#and he immediately is bricked up

[catfuyus]

seeing mikey after he’s had a long hard day and giving him the soppiest, saddest little pout. all “aww, my baby, is life being too hard on you?”

“yea,” he pouts back, dark circles under his eyes. and you open your arms wide for him, pull his face into your chest and squeeze your love into him. holding him tight and rubbing his back, all while cradling his head to your chest.

and his muffled voice comes through your embrace, cheeks flushed and pink to the ears, “m hard.”

[gimpwithoutorgans]

Not to be a freak on main (or sound like Lestat and Armand) but….dom top Louis🤤🤤

He’s heavily into degradation and humiliation( it’s the catholicism). Has the fanciest equipment. All that repressed rage makes him an excellent sadist. Loves bondage. An expert rigger. He’ll suspend you from the ceiling like a chandelier and then go back to reading his books while mostly ignoring you.

The way he so smoothly establishes his dom/sub relationship with Armand during the bench scene turned me into a barking dog ngl. Armand De Worst Submissive Ever may have fumbled but I wouldn’t have😏.

[softquietsteadylove]

Red and Green

Gil is glowering. He's been glowering almost since they arrived. He's happy to help, of course. Jack is in the winter play, and since Sersi is also teaching at his school, they've all come to help out with last minute decorating and such. He's baked five sheet pans worth of goodies for the bake sale taking place before and after the play.

Thena is on stage, helping Jack and a few other kids with putting fake snow everywhere. She's not exactly taking part but she's good at keeping them from throwing it on each other or anywhere unnecessary.

That's not the problem. The teacher talking to her is the problem.

Gil doesn't know who he is. Ben says he thinks he's the gym teacher or something. Seems a little young--aren't gym teachers always old dudes who don't actually play sports? This guy is their age, visibly handsome, even from a distance.

"You're a natural with them," the tall, blonde stranger insists.

Thena shakes her head, "I couldn't disagree more. I am here for Jack and no one else. The little hellions can fend for themselves."

She says, and then still decisively stops two boys close to the stairs from seeing what the fake snow tastes like.

"Well, I think you're a natural." Who does this guy think he is? He was moving some larger stuff around with Ikaris all afternoon. Apparently until Thena caught his eye and lured him away.

Gil rolls his eyes as Mister Blondie pulls off the fleece he's been wearing. His t-shirt gets pulled up a little with it, just enough for the stage lighting to really emphasize the full, washboard eight pack of abs he's got.

Phastos clears his throat loudly in Ben's ear. "Ahe-hem, Mister Stoss."

"Habibi, please," Ben attempts to lean away from his husband. "It is not a sin to have eyes, my love."

Gil sneers to himself. Thena has eyes. And while she wasn't openly admiring like Ben had - no matter how briefly - he knows she's seen them. He just...knows it.

"Gil?" Ikaris walks over to him, tugging at his own t-shirt now that boxes are moved or sets are arranged, or whatever they've been doing. "Wanna give us a hand?"

"Who is that guy?" Gil points blatantly at the man still chatting Thena up while she's trying to keep an eye on Jack and his friends.

Ikaris looks and shrugs. "Teacher."

Gil shakes his head at him. If Ikaris weren't both Thena's brother and Sersi's husband, sometimes he really wonders how they would have become friends. "Thanks, helpful--I meant how did he and Thena get to talking. She doesn't usually talk...with people."

It's not his most subtle tactic. But Ikaris doesn't seem to pick up on his greenish aura. "I heard him ask her a little about what she used to play. Guess they're talkin' about college sports?"

Gil's discomfort only increases, though. Thena did play sports when they were younger. He didn't. And he knows that she misses how she used to play soccer in high school and even in the first year of college.

His eyes are glued to them as Thena smiles and even laughs faintly as she talks to Whats-His-Face.

"What?" Ikaris asks him outright (no tact at all).

Gil huffs, deciding he's done just watching things unfold. "I don't think you'd like it if he was chatting up your wife."

Ikaris makes a face. "I guess not. But he's not. And Thena's not your wife."

Gil doesn't have a defense to that. He storms off so Ikaris can't announce to all the auditorium volunteers how flushed he is. Instead, he hurries up the little stairs onto the stage. "Uh, hey."

Thena stops dead in her conversation to smile at him, "hey."

He has to give it to him, if Mister Golden is bothered at all by the interruption, he doesn't let it show. "Hey, thanks again for helping out. The school doesn't have much to offer for things like these. Volunteering really goes a long way for the kids."

Gil tries not to scoff at Mister Perfect's magnanimous speech. He offers a stiff smile and hovers closer to Thena. "Yeah--I need Thena's help with the bake sale stuff, if you'll excuse us."

Thena lets him grasp her hand and all but pull her away. She only lingers enough to point over her shoulder, "Jack is in charge."

The other kids whine, but he's still riding the high of having all his 'cool' aunts and uncles help.

"Oh," Mister Friendly laughs faintly with a bright smile (and perfect teeth). "Well, it's already snowing out. You should stay warm inside."

Gil bristles as Mister Flirtatious' hand comes dangerously close to touching Thena's shoulder. He pulls her closer to him.

"I can give you a hand," he offers.

Gil is now borderline tugging Thena with him. "Thanks, but I need to, uh, ask her opinion on some things."

He wants to get right in the guy's face and tell him that of course he knows it's already snowing. He's not going to let Thena get cold! He rushes off the stage with her and makes sure to grab her coat off the back of one of the chairs. Maybe it's a bit obvious, but he loudly shakes it out and holds it up for her to slide her arms into the sleeves.

Mister Sunshine just smiles and waves before going back to watching the kids.

Gil sniffs. "He's friendly."

"Quite." It doesn't tell him what he wants it to. Usually Thena isn't warm to people just coming up and talking to her.

"What were you guys talking about?" he asks, realizing it's too late for him to be asking in a fake-casual way. He shoves his hands in his pockets as they walk out of the auditorium and head outside.

"He introduced himself as the physical education teacher," she states factually, which at least isn't the smitten fondness he was dreading hearing from her after their interaction. "He told me Jack is doing exceedingly well in his activities."

