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hazelfoureyes · 4 months ago

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Hi there! I hope you’re doing well!

I was hoping to send a request. Do with it what you will…but I had the scenario in my head of reader going on dates and always wearing a lot of makeup. (Nothing against makeup)

Anyway, she and Alastor are friends, although Alastor always thinks the people reader dates are not worthy of her. After this particular date that was maybe a 2nd or 3rd date, she comes home in tears. While he’s comforting her he begins to tenderly wash her face. Eventually wiping off all the makeup and he simply says “There you are.”

I love the idea of Alastor believing that a woman doesn’t need makeup to be beautiful.

Thank you! ❤️❤️

I only began wearing make up like, last month, so I’m purely using info from watching the Welsh twins. personally I like to think Alastor would respect a person taking the effort to express themselves with make up, and also appreciate people who can feel no pressure to do so. There’s something very attractive about people who do things purely for their own enjoyment. Assuming it’s not like—- watching porn in the bus or killing snakes or stuff like that. Anyway what was I supposed to be doing aga-

Alastor x GN! Reader

「warnings/promises: not an ounce of smut, he may love you in any sense of the word, but he does love you dearly, Alastor knows how to remove make up because he likes to sneak up and scare Charlie when she’s getting ready for bed and has had many a product thrown at this head」

It was normally the mornings when he’d see you after your dates, and you’d spill the tea about the good and the bad. It was fun for him, drama was always best enjoyed from a distance.

There was no distance great enough that could make him miss you as you slunk into the hotel quietly, head down and turned away purposefully. Your arms were straight to your sides and balled into fists, back stiff as a board as you power walked through the lobby. How unlike you in every way.

He waited a beat until he was confident you’d made it to your room before following.

You considered not letting him in, but you knew he would come in if he really wanted to. Why pretend?

There was no point either in hiding your makeup streaked face. He clearly knew something was wrong, why else would he have come to your room.

“It went badly?” He asked somewhat rhetorically, closing the door behind him softly. “You know, I could always eat them. Avoid awkward run-ins downtown.”

A laugh, half hearted and more a glorified exhale than anything else.

Alastor came to your bed and offered you both hands. Setting yours in his, he guided you to the bathroom. Odd, a room you’d definitely not shared before, but you didn’t question it.

There was something deeply soothing about the way he moved around you as he led you around your own space. After lifting you onto the counter, he leaned past you to fiddle with something.

You smiled genuinely as you watched him rub your make up removing cleanser between his large hands. His palms were warm on your cheeks, tears both fresh and dried were mixed with the layers of setting spray, powder, cream, and lotion. Closing your eyes was the natural thing to do, but you couldn’t have kept them open if you had wanted to. Your brain was going fuzzy, clashing with the nauseous pain in your gut.

“As much as I adore the way you jazz up your temple, I’m quite fond of your natural features.” His voice seemed so close to you in the darkness. A hummed response was all you could muster.

The sound of running water, a few cabinets opening and closing, and then the soothing warmth of a hot and sopping face towel sliding down your cheeks.

“Another dud.” Alastor announced, the word ‘dud’ popped with an annoyed static. Even with your eyes shut, they stung with newly summoned tears. “The pain of realizing someone is not for you on a third date is much more tolerable than on the third year.” His large thumbs wiped away errant tears and liquified eyeshadow.

“Not to discount your pain!” You heard the facial cleanser lathering between his palms before he began to cover your face in gentle soap. “Just, well, I’d hate to see you cry too long over nothing and no one.”

A nod from you.

His careful fingers rubbed the suds into your skin gently, sharp nails barely grazing you. “I still don’t see how my idea was discounted so quickly!”

He could see your eyes roll behind your eyelids as you ground out, “Alastor I can’t make people be interviewed by an overlord to take me out.”

“I prefer the word interrogate.”

“I don’t!”

He tsk’d, wiping the soap away with wet hands and a damp cloth. “You sure are making your dating life all about you.” His hands left you and as your cheeks began to cool you opened your eyes.

Alastor was beaming down at you. You stayed still and let his finger follow the length of your nose that you cleverly reshaped with your skills,

his palms ran over the redness of your cheeks you calmed and covered before every outing,

his claws brushed over freckles reassuringly,

his eyes settled on your two tone lips,

and he purred happily at the sight,

“There you are.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@eris-norwega @reath-solia @catticora , @angelicribbons , @xalygatorx

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog ,

@thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies

@howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @fizzled-phoenix , @star-kujo-platinum

, @a-case-of-attachment, @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl @smoky000

@hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain

@harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby

@dontfuckbutimfab @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12

#Hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #alastor x gn!reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x gn reader

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rainylana · 8 months ago

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“Don’t cry.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: a spa session with your new boyfriend turns out to be both of your breaking points.

requested by anonymous! i hope you like it and that I did it justice! i kind of took it and ran. i made it much more deep than i initially planned, so i hope you like it!

warnings: talk of sexual abuse and rape, with both eddie and reader, angst and tears, language, mentions of drug dealing and absent parents. reader is struggling to connect with eddie and he doesn’t know why, kinda leaves in a cliffhanger??

Sometimes Eddie wondered if you liked him, because half the time it didn’t seem like you did. You’d become stand-offish, quiet, shrink in on yourself. His “Are you okay?” was always met with an “I’m fine.” and nothing more. It always seemed like you were protecting yourself. Not just from him, but from everyone. You loved his friends, but sometimes they scared you. You never knew who to trust. Would one of them hurt you, given the chance?

One thing was for sure though, you loved Wayne. He was like the father you never had growing up. From the way he talked, looked, his personality, it reminded you of a father. Eddie was extremely lucky to grow up with him while he did.

Eddie wasn’t stupid, however, he knew some of your behavior had to do with your upbringing. You’d shared some of it with him before, time and time again, here and there. You’d grown up pretty similarly to him. Dead beat parents that abused you, surrounded by their friends who eyed you like a piece of meat for them to chew on. When you grow up like that, you’re bound to be a little messed up. Eddie understood that. He was the same way.

But with you, it was different. He didn’t want you to feel that way around him. The relationship hadn’t been going on for that long and was still fairly fresh, but he wanted you to trust him. And even dating might have been a stretch, you were just very good friends who weren’t very good friends with anyone else.

You liked Eddie, maybe even loved him, but there was no lying when it came to the fact you were struggling to connect with him. Could you really trust him? Was he just like the men from your childhood? Would he fuck you and ultimately leave once he got his full satisfaction? You’d cried yourself to sleep many of times during the night at the thought.

Sometimes you didn’t feel safe. Not with him, not with his friends. You only ever felt truly safe with Wayne. You didn’t know why. You hated the way you felt. Eddie was a good man. He was good to you. He had yet to do anything that proved otherwise. But the dark corners of your mind lingered closer and closer to the edge, reminding you of what once was your reality on the daily. You hoped this time it was different.

“I like this color on you.” Eddie’s tongue was stuck out in concentration, one hand holding your foot, the other holding the brush of the pink nail polish bottle. “It’s cute.”

“Pink?” You smirked. “You like pink?”

“On you.” His lashes fluttered up to you briefly.

The gesture was cute, but anytime he did something sweet like this you couldn’t help but think if he was luring you into a trap. Your stomach was littered with jitters and nerves. Day by day your anxiety was staring to become more out of control. You thought about ending things with him. It wasn’t fair to him to not give the relationship your all, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You’d miss him dearly.

“Well, thanks.” You smiled softly. “I don’t like painting them by myself. The angle is too hard.”

He muttered a Mhm with his tongue out, blowing on your little toe so the pain would dry. “I used to paint my nails black when I was a teenager.” He said.

“Really?” You said amusedly. “Why’d you stop?”

“Got out of the habit, I guess.” He dipped the brush back in the bottle. “Plus, not that I cared, but kids at school were givin’ me shit about it.”

You knew Eddie had the same childhood you did, in some sense anyways. Eddie wouldn’t talk about it much, especially never about his mother. But his dad was something you knew struck a nerve. You should share your traumas together, that’s what you always told yourself. You knew you both could relate to one another, but the relationship was still too fresh. Maybe neither was ready for that.

“Want me to do your fingers?” Eddie asked, blowing on your last toe as he finished up his fine work. “I gotta say, babe, I did pretty good.”

You flexed your freshly painted toes and grinned at his work. “You did! Thank you.”

He put the bottle on the table and plopped down beside you on the couch, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “So what now? What’s next on the spa list?” He smirked and you did the same, laughing breathily.

“I won’t make you succumb to all my girly stuff.” You laughed. “Anything I can do for you? Your hair looks like it needs brushed a little.”

“What?” He gave you an incredulous look. “I keep my hair very much maintained, thank you.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t, Eddie.” You rolled your eyes. “All I said was it needed brushed a little.”

You hopped up and got your plastic hairbrush from the bathroom, pointing at him with it when you returned. “Your turn to be pampered. Sit on the floor.”

He shook his head amusedly and sat down where you had, your legs falling at the sides of his shoulders as you gently began combing out his curls. He didn’t mean to, but he sighed in content.

“Feel good?” You gave a shit eating grin.

“You’re a-lot gentler than Wayne used to be.” He relaxed under your touch. “He always pulled at my hair and got it more ratted up than it already was. This feels good.”

You smiled at the mention of Wayne. “Well, I’ve got a woman’s touch, honey.”

“Yes, you do.”

It was quiet and peaceful for a while as you brushed his hair, the both of you content in the silence. When he touched your ankle, caressing it, your heart began to pound. You hadn’t had sex with him yet. You were too scared to. You knew it was time, it had been almost two months and you knew Eddie had long since been ready to sleep with you.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You did. You fantasized about him just as much as he did you, but you were terrified of him leaving once you finally crossed that line. Out of instinct, you brought your legs up to you, sitting criss-cross like he was.

You heard him sigh and your stomach ached with guilt. You should give him what he wants.

“I’m sorry.” You say guiltily.

“You never let me touch you.” Eddie said flatly, staring at the ground as you continued to brush his hair. “And you won’t tell me why.”

Your eyes teared up and you stopped brushing, bringing it down to your lap. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you say.” He shook his head. “You don’t need to be sorry. You just need to tell me why I scare you so bad.”

“You don’t.” You denied, trying your hardest to convince him. When he said things like this, you felt foolish for thinking the way that you did. “It’s just- it’s- it’s just me.”

Eddie turned around, looking up at you to find you with tears in your face. “If it wasn’t true you wouldn’t be crying. Don’t I deserve the truth, Y/n? Have I don’t anything at all to make you scared of me?”

“No.” You sniffled, getting off the couch to go into the kitchen of his trailer. “You haven’t.”

Eddie watched you, becoming more and more anxious by the second. He sat there, waiting for his answer, anything but no. “Do you want to break up?”

“No!” You cried, shaking your head wildly. “No, that’s not what I want.”

“You don’t even like me, Y/n.” He scoffed to himself, closing in, becoming cold and shutting down. Something he hadn’t done in a long time. “You won’t open up to me. I can barely touch you. You look like you’re disgusted to be around me.”

“That’s not true!” You snapped, taking a step toward him. “Stop saying shit like that!”

“Then you say something for a change!” He argued back, not moving from his spot on the floor.

“But it’s so stupid!” You shook your head. “It’s ridiculous!”

He gave you a look. He was waiting and he wouldn’t back out this time. Either that, or he was going to break up with you. The thought made you want to vomit. Maybe you did care more deeply for him than you were letting on.

“We don’t talk about what happened when we were kids,” You sighed through tears, voice breaking. “We’re..both the same, but we don’t talk about it.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as you began, wondering after all, if he wanted to hear where you were going with this.

“Mom wasn’t around, so that left dad and his friends.” You stared at him, being as open and honest as you could now. There was no beating around the bush with this. “I…Jesus,” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair. “I didn’t know that it wasn’t normal at the time, but they’d…they’d use me.” You took a deep breath after the last word. No stopping now.

“They would play poker, touch me, rape me.” You weren’t crying anymore, talking mostly to yourself now at this point. “And I know you would never do that to me, Eddie, but sometimes I’m so afraid of it happening again and I just shut down.” You closed your eyes. “You touch me and I’m so afraid you’ll abandon me once we sleep together. That’s all anyone has ever done in my life.”

“Fuck me, then leave.” You sniffled. “That’s all they ever do.”

Eddie’s eyes were drooping, slightly narrowed and brows furrowed. He shook his head softly, you almost missed it, and you knew you’d made him at a loss for words.

He looked up to you briefly, licking his lips before he spoke. “There was this one guy my dad would deal for,” He began. “He was a big dude, almost seven foot. I was only thirteen. But dad would bring him into the house and he…would look at me. Just watch me wherever I went.” He stared at his hands, not daring to look at you.

“I think he payed dad.” His voice broke, but he refused to let any tears fall. “Because I screamed and screamed and he wouldn’t come.”

You let out an audibly gasp and covered your mask, your heart falling to the floor with a splat.

“Oh, god, Eddie,” You crawled to the floor and knelt beside him.

“It’s okay.” He stopped your apologies. “I didn’t tell you for you to be sorry for me. I told you because you need to know you’re not alone, and not everyone is out to get you. You’re safe with me. I want you to believe that.”

You let out a wet sob, tears rolling down your red face. “How do I stop being scared? I want to be with you.”

He smiled softly, a finger swiping at a tear. “We have all the time in the world for that, angel.”

You grabbed his arm and laid your head against his shoulder, sobbing like a broken child.

“Oh, baby,” He kissed your forehead. “Don’t cry.”

