. Their eyes were locked, staring each other down as Benedict imagined her, alone in her bed, touching herself –to the thought of him. It made his stomach turn, realizing that she truly wanted this just as much as he did.

“Can I touch you, love?” He asked, tone rushed but soft as he ran his thumb over her bottom lip.

There was no hesitation in her quick, “Yes, please,” and Benedict grinned at her eagerness.

His mouth was on hers again with a new found urgency, his pointer and thumb holding her chin as he kissed her hard. His other hand, which was sitting on her hip, had begun to drift down. She shivered from the drag of his fingers over her skin, her hands tightening in his hair at the touch. Distracting her from the sensation of his hand so close to her most intimate places, Benedict pulled his mouth from hers to kiss along her jaw. Her head fell back, allowing him to trail kisses from her jaw down her throat. His fingers flicked just barely between her legs, spreading them so he could better access her.

Her breath hitched in her throat, eyes closed as he ghosted his touch over her arousal. Benedict kept his hand still, allowing her a moment to get used to his touch there. She was radiating warmth, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself there. But he knew better; he knew she needed to adjust. Keeping her attention anywhere else, he dragged his lips from her throat over her collarbone, then down further until his tongue lapped at one of her pert nipples. Her gasp at the sudden sensation caused her hips to buck, meeting his hand in a gentle grind. The friction of his hand against her most sensitive place was overwhelming for a moment as she pulled at his hair again. Benedict’s teeth grazed over her nipple now, nipping at it before he sucked it into his mouth.

His hand that rested between her legs now shifted, fingers lightly dancing between her wet folds. Benedict couldn’t help but groan at how aroused she was; her slick coated his fingers as he pressed a single finger into her. She inhaled sharply, involuntarily pulling back at the sensation. While she had touched herself before, his one finger was bigger than her own and the stretch stung some.

“It’s okay,” he reassured, pressing a kiss to her collarbone softly as he stopped his movements. She took a breath, nodding once.

He picked up his movements once more, slower this time. She didn’t flinch now as he pressed into her, slipping one finger in. She did squirm some at the feeling of him inside her, but even as he simply waited for her to adjust, she couldn’t help how her body clenched around his middle finger. His palm pressed against her mound as he relaxed his finger inside her and he looked up at her face.

“You are doing so well,” he promised, pressing kisses over her cheeks and lips as he pressed his finger deeper inside of her. “I’m going to start moving, is that alright?”

She nodded frantically, her hand gripping his upper arm as he slowly pulled his finger out then pushed it back in. It slipped in far quicker this time, eased in by how wet she was already. Her nails dug into his skin as he quickened his pace, sliding his middle finger in and out of her with ease. She had stopped flinching now, instead arching into his touch as she chanted his name like a prayer falling from her lips. Her hips were bucking up, meeting him between touches, as a second finger slowly pushed its way into her folds. The stinging returned, but it didn’t last as both his fingers settled inside her.

Benedict waited a moment, allowing her to adjust once more, before he continued his movements. She dropped her hands to the sheets, clutching them tight as he sped up once more. His name dripped from her lips, breathy and sighing in pleasure as he brought her closer and closer to ecstasy. She knew what that felt like –sort of, at the very least. She had brought herself there before, but it had never been this intense; never this…tight inside of her belly.

“Oh, Benedict,” she sighed, just barely more than a whisper as she tumbled over the edge. Her entire body tensed, clenching around his fingers as she came undone.

Benedict leaned in, catching her breathy moans with his mouth as he kissed her through her orgasm. Her hands found his face once more, holding him close as she returned the kiss with a new found hunger and need. If Benedict was a man starved, she was a woman on the brink of death and he was her only life line.

As her body finally relaxed, and her breathing was coming down from her high, Benedict pulled back from her. His fingers slid out with ease, coated in the ecstasy that she had just experienced. His forehead rested against hers gently, his signature grin gracing his lips. She took a breath, closing her eyes for a moment before finally smiling up at him. He took in every piece of her –the blissful smile on her lips, swollen from his kisses, the way her hair was mused from her reactions to his touch –planting the image permanently in his mind.

“How do you feel?” He asked, voice soft but laced with lust. She could feel just how hard he was against her still; feel the warmth of his length pressed into her thigh.

“Amazing,” she admitted, though there was no shame in her voice as she reached up and touched his cheek. “Better than amazing. I feel…I feel…almost weightless.” Her fingers trailed across his jaw, taking in how he felt with tingling fingertips. But that tingling –it was all over and fading. “I need you, Benedict. All of you –please.”

It felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Her sweet voice –so sure, so confident –pleading for him. While she certainly was not begging for him, it was close to that. Benedict thought he could come then and there. But he nodded, moving now to hover over her on the bed. His hands rested on either side of her head, with a knee between her legs as he gently spread her further.

“I love you,” he reminded her, a smile on his lips. “I love you more than you will ever know —but I can show you.”

Her eyes lit up, her smile reaching her eyes as she rested her hands against his cheeks. “I love you too.”