Of course that was his in; Thena is a sucker for talking about Jack, in any way, shape or form.

"Phastos is insistent Jack learn American football, but my practices with him have been paying off," she states with her nose all the way in the air with pride.

Gil laughs. Thena is determined to get Jack so hooked on it that he calls it football instead of the American 'soccer'. "It is a little less physical than football."

They get outside and Gil shoves his hands deeper in his pockets. Maybe it was dumb for him to get Thena's coat for her and not go looking for his own.

"Gil, aren't you cold?" she asks outright.

"It's okay, I just need a hand with a few of the trays," he excuses with a smile, unlocking his car from where they stand.

"What did you need my opinion on?"

Oh, right, the blatant and bold faced lie he told in order to soothe his own jealousy. What was he thinking? Ikaris was right, Thena isn't his wife--she's not even his girlfriend. But that never really bothered him so much as when he saw Mister Model up there chatting her up...showing off his abs to her.

"Gil?"

"Uh, well," he hesitates to get out as they step out from the school doors' cover and into the light evening snow. "I guess...do you think what I made will sell well?"

It's lame--it's super lame, and embarrassing. It's a bit late, isn't it? He's made a full dozen of five different desserts. Wouldn't he have asked this before he got so far into the process? And she and Jack were there when he baked them at Ben and Phastos'!

"Of course they will," she answers honestly, though. He likes the blunt and earnest realism on her more than Ikaris. "Your baking is always amazing. I'm sure the school will make back the cost of the play and then some."

"If they make the 'then some' I think I should get to keep the profit," he mutters. Thena laughs at his joke, but butter is expensive, and he's made three dozen different shortbreads! "Here."

He hands Thena a tray of the frosted cookies, which have to be separate from the rest to keep their design integrity pristine. He carries the other three trays himself and closes his trunk.

"It's nice that Jack is excited about it."

Gil smiles, some of his earlier agitation melting away. Thena, for all her insistence that she didn't like anything to do with children, lives for Jack. She loves coming to his school events, helping with parent stuff. He knows she's lied at her job so she can attend every single soccer game he has, even when they're at 4 in the afternoon on a tuesday.

"I didn't expect him to be so happy to have all of us here."

"Well sure," Gil chuckles, breathing a little easier now that it's just them. "Jack thinks you're the coolest aunt in the world. He's bragging to his friends right now about how you were a pro soccer player and know how to use swords."

Thena rolls her eyes modestly. "I keep telling him it's an amateur fencing class."

Calling it amateur is a disservice; Gil has witnessed a little of it giving her a ride once, and she dominates in it.

"I hope he never gets tired of having us around for things like this," she admits to him quietly, maybe even sheepishly. "Even when he's a teenager."

Gil smiles even wider, because Thena is just so sweet and loving under her calm and placid exterior. "I'm sure he won't. At least not you--maybe Uncle Ikaris."

Thena laughs, and it shows off her teeth in a cute way.

Gil shifts his load to open the door for her. He really didn't need help with anything, but he doesn't need to confront what it means that he was so desperate to get her out here with him just yet.

"There you two are, people are starting to arrive!"

"Sorry, just had to keep 'em nice and cold y'know," Gil murmurs as Sersi rushes forward to take Thena's tray for her. He sighs but Ikaris has some decency and extends his hands. Gil lets him take the top tray from him. "Are you sure I'm supposed to have this much real estate?"

Sersi waves a hand. "I've run this bake sale the last three years. I am not exaggerating when I tell you two parents at most will actually bring enough. Everyone else just brings a store bought cookie platter and lets it suffice. They don't sell well and they just take it home with them after the play."

"Gil will put them all to shame."

He blushes at the confidence Thena has in him. "If it's to help the kids put this play on again next year, then fine."

Ben has his phone out, snapping pictures. "They're gonna knock people's socks off, Gil."

"Thanks guys," he sighs as he unwraps his trays upon trays.

"They certainly look great!"

Gil's blood pressure spikes again. He turns and someone has let the golden retriever with a whistle around his neck out of the auditorium. "Thanks."

"Jack's been bragging about how his uncle is the best cook on the planet. I hope I can snag one for myself before the play!"

He's just being friendly, but Gil can feel his veins tightening under his skin with every word out of this guy's mouth. He looks at Ben, who's all excited and bouncing with his phone up. "What?"

Ben points.

Gil looks up, as does Thena. There's a pretty half-assed sprig of mistletoe hanging from the decorative archway put up over the table. He looks around; none of the other ones have this. He's ready to tell Ben to stop messing around. But then the presence of Mister Smiley and the memory of him flirting with Thena resurfaces in Gil's mind.

Thena's eyes go wide but she doesn't move as he pulls her closer. He slides his hand up her cheek, letting his palm angle and hide where their faces make contact, and not too briefly. Her eyes flutter closed.

Everyone's jaws drop (except Ben's).

Gil pulls away. He's kissed her close enough to her mouth that it will look the part, but not actually on her lips. But far away from her cheek that it can't be misconstrued from her view. He smiles as her eyes open again and she blinks at him.

He's never seen Thena blush before.

"You know I wouldn't kiss you without asking," he whispers before pulling himself away from her. "But, uh, come find me after the play is done?"

"H-Hm," she squeaks out, taking a few stiff steps away, her heels clicking like a fawn's hooves as it learns to walk.

Gil goes back to setting up his bake sale spread, some renewed vigour swirling in his chest. He peeks up from the table. Mister Perky seems to have gotten the hint and has started directing parents with trays to take the other (smaller) tables. Gil is satisfied.

Ben loudly snaps a picture, practically giggling. "Habibti, you're as red as the tinsel."

"Stop it! And delete that!"

Gil chuckles to himself as Thena rushes back into the auditorium and away from the commotion he's just caused. He does hope she comes find him after, and not just because he's her ride home.

Ikaris gives him a strange look but Sersi rushes him inside too. She leans back into Gil's view to give him an enthusiastic thumbs up. He blushes, but if Sersi thinks it was the right move then maybe he's onto something.