It would be a long road to recovery, but you could both do it together. Slowly, every day you would both open up to each other about what you went through, and day by day, it would get easier.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #requests #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb

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murdockparker · 9 months ago

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Our Cottage

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: A first anniversary is nearly as important and memorable as the wedding day—if only she had remembered it. Or, at the very least, hoped her husband also forgot. Knowing her husband? Unlikely.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: fluffy fluff!! cheesy as cheese gets I'm afraid, mentions and illusions of sex but no smut (sorry babes maybe next time)

A/N: Another self indulgent fic for me myself and I. You're welcome to read it if you want I guess—I have nothing else to say about it

The room was too fragrant.

Maybe it was her sensitive sense of smell that had awoken her, but something about the near ten bouquets that adorned her bedchambers led her to believe that both could be true.

“What in the world?”

“Good morning, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said, knocking unceremoniously on the door. “I do hate to intrude on your beauty sleep, but I was instructed to beat the drapes and I’m afraid this is the last room I have left to do.”

“No, no,” (Y/N) groaned, sitting up in bed, “I bet it’s time for me to rise anyway. Can’t sleep the day away.”

“You’re much more forgiving than Mr. Bridgerton,” Mrs. Crabtree smiled, entering further into the bedchambers. “As much as I miss the young master’s presence here at the estate, if he found out that I awoke you early,” she laughed quietly, “I reckon the mister and I would be packing our bags before nightfall.”

“Oh please,” (Y/N) peeled the covers off of her body, stretching her legs, “Benedict loves you both dearly—”

“But he loves you more,” the woman points, making good work of taking the drapes off the wall. “Why, do you think Mr. Bridgerton would purchase the same amount of flowers for me?”

She looks closer at the bouquets—all full of a different variety of blooms. Most filled with her favorites, but a handful were a collection of his favorites as well. “Why did Benedict purchase all of these flowers, anyway? It seems excessive…”

Mrs. Crabtree’s smile seemed secretive at first, fading in realization after looking Mrs. Bridgerton in the eyes. “Oh, my dear, you’re serious.”

“Benedict is usually known for romantic gestures,” (Y/N) said indifferently, “I do not recall a time he did something quite like this, though.”

“Well, I can recall a time Mr. Crabtree and I had to clean up a shocking amount of paint and a few precarious handprints across his study…”

She wished she was still in bed, wanting nothing more than to pull the covers over her bright red face. It was one of the many nights of their honeymoon—Benedict had the bright idea to try and paint with their bodies instead of brushes. She thought he had the decency to clean it all up in the morning. She thought, anyhow.

“I-I’m sorry you had to clean up such a mess,” (Y/N) said, praying the apology could transcend lifetimes. “I will be sure to let Benedict know he needs to be more careful with his oils.”

“Oh, your love keeps me young, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said. “But as I was saying—do you really not realize why your husband had purchased so many flowers?”

“Not a clue.”

“Perhaps it isn’t my place,” Mrs. Crabtree said slowly. “But you and the master have been married for a year now.”

“Yes, yes,” (Y/N) waved. “Nearly year of marital bliss—”

“A year ago, today.”

“Today is… surely not…”

Noticing a perfectly placed card in the bouquet on her nightstand, she grabbed it and quickly sped over the looping font.

Dearest,

I hope these blooms find you well, I instructed the Crabtrees to be extra careful in their delivery this morn. As exquisite as the flowers may be, and I insisted on their exquisiteness, they could never hold a candle to you. Light of my life and song of my heart, how pleasantly perfect the last year has been.

Happy anniversary, my love.

Yours forever,

Their anniversary. Their first anniversary, and she had completely forgotten about it.

“Mr. Bridgerton is still visiting Kent until this evening,” Mrs. Crabtree explained, as if the young missus didn’t know. “I’m sure that provides ample time to prepare something for his arrival, at the very least twelve hours give or take.”

“How could I have forgotten?” (Y/N) was beside herself, forgetting her anniversary? Her first anniversary? Surely it wasn’t an omen of some kind. She was holding onto his note rather tightly. “What kind of a wife am I?”

“Not a terrible one,” Mrs. Crabtree said. “Why, I recall forgetting quite a few of my anniversaries as well.”

“Not your first one though, correct?”

“Well, no—”

“We need to go to town,” (Y/N) said determinedly, flinging her closet open, eyes scanning over every sensible dress she owned. “I need to figure out a way to top whatever spectacle my husband has planned for this evening.”

“I’ll call for a carriage,” Mrs. Crabtree sighed, knowing full well that the drapes will not get finished this afternoon.

“If we were in London, why, I’d have hundreds of choices on what to get Benedict,” (Y/N) said, skimming through the few booths at the market. Life out in the country was agreeable, favorable even, but it was moments like these that she truly missed the convenience of living in such a populated place. “I just do not see how I am to make a gift with anything here.”

“Perhaps, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree said, carrying a basket full of fresh fruit and veg—taking every opportunity of the market while they’re out, “perhaps you should try gifting something from the heart?”

“What to wives usually get their husbands for the first anniversary?” (Y/N) asked absentmindedly, fingers running over a healthy pile of apples.

“I find that most women in your place have the pleasure of gifting news of an heir right around or before the year mark,” Mrs. Crabtree said, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips. “I don’t suppose you can surprise Mr. Bridgerton with such news?”

Her face went red. “No. Decidedly not.”

“Shame,” Mrs. Crabtree clicked, “I was rather hoping to be doting on a babe sometime soon…”

“What did you give Mr. Crabtree for your anniversary?” (Y/N) tried to change the subject, ignoring the perfect thought of a little baby with Benedict’s eyes. Perhaps they would have her nose? Her smile?

“Well,” the older woman’s face lit up, “our Henry was the best kind of gift—for me or Mr. Crabtree. I wish I could be more help in that regard, dear.”

Defeated, (Y/N) threw a handful of apples into her basket. The apples weren’t even all that good this time of year. Perhaps she could convince Mrs. Crabtree to bake a pie. Either way, a snack for the horses and their hard work this morning.

“Please forgive me for speaking out of turn, ma’am,” Mrs. Crabtree spoke quietly, “but your husband loves you dearly, I am quite sure he would be most content with any gift you give him.”

“Oh I am sure he would be well suited to accept anything I made or purchased,” (Y/N) agreed. “I rather think I could sneeze on a piece of parchment and he’d write to the National Gallery to induct it into their collection.”

“He would,” Mrs. Crabtree agreed, holding back a laugh.

“Why did I marry such a thoughtful man?” (Y/N) groaned, fist clenching tighter on her basket. “I am destined to be in this predicament every year until the day I perish, aren’t I?”

“To be in a happy marriage, ma’am?”

“To have to deal with my inadequacy for gifts,” she corrected. “We are but a competitive match, after all. Chess is a blood sport with us,” (Y/N) laughed, recalling the last time they had played the game. They both were of the same mind, irritating as it were, it was as if they were playing themselves. It usually ended well regardless, with one under the other in the bedroom. “He probably has been planning something since we were wed, I’m sure. How do I ever top such a thing?”

“Might I suggest the baby narrative again?”

“Mrs. Crabtree, I know you mean it in jest, but it really sounds like my only option at this point.”

“I cannot help my need to see perfect little Bridgerton babies around the estate,” Mrs. Crabtree said cleverly. “But I also know when that day comes and you and Mr. Bridgerton do end up having children, it will be the most welcome of presents. Just, not this year, hm?”

“No,” she sighed, “not this year.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Crabtree nodded. “Perhaps we should head back to the estate?”

“I suppose,” (Y/N) sighed again, kicking a stray rock off of the path. “No use in sulking at the market when I can sulk in the comfort of my own home and await my perfect husband’s arrival with his perfect present.”

“Chin up, dear,” Mrs. Crabtree laughed, putting the baskets away in the carriage. “It’s endearing that you care so deeply about Mr. Bridgerton's gift. I’m sure whatever you land on will be just perfect.” A tease of sarcasm, a tease at her young missus.

“You’ve made your point,” (Y/N) grumbled, hopping into the cab. “Perhaps I should just accept defeat.”

“Oh, well now that won’t do,” Mrs. Crabtree admonished playfully, closing the door behind her. The carriage begun moving home. “You yourself said you were a competitive match, and I for one would like to see Mr. Bridgerton bested. All men need to be reminded that the wife is the true head of the house from time to time.”

(Y/N) snorted. How she cared so deeply for the staff here in the country, the Crabtrees were always a breath of fresh air. “He’s well aware.”

“Remind him anyway,” Mrs. Crabtree said absentmindedly.

As if struck by lightning, Mrs. Bridgerton knew exactly what she could gift her husband.

Benedict was exhausted. His family’s bad timing is never lost on him, needing his immediate attention at Aubrey Hall for one reason or another. His mother’s correspondence begged him to come urgently, a matter only meant to be discussed in person rather through letters. With a heavy heart he left his wife behind, knowing he’d only be gone for a handful of days anyway, even if he would be missing the majority of their anniversary day.

Benedict grinned wickedly. They still had plenty of the night, however.

When he originally had purchased My Cottage, he never expected to share the less-than-humble estate with anyone else, but like it was meant to be—and he had a very good reason to believe it was—(Y/N) made it her own and took to the country as well as he thought. She had even made fast friends with the Crabtrees, who, by all regards, Benedict thought of as family.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” Mr. Crabtree greeted, nodding to the young master exiting the carriage. Anthony had sent for him with a family transport—knowing Benedict would not want to leave (Y/N) without—all the more reason for his brother to agree to come to Aubrey Hall. “Welcome home, sir.”

“Crabtree,” Benedict nodded back, jumping down to the dirt path.

“How was your family, sir?”

“Dreadful,” Benedict groaned. “Made even more taxing by the two entire days of travel there and back. Do they not realize how far Wiltshire is to Kent?”

“I am sure the viscount is well aware,” Mr. Crabtree said, treading lightly. “I am also sure that they would not have called upon you for a small matter, either.”

“No,” Benedict sighed, rolling his shoulders. The trip had been a long one, his muscles ached. “It was a good reason for my visit, but it still pained me to be from my wife for so very long, especially today.”

“Ah, well, your missus has not been herself since you left,” Mr. Crabtree said. “I am quite sure that seeing you will be a happy reunion indeed.”

“Please ensure that you and your missus find your lodgings in the cabin, this eve,” Benedict said, as if the thought just occurred to him. Asking his staff to stay at the cabin by the pond became a regular occurance, especially after his marriage. “It is my anniversary, after all.”

Mr. Crabtree smiled. “Already done, sir.”

“Excellent,” Benedict said, trying his best not to grin from ear to ear. “Have a good night.”

“You as well, sir.”

Benedict knew that dinner would be waiting for him inside, Mrs. Crabtree probably having already made his favorites. After his day of travel, he was ravenous—more for food in this very moment than anything else, but he would settle for his wife, too.

“Darling,” Benedict called out, removing his boots by the front entryway. “Your fantastic husband has returned!”

Silence.

“Darling?” He called again, only to be met with the ticking of the grand clock in the foyer. “Playing hard to get, it seems…”

A shimmering of light caught his eye. Candlelight was emitting from his study, his studio, flickering from the crack under the door.

Odd.

“(Y/N)…?”

He opened the door cautiously, only to find his wife hunched over an easel. She had a streak of blue paint on her right cheek, a smidge of green right across the bridge of her nose. Benedict couldn’t recall the last time he saw something so endearing.

“Oh! Benedict!” (Y/N) said, nearly jumping five feet into the air. “You’re home!”

“I am,” he laughed, shutting the door to the study. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Cooking,” she deadpanned, posing with a hand on her hip, painters pallet in the other. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“After all my begging to get you to pick up a brush, you decide to do it whilst I’m away?” He pressed his hand to his chest. “I cannot decide if I am touched or hurt.”

“It was meant to be a surprise!” (Y/N) laughed, setting the pallet down. “A gift for you.”

“A gift?” Benedict mused, walking closer to his wife. “And what did I do to deserve such a gift?”

“You married me,” she said simply, wiping her hands of any wet paint. They were still covered in a kaleidoscope of colors, but all dried down and hardly worth the effort to clean at the present moment. “A year ago today, I gather.”

“Oh yes,” Benedict said knowingly. “That is today, isn’t it?” His wife grinned up at him, looking more beautiful than the day he met her, a day he could have sworn was burned into his mind forever.

“So I’ve been told,” (Y/N) said. “I hate to admit, but I started on this later that I would have liked, only working on it for the last eight hours—”

“You didn’t happen to forget our anniversary, did you?” Benedict crossed his arms, his voice teasing.

“Of course not!” She lied, keeping her voice even. “You are just an impossible person to make a gift for, that is all.”

“Ah,” Benedict clicked. He did not believe her, but forgave her all in the same breath. “I see.”

“So it is not yet finished—”

“May I see it?”

“No, not yet,” (Y/N) said, turning the easel away quickly. He couldn’t have possibly seen what it was from where he was standing, anyway.

“What if…” Benedict crossed the room, carefully opening the closet in the wall. “We showed them together?” He pulled a similar sized canvas from the contents of the closet, covered in a plain white sheet. Of course he painted her something, it seemed only right. She married an artist, after all.

“Yours is going to be much better than mine,” (Y/N) said, nearly melting into the floor. “I will feel inadequate comparing our work.”

“Nonsense,” Benedict scoffed, walking back towards his wife. “They were both made with the same amount of love, I’m sure of it.”

“Perhaps…”

“Come on,” he said, nudging her arm with the corner of his canvas lovingly. “On the count of three?”

She nodded. “One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

She spun the easel around just as Benedict removed the cover from the canvas in his hand.

Laughter filled the room.