Benedict pulled back, sitting on his knees in front of her now. She pushed herself up on her elbows, watching as he stroked himself slowly. The way his eyes roamed over her body ignited another fire in her belly; she wanted him so bad. It almost hurt. It was like he was drinking in her image —spread for him on her back; slick with her first orgasm from his hands; waiting for him.

Freeing his cock, he reached for her legs, pulling her gently down the bed and closer to him. She almost laughed from the sensation —an involuntary reaction, really —as he hooked his hands under her knees to spread her out further for him and pull her close enough that his hips were pressed against her inner thighs. Her throat bobbed, swallowing hard as he took himself in his hand once more. Then, with one hand supporting himself, he rested above her once more.

Chest to chest, with her pert nipples brushing against him each time her chest rose in breath, Benedict smiled down at her. Her body tensed when he pressed the tip of his cock against her folds —but he didn’t press in. He simply ran the head over her slick, allowing her to feel what was coming.

“Tell me if it hurts too much,” he ordered gently. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

She simply nodded in response, closing her eyes as she prepared herself. Benedict watched for a moment before he slowly pressed forward, slipping himself into her carefully. Her hands immediately reached up, grabbing his arms and digging her nails in. Even though he hadn’t even penetrated her yet, she was tensed up. Expecting the worst; expecting pain.

“Relax, my love,” he whispered, maintaining his weight on his elbow while reaching up with his free hand. He took her hand, intertwining their fingers and whispering her name softly. “It’s okay. We can stop —if it hurts —“

“No,” she quickly interrupted, shaking her head. She opened her eyes to finally look up at him. “Please don’t stop, Benedict. Please.”

He nodded, squeezing her hand once more. Shifting his weight some, Benedict slowly pushed forward once more. Her hand squeezed his tight as her other hand’s nails dug into the skin of his arm. He leaned in, capturing her mouth with his as his hips rolled forward, finally and properly allowing himself to enter her. The gasp that escaped her lips was swallowed by his kiss though, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth and distract her from the sting.

Her eyes were screwed shut, trying to ignore the sting of him stretching her out as he paused. He was almost bottomed out, but he wanted her to adjust; to get used to the feeling. Her nails in his shoulder only dug deeper —certainly he’d have marks afterwards —as she returned his kiss with a new found fervor. She shifted under him, feeling how much he really filled her, before trying to pull him closer to her by his shoulder. Benedict took this as a sign to continue, easing his entire cock into her folds finally as their hips finally met.

There was no helping the moan that slipped out of Benedict’s mouth as she clenched around him. She was tight around him as her head dropped back onto the pillows. Any discomfort or pain had subsided, and she simply laid there and basked on how full she felt with him inside her. It was…it was remarkable. Benedict hovered over her, relishing how amazing it felt to be buried inside the woman he loved. Staring down at her as he memorized how blissful she looked by his having him there.

“I’m going to move now,” he murmured, untangling their fingers for a moment to push her hair from her forehead. He held her chin gently, meeting her eyes with a smile. “You look beautiful, you know.”

“There’s…you’re going to move?” She asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Benedict laughed, unable to help it. “Did you really think this was all?” When she nodded sheepishly, he couldn’t help but lean in and kiss her again, grinning into it. “You are a brilliant woman. You’ve taught me quite a bit since we met. But tonight, I am going to teach you something, my love.”

As she opened her mouth to ask what he could be teaching her, Benedict pulled out almost entirely. She whined at the sudden loss of him; how empty she felt suddenly. But his hips snapped forward —not terribly hard but enough to cause her to cry out in surprise. Benedict grinned, a bit deviously, as he repeated the motion once —twice. Three times now. It was slow, careful; she needed to get used to it and he didn’t want to hurt her.

However, the breathy, “Oh,” simply confirmed all he needed to know: she felt good.

As his pace picked up, she reached up to take his face in her hands and pull him into a deep kiss. Benedict shifted, allowing him to continue his quickening thrusts, while kissing her back. Her hands left his jaw and ran up into his hair, pulling at the roots. He hummed at the feeling, but he gasped when she nipped at his bottom lip. Clearly feeling confident, she slipped her tongue back into his mouth as his thrusts got harder.

Their tongues tangled together as the sounds of skin on skin filled the empty space of her bedroom. Her knees had pulled themselves up instinctively, with one of her legs wrapping around his waist as if to pull him even closer. Her hips had begun to move to meet his movements as well, feeling him fill her entirely and chase his touch more and more as the coil inside her tightened.

Benedict pulled back from the kiss, training his lips down her cheek, and over her jawline. The trail of messy kisses was hot against her skin as he nipped at her throat next, earning an excited yelp from her. He kissed her neck again, smiling into the soft skin there as his hips began to stutter. His weight shifted again, with his forehead now pressed against her neck as he reached down and wrapped both her legs around his waist. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to her as his movements got sloppier, driving himself deeper into her.

