#anyways anyways ladies and gentlemen ~her~

[lillaydee]

Shhh!!! Part 11

Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader

A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...

She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...

Tag List:

@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow @lovefreylove @jessthebaker @bunniboo0015

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.

Dividers by the awesome @saradika

Header by Moi cause I learned how to use Canva! Yay me!

WARNINGS: Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Celebrity Joel Miller, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 10

Joel and Tommy looked at each other, each practicing the decades long Miller Bros mind reading technique, the one they had been practicing since infancy. The one poor, dear, old Anita Miller had given up on trying to decipher. She swore this was something they could do even while sleeping. Nothing outwardly, just looking into each other’s eyes and small head gestures, careful not to let their facial expressions give their secret conversations away.

‘What do you think? We believe her?’

‘I don’t, you?’

‘Nah. Should we ask anyway?’

‘Sure! I’m curious,’ Joel cocked his head towards Angela, silently asking Tommy to take the lead.

Tommy cleared his throat. “What do you mean it’s not looking good?”

Angela put both her hands up, as if surrendering, “Believe me gentlemen, I agonized over telling you this, you guys looked so happy and at ease at the restaurant! But…” she sighed, shaking her head, taking her iPad out. She put her glasses on, checked that she had the right document, and slid the iPad towards Joel. “I just couldn’t let them do this to you, you need to know this, before things go further.”

He didn’t budge, still leaning on the counter.

Tommy picked up the iPad, reading the document Angela had opened.

“Maria is a PI, she’s been known to investigate famous people, politicians and celebrities alike, threatening to expose them unless they pay her,” he summarized the bit about Maria to Joel, who didn’t react. “And Lily, is a bankrupt barista with a list of failed attempts at opening up cafés all over town, and that truck was the only attempt that took. Even that barely makes any profits. She owes so much she’s drowning and is looking for a sugar daddy to bail her out. She chose you, it seems,” he continued, looking at Joel, his lower lip jutted out, impressed that Angela had managed to ‘find you girls out’, nodding his head, raising his eyebrows at his brother at the same time, placing the iPad back on the counter. “My, my, what are we going to do?”

Joel mulled the information in his head for a while, his lower lip jutting out like Tommy’s now, his eyebrows scrunched together, obviously thinking hard. “Maybe I should start paying for coffee and pay for her truck too?”

Tommy snorted, and Joel cracked a smile, much to the chagrin of a very confused Angela. Tommy handed the iPad back to her, asking her if that was all? He had places to be.

Joel stood up straight and picked up his key and phone, ready to leave.

“Guys, this is serious!” Angela squealed. “These ladies could do some serious damage to your reputation, what if this Maria targets you next, huh? You don’t exactly have a shiny one, you know? And what if this Lily takes you for everything you’ve got, Joel? How are you going to support the kids now that you are not renewing?”

Joel took a deep breath, turning around to face her. “I don’t need you to mother me around, Angela. Thank you for your concern, really, but I don’t want you speaking about Lily or Maria ever again, you hear me? They are beyond your responsibilities.”

“At least let me draw a contract? An NDA at least? So they don’t talk? I’m really worried here,” she tried, the most concerned look her done-up face would allow showing.

Joel took some hasty steps towards her, causing her to shrink back. “You go near her with a contract, an NDA, or any of your usual ‘agent-like’ bullshit, I will fire you,” Angela opened her mouth to protest. “I don’t care if I have to pay for anything. I don’t care if I am breaking the contract. Try me, see if I’m joking. Lily is not some distraction for me, she’s a friend, a true friend. You stay away from her!” he raised his voice, a finger in her face.

Angela looked at Tommy, trying to get the younger man to reason with his older brother.

Tommy shrugged, “What he said, with Maria.”

“Leave, Angela. I have places to be, things to do, and please don’t come back unless invited. This is my home. You know my boundaries about this. There’s a reason I don’t bring people home. That includes you.”

Angela’s face snapped shut. She couldn’t argue. He had always been private about his home. She could count the number of times she had been here, always invited, of course, for urgent business or birthdays – even those, only when Sarah was little, these days they just have dinners at restaurants - but not outside of that. Even Tommy drew a line with his home. He never took his dalliances to his home, always using hotel rooms or the ladies’ places for such purposes. Joel went a step further, only in his office, not even at hers, not even at hotels. She never understood this about the brothers, but she respected it. To the Miller brothers, their homes were for family, and despite being their agent and friend for twenty years, she didn’t qualify, not that she didn’t try. She may never qualify. And she just had to accept that.

She assumed that since the incident Friday night, they wouldn’t have a problem with her being here today, it was an emergency. But clearly, she had crossed a line. She was already worried about losing them as clients, the last thing she wanted was for them to leave earlier. So she nodded, muttered an apology, picked up her stuff and left.

Joel and Tommy looked at each other, processing what just happened.

“Listen, the thing she said about Lily…” Tommy began, “It’s bullshit. Her uncle, Bill I think his name was? He told me about her Dad. He owned like 30 of that café you used to hate. He sold them before retiring though, and she inherited everything when he died. Technically, she doesn’t even need to work. Bill said her stepmom has been trying to get her to move to where she was, but she’s been stubborn so far. She just loves working and selling coffee. Been doing it all her life. That’s why Bill stayed. To keep an eye on her. So the whole bankrupt, failed business attempts thing, it’s all bullshit, just in case you were wondering. Maria told me the few weeks she worked there was among the most exhausting of her life. They were popular, busy! And you know for a fact that truck is doing well.”

Joel huffed a laugh, “I’m not worried. She’s making a profit, alright. Charged me 40 bucks for a cup of coffee once.”

“WHAT?”

“I was a jerk, yelled at her, she charged me a fortune just to get back at me and then returned the money to Ellie.”

Tommy guffawed, telling Joel he liked you a whole lot more now. “Finally! A woman who put Joel Miller in his place! You should put 40 dollars back in her tip jar, you deserve to be charged that much if you were being a jerk to her!” He was laughing so hard he flailed, almost falling to the kitchen floor, grabbing the counter to steady himself. Joel was laughing with him, the memory of that day making him giddy. Tommy moved his hand to steady himself further, and then there was a crash.

Shit.

Tommy had accidentally swiped his hand to where the old coffee machine was, sending it crashing to the floor. Ellie came running, still half asleep, wondering what the racket was all about. She stilled when she saw what it was, hand over her mouth. Tommy was definitely not laughing anymore, his insides frozen at what he just did. They both looked at Joel, who held a hand out in front of Ellie, warning her not to come closer. There were glass shards everywhere, telling her to go get the broom, the scooper, the vacuum and a box, simultaneously warning Tommy not to move, his socked feet rooted to the floor.

When Ellie returned with the items he had requested, he asked her to bring him his boots, pulling the stool from under the island, sitting down, brushing his feet off any shards or anything that might have stuck to it, putting boots on, and going over to pick up the larger pieces, placing them in the box. He swept up the rest, taking the stool and placing it next to Tommy, asking him to sit and check his feet, before vacuuming the entire kitchen, just in case.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Tommy blubbered, finally able to catch up to his mortification, imagining how angry Joel would be about this. This was the man who had almost bitten his head off for buying him a new coffee machine, who had clung on to that piece of crap like it was worth millions, and he just destroyed that precious possession with one careless swipe of his hand.

Joel didn’t say anything, he continued vacuuming, checking every nook and cranny of his kitchen for any more shards of the machine, before finally being satisfied, emptying the cannister into the box along with the rest of the carcass. He picked the box up, patted his brother on his back and went out to the garage, placing the box on a shelf there, and got into his truck to leave.

Tommy and Ellie stood in the kitchen dumbstruck. “Am I in trouble or not?” he asked her. She shrugged, “He didn’t throw it away. It’s still on that shelf. Maybe not too much trouble?”

There was a few minutes of full on silence, neither of them moving.

“Does this mean I can get him a new one? Or not?”

“I wouldn’t chance it. Not until he throws that box away.”

Okay, Tommy thought, ruffling her hair, telling her Angela brought breakfast burritos, and left.

“Sorry I’m late,” Joel said, climbing into your truck, grabbing the apron off the hook, gently kissing you on the cheek, before taking over at the till. You kissed him back, going to make your customer’s order. The two of you worked seamlessly for a couple of hours, before finally sitting down at one of the tables to take a break, him enjoying his cup of coffee in the sun.

He told you about that morning’s happening, that Angela had taken steps to get the footage off the internet, hoping it would bring you some ease, not that you were ever bothered in the first place.

“The comments, though,” you told him, nervous to approach this subject. “There were so many questions about who I am to you. Frank told me, and I was worried you might take offence.”

Joel bit his tongue, trying to decipher if you were offended by those comments – he knew the ones – those that implied the two of you were together.

“Do you mind? In my experience not saying anything is the best defence. Saying anything at all would only open you to more questions. So I usually just keep quiet. But if you would prefer, I could say something,” he coaxed, not specifying if it would be a denial or a confirmation. He wanted so much for that piece of implication to be true, but of course, he had yet to find the balls to say it out loud.

“No, I don’t, you don’t have to say anything. I just worry that anyone you might be involved with would take it the wrong way, that’s all. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your love life,” you said, making him laugh.

“There’s no one, don’t worry.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Your phone pinged, you looked at it, a picture from Ellie, warning you that if Joel gave you any troubles today, not to take it to heart. Attached was a picture of the broken coffee machine in a box. You replied that he was fine, didn’t seem any different, and she quickly replied with a ‘phew’.

“Hey, I was wondering,” Joel said, breaking your concentration. “Tommy and the girls are organizing a dinner at my place this Saturday. My birthday is in September, but I would be away for work then, so they’re having the dinner this week. I’d love it if you could join us,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee, nerves clearly showing. “Maria will be there,” he quickly added, as if that would make you say yes faster.