Gil takes a seat, ready to start selling. He has to admit that maybe he owes it to Mister Chatty to save him a brownie or something. But only if he gets to kiss Thena again later.

[maxdreavus]

Met one of my partner's newest coworkers recently....... why did he SAY that

[twilightakiishi]

in reference to that post abt hands i just rbed can u imagine putting kakucho's fingers in ur mouth. like. he would not know what to do with himself im afraid

[dootznbootz]

...It's kind of wild when the terf that you got into a fight with and had to write an essay on "Why violence is wrong" back in high school now works at the pharmacy where you get your medication from...

[sgtgarricks]

simon would sit you on his lap and feed you meat he’s cooked to perfection after his hunt. if you let out the slightest of moan from the taste this man would instantly get bricked up. has a praise kink. loves to see your reaction to his food.

“mmm, you like that lovie?” while you just nod excitedly.

sometimes you really can’t help yourself so you start grabbing his hand and sucking his fingers into your mouth. you’re not even trying to be sexy about it! it really is that good!

too bad, because he will lose his shit and immediately drag you to the bedroom and give you another serving of #meat

[kashverse]

gojo calls you every name but your actual name—sweetheart, baby, pookie bear, sometimes even "oi, babe"—but never your actual name. so when he finally did, when he looked at you dead in the eyes and said it, your whole body stiffened. "are you okay?" you asked immediately, squinting at him like he was on his deathbed. "blink twice if you need help." you even reached out to check his forehead for a fever, because surely, this was a medical emergency. gojo just blinked at you, utterly confused, before doubling over in laughter. "you seriously think i'm unwell just 'cause i said your name? that's so messed up—i love it."

nanami calls you every name but your actual name—dear, love, sometimes just a heavy sigh paired with a side glance. so when he actually did, when his voice dropped and he spoke your name with the weight of a thousand bricks, you felt your stomach sink. "is this a breakup?" you blurted out before he could even continue. nanami blinked at you, his brow twitching. "what?" you crossed your arms. "you're using my actual name," you pointed out. "is this a professional resignation from this relationship?" nanami exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "no. i was just asking if you wanted coffee." but the damage was done. you spent the rest of the day side-eyeing him, just in case.

geto calls you every name but your actual name—angel, sunshine, princess, even "chipmunk" when you get on his nerves. so when he finally did, when he said your name with a certain weight, you panicked. "oh my god," you gasped. "you found out, didn't you?"

"found out what?" his eyes narrowed. "the shampoo," you admitted, guilt weighing heavy on your conscience. "i've been using your fancy shampoo. that’s why you keep running out so fast." geto just stared at you, eyes unreadable. then, very slowly, he leaned back, crossed his arms, and nodded. "that explains a lot."

"are you mad?"

"no. just disappointed." ouch.

toji calls you every name but your actual name—doll, sweetheart, brat, depending on his mood. so when he actually did, when he gritted out your name over the phone in the middle of the night, your stomach dropped. "oh my god," you whispered. "are you dying?"

"what?"

"you're out on a job, aren't you? is this a last words kind of call? should i be preparing for the worst?" toji groaned, the sound of gunfire faint in the background. "jesus. i just needed you to grab my extra ammo from the closet."

"oh."

"...but now that you mention it, maybe bring a first aid kit too."

choso calls you every name but your actual name—babe, honey, sometimes just a hum of acknowledgment. so when he actually did, when he uttered your name so carefully, you felt your chest tighten. "you're friendzoning me," you whispered, horror-stricken. "this is the end." choso blinked, his face scrunching up in genuine confusion. "what? no. i was just—"

"it's okay," you sniffed. "you wanted to let me down easy, huh? didn't want to go for the direct breakup."

"babe, i was literally just asking if you wanted extra sauce on your food." but it was too late. you had already started mourning your relationship.

sukuna calls you every name but your actual name—dove, brat, little one, sometimes even "human" when he's particularly irritated. so when he finally did, when his voice wrapped around your name with sharp precision, your survival instincts kicked in immediately. "listen, listen, i didn't do anything," you pleaded, hands raised. "whatever it is, it wasn't me. i swear. please don't kill me." sukuna just stared at you, unimpressed. "i was literally just calling you."

"yeah, exactly," you said, eyes darting for possible escape routes. "why would you use my actual name unless i'm in serious danger? is this a death sentence? am i about to be vaporized?" sukuna rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply. "you're so dramatic."

"says the one who tears people apart for fun!"

[geddy-leesbian]

I may have to like,, post a draft of this one-shot here without the knife fight scene because the beginning and end are so good but the fight won't be easy for me to write and has the potential to take ages so I just need to get the rest out there

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Sugar Daddy

Money can't buy love, but maybe it doesn't have to.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's very nouveau riche. Who has the wealth of the elites but none of their good breeding.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's awfully young for someone so wealthy. Barely out of college when his tech startup went public and the cash started pouring in.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is still painfully awkward around women.

Being a rich man in a big city means there's no shortage of models and influencers vying for his attention. And Yandere! Sugar Daddy never fails to get flustered when they're introduced to him.

Long legs, perfect skin, tiny ski slope noses... They're the kind of girls who wouldn't give him the time of day back in college and suddenly they're running their hands up his chest and whispering that he's just so clever, so accomplished. What guy wouldn't fall for it?

But he can never keep them around for long.

Their interest slowly dies out when he starts rambling about software development and production scale and AI integration. Money is a great motivator but all his girlfriends seem to leave for greener pastures. For millionaires with better social skills and better taste.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ran into you entirely on accident. The club was too loud, the girls too pretty, the alcohol too rich. He slipped out of VIP and into the street, pressing his forehead against the cool brick and trying not to spew on the new designer shoes his ex persuaded him to get.

And that was when you came into his life. Cool hands on his shoulder and a voice telling him to take a deep breath and drink some of your water.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks up at you through his lashes, his face flushed from too much booze and being too near you. He can't fathom it. A girl helping him not because of his cash or connections, but because they're actually a kind person.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your hand when you turn to go. Your friends are calling to you to stop messing around with random drunks and he manages to slip you his business card, begging you to call him so he can thank you properly.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wakes up with a killer hangover and your face burned into his eyelids. Who feels his heart jump when he opens his phone and sees a text from you.