“Oh my darling, I could kiss you,” Benedict said, voice full of love, his eyes not straying from her canvas for a moment. “Granted, I have wanted nothing more than to kiss you since I arrived—”

“Out of everything we could have painted,” (Y/N) giggled, brushing hair out of her face. “We picked the same subject?”

On both canvases laid a landscape rendition of My Cottage, one obviously more well-done than the other. Benedict’s gave a sense of perfect imperfection, something worth hanging in a gallery or museum. (Y/N)’s, while being done by the hand of a novice in only a handful of hours, gave it the sense of home, the shared feeling the couple had every day at their estate.

“We share the same mind,” Benedict surmised, setting his work on a neighboring easel, putting both side-by-side. “What a stunning collaboration on our end.”

“You jest,” (Y/N) pushed Benedict playfully. “Yours is far superior to mine. A toddler could have done better work.”

“Nonsense!” Benedict said, pulling his wife into his side, kissing her temple. “You obviously put such care into it, no matter how lopsided the left side of our home may be—”

“Benedict—”

“It’s brilliant, my love,” Benedict sang, turning (Y/N) to look directly at him. “I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”

“Truly?”

“Well, I fear I am still waiting on my welcome kiss…” Benedict sighed.

“Needy, needy man,” (Y/N) bubbled, rocking on her toes to reach her husband’s face, all but happy to oblige.

After a total of four days apart, the kiss was one that was worth waiting for. Saccharine sweet and slow, it was welcoming, it was home. Much like their first kiss, Benedict idly wondered if (Y/N)’s lips were always meant to be captured in his own—as if they were quite literally made for each other.

“Oh dear,” (Y/N) giggled, pulling away from her husband’s embrace, thumb rubbing soothing circles on his jaw. He needed to shave.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Paint,” she said, swiping her thumb across his cheek. “Entirely my fault. I’m not even sure how I got it on my face to begin with…”

“Hardly the first time,” Benedict quipped, leaning back in to kiss her once more.

“Do you really like it?” (Y/N) asked, resting her head on his shoulder—their attention somehow turned back to the canvases. “Or are you lying to me?”

“I would never lie to you,” Benedict said. She believed him. “But, I do suppose a few more hours would boast well to the quality…”

Another playful slap to his arm.

“Where are we to hang yours?” Her hand grazed his masterpiece. He must have finished it ages ago, hiding it away for just the right moment. “The entryway gets too much sun—”

“What about our bedchambers?” He offered.

“No, I want our guests to admire your work of Our Cottage,” she hummed, focusing her attention to the beautiful wreath he lovingly added to the front door. She loved adorning their door with fresh flowers, a detail he surely could have overlooked, but still included anyway. “Perhaps in the drawing room?”

“Our Cottage…” Benedict mumbled happily. “I think it’s high time we changed the name to that, don’t you agree? Seeing as it is no longer ‘my’ anything, not with you here.”

“Considering it still is not a cottage in the slightest, I have a few disagreements on that alone,” she teased. Their estate was nearly the furthest thing from a cottage, nearly a small mansion. “But yes… Our Cottage seems fitting.”

“And where will we hang your masterpiece?” Benedict pulled her tighter into his side. “Shall we hang them side-by-side? Allow our guests to see just how talented the Bridgertons can be?”

“Oh I am quite alright with stowing this away until forever,” (Y/N) laughed. “No guest needs to see this poor attempt when the true artistry falls onto you.”

“Poppycock!” Benedict dismissed. “My wife worked very hard on this, I refuse to just ‘stow it away’.”

“Well, then where do you suggest we hang it?” She said, trying not to smile, his praise flooding her senses from her head to her toes.

“I may have a few ideas…”

The wondrous scent of flowers filled their home once more, something that happened more and more frequently in the summer months, when flowers of all sorts were in season. Benedict made sure he outdid himself from last year, adorning each room in their home with at least two bouquets each, rather than just a load in their bedchambers. His reasoning? They only get the once to celebrate their second anniversary, might as well make it special.

“Should we move this one?” (Y/N) asked, holding a rather large assortment in her hand. “I would hate for her to be overwhelmed by the scent…”

“Darling, she’s fine,” Benedict said, grabbing the bouquet from his wife. “But, if you insist, I shall make an exception on this room.”

“She’s a baby,” (Y/N) giggled, watching her husband clumsily run across the hall to place the bouquet in their bedchambers. “I do not think she has the capacity to admire such a thing yet.”

“We want our daughter to be well versed, do we not?” Benedict said, returning to the nursery. “Best we start her on the language of flowers as soon as we can. An educated lady is a respected lady.”

“You’re impossible,” (Y/N) grinned.

“So I’ve been told.”

“God, she’s so perfect,” she said, looking over the crib with a look one could only describe as lovestruck. “How did we manage to make such a beautiful thing?”

“You did most of the work,” Benedict said, suddenly beside her. “I only showed up the once, if I recall.”

“Oh hush,” (Y/N) leaned up against him, feeling the warmth of his body touching her own. “A perfect anniversary present.��

“She’s been quite the gift the last few months, I’ll give you that,” Benedict hummed, his fingers lazily rubbing shapes on the top of her arm. “But I’m afraid that title still falls to the gift from last year.”

Framed perfectly atop the crib of their precious baby girl was the rendition of their home, the one (Y/N) had worked so hard on a year prior. While it had looked a bit more polished after Benedict offered his wife some very well needed advice, it was still lopsided and patchy, but very much full of love. He had hung it two weeks later, after it had completely dried and framed, causing his wife to sob tears of joy on the placement.

Their daughter was born only nine months after.

“Our Cottage,” she sighed happily.

“Our Cottage,” Benedict kissed her temple, looking down at his daughter and back at his beautiful wife. “Happy anniversary, my love.”

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #hi i love b.b and no one can stop me #if anyone wants some wine with a side of this CHEESE come and see me

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daydreaming-in-letters · 3 months ago

Text

That You Are

09/16/2024

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Word Count: 1,057

Warnings: rpf, yearning

Summary: He is far away even though he longs to be anywhere that you are.

A/N: Seriously, I have no idea if this is any good or even worth sharing with you, but here we go anyway. Heavily inspired by song and video, as you can probably tell…

Picture: screenshot from this video by Queen Ruth

If you enjoy my story, liking is great, but leaving a comment or reblogging is the stuff that keeps me going. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

It’s getting late. Late enough for the day to come to an end. For the sun to vanish in the distance, where the barren land melts into the horizon. Pastel hues of pink, orange and blue have replaced the bright azure in the sky. And for the first time I can breathe again. The mild air fills my lungs, my whole body winding down with a sigh of relief. Because with the sun, the heat has left the air. The suffocating, scorching heat that has tortured me all day. That has stretched the hours and minutes and seconds until it almost made me believe this day would never end.

But it did. And you of all people know what this means to me. What it means to us. One day less of being apart. One day less of longing to be close to you. Of sitting here on my own, in front of me a view so stunning it makes my heart ache. And it aches even more for not being able to share this moment with you. I’ve taken a picture to send to you later. But as so often, the colours are a bit off, the angle not quite right. Or maybe it is simply the fact that there is something about this world that no lens will ever be able to capture.

Are you still fast asleep, my darling? I hope you are. The day is still young for you, the sun not yet ready to brighten your side of the world. I’ll send it to you, and with it all my love. As I always do, so that every ray of sunlight may remind you of it, may warm you like the hugs you so dearly miss. I promise you’ll get them all. I’ll even throw in a few more to make up for the long wait.

How I wish I could hold you in my arms right now. Instead I am dreaming of you, eyes wide open, seemingly transfixed by the spectacle in front of me when all I really see is you. It’s almost as if you were here with me.

Somewhere behind me I can hear the soft tapping of your bare feet on the floor. It has to be you. I recognise the rhythm of your stride blindly. It’s engraved into my memory like all the other little things about you. Your unique scent, the melody of your voice, the feeling of your skin against mine, the even beat of your heart, the cadence of your breath. For a second I can feel it crawl along my neck before the touch of your lips drowns out every other sensation. They are warm and smooth as they delicately press against my pulse. And they are gone as soon as they have appeared. But the smile they brought to mine lingers.

I watch as your entire form comes into view. You look comfortable in those wide clothes. You don’t have to say it, I know you are just as relieved that the sun is gone as I am. No more sweating, no more sticky skin, the thin sheen of moisture covering your body and the gentle breeze in your wet hair heavenly refreshing.

Your smile carries it all. And I am glad my hands know on their own what to do, how to hold the instrument, how to pick the chords. Because everything I see in this moment is the curve of your lips, and everything I am becomes you for this fleeting fragment of time.

I love you. All of me loves you. I want to tell you, but the words never form, sealed inside my chest as your hand finds me. Wordlessly it asks me to make room for you, and I do. And as soon as my legs fall open, you sink down between them. One arm claiming my thigh, your head soon follows. It might not be the most comfortable of pillows to rest on, but you don’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s the view that makes up for it, the tiny rest of the sun that is still visible, like the last gleaming ember of a bonfire.

Gently your lips press against the light blue denim that covers my thigh, and as much as I wish they would press against my lips instead, your sweet gesture of affection makes my heart want to leap out of its cage and into your loving hands. It would be safe with you. That is a truth indelible. Probably the only one.

It’s only now that I realise I have started to whistle. Of course it is this song. What other song would it be?

“Will you sing for me?” you ask, your voice barely louder than a whisper. Are you afraid I will deny you your wish? Or are you still worried about my voice even though I am feeling much better these days? Don’t be. I’m good. And you are with me. What else could I ask for?

Softly I begin the first verse as your fingers are drawing patterns on my knee in perfect harmony. You pull yourself closer to me, the movement setting a few strands of your hair in motion. They roll across the lower layers like waves to the shore, the last bit of sunlight bringing out the warmest tones in them. My fingers are itching to touch you, but that would mean to stop playing. You would turn immediately and the displeasure on your face would be much worse than to deny myself the silky touch of your hair as it runs through my fingers.

There will be time enough for that later. When I will hold you in my arms, the world around us falling silent until it will be hard to imagine that it consists of more than just you and me. It doesn’t matter anyway that we are just two insignificant parts of a huge integral whole when there is a whole world inside of us that is entirely ours. Yours and mine.

A world in which you are actually here with me on this balcony. In which I am dreaming next to you, pulling you closer against my chest, not even sleep numbing my longing for you. A world in which I will always be anywhere that you are.

*** taglist:

@rosecentury

@lowkeysimpinloki

@fightmespideyboy

#hozier #hozier x reader #hozier fanfiction #hozier fic #hozier x you #that you are

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minus-plus-zer0 · 4 months ago

Note

okay hear me out. bakugo x reader but the reader’s entire family just died in a villain accident and they go mia and don’t talk to anyone for a month?? and bakugo sees them on a bus/crossing the street/at a cafe or smth like that

I hope I interpreted this correctly, I wrote the reader as if they had left for a month entirely, rather than being physically present but mentally/socially withdrawn for a month. Anyways, thank you for requesting!

Disappearance of You

♡ Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

The news cycle had since forgotten what happened, but Bakugou didn't.

That villain triggered the rest of these events to go into motion. After your entire family died, you disappeared. You didn't even text Bakugou, your one and only best friend. Your friends were worried sick, but nobody worried more than Bakugou.

After spending every single day with you, Bakugou couldn't suddenly go without contact. In fact, he was afraid he'd never see you again. Even if this incident changed you, even if you weren't the same, he needed to see you. Bakugou didn't let many people into his life, so when he had someone he cared about, he didn't easily let go.

Without any friends or family knowing where you were, you were hard to find. But Bakugou knew you better than he knew himself, and he was determined that he would finally you eventually.

Around a month later, the game of hide and seek ended. Bakugou spotted you in the city. It was like witnessing the dead come back to life. He had seen you cross a street wading through the crowd, your appearance and your body language unmistakable. Bakugou sprinted over to you, shoving people past as he yelled out your name.

You glanced back once, but he didn't catch your expression. You sprinted down a deserted alleyway but Bakugou tackled you and caught you on the ground.

"Shit, are you okay? Speak to me, dammit!"

You were not in a good condition, and Bakugou hoped that none of your current health issues were due to him tackling you just now. You looked like you hadn't been eating properly, and he was sad to see that you weren't at all happy to see him.

He pulled you up into a sitting position to hug you dearly. You almost didn't feel real to him. But he needed you back in his arms again, to let his brain know he had finally, finally found you.

At some point your arms curled around his neck, right where they belonged. You felt Bakugou's tears against your neck and you pulled out of the hug to wipe them off his face.

"Don't cry," you said, quietly.

"Don't tell me what to do!" he said, voice shaking. "Where the fuck were you? People thought you were dead! You don't get to just bail on me like that. I don't have anybody else like you. You're my best fucking friend. You're my other half. You don't get to just leave..."

These were the kinds of things Bakugou had kept inside him since you left, since even before you left when he couldn't admit to you how he felt in fear of ruining your friendship. These were the kind of things he couldn't admit to anybody else.

"I just couldn't stick around," you said. "I couldn't be reminded of what happened... but the reminders were everywhere."

"You should've told me." Bakugou's burying his face in your neck again, his sobs now muffled.

After spending enough time holding you, Bakugou finally let go but not without locking your hand in his, if only to make sure you wouldn't abandon him ever again. He didn't know what he would do if he never got to tell you he loved you to your face, and now with you back by his side he's got the chance to do it properly, rather than to a missing person poster... or a grave.