“Your birthday, huh? And how old would you be, Mr Miller?” you teased.

“Very old,” he said, rubbing his face. “Throw my back from sneezing old,” he continued, laughing at himself.

“Then I would be very happy to join your birthday dinner, to celebrate you getting old.”

He almost jumped up with joy. He had no idea why he would say that, but he knew he wanted to spend more time with you outside of your truck. His birthday was over a month away, but it was the only excuse he could think of on the spot to spend more time with you, he was still too nervous to ask you out on a real date, especially after that fiasco last week.

Okay, now all he had to do was tell his family that he needed them to throw him a dinner this Saturday, and hope to God they say yes.

You were just spritzing some perfume on when you phone rang. Joel was on his way to pick you up. You wanted to laugh, telling him you could have just Ubered, but he insisted. This was supposed to be his birthday dinner and he was coming to pick you up. Really, this guy was weird.

He had been calling you every night and coming to spend his mornings with you at the truck. You went to sleep every single night with a smile on your face, his voice the last thing you heard, and woke up every morning unable to contain your excitement to see him. When you thought of how you felt about him when you first met, you laughed at how silly this whole thing was. You hated him. And now, all you wanted to do was spend all your time with him, despite your hatred for celebrities. You felt like a teenager again, crushing on the cool guy at school.

He's just being nice, right? Making up for the time he was obnoxious to you? And the travesty that was last week? He’s a famous guy, no way he would feel that way about you, right? And with everything Lucy told you, how hesitant he was with the ladies, you needed to accept it. You were nothing special. Not even much to look at. You even saw pictures of him with that Tess Lucy was telling you about, she was really pretty. She suited him. And you had to admit, he did look a lot happier in the pictures with her than he did in his other pictures. You were definitely not a match to her in any way at all.

So, okay, you will be his friend. You liked being his friend. You loved Sarah and Ellie. And Tommy was a hoot. Maria came to spend time with you a few days ago, and she was hilarious. You wanted to spend more time with them all, so you needed to shut up and not spoil this thing you had with them without making it awkward. So, no. You will not be telling Joel you had a crush on him, no matter how much you wish you could just snuggle in his arms and breathe in his intoxicating musk.

Joel had to stop himself from gawking at you when you came downstairs, a wrapped box in your hands. Fuck, you look amazing. He rushed outside to get it from you, placing it carefully in the foot well of his back passenger seat, heeding your warning that it was fragile, all the while blubbering that you didn’t need to get him anything.

“I don’t know how you were raised, Miller, but my Mom and Dad taught me to bring a gift to birthday parties,” you joked, giving him a peck on his cheek. Joel nearly fell into you, swooning at the way you smelled, your perfume and that familiar coconut smell taking over him like some witchcraft he was never going to try to fend off, shyly mumbling how beautiful you looked. You wanted to remark on how mouth-wateringly good he looked, but you were afraid your tongue would fall out, so you settled with placing your hand on his chest, telling him that he didn’t look too bad himself.

The girls were excited to see you, Maria squealing, hugging you tight and taking you by the hand to take you outside where the dinner would be. It was a simple affair, just the six of you, chattering, laughing, eating, drinking.

The girls and Tommy were watching Joel, too happy to see him so happy. They had refrained from teasing him about the dinner, worried that he might pull back and cancel if they did, none of them remarking how special this small event was – he had willingly invited a woman who was not related to him to his home. Apart from Angela and the cleaning ladies, no one had ever been invited in, especially not those outside working capacity. And yet, here he was, making them plan a dinner, supposedly for his birthday, which none of them understood as he usually fought them tooth and nail every time they arranged something for him, only for them to realize his real intentions when he announced he was picking you up.

Not that they would ever complain. He looked far too happy to be in your company for them to even tease him.

After dinner, Tommy brought the gifts out for Joel to open, smugly smiling as his usually grumpy brother made a face – he was always uncomfortable at this bit. Everyone looking at him, watching him closely to see his reaction to the gift they had carefully selected for him, worried that he might offend someone should his reaction not be satisfactory enough. The fact that he was someone whose face came with subtitles didn’t help either.

He cooed at the photo collage Ellie made him, smothering her with hugs and kisses, already planning to hang it up in his room, hugged Maria for the shirt she got him, whooped at the season tickets Tommy got him, and got all teary at the new watch Sarah got him with her first pay, an upgrade, she said, from the old tattered one he’d had on forever. He hugged her for so long she squealed, squirming to get away from his kisses, laughing uncontrollably.

He got to your gift, the heavy box making him curious. You warned him not to shake it, making him laugh. Everyone fell silent when he unwrapped it.

It was a brand new espresso machine.

You were taken aback by the sudden silence. You were about to say something but you were interrupted.

“Yoo Hoo! What is everyone doing back here? A party?” Angela came from around the corner, a fake smile plastered on her face, obviously trying not to look hurt that she wasn’t invited. She stopped talking when she saw the espresso machine in Joel’s lap.

Joel ran his fingers on the shiny new machine, his face unreadable. He got up and took the machine inside. Everyone was just stunned. No one dared say anything, lest whatever repressed feelings Joel was having come out to play.

“Who gave him that?” Angela asked.

“I did,” your voice came out small, self-conscious.

“Well,” she snapped, “I hope you’re happy with yourself. You know what you just did?”

“Well, Ellie told me his old one broke, so I thought…”

“You thought what? That old machine was the last gift his late wife gave him, he was never getting rid of it. He’s had it for years. And you came along and just decided you could replace it? Who do you think you…”

“Angela, stop!” Tommy hollered, shocking the living shit out everyone.

You got up, feeling all sorts, grabbing your purse and taking your phone out, muttering an apology to everyone. All of them, save for Angela, stood up and tried to stop you, but you quickly left, going inside to grab your shoes.

Everyone turned to Angela, who had a self-satisfied smirk on her face, “I told you that woman was trouble,” she spat.

“What are you even doing here Angela? We didn’t invite you,” Sarah asked, her voice stern, her face cold.

“I have business to discuss with your Dad,” she defended, “It’s important.”

“Well, I’m here, what business?” Tommy asked, hands on his hips. “Didn’t he warn you never to come here again? What business is so important that you couldn’t wait until Monday?”

Angela was quiet, her attention drawn to the going on in the house, as was everyone else’s.  

You were approaching the entrance when Joel’s soft voice called your name. You turned around to see him holding a box in his hands, asking you where you were going?

“I’m so sorry, Joel, I didn’t mean to offend you, or the memory of your late wife, I didn’t know. I just knew your machine was broken so I thought I’d get you a new one. I’m so sorry, I’ll leave,” you said, turning back around to go out, opening the Uber app to get a car. His hand wrapped around your wrist, so gentle, not at all like a man who was about to tell you off.

“Will you come with me? I need to tell you something,” he said, showing you the content of the box, the pieces of the broken coffee machine in it. He held his hand out to you, and you took it, feeling that you owed him this, seeing as you had just insulted the memory of his late wife. He laced his fingers with yours, taking you back outside, telling everyone to go inside, he needed to talk to you alone.

He took you to the fire pit at the other end of the backyard, sitting you down, and lighting the fire. He sat down next to you, taking your hand back into his.

“There’s something I needed to tell you. My late wife, Laura, she was my first love. We were only together for two years before she died. This,” he pointed to the box at his feet, “Was the only gift she had ever given me, apart from Sarah.”

You closed your eyes, feeling so awful you wanted to cry.

“See, they all thought that I kept it as a memento of her. That I was so in love with her no one could replace her. It’s not their fault, I have never said anything. But I want to tell you everything, if you’ll listen.”

His eyes were so hopeful, so sincere, you couldn’t help but nod, placing your hand on top of his.

Growing up, Joel had a best friend. Eddie. They were inseparable. They did everything together. When they were around 19, they were both working in construction, dreaming of starting a company of their own, putting money aside, Tommy promising to join them when he could.

Eddie had a girlfriend, and every time they hung out, she would bring her friend, Laura. Joel was smitten with her. She was shy, and to be frank, didn’t really pay him much attention at first. But they did hang out a lot, and it only made sense for them to ‘couple up’, he said, complete with air quotes. They spent so much time together, but she was very… distant with him. Not very physical, despite being very polite with him.

They finally had sex for the first time at Eddie’s 20th, both drunk out of their minds, Joel far too happy to finally land his dream girl. He was head over heels in love with her already, and she seemed to be in love with him too. The next morning, she told him that night was a mistake, she wanted to wait until marriage, and he accepted it, just willing to do anything to keep her in his life.

They got pregnant from that one night. So they got married, moved in together. Joel was over the moon. He married the girl of his dreams, and they were expecting a baby together. Pregnancy was not easy on her, she was very sensitive to smells and was tired all the time. She was down a lot, not really wanting to talk, not wanting to be physical with him. He understood, his Mama explained to him how pregnancies could affect women. Plus, he was far too happy with his life to take offence. Love was never without struggle, he thought. He would do anything to make Laura happy, and if this was what she needed, he was going to give it to her.

Things got better after Sarah was born. She was a great mother, an excellent wife, taking care of their small family’s needs. She was still distant, both emotionally and physically, but Joel realized this was just how she was. She was a great partner otherwise. She didn’t tell him she loved him but showed him every day. There was no hand-holding, or extreme kissing or making out, but the house was always clean, food on the table waiting for him when he got home, Sarah taken care of. He felt loved, and that was what mattered.

Soon, she warmed up to him, a smile accompanying her whenever she greeted him home, a kiss as he left in the morning, cuddling as they watched TV, her keeping him company as he ate, made love to him at night, everything just fell into place, and Joel felt as if he was at the top of the world, the happiest man on earth. It seemed to him that the longer they were married, the better the marriage got.