The coil is her belly suddenly snapped, and she cried out his name as her orgasm washed over her senses. Every part of her was on fire; tingling from head to toe as she pulled at the hair on the back of his head. But Benedict didn’t stop his thrusts, they only became more erratic as he chased his own release. Feeling her come around his cock brought him even closer than before, and pulling her through the waves of her orgasm only turned him on more.

She cried out as she came down from her release, overwhelmed and sensitive, because he was still pounding into her. But just as sudden as her orgasm was, so was his sudden removal from inside her. She whined at the loss —both from feeling suddenly empty without him as well his back under her hands —as Benedict pulled back, releasing himself onto her stomach.

His forehead pressed against hers, his breathing heavy as he closed his eyes. She reached up once more, taking his face in her hands again. Her eyes were on him, taking in the blood that had rushed to his cheeks as he came. Felt how hot his skin was against hers. It was a beautiful, almost haunting sight. One that she would dream of every night until she could see it again. The sticky feel of his release on her belly was less than ideal, but it was certainly the least of her concerns.

There was no guilt or shame inside her. She did not regret what they had just done. If she was honest with herself, she wanted more; but the sensitivity of her body was too overwhelming at the moment. She needed to recover; certainly Benedict would need to as well, right?

After a moment, he finally rolled off of her and onto the bed. He ran his hands over his face, then looked at her with that grin of his and rested his hands on his chest. His eyes trailed over her cheeks, down to her swollen lips, and then over her body. He blushed a bit, as if he just realized where he had finished.

“Oh hell,” he chuckled, running his hand over his face once more. Then he rolled over to the side of the bed, searching around the room for a moment. She watched him curiously as he snatched his ascot tie from the floor and returned to her. “I don’t think you wish to be covered in…that all morning,” he explained, wiping away at her belly to clean her up.

“I suppose you really must marry me now,” she whispered, unable to keep herself from laughing as well. The image of him cleaning himself off her body was one she would not be forgetting any time soon.

“As if I had plans to not marry you,” Benedict scoffed, tossing the soiled tie to the floor once again.

He pulled the blankets back over their bodies and laid on his side, inching himself closer to her. His cheek rested in his palm and he looked over at her with a lazy grin. She turned to lay on her side as well, hands resting under her pillow as they gazed into each other's eyes. It was a silent gaze, saying everything and nothing all at once.

But she couldn’t help herself, simply smitten by how lovely he looked. “Do you know how beautiful you are, Benedict?”

His brow furrowed for a second, his cheeks reddening as he casted his eyes down. “I…” He didn’t know what to say. No one had called him beautiful before. Handsome, lovely, good looking. But never beautiful. And dear god, it made his heart ache suddenly. She thought he was beautiful. “I do not deserve you.”

“None of that now,” she corrected, reaching one hand out to brush his cheek. “You deserve to be loved, and I love you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes once more. “And I love you, my soon-to-be Mrs. Bridgerton.”

———

Taglist: @queensgirl718 @drowninginaseaofbooks @severewobblerlightdragon @wildflowerel @just-an-ace-elf @kamala-khann @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake

[x-amount-verbs]

A Helping Hand - Part 28

[start here] || Part 27 || Part 28 || Part 29

[Silco POV for 24, 25, 26, 27, if you missed them]

[awesome art of riding crop Silco from @steponmesilco icymi 👀]

[silco x f!reader] [2.6k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [rated M] [needle and blood mentions] [tween Jinx] [gun-related PTSD]

AO3 Link

“Okay, I know I’m probably going to regret this, but… what happened with you two?”

Sevika is propped up against the wall beside where you’re poised with one of Jinx’s paintball guns, while the kid herself is tinkering with the settings of the moving targets, and drawing up new ones on the plywood that used to be a barrier to the first floor of the warehouse.

“Me and Jinx?” You may be being purposefully obtuse. “Nothing. Why?”

Her flat look isn’t fooled. “The old man.”

“He’s not that old.”

Dark brows raise, and you realize too late that she may not have been quite so aware as you thought, but that little slip up certainly helped.

“He’s at least ten years older than you,” she points out. “So I think it’s fair to call him the old man.”

“Younger than my parents would be.”

Her look seems to say that you’re missing something. It screams at you to listen to something, and you can’t tell what hidden message she’s hearing.

“That’s your criteria?” she asks incredulously. “If he’s old enough to be your father?”

“Gods, no, I just— he isn’t, okay? He’s just—”

Wide eyes and a tilted chin warn you you’d better not be saying what she thinks you’re saying. You wince.

“Nevermind.”

Sevika shakes her head. “He’s like 60,” she deadpans.

“What?! Fuck, Sevika, he’s like 42!” You should not feel this defensive over your boss’s age. Sevika’s sidelong smirk seems to agree. “Don’t be a dick,” you grumble.

Her tone is wry. “Actually, he’s 39. Feels ancient, though.”

So much for not getting defensive— “He’s barely older than you!” you argue.

“He’s the most crotchety uptight under-40 I’ve ever seen.”