Bakugou texted his mother that he had found you. She pretty much considered you a daughter-in-law already, having seen you countless times with Bakugou everywhere in his life. She was basically awaiting for your marriage plans to be officially announced (you weren't even dating... yet). And although Bakugou didn't always get along with her, he knew that his mom and dad could take good care of you in the meantime while you got back on your feet.

Even if you didn't have a family anymore, Bakugou would just take you back home to his.

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cheriladycl01 · 1 year ago

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My love, is mine all mine - Max Verstappen x Norris! Reader x Charles Leclerc Part 1

Plot: Norris' Twin sister is also a driver in the 2021 line up and is in her rookie era. Not only do the commentators struggle to now talk about the pair in the race, but they also struggle to talk about talent. What happens when two drivers find her eye-catching.

A/N: A lot of back story explaining the 2021 season so far!

"So when we talk about the Norris twins, obviously due to Y/N being female it has pushed her career back further than her brothers, where she is debuting into McLaren alongside her brother we will be able to see a real test of talent"

"Yes i think it will be really interesting to see them both in the same team competing against one another while still driving for that same team. They have very similar driving styles and I can imagine them helping one another out when it comes to pole positions and keeping both of them within the top ten for points" Jenso replies to Nico.

This was from an interview at the start of the 2021 season, just before your first race in Bahrain. When Zac Brown reached out to you, you were more than happy to take up the offer. Being able to not only race alongside your brother once again but by being his team mate as well had you so excited for the season.

Bahrain went really well, Lando being in his 3rd year of Formula 1 and within the same team now felt comfortable in his car, and it had the pace this year and he came P4, you had some difficulties where you weren't fully used to the difference in the F1 car, compared too your old F2 but still managed to wrangle 6 points for the team in P7.

Imola came after a larger break where you and Lando got to travel home for a few weeks before and check on everything in the MTC before travelling to Italy. Lando got a podium in P3 and like the interview had said, he kept enough of a time gap to help you defend of the two Ferrari's behind you. You came P4. To say that Charles wasn't happy with this, as you knocked him down a place was an understatement.

Portugal was the week after and you travelled straight there, sightseeing with your brother, Daniel, Carlos and Charles. You would often leave them in bars and clubs and find yourself in cafe's and museums. Portugal wasn't as good as a race as you could have hoped, but even with car issues you still managed to get points in P9, while your brother came P5.

After this race, where you went straight to Spain, you started to get home sick. Only having your brother by your side as your parents and other siblings couldn't come out for the last few races due to their own busy schedules. Spain was an incredible race for you making you feel better for the next week ahead. You came P4 managing to overtake Charles on the last lap, which again heavily annoyed him, and very nearly catching up to the Mercedes in P3 while you left your brother in the dust in P8.

There was another break after this race, you and Lando both went home you saw Max and his girlfriend who you'd missed dearly and your family, then Charles had invited you and Lando to come spend some time on his yacht in Monaco with his younger brother who you knew of from the F2 garage when he'd been invited to come watch.

You had been nervous for the race in Monaco, it was a difficult track and so far, you hadn't been in a position where you hadnt gained the team points. However Monaco was clearly not your race, from the mixture of your nerves and car issues you came P12, while you brother stood on the podium, in P3.

The next week in Azerbaijan went so much better, with Max, and both Mercedes not having pace, you'd managed some effortless overtakes and insanely quick pit stops. You'd had a second pit stop and was on fresher tires that your brother so you were behind him, you were flying and going much quicker than him but your engineer didn't want you to go for the overtake.

You did anyway against their advice, pushing until you were behind Charles Leclerc's Ferrari, you went for a cheap move that you knew was safe but would have him fuming in interviews afterwards until you were up alongside Pierre Gasly, you were P4 and he was P3, driving alongside him you couldn't tell who went over the checked flag until you heard from your radio engineer that this was your first podium win.

You cried... of course you did. But this was the start of a rocky patch for you and Lando, he was fuming at you the minute you got out of your car. You were asked not to go for the overtake but you did anyway. He was yelling in your face angrily, taking away the beaming smile.

Lando hadn't realized you'd got your first podium, he was just angry that you'd bumped him down a place. You looked upset on your podium, a sad smile as you raised you trophy, stood up there with Sergio and Sebastian. They'd both given you a hug trying to cheer you up having seen on the TV what happened with you and Lando.

"Well done on your win Y/N" a voice startled you as you turned to your side seeing Max Verstappen stood there congratulating you.

"Thank you. I'm sorry about the DNF, France will be better next weekend for you I'm sure" you smile, a light blush held on his face.

"I'm also sorry about how your brother reacted. I've been in this sport for 6 years now and as a word of advise sometimes you have to go against what your team ask of you, you gained more points for the team today than you would have if you did stay put behind your brother. So take it as not only as a win for you but a win for McLaren as well" he smiles before pulling you into a comforting hug. His words had really hit you, nobody had said that to you today, but then again Seb and Checo probably didn't here the opposing radios yet as they'd been on the podium with you.

"Thank you, i really needed to here that Max" you smile genuinely.

"Hey, that overtake was so risky!" a voice shouts over, and thundering footsteps stand behind you.

"Huh?" you'd asked looking over your shoulder, Max's gaze following yours.

"Charles, leave her alone!" Max says with pointed eyes at the Ferrari golden boy coming close to you.

"No, she needs to stop doing overtakes like that at the last minute. They are dangerous and have no thought behind them, you even put your own brother at risk today because she can't listen to her own team" he yells his exaggerated hand gestures going everywhere.

"Her overtakes today was phenomenal. She just got her first podium, her brother has already spoiled that don't make it worse by being a prick" Max says, but Charles is fuming and too far gone that the stuff coming out his mouth is there from pure anger.

"She shouldn't have even had that win today! It's not fair, she shouldn't even have that seat!" he exclaims, Max gasps and you look down.

"Charles!" he exclaims, but before you can hear anything else you are out the door running towards the McLaren motorhome. You packed up your stuff saying quick apologies to the engineers who would take anything you left behind. You didn't have a car here so you walked from the track to the hotel, a few people spotted you but thankfully didn't interrupt seeing the tears streaking down your face. They must have seen both Charles and Lando yelling at you today.

You booked a flight to London for that night, you had your bags packed and sent to the airport before you had Seb offer to drive you to the airport.

"Thank you Seb, I really appreciate it" you smile, looking down at your phone. It rung with Lando's icon popping up. You pressed decline and put your phone on do not disturb.

"It's okay. I saw the videos of Lando and Charles with you surfacing. I'm sorry" he admits, rubbing your shoulder, as you turned to look away from him so he couldn't see the tears coming down your face.

In no time you were at the airport, you'd thanked Seb who promised he'd see you in France and asked you to let him know when you were safe and home.

You sat in the airport alone, your covid mask on, but you knew people still recognized you as you went through security and waited for the plane where they would take pictures of you. Some even came up asking for pictures or signing their merch, but where it was so late there wasn't too many that it alarmed you or security.

When you landed in the UK, your dad was right there pulling you into a hug, cussing his son out saying how he should have been there to celebrate the win. You cried to him, telling him about how shit you felt after what Lando and Charles had said.

"Lets go home" he says rubbing your shoulders.

As you both walk into the house, you can overhear you mum and younger sister on the phone to someone.

"No mum, I just want to know if she's home safe" you hear your twin's voice across the phone.

"Look hunny, your dad's gone to the airport but I don't know if he's got her yet. She's upset though Lando" you hear your mum reply.

"I know, and I know its my fault, i didn't realize she got the team more points because she overtook Charles and Pierre. I didn't get to apologize because she left right after the race"

"Because you were?" his mother pushes and he groans.

"Mum"

"No Lando where were you"

"At the club"

"Yes you were at the club, celebrating while your sister was packing her bags in her hotel room crying her eyes out because she gets her first win in F1, and her brother cant even congratulate her and watch her podium with the rest of their team? She'll see you in France but for now she needs some time alone" you mother rants at him.

"Arghhh that boy Flo, can you believe him. When i next see him, i swear to god!" she exclaims and you and your dad finally make yourself known.

"Hey guys!" you try to smile, but it doesn't reach across your face like they are used to. Flo immediately runs up to you pulling you into a hug. You started to cry into her again, before Cisca, your mother and father all join in the hug.

"Come, we'll order your fave tonight as a treat okay?" your mum guides as she sits you down at the table.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #charles lechair #charles leclerc #charles lecrelc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #max verstappen x you #max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #lestappen

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chryblossomjjk · 2 years ago

Text

distractions | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING: m/18+

⇢ WC: 1.1k

⇢ WARNINGS: cute couple content, they drop the 'l' word guys, n*pple piercings n sucking bc u know... fixation lmao, v suggestive but no actual sm*t, finger sucking lol, the love is requited :')

⇢ SUMMARY: jungkook agreed to let you do his makeup, but he can't stop getting distracted.

⇢ NOTES: ugh i missed them dearly!! will be putting out more drabbles soon, but i'm currently trying to focus on my other wip!! i haven't posted anything in so long so i wanted to share this with you guys! school n work is hectic i already feel swamped pls be patient with me :') i miss having time for a hobby lmao!! anyways, i hope you enjoy and let me know ur thoughts! love u <3 also apologize if there's any typos or weirdness, this wasn't beta'd!! if you haven't read practice yet, pls read before this!!

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

“Kook, look up! How many times do I have to tell you?”

Four months into the relationship and his attention span, or lack thereof, never ceased to amaze you. With a frustrated groan, you place the pointy end of your Sailor Moon brush between your teeth before gripping his chin and turning his wandering gaze back to you.

“Bambi, I’m looking up!” He yell-laughs, doe-eyes wide and sarcastic as they bear into you, equally frustrated. You can already see the concealer you applied just a few minutes ago creasing. Dramatically, he karate chops his tattooed arm towards the ceiling, paralleling your scantily clad frame straddling him. The sudden jump has you shifting against his crotch deliciously. Now’s not the time for fooling around, though. You’re determined to put the cute brush set Jungkook randomly gifted you a few weeks back to good use, starting with giving your sweet boyfriend a full beat. “This is up! What other direction is up?”

What an asshole.

You pop the pink plastic out of your mouth, taking an annoyed chomp out of his annoying fingers. It's playful, of course. You mean, you’ve just got done with a whitening strip, after all…

Jungkook takes the opportunity to shove his digits further past your glossy lips, reaching down just enough to feel your throat constrict, then pulling back. He stares up at you with the cheesiest fucking grin, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re mean,” you cough, wiping the drool at the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No you,” he counters, pinching your cheek patronizingly. “I love you, though.”

One month into the lovey-dovey phase of the relationship; that one where the initial butterflies fly away and you’re left feeling like ‘wow, maybe this is a forever sort of thing,’ and you still feel lightheaded every time Jungkook murmurs those three words.

“I love you, too,” you coo, reaching down to adjust his teddy-bear headband. Jungkook’s been growing his hair out. This was his last semester and he was determined to go out with a bang. For whatever reason, he had decided that bang was a mullet. You remember how confused you were when he showed up at your dorm at 3am, drunk off Fireball and excitement, asking you to cut his hair. You thought the request was outlandish and foolish, but you did it anyway, in your bathroom with eyebrow scissors. It came out a teeny bit crooked, and a tiny bit choppy, but Jungkook loved it, staring at his reflection with a big bunny smile and starry eyes. “But baby, this-” you tap on the headboard behind him, “-is up.”

He squints his eyes in defiance before complying. Ah, you’ve trained him well. A very good boy, indeed.

You’ve spoken, or thought, too soon, because after a few swipes of the plush bristles, a high-pitched ‘Appa!’ from your phone, leaning against your Kuromi makeup bag on the nightstand beside you, draws his dark pupils back to the cartoon.

“That’s it,” you huff like an overwhelmed mother of three, yanking the device out of his sight. “Say goodbye to Aang. You’ve lost your Avatar: The Last Airbender privileges.”

“C’mon, seriously?” He laughs while lunging forward, attempting to wrestle the phone out of your grasp. Giggling wildly, you toss it on the pink shag rug below you, out of his reach. The movement almost sends you toppling over. Luckily, Jungkook wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. “Bambi, you know I’m easily distracted.”

“But you said I could do your makeup,” you pout, batting your lashes at him.

“I know, I-”

“Don’t touch!” You shriek, preventing him from rubbing his eye.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes through a chuckle, holding his hands by his head in defense. “Maybe I…” You deadpan him as his eyes scan around the room before, not so subtly, landing on your chest. Cocking his head, he tuts his tongue and grips the hem of your shirt. Shamelessly, he stuffs the nearly transparent material into your mouth, exposing your bare breasts. “There, just like that,” he whispers, warm palms grazing up your torso to cup them, thumbs grazing over your little diamond heart jewelry. You gasp at the touch. “You know, I still can’t believe you actually got ‘em’.” Neither could you, honestly, but if there was one thing Jungkook has taught you, it’s that sometimes, you need to step out of your comfort zone. Take risks. Especially when it results in the cutest little nipple piercings. “So fucking sexy…”

You feel his forming bulge poking against you. God, do you want him. But even Jungkook’s dick couldn’t derail you from the mission at hand. Raising an eyebrow, you lift up the makeup brush.

The tits really seem to keep him preoccupied. With a hand on his cheek, you feel his mouth hollowing, sucking your nipple gingerly as you lean over him and fill in his thick brows. Obviously, it’s a bit hard to focus. Every now and then, you have to tug his hair to redirect his nibbles back down to soft licks.

“Okay,” you announce, letting the shirt fall from your candy-coated lips and sitting up, “what color?”

Out of the entire thirty-pan rainbow eyeshadow palette you’re holding up for him, he lazily points to the darkest shade in the top color. His favorite color, of course; black. You should’ve known. Your lips scrunch to the side in contemplation. Jungkook would look so yummy with a smokey eye.