A week after gifting him that coffee machine, she passed. Joel remembered feeling as if the world had ended. He sat in the hospital thinking how unfair this was, they were in love, barely started their lives together. And she died. How was he supposed to move on? His heart was shattered. His wife, the woman he loved was gone in a split second. He sat on the floor in that hospital thinking about the sweet kiss she gave him as he left for work that morning. How she held Sarah in her arms, kissing her chubby cheeks, helping her wave her Dad goodbye. See you for dinner, Dad, she had cooed, laughing as Sarah tried to copy her words.

He was so distraught, he didn’t even think how weird it was that she passed in a car crash, that she was in a car at all. She was a stay at home Mom, she didn’t know how to drive. Joel drove her everywhere. The grocer was within walking distance from their house. Where was Sarah when all this happened? The news of her death clouded all those questions those first few hours.

A hand landed on his shoulder. It was Eddie’s father. He was crying too. Joel got up, hugging the man for dear life. The man had been like a father to him since his own Papa passed. They hugged for a while, crying into each other’s shoulder, before he finally asked who told him about the accident, only then realizing they both had asked the same question.

It was then that they found out, Laura and Eddie were in the same car during the crash, both perishing upon impact.

What was Laura doing in the car with Eddie? She was supposed to be home, looking after Sarah. Who was looking after Sarah? And Eddie, he called in sick that day. What were they doing together?

The policeman came and told Joel he could collect their belongings from the morgue, and when he did, there were suitcases of clothes among them. Joel didn’t understand. He went home and got Sarah from his neighbour Mrs Adler, who told him that Laura did leave Sarah with her a few times a week, going on a few months now.

Joel went into his house to an empty closet, a letter on the bed. A wedding ring in the envelope.

They had been having an affair. She had pined for Eddie since they met, but Eddie was happy with his girlfriend. That night they had sex, she had gotten drunk because she heard Eddie propose to his girlfriend, going for Joel out of sheer desperation, hoping that Eddie would find out and get jealous.

He never did, at least, not then. She got pregnant, and was forced to marry Joel, her own parents disowning her for getting pregnant out of wedlock. But she quietly pined for Eddie still, going through the motions with Joel, until one day, Eddie’s fiancée broke up with him. He turned his attention to Laura then, and their affair began. In the letter, Laura confessed to Joel that her happiness of late was due to the fact that she finally got to be with Eddie, the man of her dreams. She wanted to be with him. She was leaving him and Sarah to start a new life elsewhere with Eddie. She had taken all the money Joel had hidden in the floorboards for his business with Eddie, telling him so he wouldn’t panic when he couldn't find it. She went as far as thanking him for helping her and Eddie start their new life together.

Joel was broken. He couldn’t believe that was all he was to Laura. A replacement, a place holder until the man of her dreams came along. He couldn’t believe that had the accident not happen, he would have come home to an empty house, left to raise his daughter alone anyway. He couldn't believe that she had pretended to be so happy with him, making him believe she loved him, loved Sarah, sending him to work with a kiss as usual that morning, knowing that she was planning to break his heart later that same day, knowing that she was leaving him. 

Everyone was talking about what a sweet woman Laura was. How sad it was that her life was cut so short. How sad for Sarah to lose a loving mother, how sad for Joel to lose a loving wife. Joel didn’t want Sarah growing up knowing her own mother didn’t want her, was more than ready to leave her, so he kept the story to himself. He let everyone believe that he chose to be single out of loyalty to his late, great wife. The ultimate woman. The love of his life.

Every time he saw the coffee machine she bought him, he was reminded of her betrayal and kept it as a reminder so he wouldn’t fall again, so he wouldn’t be hurt again. So no woman would ever betray him like that again.

“And then, just when I met you, this thing broke for good. I kept it anyway, just because, and just as I came to terms with my feelings for you, it fell and smashed into pieces. It’s a sign.”

“Sign for what?”

“That I’m ready to let it go.”

He tossed the box into the fire, and the two of you watched as the remnants of that machine turn to ashes, staying quiet as it did, hands never leaving each other’s.

“Thank you for telling me, Joel. I’m so sorry she treated you like that. You deserve so much better.”

He smiled, thanking you, caressing your hand with his thumb.

“Joel?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you mean you have come to terms with your feelings for me?”

He turned to look at you, his eyes darting to your lips.

He may have said something, you saw his lips move, but your heart was in your ears.

“Huh?”

He closed the distance between the two of you, nuzzling your nose with his.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned in, and brushed your lips against his, before quickly pulling back.

His hands flew up to your face, pulling you back to his own, slotting his lips between yours, and kissed the living daylights out of you.

Part 12

[voiceemporium]

Bellara Lutare in Dragon Age Veilguard voiced by Jee Young Han

[dragonbonez]

You call it hustle culture. I call it earning enough to pay my bills and my part of rent while giving my cat expensive scratch boards and food because that’s all she will eat. Also homegrown cat grass because God forbid thats not right next to her food so she can alternate between both. Gotta be homegrown though, can’t be store bought because that’s for LOSERS (according to her).

[maddogmp3]

i love my singing voice. i love when i try to hit a note that i cant reach anymore and my voice cracks. i love singing a full octave below my favorite singer's voices. i love barely qualifying as a tenor anymore

[carriecarriecatgirl]

absolutely fucking destroyed

[hauntingmiser]

[ GORE WARNING AND SPOILERS FOR P4/ P4G IG idk????? But yeye ]

MERMAY DAY XXIX ?

sooner or later the investigation heard noises coming from the middle of the fog ever since teddie's submarine was put down in the middle of the fog

The team settled to go to the bottom middle of the fog and put an end to the curse once and for all

until they heard a sore throat yet horse voice calling one of their team members name........

"hₐₙₐ-cₕₐₙ....." the voice said, suddenly yosuke was shocked and questioning if he had heard this voice before and then it clicked on him, it was that girl the one that yu found when he was in his evening swim and the one that he met in June's and so after realizing that voice he shouted through the fog and called her name by the amount of luck he has

"HUH!.....S-S-SAKI!?" yosuke said stuttering his own words

she approached the investigation team and from that day forward, yosuke was all correct all along....

" 𝗛 𝗔 𝗡 𝗔 ~ 𝗖 𝗛 𝗔 𝗡 !!!!!! "

"....oh god......" yukiko feared "this can't be....right?"

" I believe so..." yosuke frightenly answered

The fog covered the team's vision, then vanishing the only to find a merzombie corpse approaching them slowly.....oh god

It's her......

saki....konishi.....the second victim of the crystal curse of "mother nature"

what did this to her? If teddie was right about the biomechanical warfare and that means...

The investigation team had no choice but to attack her and kill her just to keep going until they find the center of the fog

[prlssprfctn]

Tim: Okay, we will just keep it in a secret for a while...

Dick: Oh, how hard it can be, anyway?

Damian: Right. No one wants to remember this.

Jason, spawning behind their backs: You suck at being secretive. What's up?

Dick, giggling nervously: A-ah, Little Wing, uh—

Jason: Well? Whatever it is, I am going to find it out one way or another.

Tim: Promise not to freak out? It is about Bruce.

Jason, crossing fingers behind his back: Promise.

Damian: Father had found himself a new love interest. And it is unbecoming.

Jason, confused: Uh, alright? Why would I care—

Tim, blurting out: It is Joe Chill's daughter.

Jason: Who tf—

Jason: ...Joe Chill, like Martha and Thomas Wayne's killer Joe Chill?

Dick: ...Yeah. That one guy.

Jason: ...

Jason: Yeah, honestly, the fuck I expected when I asked him to kill Joker... He can't even avenge his own ass. Not just that. HE DATES HIS DAUGHTER?

Damian: ...My mother is literally right here.

Dick: Or auntie Selina.

Tim: And Clark. Or even Oliver. Or even Hal—

Jason: I am so *not* joining family dinners anymore.

Dick: Yeah... Anyway, B asked to keep it away from Alfred for a while.

Alfred, ominously appearing in the dark corner of the room: It is a little bit late, gentlemen.

Boys: (nervous gulping)

Alfred, surprisingly calm: Of course, we shall not blame children for sins of their parents. I believe this woman could be better than her father ever was.

Alfred: I am happy for master Bruce. Of course.

Alfred: By the way, do you, boys, prefer poison or bullet?

Dick, nervous: Hey, I am pretty sure the poor girl—

Alfred: Who said anything about the lady?

Tim, whistling: Well, Cass would be delighted to inherit a cowl so soon...

Jason: Okay, you all, let's all just do whatever we think Thomas and Martha would like us to do in this situation...

Dick: Yeah, they probably would be happy for—

Alfred: Thomas would choose a gun.

Boys: (nervous giggle)

Dick, whispering: I'll message B to leave the town.

Tim: Ask him to hide at Kent's. Maybe he can still be saved.

Jason: I'll message Mama Cat. Someone needs to fuck his brain back.

Damian: ...I rather not bother mother. Either way, she will kill Father faster than Alfred will.

[fayes-fics]

An Artful Arrangement

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: A private art lesson with Benedict becomes something else when a Viscount is your subject...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Very mild restraint with hands, sensation play, smidge of breast play, vaginal object insertion, vaginal fingering, oral sex (M to F), masturbation, vaginal sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism.

Word Count: 7.7k

Authors Note: Request fill for Anon, who wanted Anthony as a life model for one of Benedict's private art lessons. This request is from last year and I started writing it before the whole Benedict gives up art thing of s3. I hope artist Benedict returns in s4. Anyway, thank you to @colettebronte for beta-reading this monster. Enjoy! <3

“I’m not sure about this, brother,” Anthony frowns, surveying the jumbled art studio at Benedict’s London townhouse. 