From the self-satisfied curve of her lips, even if she’s not looking at you, you suspect she may be purposefully bashing him just to get under your skin. Which shouldn’t work. Cause he isn’t anything important to you.

“I swear he keeps like 15 extra years in a pocket dimension,” she drawls.

You scoff a laugh before you can stop yourself. It’s pretty funny.

“Regardless, sure hope you get a handle on this weird crush you have-”

“Not a crush.” Wow, never thought you’d have to have a convo like this. “Definitely not a crush.”

“Yeah, fuckin’ hope so, cause that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“—Which is why it isn’t.”

“That’s why?”

What? Wait— “No, it’s— that’s not why, that’s not what I—”

Sevika’s sarcastic mmmhm at your gradual descent to flustered-ness has your ears burning.

“How old is your girlfriend?” you shoot back, going on the offensive.

Her lips press tight for a second, gaze averting. “Don’t have a girlfriend-”

“Your friend, then. The one at Babette’s?” You’ve picked up on a few things through gossip at the Drop.

Grey eyes stay resolutely turned away, but you can feel her sudden rigidity. Ha. Not so nice to be hounded on your insecurities, huh?

“She’s irrelevant.”

“What, like 19?”

“No.” The force with which she refutes your purposefully low guess is insistent. “No, she’s— I don’t know, 24. 25 maybe.”

You snort. “Yeah, and you’re one to talk age gaps.”

“Not the same, we don’t have a employer-”

“You better not be about to say you and your sex worker girlfriend never had a relationship where you paid her.”

You actually see a rosy cast to her cheeks. Good. About time she got flustered instead of you.

“Our relationship is— it’s not exactly…” It’s Sevika’s turn to flounder. “It’s complicated,” she growls, finally.

“Well. Same.”

“Which is much much worse for you than for me.”

She’s objectively correct. “Look, Silco and I don’t have anything like that. We never did.” It’s basically true, right? So he fingerbanged you bent over his desk after thoroughly spanking you with a crop. And a cane. And even his hand a couple times.

That’s… um. That’s… not the same as sex.

Fuck.

“Riiight. So he kicked people out of the Drop a couple days ago because…?”

“He what?”

She blinks surprise. “You seriously didn’t know? People were theorizing. You went up to his office drunk one night, a body got carried out, people thought he killed you then, but the next day you show up and he immediately clears the bar. I’ll be honest, there were bets you’d leave without the hand, if not the arm, and a decent number of people thinking you wouldn’t survive the week. Yet next day he calls me in to say you’re cleared to see Jinx again, which is definitely not what I expected to hear.”

It’s your turn to stare like an idiot. Silco was the one who gave the okay? Well, maybe you should’ve guessed it, but still. It doesn’t make sense, remembering how completely cold he’d been that afternoon.

“So I repeat: what happened between you two? He’s been quiet and it’s creepy. Half the time can’t get him to shut up.”

Nope. Stop it, heart, this isn’t good news, stop beating like there’s hope here. It’s nothing. He’s just… he’s pouting. Or he’s coming to his senses. Or, hopefully, he’s reinstating helpful boundaries, and this is his way of showing it.

Stop, stop the stupid skipping a beat, this means nothing. It means respect, at best, and that should be a bare minimum, not an exciting prospect.

No matter how much you chastise your heart, it’s still fluttering. Like a fucking dumbass.

“I— I just— talked to him. Brought up some frustrations.” That’s close enough. “I didn’t think he’d listen to me.”

“Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. For all I know this is some elaborate plot; he’s a petty bitch when he wants to be.”

Oh, mood.

Your name is screeched across the length of the shooting gallery, effectively ending the conversation. “It’s working!” Jinx shouts, grinning and waving her spanner in the air as she slams a fist against the button that runs the motor for the moving targets.

It takes you too many tries to get your aim steady.

—

“You’re being weird.” Jinx kicks her feet against the empty barrel she sits on, licking her fingers with a kebab in the other (paint-stained) hand.

“Am I?” You’ve been settling into the routine surprisingly well, you thought. It’s nice having her back. Feet slotted with hers from your perch opposite, the casual proximity feeding that bottomless pit in you that craves closeness. “How so?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs, pulling a chunk of meat along the skewer until she can bite it off the end. “You an’ Sevika argued earlier and then your aim was shit— sorry. But it’s true.”

“Please consider that I’m operating with a fake hand,” you point out, holding out your prosthesis pointedly. “Remember that part? Big bloody accident, got maimed, replacement hand, all that?”

Jinx snorts. “Yeah but you did better before. I beat you every single round this time.”

“Have you considered that maybe you’re just really good?” you ask, brows raised. “Like really good, Jinx, you would beat me in my prime.” At least, with paintballs. Thank gods she isn’t shooting live rounds yet— both for the risk to your reputation in the local standings, and for other reasons. Three times since you started working with her in the warehouse you’ve spotted her shooting rats with her paint gun. Nothing lethal as of yet, but it can be a little worrying.