So you blend and blend away with blacks, whites, and grays. Shockingly, your boyfriend manages to stay still throughout the entire process. You’re proud of him, really. He’ll definitely get rewarded afterward. And you were right, the final product is absolutely delectable.

“Baby, your eyelashes are stunning!” You swoon. “And the smokey-eye looks so so so good with your eye shape.”

Silence.

“Jungkook?” You lean forward, gripping his shoulders and shaking softly. Nothing but the sound of faint snores reaches your ears. The little fuck fell asleep. No wonder why he’s been so good. You laugh in disbelief, picking your phone off the floor and snapping a few pictures to show him in the morning. Reaching into your drawer, you take out a couple makeup wipes and start cleaning him up. You loathe makeup wipes and only keep them for emergencies, but Jungkook looks so peaceful that you can’t bring yourself to wake him.

Next, you snuggle beside him with a spare blanket, unable to yank your comforter out from under his thick, muscular thighs. He stirs when you gently pull off his headband. “I love you…” he mumbles, still half asleep. It’s as if the emotion is so ingrained in his subconscious that they bubble to the surface, even when he’s sleepy and incoherent.

And you feel the same exact way.

“I love you, Jungkook. Goodnight.”

#bts #bts x reader #bts smut #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook series #jungkook fic #jungkook drabble #bangtan #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook imagine #bts imagine #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you

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sixosix · 2 years ago

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nishinoya yuu loves his teammates.

he adores shouyou, yamaguchi, and kageyama. (tsukishima is only slowly growing on him.) point is, he loves his junior teammates dearly, and would gladly win and lose every tournament if it means just being with them.

but right now? it almost doesn’t feel that way.

you shift nervously, hoping hinata wouldn’t turn around and see the almost poisonous glare nishinoya is drilling on the back of his head. you can see the smoke coming from his ears.

“um.” you feel sweat trickle down the side of your face on hinata’s behalf. “hinata-kun…”

“huh?” says hinata, so painfully oblivious. he tilts his head, asking, “is that a no? it’s okay if you don’t know how to, i can teach you!”

someone gasps from the sidelines.

an unreadable look passes over nishinoya’s face. you almost laugh at how much he’s resembling a disgruntled kitten.

“i know how to, hinata-kun, it’s just that—”

“shouyou,” says nishinoya sternly, a shadow cast across his face, “please stop flirting with the love of my life.”

hinata’s face drains of color so fast you almost reach out in case he faints right then and there. “nishinoya-senpai!” he cries, horrified, “is it against the—the bro… bro… conduct…? contract?”

“the bro code,” yamaguchi helpfully supplies.

“the bro code!” hinata continues. “is it against the bro code to teach someone’s significant other volleyball?”

“it is very intimate,” tanaka agrees, nodding. “i wouldn’t cross that line even on those damn city boys!”

“since when was there a bro code?” sugawara wonders.

“what’s a bro code?” kageyama looks lost, and a little miffed he’s missing out on what seems to be another rule about volleyball he doesn’t know.

“because!” nishinoya yells, catching the attention of just about everyone in the court. “because i don’t want any of you wooing y/n-chan! only i get to look cool in front of y/n, okay? not even you, shouyou.”

hinata nods, taking his mistake seriously.

“yuu,” you laugh, exasperated and hopelessly fond, “there’s no need for all that. only you look the coolest in my eyes.”

nishinoya freezes, jaw hanging wide open. it is impossible, realistically, but everyone watches in awe as an arrow in the shape of a heart strikes him right on his chest.

“y-y/n…” he sobs, sprinting over to you until you’re tackled. but you’re too used to his antics so you just hold him up awkwardly, unfazed. “i love you! would you really let me teach you volleyball?”

this seems extremely important for nishinoya, so you play along and pretend to consider it. “hmm, i don’t know,” you muse, and nishinoya holds his breath. “are you a good teacher?”

“he is!” tanaka agrees immediately, the number one wingman.

“nishinoya-senpai is the best teacher!” and hinata means it, too. “you’re so lucky, y/n-san!”

“i’m touched to have this honor, then,” you laugh.

“i love you guys! i’m treating you ice cream tomorrow!” nishinoya continues sobbing and preening from the praise. he turns to you, pointing with a finger. “i’m not going to make you regret choosing me!”

you find it sweet that nishinoya is more than happy to let you in on his favorite sport. he seems overjoyed of the thought of you and volleyball combined. “of course, yuu. i’m looking forward to it.”

this is so stupid HAHAHA i swear it’s like i forgot how to write anymore. i didnt even want to do my fancy format bc i cant think of a title for this

is this a good time to post? no. am i gonna do it anyway so i can slowly make my way back to the algorithm before posting longer fics even though this’ll flop? absolutely yes.

#606:HQ #606:KRSN #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #nishinoya yuu x reader #nishinoya yuu x you #yuu nishinoya x reader #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya fluff #nishinoya fanfiction

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ofstarsandvibranium · 4 months ago

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Precious Truths: Part 13

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you’ve been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month’s time.

A/N: hello! yes, finally, an update! thank you to all of you who were patiently waiting for this. tbh the Benophie announcement gave me a bit of a spark of motivation to finish this chapter! enjoy!

Series Masterlist

My dearest Y/N,

I am not sure what else to say other than I am sorry. I am sorry for making you feel as though you meant nothing to me. I must admit, due to my own self-induced heartbreak, I refused to read your letters previously. However, you will not find me doing that again. I have missed your friendship dearly. It is my own fault for doing this to us. I will never do that to you again, I promise.

Always feel free to write to me. You will receive a response from me, now and always.

Yours,

Benedict

You read the short letter over and over again. You're in a bit of disbelief, yet you're overjoyed. You kept your expectations low after sending that letter to Benedict. However, you're pleasantly surprised that not only has he written back, but he desires to renew your friendship once more.

You immediately go to your writing desk and begin to write a reply.

You spend some time writing everything down, how grateful you are for Ben, how you've been spending your days, as well as your moments of grief.

James' parents have provided good company to you. Ever since meeting you, that have been so kind and loving. They remind you of how your parents used to be prior to your mother's passing.

In your letter, your relay to Benedict how you've been trying to write poetry to help you process and cope James' passing, but nothing has come from these attempts.

Admittedly, Benedict was your muse for so long. After he left, James became your muse. Now he's gone. You don't want to think about Benedict potentially taking up the place as your muse again. A part of you feels as though that would be a betrayal to James, however, your muse was originally Benedict...

It's fine. You won't worry about it too much right now. You'll just take things day by day.

After you finish your letter, you fold and seal it. Calling upon a footman, you ask him to send it to Benedict and the young man leaves promptly.

__________________________

Dear Benedict,

I may be going stir-crazy here. Mama and papa have been very loving and supportive, however, I feel that, even in this large estate, I cannot get away.

I've been riding a lot more than usual now just to get out. I know, it is shocking to me as well since I was never fond of it. However, now I find myself wanting to ride every single day just to be out and about.

Maybe I should discuss with mama and papa if I can start accepting guests again. For I am not sure how much longer I can take this.

Anyway, I hope you are well. It has been some time since we last exchanged letters. I am sure you have been busy with the new exhibit coming up. I hope it is successful. Everyone will be able to see just how talented you are.

I am so proud of you and what you have achieved, Ben. Never forget that.

Yours,

Y/N

Benedict sighs, reading over your letter. He is visiting his family, taking break from working on his last painting for the exhibition.

"What ails you, brother?" Eloise asks as she sits beside him.

"Would it be improper if I were to visit Y/N soon?" he asks her with confliction written on his face.

"Why would it be improper? You two are friends again, yes?" Eloise asks confused.

He lets out a deep breath before explaining, "After the death of a spouse, it's customary to mourn them for a year before accepting guests and taking part is society again. It's only been sixth months."

Eloise scoffs, "Benedict, you know that I am the last person to tell you of what you should or should not do in terms of societal rules."

"Of course," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"What is it that you really want to ask me?"

Benedict remains silent, contemplating on how he should ask his sister.

The truth is, Benedict has felt whole again. Having you back in his life has brought so much happiness, familiarity, and comfort that he's been seeking for the past few years.

It's clear to him that his love for you will never seize. You will always remain a part of him and he will always hold you in a special place in his heart. However, if he takes this step to be close to you again, will it end in heartbreak once more? He doesn't want to think of such an outcome, but there's always a possibility. No. Nonsense. He can't think about that.

Benedict may love you, but you are first and foremost his best friend. Therefore, any feelings he has of you must be cast aside. Being your friend, in your company, speaking with you, being there for you, that is the priority. Benedict's feelings be damned. He will not make the same idiotic mistakes he made before. He's wiser and stronger now.

The relationship you two share is much more important, now that ever.

Benedict turns to Eloise and smiles, "I think I'll alright, Eloise," he stands with confidence.

His sister looks at him with uncertainty, "Are you sure? You're not going to do anything stupid again, are you?"

He shakes his head, "No. I promise, I am better. I will be better for Y/N."

"If you're sure," Eloise says before Benedict exits the sitting room.

______________________

The wind is blowing through your hair as you ride through the forest. It is midday and you have a lot of energy. James' horse, now yours, Bluebell, is fast and agile. She leaps over bushes and fallen tree trunks with ease.

You and Bluebell have gotten quite close these past few months. She's been able to grant you the freedom you've been aching for.

The first three months after James' passing were hard. Now six months later, you've finally accepted his death. It was unexpected and there was nothing you could do to help. You had loved him dearly and he accepted and understood you like very few have.

You are grateful for the short time you had with him, but now you'd like to slowly move on with your life.

You've been trying to get back into writing. Very few pieces have come out well. The rest thrown into the fireplace, burning to ash so you wouldn't have to see it again.

You've come to realize that the few works that have been kept, you've come up with while riding. Another reason why you have gone out a lot more. You're trying to find that spark again that you once had before James' passing.

You stop at a small creek flowing through the Montclair land. You dismount Bluebell and guide her to the water so she may quench her thirst and rest a bit. You sit by the creek, watching as the water flows by. You listen to the birds chirping, the trees swaying in the wind.

You think about how you've been feeling the past six months. How only in the late hours of the night is when you experienced the heart ache of James' passing, how you felt knowing you will no longer experience his freeing and doting love.

You pull out your journal from your satchel and begin to write:

Deep in the shadows where heartache grew

Mourning hearts match skies of grey

A love once bright as morning dew

Now drifted gone as night to day

The halls keep our memories

Our laughter and tears

Walking among those walls, memories sunken

deep within the seas

It's short yet conveys the feelings you want it too. You don't hate it, but it may need some work. So you keep it in your journal and stand. Some time has passed for Bluebell to catch a break. You mount her once more and head back to the estate in more of a trot rather than a flying gallop.

When you arrive back, you see Clarissa waiting for you.

"Something the matter?"

She gives you a small smile, "I know Jean Louis and myself have informed you of the mourning customs, however, it has been brought to our attention that sometimes one does not need twelve months to mourn the loss of her husband."

"Mother?" you ask her confused.

"I just know that you have always been more of a free spirited woman, which is why James was so drawn to you. I also know that you did love him dearly and I will not be upset that you shorten your mourning period. You wanted to be free from societal standards from the very beginning, therefore, we will allow you to start accepting guests back at this home. You are also free to go back to yours and James' home in London."

You're not sure why your mother-in-law is saying all of this, "I-Thank you, mama. I do appreciate all of that, however, I must admit I am confused why you are mentioning this."

"I received a letter from Mister Benedict Bridgerton. He was requesting to see you."

Your eyes widen in surprise, "I assure you, I didn't ask him to do that. I was planning on asking you myself."

Your mother-in-law chuckles, "Yes, well, it seems Mister Bridgerton beat you to it."

You sigh, "So it seems."

"Everyone mourns differently, cheri, we understand that you would also like to be in the company of others during this time. Mister Bridgerton is a close friend of yours, yes?"

You nod, "He is. I'll make sure we can be seen and-"

Clarissa chuckles, "You don't have to worry about those things here, cheri. I trust you. I will write back to Mister Bridgerton right now."

You curtsey, "Thank you, mama. As usual, your kindness is greatly appreciated."

The older woman sighs, walking up to you and cupping your face, "You never have to thank me for kindness. It is a mother's duty to listen and understand her children. Although you are not my blood, you are my daughter just the same."

Her words brings tears to your eyes. She reminds you so much of your own mother, it hurts a little. To know that your own mother can't be here with you during this time. You're sure she would have provided a lot of her wisdom and advice. Nonetheless, you are grateful to now call Madame Montclair as your own mother.

"Thank you, again."

"Of course," she kisses your cheek, "Best wash up before lunch, yes?"

"Right. Excuse me," you pick up your skirt and rush back into the house to have a quick bath.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagine #f!reader #female!reader

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sundrop-writes · 1 year ago

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if Draco walked in on you changing...

Word Count: 1360

Harry Potter Masterlist

Warnings: I have no clue when this could fit onto the general Harry Potter timeline (and tbh I don't think it does); this features the 'arranged marriage' trope; the reader is a rich pureblood (but there is no indication that the reader looks down on muggleborns the way that the Malfoys do); there is no mention of which pureblood family the reader is from, so there is no indication of her race; the reader is mentioned to be afab/has breasts and wears dresses; mentions of house elves/use of house elf labor; Draco is very cocky and entitled in this; there is some dubious consent because Draco looks at the reader while she is undressed without her consent, but she doesn't fully care; Draco calls the reader 'darling' and 'love'; the reader's parents are discussing the arranged marriage with the Malfoys without her consent; passing mention of the reader and Draco having kids together; the reader is definitely attracted to Draco and denying it. I believe that's everything.