Sunlight is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the rear of the property, but Anthony is grateful for the translucent voiles that drape over them; at least there will be some privacy from the surrounding buildings for this embarrassment.

“Too bad,” Benedict shoots back, bemused, fiddling through a pile of paintbrushes.  “A bet is a bet, and you lost.”

“You do not need to revel in my misfortune quite this much, though,” Anthony pouts.

“What can I say? The mallet of death does not always ensure victory at Pall Mall,” Benedict chuckles, readjusting one of the two easels in the room. “And I can assure you, this student will be worth your efforts,” he adds enigmatically as his trusty valet appears in the doorway.

“Ms y/l/n is here, Mr Bridgerton,” Mr Smith announces. “Should I see her in?”

“Certainly,” Benedict nods brightly, observing in the periphery of his gaze how Anthony’s interest is piqued at that announcement.

“A Ms?” Anthony echoes quietly as Smith slips away. “I did not think you offered private art tuition to the unmarried lady,” his voice filled with concern, patently preoccupied with the Bridgerton family reputation should Benedict be inviting innocent young women to his bachelor lodgings unchaperoned.

“Do not concern yourself,” Benedict sighs, knowing exactly where the Viscount's thoughts have gone. “I indeed do not do that. I would not wish for that reputation. Widows who have reverted to their unmarried name, however….” Benedict trails off.

“Oh… right….” Anthony nods in understanding. 

That, indeed, is an entirely different prospect.

—

You enter the room and suspect you may have interrupted a private moment between the two men before you. Both turning towards you, Benedict looks happy to see you once more; the other man - you would recognise his older brother, the Viscount, anywhere - seems taken aback, but you don't miss the tiny uptick in the corner of his mouth, hopefully also pleased to meet you.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” you nod courteously and move towards Benedict, allowing him to take your hand and kiss the back of your glove in greeting.

“Ms y/l/n,” he rumbles, “it is so wonderful to see you again.”

“Likewise, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, enjoying the warmth of his lips through the silk, that trademark flare of exhilaration in your ribcage when your flirtation with him rears. 

This is your fifth private lesson with Mr Bridgerton, and while art has been a wonderful new pastime, you do wonder how much of your enthusiasm correlates to your tutor’s attractiveness. He has been nothing but a gentleman in his actions, almost to your chagrin, although sometimes his glances have felt heated and laden with something that makes your insides glow.

You turn towards Anthony. “Viscount Bridgerton, it is a pleasure to meet you finally. I have seen you from afar at many an event.”

You take a few paces and offer your other hand for him to kiss, but it takes him a moment before he returns to himself and amends his frozen look of surprise.

“Miss y/l/n, the pleasure is all mine,” he replies, and there is something just as velvet in his tone as his brother's, his lips also warm and plush as he kisses your other hand.

Oh, my goodness. They are both entirely too charming and handsome.

“I apologise. When my brother informed me I would be modelling for a widow, I did not assume such a person as yourself,” he explains, his cheeks sporting a delightful dot of colour.

“I was widowed at age 24, my lord,” you explain, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “My late husband, 10th Earl of Pembroke, was a great deal older than me.” 

“Should we not address you as Dowager Countess?” Anthony checks, concerned at any potential faux pas.

“Please do not,” you instantly respond. “It is why I reverted to my unmarried name. I have no wish to be addressed as such. The title lives on in his eldest son, the current Earl, and his wife. Who are indeed older than me. I was my husband's second wife. A companion for his senior years after his first wife died.”

Anthony nods in understanding. “It must have been an interesting union,” he offers politely.

“I was seventeen, and the man was nearly sixty,” you sigh. “My parents saw an opportunity to climb the social ladder and took it. I did not dislike the man completely, but I cannot say I was particularly distraught at his passing,” you explain plainly. “I am, of course, grateful his estate provides for me now.”

Having explained your situation as thoroughly as you wish, you turn back towards Benedict, who appears thoroughly entertained by your bluntness.

“Is this my easel?” you enthuse, pointing to the one nearest the windows.

“Indeed it is,” he returns with a smile as he strides past you and clicks the door closed.

“Now the question is, would you prefer your model be clothed or unclothed? You have not done a piece yet on the naked human form,” he points out.

You look over to see Anthony’s face morph into a thousand reactions.

“That was not part of the deal, brother,” he warns lowly through gritted teeth.

“Maybe not, but I think the lady should get to decide, do you not, brother?” Benedict challenges in a tone laced with amusement, his eyes sparkling.

You can see the war on Anthony’s face and decide to offer an olive branch. “I would not wish to make the Viscount uncomfortable in any way…”

“It would not,” Anthony cuts in very quickly. “I was just pointing out it was not my expectation to do so,” his gaze softening as it slips from his brother to you. “However, if you wish it, Ms, I shall remove my clothing.” something in the way he says it causes a frisson down your spine.

You have only seen one naked man in your life. And that is your dead husband—a portly man of advanced years. Something about the look of the Viscount’s tailored clothing suggests his naked form would be very different. More akin to the rugged gardener you have occasionally seen topless at your country home and, yes, touched yourself while thinking of. You are not sure you could keep your wits about you to paint such a fine specimen of a man.

“Let us just remove our jackets for now, brother,” Benedict suggests. ”The lady may then decide if we shall proceed further,” his tone conciliatory as he removes his.

You smile at his gentlemanly offer. 

“Now,” he continues, rolling up his white shirt sleeves distractingly. “You may choose to pose your model as you see fit.” 

Anthony is doing the same with his shirt, and you find yourself staring at him as well, at the play of muscles in his forearms as he rolls the material. Behind him is an emerald green velvet chaise, and you ask him to sit upon it. He does so and then looks at you expectantly for further instruction.

“Perhaps place one forearm on your thigh,” you suggest, but the pose he adopts isn't quite what you had in mind.

“You can place him in the position you wish,” Benedict chuckles, seeing the knit in your brow, gesturing for you to go to Anthony.

Your heart skips a little as you approach the Viscount, his eyes almost trepidacious as you place your hands tentatively on his shoulders. They are so broad and warm through the thin white cotton of his shirt. You position his arms, noting the latent power in his biceps, fingertips lingering on the material, eager to trail your hands down onto the dark hair dusting his forearms. 

“Would you mind raising your chin, my lord?” you ask quietly, and when he tilts his head up, you almost gasp at the intensity of his gaze boring into yours.

“Like this?” he murmurs.

“Yes, please,” you whisper back, “the light catches your face perfectly.”

“Much as it does yours,” he returns softly and something warm spreads under your ribs as you drink in his handsome facial features, almost glowing in the sunlight—a want to run your fingertips over his cheeks, trace the lines of his strong jaw dusted with a trace of afternoon stubble.

“Are you happy with your placement?” Benedict’s voice rings out, cutting into your reverie.

“Yes, Mr Bridgerton,” you reply but do not move, seemingly rooted to the spot.

“Then please return to your easel,” he tutors, with a hint of sharpness you have not heard before. 

Part of you is tempted to spin around and ask if he is jealous, but instead, you shoot Anthony a tiny smile that he returns before withdrawing. 

You round behind your easel and pick up your charcoal, sketching an outline, as Benedict does the same. A few minutes pass pleasantly as you draw, glancing at Anthony around the edge of the easel to ensure accuracy. You could swear every time you do so; his lip twitches in amusement, almost as if he is trying to distract you.

“Benedict,” you call softly when you think your rough outline is done, “please could you check my sketch?”

It's a flimsy excuse you have used more than once now—a wish to have your teacher move closer. He doesn't disappoint. He takes a few strides and then stops close to your back, assessing your canvas.

“I would say that is an excellent start,” he assesses, his exhaled air wafting through tendrils of hair near your ear. “Except maybe here…” His arm curls close around your side, ghosting your dress, and taps the canvas where you have sketched Anthony’s left arm. “I think you flatter my brother with a shoulder that broad.”

“Perhaps…” you concede, and then your tongue runs away with itself. “It may indeed be easier to ascertain the correct proportions for the Viscount were he in less clothing.”

They both chuckle at your bold assertion, so obviously a flimsy excuse. But there is a vault behind your ribs as Anthony rises to that challenge—a glint in his eye as he stands up and plucks open his waistcoat, shucking it quickly from his shoulders, staring you down. 

You swear you can feel the heat radiating from Benedict behind you as Anthony unwinds his white cravat and then, with a smirk, tosses it towards you. It lands draped over your easel; you reach out unthinking, grabbing an end, caressing the fine silk absent-mindedly as you stare covetously now.

Anthony is indeed built like your gardener, possibly even more sculpted. A dark thatch over his chest tapers to a line of hair over his abdominals and trails temptingly into his trousers. You want to see where it leads to. You suspect something much better than you have ever encountered before. With a hint of swagger, he retakes his seat in the pose you had put him in, the stance making his bicep bulge out.

“I do not think I was very incorrect in my proportions, Mr Bridgerton,” you opine tacitly, turning your head a fraction so your temple is brushing Benedict’s jaw, knowing you are goading him.

“Then draw what you believe you see,” he returns, his voice a low whisper, his lips so close to the shell of your ear that your heart pounds in your chest.

Your eyes hold Anthony’s as you daringly glide your fingertips over the back of Benedict’s hand, lingering on the raised tendons before you push the charcoal between his knuckles.

“Perhaps you can guide my hand?”

“With pleasure,” he hums.

The charcoal glides over the canvas in guided unison for a few laden minutes as you draw under Benedict’s tutelage. Anthony’s chest rises and falls steadily as you glance at him every few seconds—a tension in the air that is portentous, crackling. Your traitorous mind wanders—a jumble of images of you laying with both of these men, bringing you untold pleasures with their mouths and hands.