Hope your night got better - y/n

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who immediately zooms in on your profile picture. A candid shot but it still makes him blush. Before the morning is over, he's already tracked down your social media.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who pores over every inch of your life. Your job, your studies, your friends...

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who retypes his message at least a dozen times before he finally responds to you. Who invites you to the most exclusive restaurant in the city as a thank you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who picks you up in the most expensive car he owns. Who smiles a little at the careful way you close the door and buckle your seat belt. You're just as uncomfortable around luxury as he was.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who doesn't expect much from the date. He's learned not to go on tangents about technology and work, but without it he feels lost.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you're more than capable of carrying a conversation. You're energetic and funny and interested in what he has to say. He feels himself opening up to you and before long, he's deep into a rant about data safety and you actually listen to him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who realises you compliment him. Like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who ends the night with a lipstick stain on his cheek and a big, goofy grin on his face.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who calls you the second he wakes up and invites you to spend the afternoon learning to horse ride.

And when you tell him you have work, he just laughs and tells you he'll triple whatever you're getting paid for the day. You nearly faint when he keeps his word and sends you a deposit worth more than your monthly cheque.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who wants to call you his girlfriend more than anything. His girl. He loves the way it sounds.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who tags along when you go grocery shopping and whips out his card to pay for it all when your back is turned.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who sends you a huge bouquet every week because you once mentioned liking lillies.

And the closer you get, the more time you spend kissing him and curling up in his bed, the more he spends on you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who uses spring break to take you on a tour of the Mediterranean. Who rents out entire villas and chateaus to impress you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who has your birthday dress custom made by an actual high fashion house. Who zips you up and kisses your neck and says he's never met a more beautiful girl.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who spends shareholder meetings daydreaming about you. Who has to pinch himself to stay focused.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's helpless to stop himself falling for you. You're so real, so empty of pretence and greed.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who showers you with all the wealth he has and is blind to how uncomfortable it makes you.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks at you with a vacant smile when you try and break things off. Who pulls out his phone and sends you a deposit with so many zeros you have to rub your eyes to make sure you're seeing it right. Who asks if that's enough for more of your time or if he should double it.

Do you want a new car? An apartment? He'll give you anything, anything in the world.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who looks like a kicked dog when you say you don't want any of it. You hate feeling indebted to him. You hate feeling like some vapid trophy wife. You hate living off his charity.

He can't understand it. You could work for decades and not afford even a quarter of what he can give you. Is he so unpleasant, so unlovable, that you're wiling to turn your back of a life of luxury?

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who comes up behind you and slams the door shut when you try to leave.

You've always seen him as a nice guy, someone awkward and gentle. But the look in his eyes now makes you question all of it.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy whose voice is a low, broken rasp. He sounds on the verge of tears and on the verge of fury all at once.

You think you can just leave after everything you've been through together? After the fortune he spent trying to make you happy?

No way baby.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who grabs your wrist and yanks you up against him.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who laughs when you threaten to scream. Luxury penthouse, remember? Totally sound proofed. Totally private. No one gets in or out without his permission.

It's just you and him, like it should have been from the beginning.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who squeezes your wrist hard enough to hurt. Who kisses you so rough you cut your lips on your teeth.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy who yanks at the pretty dress that he bought you. You want to be an ungrateful bitch? You want to throw his kindness back in his face? Oh, he's going to teach you a lesson.

You fucking owe him.

And he's going to use your body until that debt is paid.

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

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[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being a better boyfriend than your ex, even without establishing that title....

This is a continuation of part one.

warning: mention domestic abuse

💀

Simon was there every night you worked. You never gave him your schedule, but he'd show up and settle onto one of the stools like clockwork. Soap often joined him, and while they carried on like always, you knew Simon's gaze lingered on your body. You could practically feel the weight as you took drink orders and pulled pints. It wasn't unwelcome. In fact, it made everything easier knowing you weren't alone if your ex dared show his face.

When your shifts ended, Simon would walk you back to your new place. The one time you insisted he didn't need to do that, he grunted and said, "What if I want to?"

You didn't mention it again. Instead you got into a routine of giving him a fifteen minute warning when your shift was going to end, and you'd head out into the cold night with him at your side. He was mostly quiet while you chatted about whatever was on your mind. When you'd ask him about himself, he'd reroute the conversation back to you. Then he would wait while you unlocked your door and stepped inside.

You always had the urge to invite him in, but you were taking up so much of his time already. And what would you do with him anyway? This hulking military man with kind eyes? 

You thanked him and gave him a little wave before ducking inside, and you knew he always waited until he heard the sound of your door locking before he left. 

"Y' alright, love?" he asked one night when you were starting to feel particularly good about yourself again. Your split lip had healed which required less makeup. You felt stronger for having left your ex in the dust. You were wearing a new top that made you feel sexy.

"Yeah. I'm alright, Simon. I feel really good, actually."

You served him a drink and refused to let him pay. You really ought to make him stop tipping you at this rate. He was doing so much for you and getting nothing in return. He was doing all of the boyfriend duties just as he had promised, but he never so much as touched you other than the occasional hand hold.

What if you wanted more?

He broke into your thoughts as he said, "I can tell. Ya' been smiling more. Almost ready to go?"

Tonight you felt like you were floating along the dirty sidewalk with your hand tucked in Simon's massive paw. He was keeping you warm without doing anything, and he listened to your nervous rambling as you tried your best to work up your courage. But the two of you reached your front door all too quickly.

"Get inside," he said, voice deep and tender in spite of the command. "An' lock up."

When he started to pull his hand away, you didn't let him. And you didn't budge when one of his eyebrows inched higher. "Not quite yet," you whispered, toe tapping the cement step you were standing on which put you slightly closer to him in height. "I have to tell you something."

Simon's lips pressed together in a tight line, and his chin dipped in a slight nod. "I need to tell ya' something, too. Just don't want to."