“Yeah yeah,” Jinx rolls her eyes, though there’s a self-satisfied smile on her face. “But you’re usually tougher to beat. What did you an’ Sevika argue about?”

You snort. She’s not wrong. Not entirely, anyway. “We weren’t arguing, just talking.”

Jinx’s brows furrow, face falling into a small frown.

“Honest,” you promise. “Not the kind of arguing that matters, anyway. Still friends.”

She pulls a face. “Shouldn’t be.”

Bemused, you raise a brow at the kid, but take another long swig of water before speaking (no food eight hours before meeting with Singed, meaning post-training lunch was your last chance, two hours ago). “Shouldn’t be friends with Sevika?” After making an effort to thaw her chilly exterior? “Why not?”

“She hates me.” Jinx’s lips twist, color high on her cheeks. Angry? Embarrassed, maybe? Or ashamed. Some combo of all three, perhaps. “Hates being stuck with me. Hates me for— just hates me,” she mutters bitterly.

“I find that hard to-”

“It’s cause her arm,” the kid interrupts, before her mouth snaps shut. Her kicking has stopped.

You try to add up the clues you’ve gotten, but they aren’t quite making sense. Scooting forward, you knock your knees against hers, trying to offer some kind of proof that you’re staying close. And maybe partly cause her sudden mood change worries you. Any time she seems upset you’re worried. There’s a bond there, between the two of you, some kind of recognition that resonates feelings, reflects them back, and her anxiety makes you anxious. Just like her joy makes you joyful.

“Hey,” you nudge her foot, pointedly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. But you’re still my friend, okay? I’m not picking her over you.” You barely refrain from pointing out that you can have multiple friends. Something tells you Jinx doesn’t want to hear that, not in this moment.

The worry in her brief too-open gaze sends a pang through your chest. “I’m your best friend, though, right?” she asks.

Shit. It feels about accurate to that age, at least. Always needing to know you mattered to someone, that you had social standing. Not an insecurity you’d expect from Jinx, but maybe she just never felt threatened before. You were her captive friend.

Maybe you shouldn’t validate that kind of thinking, but— “Uh huh.” Her visible relief encourages you; you hold out a crooked finger. “Best friends.”

Jinx grins as she hooks her finger with yours. “Fuck yeah.”

“Fuck yeah,” you repeat, like an oath. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, I think you insulted my aim.” You hop off your perch, smacking the bottom of her foot with your canteen. “Finish eating so I can beat you fair and square.”

“Psh, yeah right.”

—

The euphoria of having Jinx so close - the sheer joy you get from having her cling and climb and wrap arms around you - is tempered every other night by your painfully detached meetings with the Doctor.

A day of shooting with Jinx, followed by an evening nap, and then being drained of blood and told your progress is uninspiring but acceptable. Glowing praise, truly.

A day spent dragging Jinx along to training and letting her thoroughly pummel you just as often as you sent her gleefully screeching form soaring into plushly padded crash mats. A long shower, watching the faint shadow of marks from your day with Silco fading, and early bedtime.

A day of Jinx excitedly showing off her prototype for the Poppet gun, an evening spent icing your sore limbs, and a night of blood loss and five total sentences of communication, one of which was ‘stay still.’

A day letting Jinx pick out a buffet of food options on Silco’s dime. (In other words: a mistake.)

A day spent indulging in combing and braiding Jinx’s hair as she read out her history homework, an evening spent sitting in bed slowly braiding your own hair to match - trying not to think about the glove on your hand, and utterly failing - only to have that effort completely ignored by the Doctor in favor of once again taking blood and barely speaking.

You pass out after that one— or at least white out for a few minutes before waking, spluttering, to a face full of cold water.

“Why are you unconscious? Bloodwork shows nothing out of the ordinary.”

“How the fuck should I know,” you growl, wringing out your braided hair. “Maybe it’s all that fucking bloodwork you’re so keen on.” After every unproductive meeting, wobbling home dizzy, grimacing against the roll of the ground as you walked.

Singed frowns. “How else am I to know you’re correctly maintaining your prosthesis and metabolizing the hydraulic bleed?”

“I don’t know— however you did it the last two weeks?” Your voice is biting, lips pressed thin as you turn away, attempting to regain control of your temper. At this point, you’d rather just go back to Silco.

—The thought hurts more than you expect. A twisting pain in your chest, talons dug into your esophagus and tugging.

The Doctor still has that same frown. “I’ll determine an alternative.”

“Can’t you just take my word for it?” It’s so tiring to be doubted so much, you never realized before. “I have no reason to lie to you.”

His loose gesture is dismissive. “Find yourself food. Our next meeting I’ll have an alternate method.”

—

Things don’t go entirely to plan.

The food part does, at least. On the way home, stopping in at a market halfway between the Doctor’s lab and your lodging house, stuffing yourself on a couple top-notch hand pies and taking a couple more for the road.

But leaving the market you feel the tug on your waist that signals interference (just one of the reasons you only keep part of your coin on your belt), and grab for the wrist automatically with your prosthesis.