“Are you even paying attention to the artwork?” Benedict's rich voice lilts in your ear as you realise your hand is almost limp under his.

“I… I must confess, my thoughts may be elsewhere, Mr Bridgerton.”

“Tell us. It could be something we would be most pleased to hear,” he posits duskily, his breath hot on your cheek, letting slip that he likely suspects.

“I am thinking… of other artful arrangements of human bodies,” you offer somewhat opaquely.

“Whose bodies?” Benedict presses, this time his lips grazing your earlobe, as you spy a vein throbbing in Anthony’s temple, looking like he wants to stalk over and claim you.

“The three of us,” you confess breathily.

There is a noise from both men that is a beeline straight into your core, and there is a mouth on your skin. You gasp, eyes closing as you sway backwards into Benedict, his lips travelling the column of your neck as your back collides with his solid chest. The gentle suction and warm wetness set your skin afire, tingles running down your arm. Your lashes flutter open, and your blood runs hot to behold Anthony’s face like thunder until you bite your lip and, feeling emboldened, you mouth to him…

‘Your turn’

Instantly, his mien morphs into one of desire, jumping to his feet as you slide a hand into Benedict's thick hair and grab a handful, making him groan into your skin. 

“You are entirely too clothed compared to your brother, Mr Bridgerton,” you coquette, untangling yourself from his arms and spinning to look back at him with a raised brow, backing away without looking, knowing you will soon collide with Anthony.

Sure enough, you inhale sharply as toned arms haul you into a firm embrace, the hair on his chest tickling the skin above the scooped back of your dress.

“The lady is not wrong, brother,” Anthony provokes, his tone smug now that you are in his arms instead.

Teeth nip lightly on your earlobe while you watch Benedict fight with his waistcoat, almost wrenching it from his torso. Anthony is more taciturn than Benedict, communicating with his fingertips instead, raking over your dress, silently telegraphing his desire through the gauzy layers. Benedict’s stare is heavy upon you as he unfurls his cravat, you melting into Anthony’s lips skimming down your throat. Benedict makes quick work of removing his shirt, throwing it aside, his smooth chest heaving slightly as he advances upon you. Then his lips descend and claim yours in a breathtaking kiss. 

If this is the Bridgerton boys competing for your affection, then you would do anything to keep provoking them. Sandwiched between their bare torsos, Benedict's tongue opening your lips, lathing yours, as Anthony’s mouth skates your shoulder. The taste and feel of them both has you suddenly impatient. To do things you never thought you would even moments ago. A forbidden fruit too tempting to resist. It makes you desirous, unbounded, a keening want to be reckless.

“Take off my dress, gentlemen,” you implore urgently as you and Benedict break apart, twisting to capture Anthony’s mouth now. 

His kiss is just as demanding, equally fervent, your heart racing as four hands trace the contours of your figure. You are not sure of who undoes the buttons down your back or who pushes the loosened fabric from your shoulders. Both unlace your stays, tugging almost impatiently until the garment relents and are certain both of them pull your gathered chemise loose, it falling from your shoulders to form a circle around your light summer shoes. Both make a noise as they realise you are now naked. It was supposed to be a little illicit thrill for yourself, foregoing stockings and underwear in Mr Bridgerton’s presence—little did you know how provocative that choice would be. 

As you toe off your shoes, the atmosphere seems as heated, the sun’s rays upon your back through the translucent window covering. There is a moment where you exchange laden looks with them, their eyes slipping down your naked body before Anthony leans in and retakes your lips.

“Touch me…” you implore, twisting briefly to address his brother before returning inexorably to Anthony’s hypnotic kiss.

Benedict's fingertips ladder up your ribs from the dip of your waist, his lips dragging hot over your bare shoulder blades. And then you gasp into Anthony’s searching mouth as those large hands seize both of your breasts, covering them entirely, your nipples snagging between his elegant knuckles.

“Here perhaps…” Benedict rumbles as you tear away from Anthony to meet his captivating gaze.

“Yessss,” you hiss hungrily, your breath catching as he plucks gently, tweaks that send a zinging bolt between your legs. You cling to the back of his sturdy neck and crash your lips into his. 

“Have you ever laid with two men before?” Anthony’s voice is like velvet in your ear as his warm hands grasp the flare of your hips, his teeth nipping at your neck.

“I have only laid with one man,” you admit as you pull back from Benedict's kiss. “And he looked nothing like either of you.” Your hands rake greedily down both of their honed outlines, a yen to see and touch more.

They puff with pride at your words as Benedict's fingers loop behind your left knee. He roughly pulls your legs up around his hip, surging into you so the rigid mass of his cock, straining in his trousers, presses your mound, making you gasp. Anthony pushes into you, too, his equally sizeable cock passing over the cleft of your bottom, so hot through the fine wool. 

“Did he worship you like you truly deserve?” Benedict queries, his cadence achingly seductive.

“I am not sure what that might entail…” your intentional evasive provocation makes him smile crookedly and lean in closer, his eyes glinting enticingly. 

“Did he feast on the bounty between your legs with his tongue until you screamed for mercy?” his words dripping from his lips like dangerous weapons, heat pooling rapidly right at that very spot.

“H-he did not…”you stutter over a slightly laboured breath.

“Oh, my poor lady,” Anthony tuts sympathetically. “You deserve to know true pleasure,” he adds, surging his hips again but also taking your hand and kissing your knuckles tenderly. 

“Lay down here,” Benedict smiles as he leads you back to the plush chaise. 

Both offer their hand to assist you in reclining, the velvet a plush tickle under your spine as you settle down, looking up at them towering over you, your hands itching to tug open their trousers and find what lies beneath, the fabric straining temptingly.

“What do you have in mind, brother?” Anthony asks, his eyes following Benedict as he turns away and appears to grab something from the bench at the side of the room, the sunlight dancing across the freckles across his back. When he spins back around, he is holding three clean paintbrushes.

“I think a sensual experience…” he replies, looking down to gauge your reaction.

“I thought our art lesson abandoned, Mr Bridgerton,” your gaze fixated upon the brushes of various sizes and bristle lengths.

“With my brother as the subject, I concede maybe so,” he remarks casually. “But I believe you to be a much more interesting prospect anyway….” his voice smoky as he looms over you, his eyes raking over you in a way that you can feel fizzling on your skin.

“Agreed”, Anthony chimes in, taking a proffered brush from his brother as they kneel on either side of the chaise, a silent exchange between them.

You want to ask what they will do, but the words die in your throat as Benedict's tongue darts out and wettens the end of a fine-tipped brush. Then, the damp bristles are upon your clavicle, tracing the arc of bone, leaving a thin, wet streak cooling rapidly, goosebumps erupting over your sternum, nipples pebbling. Without needing prompting, Anthony drags a dry, fanned brush over your ribs, tracing each contour. The sensation is different, ticklish, to the point your abdomen ripples, and you instinctively curl up a fraction, biting your lip to tamp down a giggle. Anthony smirks casually as a large hand wraps around your shoulder and pushes you back flat.

“No, no.” Your clit pulses at the warning tone Benedict employs, his hold secure but not painful, staring you down as Anthony repeats the same move upon the other side of your ribs. Your body rolls yet more, rebelling and pushing against his grip. “Stay still. Or he may desist.”

You bite your lip and exhale shakily as Anthony continues teasing brushstrokes over your stomach, each one a flick that makes your skin shimmer. Benedict releases his hold to paint his wet brush across your other collarbone, leaving a trail of his saliva along its ridge and then continuing down over your breastbone. Your breath catches as he trails under the curve of your left breast, just as Anthony’s brush sinks lower. Your instinct is to clamp your legs shut, a sudden wave of timidity, but both men grab your knees and pull your thighs wide apart. Air swirls around your slit as Anthony leans over and captures your lips in an enticing kiss.

“Do not be shy now….” is Benedict’s hot whisper in your ear, his teeth capturing your earlobe as Anthony’s tongue rolls with yours, swallowing your moans as his brush caresses the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs before he glides it between your legs, passing over your clit. 

Just that featherlight touch is enough to make you arc upwards off the chaise until again Benedict holds you down, brush stored expertly between his knuckles as warm fingertips press upon your diaphragm, and he hushes you. You have to bite the inside of your cheek as Anthony flicks a few strokes, his warm eyes blazing right above yours. The motions have you throbbing, desperate for more, and you can only gasp as he slips lower, pushing just a fraction of the brush into your soaked pussy. When you do not protest, he grins and pushes a fraction deeper as you bite your lip, wanting so much more for it to be his cock. You whimper as instead the paintbrush withdraws, and Anthony makes a show of bringing it to his mouth, sucking its dripping tip covetously.

“Delicious,” Anthony offers silkily, his face inches from yours, a thronging need low in your pelvis, aching for relief, something you never felt with your late husband. His lips are on yours, lust burning in your belly as you taste yourself in his mouth. 

Benedict chooses this moment to swirl his wetten brush tip around your areola, and that has you moaning into Anthony’s kiss, your fingers raking into his lush hair as your other hand shoots out to grab Benedict’s bicep, a need to touch them both at once.

“Please…” your voice cracking, greedy for them both.

“Please, what?” Benedict chuckles darkly, his lips brushing your hairline, again holding you down to Anthony’s sensual onslaught.

“More…”

It's all you can say, tilting to look into his hazy eyes, clouded with lust, enjoying watching you squirm and pant and blossom under their attentions.

“Greedy…” Benedict volleys light-heartedly before kissing you, both of them dropping the paintbrushes, clattering to the floor.