"What?" you asked immediately, the lightness you'd been feeling instantly replaced with a lead brick inside you.

"I'm leaving. Late tomorrow night. Not until after I make sure ya' get home from the pub."

"Leaving?" you whispered, heart pounding faster. He was in the military. Some sort of special mission involvement. You knew that much. And you could read between the lines to know that someone who looked and behaved like he did was probably about to risk his life, not for the first time. "Simon, where are you going?" you asked with tears in your eyes even though you figured he wouldn't be able to tell you.

Simon shook his head, his lips curling into a soft smile. It was a rare sight, and it made you dizzy. "Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be worried 'bout me." You wanted to tell him you would be. You'd worry nonstop until you saw him again. You'd come to rely on him, but mostly you liked how you felt when he was around. "There'll be someone to walk ya' home from work every night. I can promise that."

You wanted to lean in and kiss him, but instead you threw your arms around his neck. He was so solid and warm, and the scrape of his facial hair on your cheek was somehow comforting. "But I'll see you tomorrow, right?" you asked, voice breaking on a sob.

"I'll see ya' tomorrow, love."

He didn't move an inch as you extracted yourself, and the sound of his receding footsteps could only be heard once you'd locked yourself inside.

💀

Part three

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID (1/2) | being lifted onto a counter

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, & charles leclerc (click here for part two) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon 🫐) : your f1 boyfriend picking you up on the counter... or maybe even vice verse for shits and giggles ;)

୨ৎ : genre : comedic romance & slightly suggestive (for some drivers) ୨ৎ : tws : suggestive if you SQUINT ୨ৎ : word count : 1893

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : y'all it's freaking race weekend finally... i can feel the winter depression leaving my body 👻

ʚ・max verstappen

max was feeling smug.

not that it was unusual, but this time, he had good reason.

he had just lifted you onto the kitchen counter with zero effort, hands firm on your waist, placing you there like you weighed nothing. you had gasped, mildly startled, but it was hard to argue when his grin was so self-satisfied.

“there,” he said, standing between your legs, his hands still resting on your thighs. “problem solved.”

you arched a brow at him, trying not to melt at how good he looked with his post-workout messy hair and that stupid smirk. “oh? and what exactly was the problem?”

max shrugged, fingers giving a playful squeeze to your legs. “you were in my way.”

you scoffed, lightly smacking his shoulder. “you just like showing off.”

his smirk widened. “you love it.”

you rolled your eyes, but your fingers didn’t move from where they clung to the fabric of his hoodie. “i could lift you too,” you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

max paused.

his eyebrows slowly lifted, amusement twinkling in his blue eyes. “oh yeah?”

you hesitated for a split second but quickly doubled down. “yeah. i bet i could lift you.”

max chuckled, fully entertained now. “go on, then.”

and that was how you found yourself attempting to lift a nearly 6-foot, 160-pound world champion off the ground like you had something to prove.

you wrapped your arms around his waist, bent your knees, took a deep breath… and nothing happened.

max did not budge.

instead, you let out a strangled grunt, your arms barely managing to shift him an inch before your muscles gave out.

max was dying laughing, barely holding himself up as he leaned into you, his forehead resting on your shoulder as he shook with laughter.

“oh my god,” he wheezed. “are you even trying?”

you groaned, face hot, still stubbornly trying to heave him upwards. “you’re—way heavier than you look!”

max tilted his head, grinning. “are you calling me fat?”

“yes,” you gasped, dramatically collapsing against him, completely out of breath. “you’re made of bricks.”

he was grinning like an idiot now. “maybe you just need to train harder.”

“oh, shut up.”

max smirked, leaning in way too close, his hands firm on your hips again. “admit it,” he murmured. “you like when i do all the lifting.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you’re insufferable.”

his smirk widened. “still stuck up here, though.”

and yeah, you were. but you were never admitting defeat.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

the kitchen was warm with the scent of fresh coffee and something sweet, probably the pastries lewis had insisted on picking up this morning. you were barely awake, wearing one of his oversized hoodies, standing by the counter and lazily stirring your tea.

lewis, fresh from his morning workout, had already found his way behind you, arms loosely wrapping around your waist. his chest was firm against your back, radiating warmth.

“you’re in my way,” he murmured, but his hands were sliding against your hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of the hoodie that was very much his.

“you came into my kitchen,” you pointed out, sipping your tea.

“our kitchen,” he corrected smoothly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

you could hear the smirk in his voice.

before you could fire back with something equally smug, lewis’s hands suddenly gripped your waist, and before you knew it, you were lifted effortlessly off the ground. a surprised gasp left your lips as he set you down onto the kitchen counter, placing himself between your legs.

your heart stuttered at the sudden shift.

“lewis,” you laughed breathlessly, palms pressing against his chest. “what—”

he leaned in, his face dangerously close to yours, his hands sliding to rest against your thighs.

“you were making things difficult down there,” he murmured, his fingers teasingly brushing against your skin. “this is a much better angle.”

your breath hitched slightly, eyes flickering to his lips before snapping back to his teasing gaze. “you could have just asked me to move.”

lewis smirked, tilting his head. “where’s the fun in that?”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “you just wanted an excuse to put me here, didn’t you?”

he hummed, fingers still tracing slow, absentminded circles against your thigh. “maybe.”

your body betrayed you, warmth creeping up your neck at how easily he could make your knees weak.

lewis noticed. of course he did.

his lips brushed against your jaw, feather-light. “are you flustered?”

you rolled your eyes, trying to play it off, but your fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of his hoodie. “you wish.”

he grinned, hands squeezing your thighs slightly. “you’re right,” he murmured, voice lower now. “i don’t have to wish.”

and just like that, your entire morning plans shifted.

ʚ・george russell

you were standing by the kitchen counter, still wrapped in one of george’s oversized shirts, attempting to make coffee when two strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

a lazy smile spread across your face. “good morning to you too.”

george hummed against your shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to your exposed skin. “mmm… morning, love,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep. his arms tightened slightly, pulling you closer into his warmth. “why are you up so early?”

you laughed softly, leaning into his hold. “it’s almost ten.”