Maybe if you could feel what you were doing you would’ve been able to get it right. As it is, you instead feel the scrape of the blade across your arm by the vibrations on your stump beneath.

It all happens so fast.

Feeling the thief snatching for your money, grabbing for their hand, a quarter turned as you feel the blade, and halfway turned as your good hand moves to your pistol.

Finding a gun in your face is unexpected.

Your brain freezes.

Instinct, entirely instinct, takes over as you disconnect.

The next thing you know the shot is ringing in your ears, blood spattering your boots. You stare, unseeing, at the man staggered to the floor, blood leaking from the bullet hole in his shoe, one hand clutching his knee for stability, the other still on the gun.

Another shot hits his shoulder and the scream cuts through.

You stop yourself from aiming for the head. He’ll need to be questioned, have to know who hired him, who thought it was smart to bring a gun into—

A blink, and you’re back in reality, gun cocked at the kid whose hands have raised in panicked surrender.

Some distant part of you feels sick. Heart racing, dizzy, but floating unmoored from your surroundings. It feels like you’re on uneven ground, hovering, or bobbing in the Pilt.

When you have no words to say, the kid turns tail and runs.

You’re not proud of it. You aren’t. It’s habit, or fear, or some confusion between memory and reality. That gun was in your face and you can’t get it out of your head—

You shoot him.

Immediate regret turns your stomach. Your hand buzzes from the recoil, staring unblinking at the kid— fuck, he’s got to be no older than Efin, a teenager, just some kid trying to make a fast buck lifting purses in a crowded market. And now he’s on the ground, wailing, sobbing and clutching his leg, the bloody mess of a wound to his ankle. If he has a lookout, they aren’t rushing to his aid.

His gun is forgotten, and as glassy eyes drift to it, an icy chill seeps into your bones. A fake. It’s so obviously a fake. Of course it is; a kid like him couldn’t get his hands on a real gun, even on the infinitesimal chance he could afford one. A paintball gun painted to look like the real thing, meant to scare people into complying, not to kill them.

Your brain is dead, low static, feeling the feelings but unable to think in words.

There’s noise around you, but you can’t process it, can’t make meaning from the sounds.

You turn on your heel and walk away, already feeling the tremors start.

—

[next part]

[Ooof. Sorry for the wait guys >< Life, as it often does, has been getting in the way and my brain has been stalling out like crazy lately. I’m not quite done with 31, but I figure I can make y’all stop waiting before I hit the two week mark. Might be another wait, if I can’t get my brain to crank into gear, but at least I have a couple more chapters in reserve for just this sort of thing 😅 At the very least I’ll end up posting around the 15-16th because I’m going out of town and I always like to have that pick-me-up whenever I’m done being stuck driving or flying or on a train or whatever it is. Hopefully brain works before then, but at the latest we’ve got that to look forward to!

Anxiety and depression have been kicking my ass lately, so I can’t promise replies to every single comment right away, but I do always love to see comments and tags and reactions regardless 🥹 Standard plugs apply; reblog if you liked it, check it on ao3, check the revPOVs both here and ao3 if you missed them (I don’t think detachment is up on ao3 yet, but that will probably go up next week). If you want to be tagged in future posts, comment on this linked post to get added to the tag list.

Thanks everyone so much for sticking around. I love the love you all give me, love the support from this super loving bunch of fanatics in this mad corner of the internet. ❤️ -verbs]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic @sherwood-forests @ariaud @witxhy-lexx @mazikomo @leave-me-alone-doctor @antoine-tte @wisteria-songs @imalovernotahater @eriseffigy @leorioaki @artificialwords @hehicular-hanslaughter-lecter @ironandglass @ughhhh177 @faraige @ilikemymendarkandfictional @jennithejester @insult-2-injury @iz-zy5 @rinadragomir @queenofspades6 @cuddlejeongin @differentladynerd @alternativeforensicscientist @leo-the-undead @silcoitus @stepsonsilco @commotionpotion @averagecrastinator @eurydicethesage @mialobo @wierdestmoppet @bumble-bee-17 @sonicbananawithbowtie

[7official7moose7]

How I draw Bruno Madrigal: A tutorial!

Before you say it, yes, I know I draw him way too much. Maybe this’ll come in handy for someone here djhhfjgjg- (plus it’s an excuse to draw him for the millionth time today soooo)

Disclaimer: This post is NOT meant to bash ANYONE for how they draw. It’s just a tutorial on how I draw Bruno, everyone’s style is different!!

Step one: Face shape

I always make sure I have the right face shape down, or else it won’t really look like the character I’m tryna draw (in my eyes at least). Bruno’s face shape is somewhat almond/diamond shaped, just upside down. His cheekbones make little points at the sides 👀

Step two: Nose

I see a lot of people drawing Encanto characters with the wrong nose shape/size (don’t worry, I struggled with this for years lmao), so I tried to make it a bit more simple.