Anthony’s fingers slither back down your centre line, tracing over the sensitive skin beneath your belly button but not stopping until they rest tauntingly over your weeping slit. You gasp into Benedict’s mouth as Anthony pushes a finger into you, his approving groan into your shoulder as you leak down his knuckles has you clenching around his invading digit. He adds another and begins to pump slowly, rocking his fingers rhythmically as your tongue parries with Benedict’s. 

Benedict breaks the kiss to brush his lips down your throat, hot kisses over your collarbone, lower still until his mouth is on the swell of your breast. Anthony adds a third finger, wet, filthy sounds from between your legs as your pussy clings to him, feeling so filled. His thumb hooks under your clitoral hood and starts to flick your sensitive nub in time with his finger thrusts just as Benedict's tongue swirls around your nipple, making your back curve up from the chaise, pushing your breast into his open mouth.

“I could watch this for hours…” Anthony asserts with a wicked little quirk of his eyebrow.

You squirm under them, so achingly aroused you feel on the edge of reason. One of them would be more than you have ever experienced before; both at once is almost lethal.

“Me too…” mirth laces Benedict’s response as he trails the point of his nose over your nipple. 

They glance at each other, telegraphing ideas silently. Benedict swaps to your other breast as Anthony moves, the angle of his fingers changing inside you, twisting as he rearranges between your splayed legs, pushing your thighs wide open, draping them on either side of the chaise.

The muscular swipe of Anthony's tongue through your slit has you crying out his name, a spike of pleasure so rough it catches you unawares, this act entirely new to you, something so intimate about his whole face buried into the wet heat between your legs.

Benedict kisses his way back up your neck as Anthony’s strong arms wrap around your hips, the solid mass of biceps curled into you as he drives you relentlessly, his tongue a spear lashing your swollen clit. Benedict swings around from kneeling at the side of the chaise to leaning over the curved back, fingers spidering down your skin from your shoulders towards your breasts.

“Is this the artful arrangement of bodies you envisaged?” His words are whispered hotly into your ear, your eyes fluttering closed at the decadent, smokey cadence.

You mumble something incoherent, the rush washing through your system stealing your thoughts, just as Anthony’s fingers start to move inside you again as he feasts upon you, closing his mouth around your sensitive nub and sucking hard with his lips.

“What was that?” Benedict chuckles, a teasing lilt that has you nuzzling your cheek into his lips, his fingertips dragging agonisingly slowly lower, over the round of your breasts, your nipples, still damp with his saliva, pebbled painfully even in the warm room, tingling for his firm touch.

“Yessss…” your reply is a sibilant rasp; he must know this is even better than what you had imagined, but he seems to enjoy hearing your affirmation regardless. Such investment in your pleasure amplifies your need.

Your hand shoots down to tug Anthony’s luscious hair, pushing your pelvis up into his face as he groans his approval of your wanton actions, chasing pleasure covetously. His fingers are buried deep inside you, curling and dragging over a spot that has you climbing so fast. Then Benedict roughly pinches your nipples, throbbing in sync with your clit under Anthony’s tongue, and you are sent stratospheric dizzyingly fast, a touch of rough treatment just what you need to push you over the edge you have been skating.

Benedict swallows your screams as you ride Anthony’s face in a wave of pleasure, clenching hard around his fingers, trying to expel them as he fights to stay inside you. Benedict's mouth is hot, possessive over yours, not letting you up for air in a way that only heightens your pleasure, a tingle zipping over your scalp as you burst and fracture under them.

For a few seconds, everything is blotted out, just a rush of blood in your ears and white-hot pleasure coursing through you. Their touch turns softer as you float down, Anthony’s fingers withdrawing from you with a wet noise as you lay dazed, utterly overwhelmed by the sudden intensity.

“Now that was a work of art…” the filthy poet opines velvety, a handsome, lopsided grin claiming his face as you stare up at him hovering over you, your view upside down. 

You are still too stunned even to form words, a stuttering noise that sounds more like a whimper, the only thing escaping your trembling lips.

“I think we may have stolen her power of speech,” Anthony observes wryly, crawling up, dropping pecked kisses onto random spots of your dewy skin.

He settles his muscular body over yours, his chest hair tickling your nipples, his face glazed with your arousal, and his sizeable cock brands your thigh through the material of his trousers. He moves in to steal a kiss that tastes tart, rolling your flavour onto your tongue, seemingly wanting you to savour it as much as he does.

“I've never enjoyed losing a bet more…” he rumbles enigmatically as you break apart, your brow knitting in confusion.

“He would not have been your art model today if he had not lost a bet,” Benedict supplies, his fingers massaging your scalp soothingly, dropping a kiss onto your forehead.

You smile blissfully, head swinging to look at them both, knowing it will broadcast your response, as well as anything spoken could.

“You might be right about the power of speech, brother,” Benedict jests gently as they rearrange on either side of you.

Hands running lightly over your arms and torso. You just assumed, as with your previous husband, that they would immediately move on to pursuing their pleasure, so when they do not, you are slightly confused, especially as their unhurried, sensual caresses reignite that flame deep in your core. After a few minutes of gentle intimacy you are unable to censor your curiosity any longer.

“Will neither of you take me?!”

You don't mean it to sound quite as indignant as it does, even though a large part of you enjoys their shocked expressions, neither expecting such boldness. But then both of their faces morph into a dangerous, smouldering look so similar you can see their shared genetics. It has you biting your lip on instinct.

“We both will if you employ that sort of tone with us…” Benedict threatens sonorously, leaning in so his lips graze your cheek, giving away that is precisely what they want too, a shiver running down your spine at all the possibilities, your soaked clit throbbing anew.

“Is that a promise or a threat, Mr Bridgerton?” You volley back, raising an eyebrow, this new play far too beguiling to resist.

“Insolent little thing…” Anthony growls.

Hands clutch you tightly, blunt fingernails digging into your soft flesh, both of them demanding a kiss, pulling you in each direction to plunder your mouth in turn. A thrill zips all the way from your head to your toes with this sudden change of pace—the gauntlet of challenge you have thrown down, unleashing something primal in them both. 

Before you know it, Benedict is standing up, and the sound of buttons popping open makes you inhale sharply around Anthony’s tongue, wanting so much to crane to see him stripping off, but your entire field of vision filled with the powerful Viscount, his hand seizing your jaw.

“Look at me,” Anthony demands, perhaps a tinge of jealousy that you may even dare glance elsewhere when he is kissing the life out of you. Your eyes meet, all blown pupils and damp lips, and it's blazingly intense like he is peering into your very thoughts. “Oh good girl…” he drips praisingly, and something hot and molten unfurls behind your ribs. The smirk that engulfs his face tells you he knows precisely what those two little words have done to you, lust roaring back to life in your veins. “Such a live wire…” he breathes, and you can see it is nothing but admiration. “I will be back…” his promise trailing off as he withdraws, your eyes tracking his movements away from you, taking a seat in a nearby wingback chair, that handsome smirk still there. It makes you want to reach out your hands and beckon him back, a slight pout that he has left you so soon.

But you inhale sharply as warm, ropey thighs part yours, and your attention is pulled back to Benedict, prowling over you on all fours, naked now. The glimpse of his rigid cock bobbing between his legs catches your breath before he claims your mouth and lowers himself upon you. So much heat and lithe, supple musculature. He doesn't even ask; your knees spreading wide is the open invitation that he takes, angling his hips and slipping into your waiting weeping pussy with one decisive thrust that has you grasping his shoulders and calling out. The blistering stretch is unlike anything your previous husband could achieve, and you are grateful for just how aroused you are, the feeling just the right side of painful. He holds still buried to the root, his handsome face rightfully smug as you adjust to this novel feeling of utter fullness.

“Is that what you needed?” He leans down and whispers those words in your ear, your breasts crushed under his smooth, hard chest. The tone is doused with brazen provocation that you can't help but rise to, one of your hands sliding covetously down his back.

“I think you know the answer you seek. Impress me, Benedict...” you incite as you grab his shapely rear, his responding groan vibrating your entire being. He withdraws and surges back in, your toes curling into the light fuzz on the back of his calves, what you have fantasised about for many weeks now, better than anything you have idly thought during each art lesson with him.

Benedict nuzzles into your neck and starts to set a rhythm that has you panting with each stroke, your back chafing the rich velvet fabric of the chaise, engulfed in his heat and woodsy scent, caged around you, his hands hooked under your shoulders, pulling you down onto his invading cock, his lips murmuring encouraging words onto your throat. 

Movement out the corner of your eye distracts you, and you twist your head a fraction to see Anthony naked now, too. That dusting of dark hair on his chest tapers over his toned stomach, a thin trail leading all the way down to the patch around the base of his cock. He has taken himself in hand and is watching you intently, eyes trained on you as his brother fucks into you over and over, rolling with him.

‘I want you…’

You mouth to Anthony, a need to have him desperate and wanting. His nostrils flare, and he bears his teeth, his grip on his cock vice-like, speeding up, a glistening bead of moisture squeezing from his tip at your very words. 

“Call her a good girl,” Anthony snarls, an instruction as much as a suggestion.

“Why would I when she is looking at you while I fuck her?” Benedict scolds satirically, and that has you swinging your attention back to the man inside you, a little flare of guilt in your gut that you are unable to divide your attention between them, wanting them both. “There she is,” he teases gravelly as his lips ghost the shell of your ear. “There’s my good girl….” he adds for good measure, the lowest register you have ever heard from him, and you cannot help your body’s response.

You clench around him, and he groans long and low, his grip on you harsher, snapping his hips so forcefully his hip bones dig deep into your splayed thighs, your eyes rolling, his tip grazing your hilt.

“So fucking perfect…” he curses, his mouth opening yours, raiding you, setting a pace so punishing now you can only cling to him, moaning loudly, him nudging your swollen clit with each stroke. The chaise squeaks under the onslaught now, feet scraping hard on the polished wood floor.