“that’s early.”

you rolled your eyes, feeling his lips brush against your neck again. “you’re ridiculous.”

“i’m on vacation,” he reminded you, burying his face in your shoulder like he could melt into you completely. “and i don’t want to start my day without at least five minutes of properly cuddling you.”

you smiled, melting at how soft he was in the mornings. george was always composed, always put together—but here, in the quiet of a vacation morning, with the warmth of the sun on his skin and no race weekend stress in sight, he was nothing but yours.

you turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. “what if we just stay here all day?” you suggested, voice teasing.

george lifted his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “i love the way you think.”

and before you could even react, he effortlessly lifted you onto the kitchen counter, his hands firm on your waist.

you gasped, clutching onto his shoulders. “george!”

he grinned, stepping between your legs, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “now i have your full attention.”

“you always have my full attention.”

his smirk softened into something sweeter. “good,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

the coffee sat forgotten on the counter, the warm breeze from the open windows making the moment feel even dreamier.

“best vacation ever,” he mumbled against your lips, pulling you even closer.

and with the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, you had to agree.

ʚ・carlos sainz

it started as a completely innocent idea.

you had seen carlos do it before—effortlessly lifting you onto the kitchen counter like you weighed nothing, always with that smug little grin. it was annoying how easy he made it look.

so, today, you decided to flip the script.

carlos was standing at the counter, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone while waiting for the kettle to boil. his posture was relaxed, completely unsuspecting. it was perfect.

you took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, attempting to lift him off the ground.

attempting.

because the second you tried to pull him up, you immediately regretted it.

carlos didn’t budge.

not even an inch.

if anything, you were pretty sure you moved yourself more than you moved him.

carlos, who had barely even reacted, finally glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “what… exactly are you doing?”

your arms were still locked around his waist, your feet planted firmly as you tried one more desperate attempt. you groaned, using every muscle in your body to lift him.

nothing.

carlos grinned, setting his phone down. “are you trying to pick me up?”

you panted, feeling a bead of sweat forming. “yes. shut up.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “good try, amor.”

before you could even process his words, his hands were suddenly gripping your waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifted you clean off the floor.

a surprised yelp left your lips as he spun you around and set you down directly onto the counter.

carlos, still grinning, stepped between your legs, his hands still firmly on your waist. “that,” he said, tilting his head, “is how you do it.”

you scowled, crossing your arms. “unfair advantage. you’ve been training your whole life.”

carlos hummed, looking way too pleased with himself. “and you thought a sneak attack would work?”

“i thought you’d be caught off guard!”

he chuckled, leaning in closer, his voice teasing. “you think i don’t always expect your little tricks?”

you huffed dramatically. “one day, i’ll lift you.”

carlos smirked, pressing a slow kiss to your cheek. “mmm. looking forward to it, cariño.”

and somehow, that felt like an even bigger challenge.

ʚ・charles leclerc

the party was in full swing, music humming through the air, laughter spilling from different corners of the room. you were standing near the bar, chatting with a few friends, sipping on your drink when you felt a familiar warmth press against your back.

charles.

“having fun?” he murmured, his breath brushing against your ear.

you smiled, not bothering to turn around. “i was… until some guy started interrupting my conversation.”

charles chuckled, his hands casually sliding around your waist, his fingers pressing gently into your sides. “some guy, hmm?”

“mmm.” you took another sip, playing along. “he’s kind of annoying.”

before you could tease him any further, his grip suddenly tightened, and before you even had time to process, you were lifted effortlessly into the air.

a surprised gasp escaped your lips as he set you onto the bar counter, right in front of everyone.

“charles!” you smacked his chest, your legs dangling off the edge as he grinned up at you.

his green eyes sparkled mischievously, hands still casually resting on your thighs as he leaned in just a little closer. “what? you looked too nice standing there, i wanted you at my level.”

“you are so improper,” you scolded, fighting back a smile.

“maybe,” he murmured, his smirk turning softer as his fingers lightly traced circles against your skin. “but you love it.”

before you could retort, a dramatic groan echoed from behind you.

“oh my god, can you two not?”

you glanced over your shoulder to see lando, rolling his eyes, drink in hand, looking utterly unimpressed.

pierre, standing beside him, shook his head. “they do this everywhere.”

“i’m sick of it,” carlos added, taking a sip of his wine. “they don’t even care we’re here.”

charles, completely unbothered, grinned up at you. “jealous?”

lando scoffed. “of you? no. of her? maybe.”

you laughed, finally giving in and threading your fingers through charles’s hair, letting your other hand rest on his cheek. “fine,” you sighed dramatically. “i guess i’ll keep you.”

charles leaned into your touch, smirk fading into something sweeter. “good,” he murmured. “because i’m not going anywhere.”

and as much as your friends complained, neither of you moved.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[mattybsgroupie]

— FUCKING MATT IN PUBLIC

“can we… wait?” matt asks as soon as you adjust yourself on your sit, ready to get up. you furrow your eyebrows, silently asking matt to explain himself. “i c-can’t get up” he confesses, crossing his arms together.

“what do you mean you can’t get up?” you say, tilting your head. matt chews on his bottom lip, and you take a good look at him. maybe he ate too much, or was feeling uncomfortable. but as your eyes scan through matt’s body, you notice what he was trying to hide — a boner.

you chuckle at him, you fingers going to the back of his head, gently tugging on his hair. “would you mind explaining?” you ask, and matt lets out a heavy sigh at your sweet tone. “you just look so good” he admits, “d-dunno… just got excited”

you nod, your gaze flickering between the restaurant and his growing erection. you move closer to him, resting one of your hands on his thigh, groping his flesh. matt chokes on a moan due the sudden contact, trying to cover his reaction with a cough.

he hides his face on the crook of your neck, pretending to press a kiss onto your skin. “please, it hurts” he says, thrusting his hips upwards, begging for a bit of friction. you reach for his crotch, palming his cock over his clothes and gradually increasing the pressure, allowing matt to grind against your hand.