A/N: Can you tell that I'm obsessed with the arranged marriage trope when it comes to Draco?? Yes? No? (Well you're gonna be able to tell that even more if he wins the other poll - which he probably will, and that oneshot about him is the one that I post.) I just love the idea that because he's not the best person, the reader would be forced to be in proximity to him, and she would bring out his more likeable side over time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Eventually, I want to do this trope/reaction with all the characters that I mainly write for. (And maybe more, like Neville and Ginny.)

...

The past week of your life has been nothing but a hectic chaos, and you were simply trying your hardest to get through it.

Your parents had travelled such a long way to ‘catch up’ with their old school friends, the Malfoys, some fellow purebloods that they hadn’t seen since graduating Hogwarts when they were all teenagers. This meant you had been a ‘guest’ at Malfoy Manor for the past week - seven straight days filled with nothing but fake smiling, bragging about your accomplishments, in detail (for your parents’ sake), being shown off like you were some trophy out of their case. You hated it.

You didn’t think you could handle sitting through one more evening dinner or afternoon tea, hearing them all wax poetic about the ‘good ole days’ while their insufferable son stared at you from across the room. But, as you kept telling yourself, you could go home soon. You could soon go back to your regular life, your own house with walls that weren’t decorated in depressing dark shades - a place with a sprawling rose garden that you missed so dearly.

Tonight, you just had to get through dinner.

And then, you could fake some kind of illness and be left alone in the large, comfortable (if entirely dark and dreary) guest room that they had put you up in for your stay.

Currently, you were racing around that room, wearing nothing but your black stockings and heels, and your jewellery, looking for your perfume bottle to spray some on your neck and chest before you put on your dress and attempted to go through the hassle of zipping it up on your own. You knew that the Malfoys had house elves that you could call upon, but you were really only comfortable with your own elf, Peplum, being the one to dress you. And she was back home because your mother and father didn’t allow her to travel.

You finally found the perfume bottle and sprayed a few good pumps of it over your neck and breasts, and put one on your inner wrist for good measure. Then you took a moment to bask in the scent because you found it so enjoyable - a nice moment of calming peace from the annoyance and mental strain you had been put through during the past week.

When you heard the door creak on its hinges, you thought you had been mistaken.

“My goodness, what do we have here?”

The sound of someone speaking caused you to jolt, practically jumping out of your skin, and you rushed to cover yourself - the only available covering being your own arms. You turned your back to the door, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep your chest covered, knowing that you looked entirely foolish wearing black tights that went up to your waist, black underwear, and heels - with nothing else.

Naturally, Draco thought that you looked like a sex dream come to life.

He could think of nothing sexier than a woman wearing black stockings. So naturally, seeing you topless while wearing those - it caused a stir in his pants that he had to concentrate on for it not to turn into a troubling hardon. He did wish that you weren’t wearing the underwear, though.

“Don’t cover up on my account.” Draco smirked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pantsuit (partially as a measure to hide any stirring of his cock). And then he simply continued to stand there, not taking his eyes off the round curve of your ass for even a moment.

When he spoke again, it was only then that you knew who was there, and any shock pulsing through you at the fact of someone just waltzing in faded away in favour of pure annoyance grinding against your nerves.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You barked, glaring over your shoulder at him. “Knocking was invented for a reason!”

Draco always found your anger attractive. He found that he liked you angry and topless even better.

“It’s my house. I don’t have to knock.” He shrugged, sounding as entitled as ever.

You sighed so hard at this it practically came out as a growl under your breath. Even if you liked the heat in his eyes as he looked you over, even if you found him to be somewhat attractive - that pattern of entitlement made him impossible to put up with.

You had grown up pureblood, and definitely wealthy, but you absolutely had more humility than someone like him.

“That is so not true!” You screeched back, entirely insulted by this notion. “Knocking is a basic courtesy that your parents should have taught you!”

“Whatever.” Draco sighed, seeming entirely unconcerned with the social faux pas of walking in on you partially dressed - he didn’t rush to apologise or even bother to look away. “When we’re married, it won’t matter. I’ll get to look at my wife as much as I want,”

He said these words with a filthy greed grinding against the back of his throat, the expression on his face disgustingly satisfied. He raked his eyes across your body once again, drinking in every bit of you like he was truly entitled to you.

You turned around then, your neck aching from craning to look at him. You still had an arm covering your breasts, but his eyes definitely stuck to the puff of your cleavage that was leaking out around it. You would have yelled at him, called him a pig for staring so hard - but cared less and less about his staring as you got caught up on his words.

“‘When we’re married’?” You echoed back, the words entirely strained on your voice. “Are you okay? Have you been snorting the Floo Powder or are you usually this out of touch?”

Draco chuckled then, and titled his head slightly as he looked at you - it was distinctly condescending, like how someone might look down at a small child. Like he thought you were the one who was truly out of touch.

“Darling, are you really that daft?” He asked slowly. “Do you really not know what this trip is for?”

“What?” You croaked.

Now, you were truly confused.

“Our parents didn’t just feel like ‘catching up’ out of the blue. They’re trying to come to some sort of agreement. They’re match-making us. You know - bonding two powerful pureblood families.” He explained.

“Oh… oh god.” You sighed. It all made perfect sense. The ‘hush hush’ lunches that you weren’t allowed to sit in on, the insistence from your mother that you ‘bond’ with Draco, her questions about if you wanted to have children or not when you thought that was distant years in your future. “I am gonna kill them!”

You moved to storm out of the room, wanting to give your parents a stern talking to for not warning you about this. But -

“You’re still naked, love.” Draco chuckled.

You felt a flush of heat run through you - you wanted to say that it was from embarrassment, and not the wonderfully teasing nickname, and his cutesy tone. But you had other things to focus on than your non-attraction to Draco Malfoy.

“Ugh.” You turned back around sharply and grabbed your dress off the bed, and after you stepped into it and aggressively pulled the straps up over your shoulders, you struggled to reach behind you and even begin to pull the zipper closed.

You froze instantly when you felt Draco’s cool fingers brush against the skin of your lower back as he grabbed onto the zipper and then nimbly did it up for you. His touch was surprisingly gentle, and you told yourself that the shivers down your spine were from his cool touch, and not because of any underlying (very annoyed) attraction toward him.

“Might not be so bad.” Draco breathed against your neck, causing more goosebumps to form on your skin. “Being married to you.”

You felt an argument bubbling under the surface - but you saved that energy for the ensuing fight you were bound to have with your parents. Instead, you simply scoffed and rolled your eyes in response.

#sundrop writes #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction

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colourstreakgryffin · 2 months ago

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Discord × Alastor pleeeeeeease😗😗😗😗😗😗

To be honest. Discord and Bill Cipher, those two would do the best with Alastor… I know you technically meant just Discord and not us as Discord but plz do me a favour and think of us as Discord! It’s easier for me— but anyway! Have a good day and hope you enjoy

Alastor- Element of Disharmony

“Alastor! I know you have her! Give her up already!” Vaggie yelled out sharply and heartfully at the Radio Demon, whose current stationed in the corner stood upright with a much more forced smile than his usual snarky cheeky grin. Yet, his expression simply screamed he was offended and outraged any ex-exterminator would dare assume he’d do something he truly didn’t do, so he had forced himself to maintain his composure under irritating pressure and respond with a calm yet sharp

“Darling… I did not take your little pet. She may have escaped”

The Hotel’s Key or more affectionately known as ‘KeeKee’ had gone missing overnight and since Alastor truly was the only person in this Hotel with the power and drive to mess with the Hotel to see it’s inevitable downfall, Vaggie jumped immediately to semi-blindly accusing him whilst her girlfriend, Charlie, tried desperately to reason with her and stop blaming Alastor

This meaningless headache called an argument did last for a little longer until Vaggie practically chased Alastor out of the Hotel lobby. Finally managing to calm down with her beloved lover’s help whilst the outraged yet still dapper Overlord had been left to wonder the hallways of the mighty multi-floored Hotel he resides in as an investor. His radio staff cane clicking on the floor slightly each time he let it slightly drag on the floor

Having a continuous cocky flaring strut, Alastor’s blood red eyes wonder about the almost neverending Hotel Room-caked floors like he’s the one who ruled this building and to him, he absolutely did. Smiling much more pleased now and his tension loosened like a tightened up coil being undone after hours

He feels relieved not having to deal with that spear-happy woman Charlie holds so dearly to herself and he only deals with her as well as everybody in this Hotel because it’s so amusing to see them struggle and writhe like pathetic little maggots being burnt to dust. He does wish he could do such a thing to them, as all of them. Including his own workers, trigger him

Nothing is as entertaining and fascinating as it use to be and he does semi-consider leaving the Hotel to find a new object of inspiration until he ended up tracking out a rather malicious insane laugh, his thick tall deer ears flicking as he already stopped in place to further examine and find his new target

Silence. Bland painted walls. Nothing, which has his disappointment rising like a bubbling boiling water pot. He continues to step a bit more hastily and cautiously forward to focus on clearing out his mind from all the accusations from the Hotel manager and it works well

Since now. He is thinking about what that laugh belongs to and where that laugh came from…

“Alastor. The Radio Demon”

Okay. That isn’t even funny, nobody goes around saying phrases like that but him, somebody knows too much and it makes his grin drop for a split-second at most, rushingly pulling himself together and stopping with a firm stomp as to wave out his authority and power through the halls, in attempts to let whoever this voice belongs to know they are messing with

The wrong man

“What’s funny?”

Alastor snaps out with his radio voice effect almost dropping as fast as his composure has. He is not in a good mood and entertain anybody messing with him, he wants answers now and he doesn’t take anybody making a fool out of him kindly. This person is making a fool out of him for refusing to speak up to him

Coward

“Awww~ why are you so pissy, Sir? Did you miss me~?”

In a single pretty cloudy puff… you. A powerful Overlord that purely exists to stir chaos and discord and disharmony within Hell, manifests before Alastor with your malicious fang-bared smirk, pleased yourself at making Alastor so irritable when you’ve never seen him this way… ever

Of course. You took KeeKee by force within the cover of night and you’re doing this solely for laughs and to stir as much mischief and disorder as possible within the Hotel staff as it’s very fun and entertaining to see people a mess. Like Alastor, you’re not here for anything or anybody but for yourself

“I missed you~”

You cooed out, your multitude amalgamation of a form consisting of all kinds of seperate animalistic limbs; eagle, lion, reptile, horse, yet also a bird wing and a bat wing. You’re a beautiful mismatched disorientating mess of a Sinner but it fits your purpose and personality so well as you float before the firm yet still smiling scowling Alastor to wait for his respond a bit impatiently yet quietly

“Good afternoon, my dear…”

Alastor manages to answer whilst gripping his radio cane firmly, enough that the base may as well snap in half. You’re a bigger headache than Vox is… always destroying and hiding away his belongings, messing with his radio shows to get a reaction. He is a gentleman, he doesn’t let his temper peak through but he can’t stand you… he lets his utter hateful scorn out around you as to try put you in your place

Alastor’s internally furious because you’re the reason Vaggie was pestering him about KeeKee for almost a whole half a hour. You’re responsible for his radio staff being faulty, you’re responsible for Angel’s pig being set free… and everything was pinned on him. Your actions are always blamed on him

And he hates it. His eyes expressed every negative feeling he had for you. How, your own intense power had attacked at his high ego

“What’s that face for? C’mon~ don’t lie! You missed me~”

You coo out happily but so slick with manipulative tendencies as to get more reactions from your beloved deer, legs kicking smoothly and gorgeous mismatched wings flapping, despite the fact you don’t need it. It’s just to make people more confused since you live to confuse sinners. Punish them and get fun out of causing issues with no real shame for it

You like picking on Alastor, he’s your favourite! He gives the best reactions since he is always trying to control his temper and remain graceful and charming but it’s clear to you, he wants to rip you to shreds

But he can’t~

“I have a special project, Leitore. I can’t be playing with you anymore. Give back KeeKee and leave”

Alastor orders out with his fangs almost grinding out through the wide smile, with the itch to strike building up in his throat, knowing you won’t budge that easily since you’re the embodiment of true chaos and immaturity. The Hell within Hell and he’ll need to push you. He’s looking forward to finally making you behave and regret messing with him

“I’ll play~ let’s play, little Allie~”

You smoothly purr out with your dual goat and deer horns seeming to twitch a bit, sitting upright from being semi-bent down during your effortless hover a few inches above Alastor to be summoning forth KeeKee, stuck in an invisible yet breathable little bubble that mutes her noises as she is meowing out in horror. A threat, showing that he and his little Hotel will need to fight for what they want

Alastor didn’t flinch at the sight of KeeKee’s distress. He doesn’t care about the Morningstar’s cat nor truly does he care about the Hotel. He cares about the threat you have over him and his inflated ego. He refuses to let anybody else be able to one-up him. Nobody will be better than him on his watch

So, all he says as he puts down his radio cane sharply with a soft ‘thwonk’ of the bottom of the thin base, red eyes already ticking with the black pair of hands and red sclera fading to a pitch black. His own following threat that he is ready to throw you around like a ragdoll and have you begging for mercy under him

He is done being lenient, trying to ignore you, waiting for you to get off his case. You’re getting off his case now

“You’re welcome, darling but I warn you now. You’ll regret it”

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horseimagebarn · 5 months ago