Still, you cannot stop your stolen glances at Anthony as Benedict huffs into your neck. He looks so majestic, knees splayed, eyes trained on you. You want to climb into his lap and ride him until your teeth are rattling. You can feel yourself climbing higher, each jolt to your clit another step closer, a gentle flutter in your pussy you know Benedict can feel, him emitting little groans with each involuntary constriction.

“You are so close. Come for me again; I need to feel it,” Benedict pleads breathily, pulling up to meet your gaze, a sheen across his forehead as he ploughs into you, never faltering in his athletic pace. 

One of his hands sweeps down your flank, long fingers squirrel between your bodies, unerringly finding their target, a scream ripping from your lungs at the extra stimulation. A few flicks from him, and you are gone for a second time, hurtling towards the stars, bowing upwards, tensing hard, each muscle snapping taught as body and mind are flooded with ecstasy. 

Distantly, you hear Benedict growl, more animal than man, a litany of filthy praise you can barely decipher tumbling from his lips as he pulls out abruptly, you whimpering at the sudden loss, your pussy bereft, rippling around nothing now as his hot seed spills onto your belly.

He collapses onto you for a few beats; his weight is heavy and cloying, his lips meeting yours in an artless kiss. Then you feel him climb off of you slowly, a soft rag dragging over your skin as he cleans you of his seed and mingled juices. He kisses your cheek chastely, but his words are interrupted by Anthony calling out across the room. 

“Are you ready for more?”

Your attention immediately snaps across to the Viscount. Without thought, you are springing to your feet, gait uncertain, like a newborn fawn finding its legs as you take a few shaky steps towards him, an exquisite ache between your thighs from all that has transpired.

“Are you coming to me?” Anthony coos impressed, his hands shooting out to steady you, gripping your waist.

You nod enthusiastically, utterly drunk on the tide of pleasure coursing through you, which greatly entertains him. You climb into his waiting lap and draw him immediately into a filthy, wet kiss. Your tongues tangle as you shuffle forward into the wide, comfortable chair, his hips sliding forward to meet you, and without preamble, you rise fractionally and sink onto him, your puffy, swollen channel suctioning onto his thick veiny cock with a filthy sound. He groans beautifully as you sink, taking him into your pussy, the stretch of him just as mindblowing, perhaps even a shade thicker, like his physique. You stutter a curse, eyes to the ceiling, wrapping your arms tight around his neck, your nipples pressed into the fur of his chest, his balls pressed between your bottom cheeks as you sit speared upon him. 

“Are you going to ride me?” His question is rich like chocolate, buzzing against your chin where his mouth is now hooked open, his teeth grazing the bone there.

“Yes,” you slur, tilting your gaze down to look down at him, already knowing you would do it until your body gives out, so desperate again to feel that high only they can provide.

“Good girl.”

They know it's a weapon now and deploy it with gleeful abandon. Reflexively you contract around Anthony’s cock, both of you calling out, his muscular thighs tensing under your weight, his toes lifting from the floor. He utters a curse, too, a hand wrapping around the nape of your neck, then cupping the back of your head, tugging the hair at your scalp between his knuckles.

“Ride,” he commands, low and slow, a menacing tone that has you stuttering with restoked arousal. A burning need to please him, to do precisely what he tells you to. And so you push up until his head is just inside your pussy, then drop back down, shuffling your stance wider to get a better range of motion. He watches you with a hooded, scorching gaze; a devastating quirk of his eyebrow has you moving steadily. Pressing all of yourself into him, with each pass, his hard abdomen scuffs your distended clit, your pussy lips so puffy now with so much arousal and repeated blows.

He nudges your face aside so he can teeth your earlobe. “You feel exquisite. All swollen with lust,” he croons, his breath gusting hot, his choice of words making you flare hotter, driving onwards with renewed vigour, a slight burn in your thighs as you rise and fall upon him, feeling yourself dripping down onto him, needing to cling onto him to keep seated.

“Could we do this on the floor?” you murmur into his stubbled cheek, realising your range of motion is slightly restricted by the shape of the chair.

His response is immediate; without leaving your body, he effortlessly takes your weight, wraps an arm around you and somehow manoeuvres smoothly onto the floor, his spine now resting on the front of the chair cushion—so much vigour and athleticism from both of these men. 

“Turn around, sweet girl,” you startle and whip your head over your shoulder.

There sat on the chase, lower half now wrapped in a drape of crisp white fabric, looking like a Grecian statue made flesh, is Benedict—a sketchpad and charcoal in hand. 

“Turn around so that I may draw you in the throes of passion,” he clarifies, that dangerous crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You look back to Anthony, suspecting from the twitch of his lip he is more than happy about this development. Silently he spins you both around and lays prone on the polished floor underneath you, still rock hard and buried deep in your pussy. Placing your hands on his chest, you lean forward slightly, take a deep breath and then start to ride again, slowly, the slight discomfort of the hardwood under your kneecaps heightening your pleasure somehow. The range of motion possible now allows you to experiment, to test the delicious drag of his cock by tilting your pelvis in each direction, then in a circular motion, hitting a spot inside that has you hissing and your nails scraping through the thick thatch of hair there.

“Take what you need…” Anthony advocates through gritted teeth, reading your every signal. 

Your eyes ping up from his imploring expression to Benedict, his gaze holding yours daringly as you start to fuck his brother again. Wantonly, luxuriating in the rapt audience you have. A liquid cascade of heat deluges you, the scrape of charcoal on the page spurring you on—to be more daring, leaning back to grab Anthony’s knees as leverage for your movements, your breast pushed high into the air, more performative knowing this carnal moment is being committed to paper.

Benedict mouths words of encouragement as you glance down to see Anthony’s eyes now screwed shut, his biceps bulging in stark relief as his hands clamp your waist, and his hips rock upwards with each downstroke you take, chasing his peak with the same vigour you are, each press of his cock better than the last. Your muscles scream from all the effort, but you do not stop, a bead of sweat sliding down your spine as you ride roughly, with abandon. Anthony’s eyes are open again now, his hands cupping your breasts and pinching your nipples so hard you stutter. Greedily you mash his thick cock right against that same spot that has your mouth slack, head tilted up, and fingers curling into his flesh, shocked at how close you are yet again in such rapid succession.

“Say it,” you grit out, staring up to the ceiling, not looking at either, not sure even you know who you are even asking. 

“Good girl..” it's in perfect unison, and that is what pushes you into oblivion.

You grind to a halt, pussy contracting in waves around his cock as he writhes under you, him gasping loudly as you again float far away, that blissful cloud almost making you miss his urgent call, him eventually hauling you off of him, just in time for him to paint your belly with a thick arc of seed, his whole body jerking with the almost violence of release.

He collapses under you, quivering, utterly spent, and you do the same. Faceplant into his chest, rubbing your nose into the musky dampness of his chest hair as you huff breaths, bone-deep but sated exhaustion from the exertion.

Pliantly, you allow Anthony to slip out from under you and you feel him pick you up bridal style as you curl into him, fatigue lapping your edges. He places you onto the chaise, and then both men are flanking you, limbs tangling and gentle kisses as they entwine around you. It’s a few quiet, tender moments before curiosity again gets the better of you.

“May I see it?” you query quietly, abashed, pressing your nose into Benedict’s shoulder, not willing to meet his gaze.

His laugh is rich and resonant, reaching around to grab his pad and show you. There, in elegant charcoal lines, is a scandalous but beautiful rendition of you, naked, your peaked nipples standing proud, head thrown back. The detail is perfect, even down to the patch of downy hair at the apex of your thighs. There is no rendition of Anthony, but at one glance, you can tell it is a depiction of an erotic capture of a woman riding a man. The very picture of passion, just as he promised.

“It is stunning,” you gasp.

“It is yours,” he rushes out.

“I… I want it to be yours,” you confess ardently, your hands sliding to grasp Anthony’s arm draped over your belly. “Both of yours..” you confirm.

Warm lips kiss your cheek on either side. 

“We will treasure it.” Anthony asserts as Benedict nods sagely.

You stifle a yawn and nuzzle into their warmth as Benedict suggests you all retire to his bedroom upstairs. 

“Tis only 3pm...” your protest is nominal at best, and you allow him to pick you up, wrapping you in another sheet as Anthony does the same, trailing behind you as Benedict ascends the stairs.

“When is your next art lesson?” Anthony queries as the door to an opulent bedroom swings open.

“Tomorrow?” you riposte cheekily, and they both chuckle as you add: “If you will have me…”

“I do believe that can be arranged,” Benedict confirms fondly as he approaches a handsome four-poster bed.

“Artfully…” Anthony adds wryly as you share a laugh with them both, falling into their welcoming joint embrace.

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[yandere-writer-momo]

Hi I really LOVE your works literally so much😭, I just wanted to request, it may be weird, what about a witch reader who has social anxiety or just don't interacts with people, so when she would feel lonely she would bring her daily objects to life for company and turn them back into normal again, but one day one object manages to hide so reader isn't able to turn him back, and this object just feel absolute devotion to reader, bcs reader quite literally owns him

I haven’t really done a request in forever, but I absolutely adore this idea! Adore adore adore. Thank you so much, anon ❤️❤️

Yandere Head Canon: Prized Posession

Yandere Gargoyle x Fem Witch Reader

TW: Yandere content. You should know by now the content I write

You were often lonely in your cabin tucked away deep in the mountains. Your only living company was the animals that lived in the forest. Life was easier this way.

Humans terrified you due to their unpredictable and chaotic behavior. You appeared human for the most part, but you were a witch. And you never knew if they burn you at the stake if they found out, so you decided to live as far away from civilization as possible.