matt muffles on your ear, trying to form a proper sentence. “you’re not gonna cum in your pants like a virgin little boy are you?” you tease, receiving a long whine in response — of course he was. “really? wouldn’t you rather fuck mama right in that alley we passed by before entering?” you ask, and matt immediately stops his movements. he pulls away, widening his blue orbs and gulping, nodding eagerly. he looks down at his pants, realizing there was no way could hide his hardened dick.

he timidly gets up, following your steps through the front door. matt’s cheeks are burning red, embarrassment taking over him as he walks out with a pathetic boner between his legs.

you drag matt to the nearest alley, slamming his body against the brick wall. you trail kisses over his collarbone as you unbutton his shirt, leaving a huge mark on his pale skin. “my needy needy boy” you coo, noticing matt grinding against your thigh once more.

your fingers travel to his waistband, unzipping his jeans and entering his underwear. matt gasps as you wrap your knuckles around his shaft, twisting your fist in a quick pace. his mouth falls open, a perfect ‘o’ shape as he throws his head back. it’s all too much — your voice, your touch, the fear and risk of getting caught.

“inside” he moans. contrary to his pillow prince instincts, matt holds your hips closer to him, tightening his grip. “need inside mama please” matt begs, his tone a little too loud. you chuckle at his desperation before lifting your skirt and removing your panties, hearing matt whining at the sight. and you know he’s not going to shut up any time soon.

“shhh” you shush him, glueing your chest against his. you cup his cheeks, gently caressing his skin with your thumb. matt nods, eager to please you. “you wanna get caught don’t you?” you ask as you lower yourself on his cock.

matt’s whimpers turn into small cries as you start to move, feeling his dick fill you up entirely. his oozing, swollen tip hits your cervix and your pussy immediately contracts around his girth, a loud moan escaping from the back of his throat. you roll your eyes, both form pleasure and annoyance. matt won’t remain quiet, but a solution comes to your mind.

you grab your wet — soaked — panties, taking advantage of matt’s submission. you shove the fabric inside his mouth, and matt groans since he can no longer speak. he’s intoxicated by your taste, your scent taking over his senses.

“much better” you praise, bouncing on his cock. you can feel the knot in your lower tummy tightening, your approaching orgasm causing your legs to tremble. matt wraps his large, cold palms around your thighs, keeping your balance. he thrusts into you, bruising your sweet spot countless times. “wan cum baby boy? fill me up real good?” you ask as matt drools on your panties, completely drenching them.

it doesn’t take long until matt’s orgasm washes over him, his warm, thick cum spurting painting your walls in white. you cum soon after, your leaking juices coating his girth in wetness.

matt pulls out, panting heavily. a naughty, satisfied smile dancing across his face. “let’s go you loud, needy boy… i’m gonna finish taking care of you at home” you say as you finally remove your panties from his mouth, placing a kiss on his lips before putting them on again.

DAY TWO! thank you so much for the overwhelming support on this project 🤍 i’m glad you guys are enjoying it so much! if you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment on this post! love yall sm mwah

[ang3ltine]

"𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐬?"- Bucky barnes x freader

An unexpected surprise awaits you when Bucky shows up at your house with a group of strangers

a.n - no spoilers for now

warnings - John walker, dark humour and major fluff!!

Short teaser for upcoming fic! Here's the full fic!!

"You gotta be kidding me, were not seriously bringing Bob with us are we?"

"Look Captain America, if it weren't for Bob we wouldn't have made it out of that death trap of a lab alive!" Yelena replies sternly. "Besides, he seems to have more discipline than you'd ever have."

This seemed to tick John off as the two of them started shouting back and forth, while Bob sat between the two of them awkwardly.

"Ok uhm...can we maybe...not fight?" He mutters under his breath but was completely ignored.

Ava rolls her eyes at the childish scene before her and flickers her gaze down towards the nervous man. Silently telling him that it wasn't worth wasting his breath.

Surprisingly enough, he understood rather quickly and kept his mouth shut.

Bucky groans in annoyance at the bickering in the backseats, and it didn't help either when a large man was snoring away next to him.

But swiftly brushes it off after pulling into a familiar driveway. He hadn't been back at this house for about a week now, so he was dreading what awaited him when he opened the doors.

Especially since he has four other guests with him, who he quite recently found acquaintanceship with just a few days ago.

"Listen up, we're staying at this place for a while until things die down. So please, don't make this harder for me than it already is." Bucky states as the the group follows him down the pathway towards a red brick secluded house that was tucked in a small corner of New York City.

They all exchanged confused looks before reluctantly nodding at the grumpy man, with a few grunts and hushed responses. Honestly they were just really tired and their bodies were sore so there was no use in complaining.

"God - I hope she's in a good mood..." Bucky mumbles before reaching into his pocket to fish out his keys and was about to put it into the keyhole. Only to be interrupted midway as he hears the sound of another car pulling up behind him.

"Bucky honey? Is that you?!"

Everyone turned around at the sudden mention of 'Bucky' and 'honey' in the same sentence. All but Bucky himself as he walks back down the pathway towards you.

"Did I hear that right? There's no way Mr. Congressman would have a girlfriend." Ava whispers to the others as they all watched him walk past the minivan, disappearing from their sight. There were mixed reactions as they all talked amongst themselves, trying to figure out who you might be.

You were pretty confused as well since there was a dirty minivan parked in your driveway. As soon as you step out of your car to examine the vehicle, you catch a glimpse of a figure in the corner of your eye.

Adrenaline kicked in almost immediately, thinking maybe this was going to be a robbery. I mean you do live in a pretty sketchy neighbourhood so it was possible. The sun was setting so it was pretty difficult to see who it could be, you had your fighting stance ready as the person steps out of the shadows.

"God Bucky! You could've said something instead of sneaking up on me like that!" You yelled and tried calming yourself since your heart was practically hammering against your chest.

"Yeah sorry 'bout that doll, didn't mean to scare you," Bucky drawls as he pulls you into his arm for a warm embrace. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the strong scent of gasoline mixed with his cologne.