Text

hello friends and welcome to the horseimagebarn weekly interaction recap where i respond to many of the comments reblogs and asks i received in the past week it has been a while and i appreciate endlessly the happiness i have borne witness to due to my return i shall do my best to continue serve you all as curator of the horseimagebarn

which by the way i do appreciate all of the love i receive in reblogs and asks and comments more than you will ever know and i want to in my heart respond to every single one but i do not want to turn this account into some kind of vanity project and clog everything up with my own responses to praise of me especially when i have nothing else useful or entertaining to add other than my many humble thanks so know that even though i dont always answer i really do read every single reblog and comment and ask i get and it is indescribable the happiness it gives me to know that my stupid horse posts have such a positive impact on other peoples lives and even though i dont say it to every single person i do love all of you dearly

anyway i will respond to things posted both this week and what i have seen from the period of my absence so nothing is missed

you know it brother

this gave me a good chuckle thank you

i do love pigeons i am happy to find that there are three hidden in my post

this is from before i vanished but i hope you feel better now

there are no words i can say to properly alleviate the grief i am sure you are feeling but i hope you find it comforting to know that because of your submission he was loved by many more than he will ever know and i feel very lucky to forever count him among the horseimagebarn horses

literary students rise up

i was not inspired by actual image ids rather it was those twitter accounts that post reaction images with descriptions full of somewhat disparate words meant to help people who are searching for a specific image that led me to this concept i have considered using this style of posting as a type of cool storytelling medium on another blog but i think i need to improve my photoshop skills first to make it really work

being high either shows you the beauty of the world or the evil of it

it is comforting for me to write the posts as well i havent had as much time for creative writing recently especially poetry and this is close enough to scratch the itch i suppose i really enjoy comparing it to a form of literary doodling it pleases me

i am glad to have been of service

maybe that is why the ancient greeks believed horses a creation of poseidon maybe they saw it far before any of us

shoutout monkeywikis cats

#horse #horses #horseblr #horseimagebarn talking #horseimagebarn weekly recap

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utilitycaster · 6 months ago

Note

Hope I can phrase this in a way that makes sense but—

What well-known actual-play cast member is your favorite for each of the core D&D class? Not necessarily a specific characters, but I’m interested in which players you think brings the most to each class.

This is a very interesting question! It's a hard one to answer for some classes and very easy for others so bear with me; also there are a couple where I could not pick just one.

I'm sticking to the PHB 12 for, as you said, core classes:

Barbarian: While Travis did give us "I would like to rage," I think Ashley and Taliesin get to share this one for me. I think they both really explore what rage means to someone and while I love a good "I'm a tank because I can take the hits and that's what I do and what I'm good at" story, I also think Yasha's messy relationship with her feelings of guilt and grief, and Ashton's chronic pain, are both incredible ways to play with the barbarian archetype.

Bard: much easier. Sam Riegel and Krystina Arielle. I'm a sucker for someone who actually sings even as I don't think you have to (and have played bard without doing so). It's both clearly a class they each love dearly and it shows, and they're incredibly musically talented performers to boot.

Cleric: Lou Wilson. Especially since I didn't like Fantasy High season 1 Fabian until the end of the season Kingston blew me away. I would love to see him explore cleric again, though it's exciting to see him as a paladin on WBN.

Druid: Emily Axford as Moonshine. Emily as a rule understands D&D classes very well anyway, but I think the culture of the crick and the ways that Moonshine must grow as a character while being a druid take it to the next level. (Also I prefer a caster-heavy druid to a shapechanger-heavy one; that's just me).

Fighter: Back to NADDPod because literally who could I say other than Jake Hurwitz, the man who only plays fighters. People who are new to D&D when they start actual play can be hit or miss imo; some pick it up and some lean harder on being showy to make up for it and it doesn't play well for me personally, but Jake is the greatest hit.

Monk: Marisha Ray; Beau is just generally a great character, and I think Marisha's own experience with martial arts informs the way she plays her; monks can be kind of repetitive in combat even with strong players and she manages to avoid this through her description.

Paladin: This is actually super hard because people don't play straight paladin a lot. This is incorrect of them, but it is an intense class. I think Luis Carazo and Zac Oyama are like...the duality of paladin (and indeed, redemption paladin). The tragedy and the comedy.

Ranger: Laura Bailey, natch; it's funny because Vex is in many ways not the archetypal ranger due to having high charisma, but she is simply my favorite and that's that on that. Sorry the mechanics were so bad; I would love to see more rangers in D&D even though Vex will be hard to dethrone. I promise Tasha's fixed them!

Rogue: I think I'm actually going Murph on this one. I like when rogues are more of the detective/spy type than the assassin/criminal type [obligatory "of course that's what you'd say you stupid paladin stan"] and inquisitive and arcane trickster are probably my two top rogue classes so Riz it is.

Sorcerer: I do consider PF1e cheating here because it's technically a different system that also imo addresses a lot of the weaknesses of sorcerer/makes it way better, but Bryn Monroe of RQG did play a great sorcerer. In D&D? Giving Emily Axford a second spot here for Saccharina. I'm going to talk about this for warlock, but I think sorcerer is a class you don't have to justify but if you don't it's a little unsatisfying. Sorcerer really shines in the Crown of Candy setting, and metamagic often doesn't live up to its reputation but Emily makes it work for her.

Warlock: Travis Willingham. I think there are classes that are kind of self-explanatory, for lack of a better term; you can play a fighter or rogue or even a bard or druid without going super deep into why the character is this class and still be an incredible character (though a good backstory never hurts). But there are others where you really need to be engaging with the class at all times to make it work, and warlock is one of them, and Fjord explores the warlock pact and what it means like few others.

Wizard: Aabria Iyengar. NO ONE gets wizard hubris as a player like Aabria. Knowledge is power and boy do wizards love knowledge. I especially like that most people in 5e play wizards as genuine adventurers because it feels very easy to play them as old guy in robes swept up in events beyond them; Aabria plays wizards who are combat ready with the humanity and backstory to make the difficult decisions sympathetic and meaningful, and I think that's how you have to play it.

Note: I want to specifically call out Liam O'Brien and Siobhan Thompson as "people I trust in basically any class or system and just didn't happen to hit a favorite here due to sky-high competition/personal preferences". They are both very close seconds for wizard.

#answered #pawthorn #d&d mechanics

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lz-didyounotice · 10 months ago

Text

Baking weekends : The surprise

Those gifs do not belong to me.

Heyyyyy! How are you lots ? As promised, here comes another episode of the baking week ends ! This follows up the event of "An hymne to love", as well as the last espisode, "Kiss the cook".

Anyway... Hope you enjoy !

Froggit-

Warning : there's a lot of fluff, mention of making out in the tardis. English is not my first language.

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

The grocery store seemed to be way too full for a Saturday morning. Paying for the few articles you had in your basket, you got out, frantically searching for your car. There was so little time until the doctor and Clara came back from another of their adventures.

Driving as fast as the law allowed you, you pulled up to your small cottage, sprinting toward your house, paper bags in hand. Your coat was quickly put on a hanger as your shoes went flying in the entry.

Washing your hands conscientiously, you tried to get your plan straight one more time, making sure nothing was missing.

You had wanted to surprise the Doctor for a long while now. Back when Amy and Rorry were still traveling with you, a brilliant idea had come to you in the form of a red recipe book. The cover was old and titled with circles and other intricate designs you soon realized, was Gallifreyan. Having seen the notes the doctor tended to leave in the console room for repairs the Tardis needed, it was only ever so obvious.

For the sake of this recipe, you had to go to small markets while on another planet, wanting to find every single ingredient of what the doctor had stated to be his favorite dessert back home. Finally opening the book, you couldn’t help yourself, and shed a tear as you saw the numerous yellow sticky notes on every page, annotations left by Donna, your previous self older sister.

"How can I be sure he ain't as rotten as the last one?"

Donna was upset to be keeped from such an important part of your life. If you were honest, you were sad to not be able to share it, but it was either that or losing her once more.

On that day, you had asked for her help, but she wanted to know more about that brilliant

stranger you said changed you in better ways.

"Do you reckon I would be baking for him if he weren't important?"

"Cor blimey, you two had been goin’ out for bleedin’ three years, and I still never met the bloke!"

“I told you he traveled an awful lot.” you let out passing by the radio and changing the station.

“Just spill it if he's scared of meeting mom.” She let out with a small laugh. You could only do the same, bumping her with your hip as you did so.

You missed her dearly, her and her sassy comebacks. Since your new “Regeneration” you haven't been able to see her. What would she even say ? She didn’t know this version of you, you didn’t even look the same, and putting her life at risk would be irresponsible. You had just hopped that may be one day you would meet her once more.

Putting up some energetic music, you wore your apron and got to work, sleeves put up to the elbow. The adventure only truly started now, something you waited so long to put up.

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

The doctor and Clara had been off all day, the brunette insisting on going a little longer, still waiting for your signal. The timelord was starting to be suspicious of Claras behavior, wondering what got his companion so energized for such a long adventure, he even was starting to wonder if she wasn’t a clone trying to keep him from earth longer than normal.

But like the over-excited traveler he was, he couldn’t put down the offer, for all he knew, he was expected back at your cottage by the end of afternoon. Today was a busy day for you, and even if he wanted to have taken you with them, you insisted for them to spend some time together. It saddened him of course, none the less he understood today wasn’t a good day to go off with her.

Right now, the doctor was admiring a beautiful fez he had found within the small shop he and Clara came across, visiting a brand new planet. Soon enough he felt his shoulder being tapped on by the said girl, a tired smile visibly drawing itself on her lips. Asking the doctor to take her home, Clara had just closed her phone, saving it in her back pocket.

After buying the fez, he seemed proud as he pushed the levers on the console. Rocking his new hat, Clara only could wonder if he would ever come across one without having to put it on. Even if she didn’t dream of seeing him less happy, she wanted the surprise that awaited him back home would light him up even brighter.

With the Brunette back at her apartment, the doctor had no patience in waiting some more and launched the Tardis. Soon, his foot touched the vast landing of grass, still illuminated as the sun slowly hid behind the clouds.

Without any hesitation, his hand found the ringing bell of the small cottage, his heart pounding harder and harder as the seconds got by.

Passing your head by the now unlocked window, the doctor seemed to ignite, happy to finally be back. “Darling, the door is open! Come on in!” Your hair was a mess, your glasses hanging from around your neck, beautifully portrayed by the light of the setting sun highlighting your figure. Smiling at you, the doctor entered the house, coming practically 10 seconds later face to face with you. “Well, welcome home Sweetheart”.

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

“I told you to not cheat! close those beautiful eyes before I smack you.”

The doctor was too curious to wait for the surprise you had put up for him. And right now, all he wanted was to take a tiny peak. But knowing how serious you could be about those things, he didn’t jocked around long before closing his eyes.

Soon you entered the room, a beautiful cake in your hands. Its sunny color, outshining the yellow of your apron. Slowing placing the cake before the Doctor. You gently brushed his shoulder. “Doctor, you can open them… ”

Finally letting go of his face, the man thought he was dreaming. Before him stood something that was supposed to be long gone, never to be seen again. And as he admired the wonderful pâtisserie, he couldn’t help but notice it wasn't just any Gallifreyan cake; it was a homemade one.

Both his hearts skipped a beat as he realized the significance of the gesture. Turning to his wife with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, he couldn't help but smile.

"Did you...?" he started, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

You couldn’t help but beamed with pride when you saw the love in his eyes. "Yes, Doctor. I thought since you couldn't go back to Gallifrey yet, I'd bring a little piece of it to you."

The Doctor's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he looked at the cake, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness of your gesture. At this moment, all he could think of was how much he loved you, and how much you meant.

Taking a deep breath to steady his emotions, the Doctor rose from his chair, wrapping both arms around you, burying his head in the crook of your neck, trying to hide his tears as they got out of control. Pulling you into a tight yet comforting hug, all he could muster was a soft “Thank you” thick with all the love he could let out. "This... means more to me than you could ever know."

Your hand was now passing on his back, soothing him as much as you could. Your other tangled itself with his soft hair as you stood there for another minute. You never wanted this embrace to end. But as you pulled slightly away, you could only see how much the doctor truly meant every word.

With a gentle smile, you reached down, your hand slowly cradling his cheek as you leaned in softly, closing the distance between them. Your breath mingled, warm yet sweet as your lips brushed together in a soft yet passionate kiss. But as you parted, the doctor only tried to reach for your lips, making you snort softly at the surprised look on his face.

“I do believe we still have to taste the cake, now don’t we?”

“I- … yes”

“We will continue… this after…-”

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

And to say you had outdone yourself was an understatement. You would have expected it to taste funny with the numerous strange ingredients you had to add. It was heavenly, and by the doctor's face, you could only tell he was enjoying every second of it.

“Is it any good ?” Serving yourself another portion.

"Blimey, love! This... this is fantastic! Haven't had a nibble like this in eons... It's not just good, it's utterly brilliant! Delicious doesn't even begin to describe it!" He answered, still trying to shove more cake in his mouth.

Your cheeks flared up, genuinely happy, and proud you had done such good work. In the beginning, you feared it wouldn’t have the same taste as the one that existed back home, and you felt relieved that the doctor could recognize a fond memory in it.

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

It was safe to say, the cake did not survive long enough. You and the doctor, now cuddling in the softness of the Tardis covers.

After the cake had been devoured, you had to have a turn. The thankful kisses you gave one another, turned into a heated session of making out against the tardis console, his fingerprints still lingering on your inner thighs. And just like that it was you and him against the world once more.

His fingers passed through your short ginger hair as a comfortable silence installed itself. You looked up at him and could tell he had some questions about the whole surprise.