His nose is like an upside down kite shape, like his face except the points are a little lower/closer to the tip!

Step 3: Eyes

Bruno’s eyes are very round, and there isn’t a whole lot of space in between them; I see a lot of fan art with his eyes spaced pretty far apart, so try keeping them closer to the bridge of the nose (I also did this too at first, so don’t fret!!)

I come back to the circles under his eyes later 👁👁

Step 4: Mouth/teeth

Bruno has tooth gaps!! (Teeth gaps? Grammar no exist) the most noticeable one is right up front, but there’s also one round near the back jshsgdjhd

Step 5: Brows

Bruno’s eyebrows have that little crease at the top most of the time, unless his expression is relaxed. In case you can’t read my handwriting: they’re thicker at the beginning, curve up just a bit, and then they taper at the end.

Step 6: Hair

His hair is type 2c I believe (it might be 3a, there’s posts on here about that as well if I’m wrong!!) You can also either go on google or Pinterest to get reference pictures.

Bruno has these two distinct strands that hang into his eyes (I’ve colored them in to point them out) that I absolutely adore drawing! Fun fact: I have the exact same two strands (my hair is either 2b or 2c, I can’t quite remember hfhfhfhgh) that do the exact same thing!!

Step 7. Facial hair

Bruno’s beard (goatee?? It’s kinda both I think???) isn’t exactly a full beard, it’s basically just long stubble lmao

I have a bit of trouble with this for the sole reason that I’m just bad at facial hair hahahaa-

Step 8. Colors

The color palette in the second image is more accurate than the first! I color picked the skin tone to the best of my ability, along with the hair and other parts. For his eyes, I use the shade of purple on a multiply layer, along with the blush. His freckles are just the small light brown next to the white and green for his eyes (in the second image)

Bruno’s hair looks pretty brown right there as well, but thats only because of the highlights (I used a golden yellow, you’ll see in the next image) the colors I used for his hair are the two grays; the lighter one is used for the silver strands, and I always color the two front strands with it. For the rest, I just add random streaks into the darker shade.

With his ruana and undershirt, I kinda just eyeballed the colors (I color picked at first, but altered them just a bit afterwards)

Step 9: Shading/lighting (this is optional!)

This is the finished product! I tweaked the line art just a bit, fixed his nose since I forgot how physics work and forgot that the nose turns up with the smile oops hahaha

I changed the line color to a warm brown for a softer look, and I shaded his eyes with a darker/more saturated green on a multiply layer and then put neon yellow highlights at the bottom on an add layer. I used a dark maroon/brown on a multiply layer as well for the shading and a golden yellow-orange for the highlights on an add layer (I feel Ike I’ve typed “layer” so many times so I’mma just say this rq: I always put shading on multiply and highlights on add!!)

I also put a little shade for his lips since I forgot them too ahahaa,,,

ANYWAYS there you have it!! I’ll post some extras that could also be good examples soon (because sadly I’ve reached the image limit dammit)

Hope this helps!!

[pentechnics]

ME ok I got some glue on nails today and it made me think of that meme/ text convo where a girl messaged her bf what color she should get her nails and he says “I want my d*ck wrapped in purple” which is lowkey hot SO it made me think about Din and a reader with painted manicured nails and Din noticing he quite likes when reader has their nails done because the colors look especially pretty ~around him~ and they’re also perfect for scratching his head and back and he just melts and something about the unique splash of beauty when they’re handling a blaster or throwing a punch just drives him wild and sorry this is a lot but yeah

If you vibe with any of it, a wee drabble would be LOVELY please and thank you 👀🥰🥰

Oh darling, you’ve got me thinking SOO many thots with this 😏😏 it was hard to narrow down which ones to put in here lol!

Please forgive me if this is sloppy, I have a dreadful cold right now so I didn’t do much editing on this 😅 I hope you still like it! Thank you for this request, my dear! 💖

Content: spicy thoughts and ideas leading into some actual smutty times, brief oral (m receiving), multiple orgasms, some gn!fucking, he calls you sweet names 🥰

The first time you did it was just for fun.

You ran into a little nail kit at a market and decided to treat yourself. It came with a few different colors, but the red and the black were the ones Din liked most.

When he first saw you with those pitch black nails, taking some practice shots outside while he fixed up the ship, he couldn’t stop staring at how your hands looked wrapped around that handle.

How would they look wrapped around him, he wondered. The sudden friction in his pants told him it would be good.

A couple weeks later you decided to paint them again when he flung the Crest into hyperspace. He watched your movements as you contemplated which color to use this time. He lurched in his seat when you reached for the bright pink.

“Red,” he said.

“What was that?” You asked with a furrowed brow.

He cleared his throat and tried to calm the heat rushing to his face under the helmet.

“Use the red one… I want to see it on you.”