There was sand mixed with dirt on his tough leather jacket, but you didn't question it since he had finished a mission. Honestly speaking, you were just glad he was home again.

You peeked over Bucky's shoulder and finally noticed the rugged group of individuals standing in your porch. They wanted to see what all the fuss was about so they snuck up on the couple and spied on them from behind the van.

You were about to open your mouth to say something before spotting a familiar face amongst them. She had short and slightly messy bob cut and an oddly cute frown on her face.

Yelena steps forward hesitantly while examining your face at the same time, seemingly trying to figure out where she had seen you before.

Then it clicks, you were her older sisters best friend. She remembers how kind and comforting you acted towards her whenever she'd come to visit her sister.

You opened your arms for her and without hesitation, Yelena falls into your embrace.

"Its good to see you 'lena," you murmured into her hair while she smiles at the mention of her nickname.

" 's good to see you too..."

Bucky joins the rest of the group, a small smile tugged at his lips as they all watched the heartwarming scene unfold before them.

He's not sure what waited them past this, but for now, he just wants this disfunctional group of anti-heroes to find some sort of peace while they stayed here.

Taglist: @marianastudiesart

@ordelixx

@starktonyx

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@avatarobsessedgirly

[bi-writes]

hiiiii I'm new to your page but i would like to ask you what would've happened if simon mail-ordered a bride?

mail-order bride

you stare down at the address on the card, blinking as you reread the house number and look back up at the cottage in front of you. the numbers match, but you just need a few more minutes before you knock on the door.

you're not holding too many things. you have one suitcase with the entirety of your belongings at one side, the cat carrier sitting on top of it. on the other side, you hold a bundle of papers. your immigration papers, all shiny and new, your birth certificate, and your new british passport.

when you look back down, you swallow as you read over your name. it's odd, to see something new in the section labeled SURNAME.

Riley.

you've never met him. this isn't legal, it can't be, to have all of these things. he must be someone important. someone they value. or maybe, they are just too afraid to say no to him.

the front door opens, and you freeze on the spot as you see someone duck their head to step outside. they're wearing a mask, covering their entire face except for their dark eyes, but it's hitched up over his nose as he holds an unlit cigarette between his lips.

he stares as he sees you at the end of the steps. he frowns, looking you up and down.

"weren't supposed ta be 'ere for a few weeks."

your eyes water a little, but you only manage a shrug.

"i-i..." you meet his eyes. "i-i couldn't stay there any longer. i didn't have anywhere else to go."

he tucks the cigarette back behind his ear, slipping the mask off. it reveals a tousled mess of short blonde hair and a terribly scarred face. his eyes dart to the little carrier sitting next to you when he hears a soft meow coming from it.

"said no pets."

your lip trembles.

"please," you whisper, and his lip twitches as he fights off a scowl. you imagine he must not have much practice in hiding his emotions. he comes down the steps anyways, coming closer, and you pick up the carrier as he snatches the suitcase off the pavement, making his way back inside. you follow him, naturally.

when you close the door behind you, you're surprised at how quaint it all is. nice brick fireplace, a soft carpet (no shoes allowed is what he snapped at you), and wonderfully furnished to make the place cozy, warm, lived-in. there's throw blankets and accent pillows. there's pictures on the walls, paintings, yellow corner lights to give everything a soft glow. the kitchen is beautiful, with lovely colored tile and wooden cutting boards, a drip-coffee setup in the corner and worn cookbooks stacked neatly by a stainless steel toaster. there's herbs growing in little pots sitting on the windowsill above the sink, and there's a cast iron pot decoratively resting on the stove.

it's spick-span clean. there's no specks of dust or splatters left over from bacon grease. there's papers pinned to the fridge, lists to remind him to buy whole milk and sliced bread and call about the internet bill being charged twice again.

you set the carrier down on the couch, unzipping the top. a little curious black head pokes out of it, and you reach in and pick the cat up under its belly and drop it onto the floor. immediately, the cat spreads its front paws, claws sticking out as they begin to knead the carpet and use it as a personal scratcher, the prick, prick, prick sound enough to draw the giant man out of the bedroom with a hard frown on his face.

he points at the thing and shakes his head.

"keep tha' thing off the fawkin' counter," he snaps at you. he purses his lips when he sees you still standing there, afraid to even move. he comes closer, the cat scurrying off, and he yanks your coat and scarf off, going to the hang them up by the door. "can unpack tomorrow. need t'make somethin' ta eat."

you move immediately towards the kitchen, hoping he keeps a stocked fridge, but he puts out a big hand and stops you, stepping in front of you.

"the fuck are y'doin'?" he asks, and you blink up at him.

"you said to make dinner...s-sir?"

he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"y'listen t'this," he murmurs. "women don't lift a fuckin' finger in this house, y'hear?"

you nod, and he reaches up and palms your throat, cupping your jaw.

"and my wife doesn't call me sir," he mutters. "it's simon."

you soften a little. "i-i'm sorry, simon."

"don't apologize," he grits his teeth. "did nothin' wrong."

when a fresh set of tears comes down your face, he wipes them away with ease, calloused thumb swiping over your cheeks and quieting you. he puts something into your hands, a velvet box that he must've gotten when he went to put your suitcase away.

"y'r a riley now, yeah?" he murmurs, and you tilt your head at an angle, and your foreheads brush together when he bends low to speak to you. "act like it."

you lean up on your toes (he's so fucking tall), and you kiss him softly beside his mouth. when he moves his head, your lips brush against each other, but he pulls back to make his way to the kitchen. you hear the gas stove light up, and a few minutes later, there's a familiar smell of onions hitting hot olive oil.

you take a seat on the couch, smiling to yourself, wiping your eyes as you curl up there. you flip open the box, sighing shakily when you see the rectangular diamond and matching gold wedding band. when simon comes back in to give you a mug of tea, you take it with your left hand, and his eyes flicker when he notices the new jewelry there, so pretty, so new.

mine.

when he pads back into the kitchen, the cat blinks up at him slowly, green eyes bright as they sit on the counter.

simon walks past it, saying nothing at all.