“You have a lot of questions don’t you ?”

“I always do…”

“Ask away then, I know you’re curious.”

Shifting slightly closer, the doctor leaned onto his elbow, making his face right above you. “How long did this take you ?”

Your hand reaching out for his jaw, you pulled a small but sad grin. “I started trying back when Amy was still traveling with us. Unfortunately, I died shortly after so… been planning longer than our wedding. ”

The doctor laughed slightly with you, remembering the chaotic moment. “And the recipe? Where did you find it? The Tardis database is still written in Gallifreyan as far as I’m aware of- ”

“No such trouble when you have learned to read it.”

“What..?”

“Why so surprised? Did you think I would traverse the universe for eons and not try to embrace your culture? What sort of wife would I be ?”

And just when he thought he couldn’t love you more, he did. His hearts swelled with pride as he looked into your eyes. Caressing your cheek, he kissed your forehead, brushing away some strands of hair still in the way.

“You truly are remarkable (Y/N).....”

“It goes both ways my Bowtie maniac.”

And as the sun rose again on the Tardis, the two lovers intertwined once more, laying one against another as close as you could, afraid time might slip by and take you both apart.

You couldn’t have dreamed of a better outcome.

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

Bonus :

“I knew Clara was up to something!” Complained the time lord only now realizing why his companion was so indecisive about where to land.

“Only figured now she had to keep you busy while I was baking?”

“That’s an awful trickery-”

“As far as I’m aware, if you hadn't been off, you wouldn’t have this wonderful fez of yours, now would you ?” Turning around him you swiftly took the red hat off his head, putting it on your own.

“Oi, mine-” He quickly tried to retrieve it, but knowing you it could be easy or involve a lot of running.

Dodging his hand, you took the opportunity to run off in the Tardis corridors singing “Nope, mine now!” as you ran across the control room.

“(Y/N)! ” The doctor was slightly panicked but it was just a matter of time before all of it evolved into laughter.

#11th doctor x reader!oc #the doctor x reader #doctor who x reader #doctor who x imortal reader #eleventh doctor x reader #noble family x reader #reader Oc #fluff

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softshrimpy · 2 years ago

Text

How To Woo A Hot Principal

Chapter 1/?: Step 1- Shameless Flirting

Summary: Working at the weathervane was exactly what you needed. The routine, the people, your co-worked. It certainly helped that a certain tall, blonde, fucking gorgeous woman happened to frequent the cafe. Now some may call hopelessly flirting with your customers inappropriate behavior.

But truly, when it came it Larissa Weems, who could blame you?

I’m just in love with Larissa Weems and a silly bitch. I hope you enjoy ✨🦐

Chapter 2

Cross posted to AO3 Here

HTWAHP Masterlist

——————————————————————————

“Just because I like older women does not mean I’m a homewrecker.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“You’re telling me you’ve known me for three months now and this whole time you thought I was out here waiting to ruin a marriage?”

“In my defence-“

“I can’t believe this, I thought we were friends Kingston. Now I have to rethink everything.” You sighed, dramatically.

“You’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met.” He chuckles.

You slap him with your cloth, scoffing at his comment before going back to cleaning the coffee machine.

You had been in Jericho for a total of three and a half months. It was a quaint little town, a bit hyper-focused on their pilgrim ancestry but not the worst small town you’d experienced. You had been working at the Weathervane since you’d arrived, enjoying the routine it provided and the socializing. That was where you had met James Kingston (A British man disguised as a regular person in your professional opinion. I mean what kind of name is James Kingston anyway?). The two of you had become fast friends, partly due to the work you did and partly because he found you hilarious and you found him tolerable. (this is a lie, you love him dearly.)

Working as a barista meant you got to know most of the residents of Jericho quite quickly. Some you found infinitely more interesting than others.

“Oh look its your lady crush.” James comments, wheezing when you whip around from what you were doing to stare out the window.

“Shut up, I just- I respect a woman in power that’s all.”

“Oh I’m sure its all respect in that filthy brain of yours when you think of her.”

“Fuck off.” You laughed, hurrying to the register when you saw her coming through the door.

“Good morning miss Weems.” You greeted, doing your best to shut your heart up and give her a relatively normal smile.

“How many times have I told you to call me Larissa darling.” She smiles, much to the chagrin of your heart-calming plans.

“She’s a bit slow this one.” James jokes, earning him a swift kick on the shin.

“Your usual, Larissa?” You ask.

She nods, chuckling at the two of you before moving to sit at one of the booths. Larissa came around often enough, usually in the mornings, you assumed before the academy day officially started. Sometimes she’d come around after dropping one of the students at Dr Kinbotts. You lived for the times she stopped by, almost always kicking James off the register if he was stationed there just to talk to her. So yes, you had a massive crush on the woman. But honestly? Who could blame you? She was a goddess among you mere mortals and you were simply relishing in her heavenly presence when you could.

Christ, you were a useless gay.

You finished making her usual, quickly doodling a small flower next to her name before taking it to her. You place it down on the table with a flourish, bowing dramatically.

“Your coffee my fair lady.”

She chuckles, shaking her head at your antics before standing, coffee in hand.

“Thank you, y/n. You always make my mornings delightful.” She hums, squeezing your arm as she leaves.

You watch as she goes, a dreamy smile on your face, before proudly strutting back behind the counter. James giggles at you earning him yet another smack with the towel.

The rest of your day is pretty mundane. Dr Kinbott stops by at around 12 for her usual. The sheriff comes around and gets an Americano to go (You suspect he’s actually just checking on Tyler.) Throughout the day you’re giddy thanks to Larissa. You often find yourself daydreaming about what it would be like to see her more often. You think perhaps you might actually implode if she were to ever have more than a two-minute conversation with you. You finish up the day with Tyler, letting him leave before closing up. All in all, a regular day in Jericho.

You were working your regular Saturday shift when Larissa arrived, looking rather upset. She placed her order and sat down at a booth, pulling out her laptop and getting to work. You made sure to put a little extra sugar in her coffee and grabbed one of the choc chip cookies before bringing it to her. You placed it down on her table, earning a mumbled thanks as she picked up the coffee. It took her a moment to notice the cookie, but when she did she glanced up at you questioningly.

“It’s on the house. You look like you’re having a shitty day so I thought you could use a little something to make your day a bit better.” You smiled, clasping your hands behind your back.

“You really are too kind to me,” she mumbled, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Pffft, Nah. You deserve it.” You brushed her off. You took a moment before speaking again. “I know we don’t know each other that well but uh if you want to talk I’m here. And I can give brilliant commentary, no advice though, I’d probably encourage murder or something equally illegal.”

She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. You think her laugh might be one of your favourite sounds.

“That’s very sweet, but aren’t you busy with your work?” she asks.

At that, you throw your apron off and over your shoulder and sit down across from her.

“Galpin’s pretty competent, plus he owes me one anyway. So spill.”

She considers you for a moment, before heaving a sigh.

“The academy is receiving a new student next week.” She starts. “Which under usual circumstances would be fantastic, however, this student happens to be the daughter of… an ex-paramour of mine.” She mumbles, almost drawing in on herself.

“Did they do something awful that made you break up with them?” you ask.

“No actually, uh she broke up with me…for the man that is now her husband.”

You stare at her for a moment, mouth agape.

“You’re telling me someone chose to walk away from you? But you’re- I mean you’re gorgeous and smart and- was she blind?? Was she dumb?? I mean obviously, she was but… what.”

She chuckles at your outburst, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Yes, well, they seem very happy together. And I’m sure she’ll rub that in my face in some offhand way. And she’ll make jokes about me marrying my job because ‘no one else would want me’ which I-I mean it’s not- that’s not why I’m so devoted to the school!”

“She sounds like a bitch.” You comment, “I can throw hot coffee at her if that’ll make you feel better?”

“You’re very sweet but that’s assault darling.”

“I’d literally kill a man for you no questions asked, assault is nothing.”

She chuckles, swatting at your arm before sighing again and dropping her head into her hands.

“Well, look, I don’t know who your ex is, the stupid bitch, but you have become a talented, successful, absolutely gorgeous woman. So, no matter what happened between you or what she does whenever you see her, know that she’s just a jealous, silly old hag who could never be half as brilliant as you are.”

She stares at you at that, her eyes bright. You wait for her to say something, feeling yourself get more nervous the longer she stays silent. You play with your fingers, thinking perhaps you went too far and have now fucked any and all chances of having even a friendship with this gorgeous woman.

You stand up, pull your apron back on and do your best not to overthink every word you’ve said.

“Uhm, sorry, have-have a great day Larissa.” You mumble turning to walk away.

Suddenly she grabs your wrist, stopping you and turning you around. She stands up, towering over you. She looks down at you, a dazzling smile on her face. And then, by the gods, she bends down and presses a kiss to your cheek, and hot fucking damn you almost spontaneously combust on the spot. You stare up at her, awestruck and definitely blushing madly.

“Thank you, y/n” she smiles. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

And with that, she squeezes your wrist, giving you a dazzling smile and leasing the coffee shop. You watch after her like a lovesick puppy, heart racing.

You’re absolutely whipped for this woman.

Larissa didn’t come around for the next few days. But you knew she was a busy woman, she had things to do. You definitely weren’t considering changing your name and fleeing the country thinking she now didn’t want to see your face again after what you said and her thanking you was just because she felt awkward. Definitely not.

You found yourself glancing out the window every five minutes or perking up whenever the bell above the door would ring, only to deflate when it wasn’t Larissa walking in. You were busy wiping down one of the tables when James appeared at your side.

“My bestie in Christ, you know I love you, but you currently look like an abandoned puppy.”

“I do not,” you scoff.

“Sure, sure... Oh hey, Larissa!”

You whip around faster than you’ve ever moved in your life, coming face to face with an empty doorway. You scowl as you hear James wheeze next to you.

“Don’t forget we work with hot coffee. And accidents happen, Kingston.”

He laughs at your threat, patting your shoulder as he heads back to the counter. You continue working for a while before James pipes up again.

“Oh damn. Good morning miss Weems.”

“That’s it, give me the boiling water I’m giving you the wicked witch of the west treatment.”

“Now why would you be burning your friend at the mention of my name?” a velvet voice speaks from behind you.

You spin around on the spot, gaping at the woman behind you. There she stands, all tall and gorgeous and dreamy. You feel yourself blushing as you try to stand straighter and lean on the table you were cleaning. Unfortunately, you did such a great job that you slip and all but fall on your ass. You’re tempted once again to throw boiling water on James as he cackles at you. Larissa, the kind goddess she is, rushes over and offers you a hand.

When she pulls you up you realize you greatly underestimated how close she would be as you’re now toe to toe with her, staring up at her, cheeks aflame. She smiles down at you, her hand still holding yours as her other arm settles on your waist. You’re barely breathing at this point and then she has the audacity to flash you the cutest smile.

You take your chance to take her in up close, knowing you’ll probably never get this close to the goddess ever again. You notice the crow’s feet at the edge of her eyes and the slight bags under them she tried to hide with makeup. You also notice she smells absolutely fucking divine, you can’t quite pinpoint what it is but it suits her so well. You know you’re staring and you should stop, but you can’t help it.

“You should be more careful, sweetheart.” She murmurs, her eyes sparkling. “I wouldn’t want my favourite barista getting hurt.”

You’re still gaping at her, your brain turned to mush at the way she spoke, low and velvety. You open your mouth to speak but can’t seem to find anything clever to say, for once. Something she takes full advantage of.

“What’s wrong darling? Cat got your tongue?” she whispers, and oh god is she getting closer? She looks closer.

You’re startled back into the waking world when James accidentally drops something, the loud clanging making you jump back from the woman in front of you, heart racing and body flushed. Larissa drops her hands from their hold on you, stepping back slightly. You internally whimper at the loss of her touch and then immediately internally scold yourself for being so uselessly gay.

“So uh, how-how has everything been? I haven’t uh seen you around lately.” You commented, sliding behind the counter and getting started on her drink.

“It’s certainly been an eventful few days, to say the least.“ she sighed, leaning onto the counter.

“Well, you were dearly missed at our humble café.” You remark, placing her drink in front of her.

She chuckles at that taking a sip of her drink before letting out a relaxed sigh.

“God I could’ve used this yesterday.”

“The drink or my riveting conversation?” you joke.

“Perhaps both.” She hums.

“Well, I mean we could always deliver to your office on the days you can’t get here.” James offers, grinning at you.

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble-” Larissa starts.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble at all. Isn’t that right?” he comments elbowing you suggestively.

“Oh! No of course it would- I would be honoured- I mean it would be my pleasure Larissa really.” You manage, giddy at the prospect of delivering her coffee every day.

“Really you don’t have to go through any extra fuss for me we have coffee at Nevermore so I-“

“You’re worth the fuss though.” You say, and then immediately want to shoot yourself for speaking aloud.

Silence falls between the three of you, Larissa looking shocked, James at a loss and you mentally preparing what to put on your tombstone. It’s a while before Larissa speaks.

“Well, when you put it like that how can I say no hm?”

“So, I get to deliver you coffee every day?” you grin, tapping the counter a few times in excitement.

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart. You can bring it to my office, I’ll expect you before nine.” She hums, turning to leave.

“Yes ma’am! I won’t let you down” you respond, giving her a mock salute.

She chuckles, waving at you and waits a fucking second did she just fucking wink at you?? Oh, Jesus on skates your life just keeps getting better and better. As soon as she’s outside and gone from view you all but squeal, throwing yourself at James.

#wlw #larissa weems #principal weems #wednesday #larissa weems x reader #principal weems x reader #larissa weems x you #HTWAHP

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