You grinned despite your confusion and took out the little red bottle.

~~~~

“On your knees for me, baby.”

You gave him a sloppy kiss before dropping down as requested and pulling Din’s cock free from his briefs. He let out a low, guttural growl when your hands wrapped around it, your deep red nails standing out against his skin.

“So fucking pretty,” he said, “I want you to ruin those nails on me.”

You whimpered and took him in your mouth, making sure to flash your nails up towards him whenever possible.

Who knew that under all that silver, Din had a thing for color?

When he started wrecking you and you clung to his back for dear life, he chuckled into your ear.

“Go on, sweetheart, dig into me with those nails.”

You did. You shouted in ecstasy and clawed down his back as he brought you to orgasm. He praised you through labored grunts.

“Just like that, baby,” he leaned up and stared down at you. “Touch yourself.”

You reached down and played with yourself while he watched, your nails moving in quick gestures just above his cock. His brow contorted at the sight, his cock growing harder inside you.

The way your nails looked around him was one thing, but seeing them on you was pure heaven.

“Fuck, just like that,” he growled, “So. Fucking. Pretty.”

Each word was accented with a deep thrust, his big hands digging into your hips. The filling sensation had your eyes rolling back in your head, your back arching up.

“Din, I’m gonna cum again,” you whispered through your moans.

“Oh you better baby, I’m gonna cum with you,” he said with a grin.

He leaned down over you and you ran a hand through his hair, giving it a tug just before he sent you over the edge, his own roaring release coming just after.

Once you both came down from your highs and you were relaxed in his arms, he took your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“I like this color.”

****

[mlmxreader]

My Man | Donny Donowitz x m!reader

Anonymous asked: i see inbox = 0 👀👀👀 lemme take it up a notch 

donny/m! reader with "Wanna sleep with me? In my bed, I mean, fall asleep together... shit" 

thank uuuu 

- 🌹

summary: when Donny catches you bathing in the stream, suddenly everything changes between you.

tws: nudity, swearing

word count: 717

It took Donny the better part of an hour to recover from what he had seen, flustered and more than hot under the collar when he paused to see you bathing in the nearby stream, biting at his lip; it was a sight he would never forget, but he hoped to at least recover from it and act normally around you. He’d never seen a man with such a great body, the type that he wanted to trace his fingertips all over just to map out every little detail, the kind of body he wanted to hold against his own and to be held by; he had never seen a man with such a great body, and it certainly did not help that he had fancied you since the moment he had met you. Donny had never met a man like you, and was convinced he never would again; but while he had left shortly after stumbling upon such a sight and had returned to where camp had been made for the night, you didn’t come back until later, droplets of water clinging to your bare shoulders and your chest glistening slightly from still being wet. You sighed, running a hand down your face. 

“Donny, you ain’t got a towel, have you?” You asked, and when he shook his head, unable to speak thanks to you standing there looking like everything he had ever dreamed of, you frowned. “Great.”

“Should’ve waited til we got to town,” Aldo called, shaking his head. 

“Fuck you, too, Lieutenant,” you called back, laughing when he expressed the same sentiment with a grin. You chucked your shirt and jacket beside Donny. “Mind if I sit with you?”

“Sure,” he nodded eagerly, biting the inside of his lip when he looked at your chest. Fuck, you were the most handsome man in every sense of the word, and as much as he loved your body, he also loved your personality, and he was more than thankful that you wanted to sit with him. “It’s gonna get real cold tonight, so do you wanna sleep with me? In my bed, I mean, fall asleep together… shit. Fuck.” 

You laughed, such a marvellous and musical sound that Donny could not force himself to bite back his grin as he looked at you. “I’d like that… but y’know, I’m pretty fucking cold, now. Especially my lips. Y’think you can help me?”

Donny furrowed his brows for a couple seconds, trying to figure out what you meant, but when he clicked on, he chuckled, and eagerly straddled you as he placed his hands on your shoulders and leaned down to crash his lips against yours, bucking his hips a little when you wrapped your arms around his waist to keep him close, moaning into the kiss when he bit at your bottom lip; you couldn’t believe what you were doing, kissing the only man you wanted to be with, the only man who you wanted to turn around and call you his boyfriend, kissing the one person who you wanted to be with more than anything else, who made your head spin and your knees grow weak with just a smile. You couldn’t believe it, but all the same, you never wanted it to end. 

Donny couldn’t believe it either, the feel of your skin against his own and the way you kept him so close as you kissed him, the little groans and moans that left the back of your throat, the way your adam's apple bobbed in your throat when he snaked his hand up around it; he had wanted this for so long, he didn’t want it to end, he wanted to keep kissing you until he suffocated, but when you pulled back with an excited smile, he ran a hand through his hair and swallowed thickly. 

“I’m your man, right?” You asked, your voice a little hoarse. 

Donny nodded, letting out a shaky breath, trying to capture any air he could. “Yeah, and I’m yours, (y/n).” 

“Good,” you whispered, trailing your lips across his neck and smiling when he moaned. “‘Cause I’m still pretty cold, y’know.” 

“I can help,” he offered. 

You shook your head, nipping softly at his skin. “Nah, just… next time you see me washing, you should join me.”