It did not help that you were incredibly, socially anxious, so you’d likely hiccup and reveal your identity anyways. So you decided stay in this forest in this old, abandoned gothic manor for the rest of your days.

You often wondered if the old master of this house with some kind of nobleman or maybe even a vampire. Regardless, this place was yours, and you could do with it whatever you pleased.

Yet, you were lonely. Painfully lonely. So you often used your magic to re-animate objects around your house for company.

It started off innocently. You would bring the teapot and the tea cups to life and they would be a happy little family as I talk with you about their mundane lives. You never realized how objects can hold memories… each object sharing memories with you until you ultimately returned them to their original form.

You began to grow bolder and bolder with the objects you brought to life until you finally stumbled across to gargoyle above the front door. It’s monstrous form crouched, menacingly above the manor to keep trespassers away. It’s large bat like wings spread out intimidatingly.

You decided to bring him to life. Your eyes widened when he flew down to stand before you. He was almost 7 feet tall and pure muscle. He was somewhat humanoid, but still obviously a monster. He stood on two legs his fingers and toes had sharp talons. His face elongated into the snout of a vampire bat.

His voice was deep, masculine, and gravely, like he had been a smoker for most of his life. Yet the gargoyle was very polite.

Out of all of the objects you brought to life, the gargoyle was the best company. He reminded you of those gentlemen written in romance novels with his manners and patient demeanor. It was only his monstrous appearance that startled you.

He would sit with you and stare at you with those piercing gray eyes, almost as if he was studying you like a specimen. He would hang on your every word, as if you were the most interesting creature in the world.

You weren’t used to such attention, especially not from the opposite gender. Yet he always made you feel special. Like a lady…

He would pull your chair out for you before he poured your tea, and then he would sweeten it exactly the way you preferred. You were both flattered and a bit frightened with how much knowledge he had of your habits…

The gargoyle would also dance with you under the moonlight, his hands were cold stone. Sometimes his hand would sneak around your waist and he’d pull you closer like you were his lover. A chuckle would always escape his lips when you’d gasp.

“ I want a name.” He whispered in your ear as he sat beside you as you read a book next to him in your study,

“A name?” You softly asked him. “Hmm… what about Grim?”

His face turned up into the slightest of smiles. His clawed hand took yours.

“Grim… my name is Grim.” He planted a kiss on the back of your hand. A shiver rolled up your spine from how cold he was. 

Since that day, Grim wouldn’t let you turn him back into a lifeless gargoyle. He would hide from you every time they broke.

“You’ll be lonely during the day if you don’t have somebody.” He would insist. Yet you couldn’t help the feeling that bubbled in your gut that something wasn’t right with him. Why was Grim so insistent on being by your side? Weren’t gargoyles always meant to be silent watchers over the home?

Sometimes, when you wake up from sleep, he would look through your spell books. Yet he didn’t even feel shame when you caught him. He would just give you that signature ghost of a smile as he held the book close to his chest.

“Good morning, mistress. I’m just studying these pages to see if I can find something to further deepen our bond.”

You hated confrontation, so you didn’t correct his behavior. A mistake that would haunt you.

A week later, and he became more and more animated. It began to scare you since he was no longer cold to the touch like a sculpture… no. He was warm like a body. He felt like a living creature.

You gulped when you felt a pulse. He wasn’t supposed to have one of those… this is why your instructors back in a day always warned you to never leave an object alive for too long. Objects could learn sentence and eventually become their own being… and now you had the full attention of a century old gargoyle. One that would never let you go.

He began to spin your body around in the daily waltz you always danced with him. His snout borrowed into the crook of your neck as he inhaled your scent greedily.

“I’m so happy I can finally smell your sweet scent, mistress. I was so lonely for a century in this manor. But you brought me to life. You listen to me and talk with me… I want to always be with you. Please… won’t you be mine as I am yours?”

You felt his bat like wings pull your body closer to his as he pressed his lips to the top of your head like a lover would. “I wish to be your one and only, mistress. I want to be your prize possession and you be mine. So won’t you stay with me?”

You sighed and wrapped your arms around him. It was not as if you had a choice. You had a responsibility now, and it was to keep this creature content. Even if you had to be his prized possession.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah, Ziegfeld Girl)—Look. I'm sure someone has already submitted Hedy Lamarr because she was spectacularly beautiful, and a very strong lady too: she fled both an abusive marriage AND nazi persecution at a very young age and rebuilt a life for herself pursuing her love for acting all on her own!! Her career as an actress was stellar; while she began acting outside of Hollywood (her very first movie, Ecstasy, won a prize at the Venice Film Festival), she conquered American hearts very quickly with her first movie in the US, Algiers, and then just kept getting better and better. If all this isn't enough, she was also an inventor: her invention of the frequency-hopping spread spectrum radio transmission technique forms the base of bluetooth and has a lot of applications in all kinds of communication technologies. I think that deserves a prize, don't you?

Marilyn Monroe (How to Marry a Millionaire, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Some Like It Hot)— Ngl I thought you all were lying about sexual attraction until I saw Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

This is round 6 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Hedy Lamarr:

The only person you can find both on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and in the Inventor's Hall of Fame--her radio-frequency-hopping technology forms the basis for cordless phones, wi-fi, and a dozen other aspects of modern life. She was also passionate in her efforts to aid the Allies in WWII (unsurprising for a Jewish-Austrian Emigree to America), and her name served as the backbone for one of the best running jokes in what is possibly Mel Brooks' best movie. Look, Louis B. Mayer apparently believed he could plausibly promote her as "The world's most beautiful woman". Is an entire website full of people going to be less audacious than one Louis B. Mayer? I didn't think so!

Described as "Hedy has the most incredible personal sophistication. She knows the peculiarly European art of being womanly; she knows what men want in a beautiful woman, what attracts them, and she forces herself to be these things. She has magnetism with warmth, something that neither Dietrich nor Garbo has managed to achieve" by Howard Sharpe, she managed to escape her controlling husband (and Nazi Germany) by a) Disguising as her maid and fleeing to Paris or b) Convincing the husband to let her wear all of her jewelry to a dinner, only to disappear afterwards. Also she was particularly clever and helped develop Frequency-Hopping Spread Spectrum (I can't really explain it but anyway...)

Her depiction of Delilah and Samson and Delilah just lives rent free in my head. The woman was gorgeous.

One of the most beautiful women ever in film, spoken by many critics and fans. Beautiful shapely figure, deeper seductive voice, and often played femme fatale roles. She was also brilliant and an inventor. Mainly self-taught, she invested her spare time, including on set between takes, in designing and drafting inventions, which included an improved traffic stoplight and a tablet that would dissolve in water to create a flavored carbonated drink, and much more.

Gorgeous and brilliant pioneer of modern technology and the middle part.

Marilyn Monroe:

She's amazing!!! A classic bombshell, as well as a strong women who overcame so many obstacles. She also advocated for others, like Ella Fitzgerald.

That fucking saxophone that cuts in whenever she appears on screen in Some Like it Hot

I mean, it's Marilyn Monroe. She's adorable. She's gorgeous. She funny. She's the total package

She's the original American sex symbol, an iconic beautiful woman with eyes you could get lost in, legs for days, gorgeous hair, and a cute tummy. Her voice! Just listen to her voice!!!!!

She is considered one of THE sex symbols of the 1960s and one of the greatest actresses of all time! She HAS to be on this list!

no vintage movie woman is more iconically hot

People are most familiar with pictures of her in the white dress or the Happy Birthday Mr President one, but imo she is at her most beautiful and looks most comfortable when she is photographed by women like Eve Arnold

It’s Marilyn Monroe. If Aphrodite was an actual person, she’d be Marilyn. Do I really need to say more?

What can I say that hasn't been said? Marilyn's legacy is so much bigger than she was in life. She's a defining symbol of 50s and 60s Hollywood sex and it's obvious why. She was absolutely stunning and the camera loved her.

[oweninadaydream]

𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞) || 𝐀.𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary : Can anybody blame a young lady for indulging in her deepest desires despite suspecting that the end is imminent?

song inspo: Fortnight by Taylor Swift (ft. Post Malone)

pairing : Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

word count : 1564 words

contains : rake!Anthony, unrequited? love, mentions of alcohol and I think that's it!

a/n : I am not the owner of the gif or the dividers ( I don't possess such talents jakjhakjshda). This will have a second part (already working on it). The next chapter of the Feel the rush series will be posted after my exams, sorry :((( Anyway, enjoy !!!

The maid finished working on (Y/N)’s makeup and she turned to look at the final product in the mirror. Her  hair was perfectly held at the back of her neck with a chignon. Her grandmother’s diadem added that sophisticated touch the young woman craved. After taking in the breathtaking shade of her dress in the mirror, she started twirling and giggling around her chamber in a fairy manner. Someone could wonder, what on earth was going on inside the girl’s head? The answer was easy, yet so complicated. Lady (Y/L/N) was simply smitten with someone she knew very well, a lifelong friend that seemed interested in her as well. The problem? That man was no other than Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, the most infamous rake of the Ton. 

“Your carriage is ready, miss (Y/L/N)” the butler informed the young lady.

At almost the same time, another voice echoed around the house.

“(Y/N) dear, we must go now. Lady Danbury will not let me hear the end of it if we show up late yet again. I’d also like to chat a bit with Violet, I haven’t seen her since the Featherington ball.” her mother urged her from the hall.

“I’m ready, mother” she answered loud enough for the woman to hear.

On her way to the barouch that would transport them, she realized that the burgundy dahlias that had been planted at the beginning of the summer were finally blooming with the arrival of autumn, contributing to the embellishment of the front garden. She stared at them for a second; her mind was searching for something in them but she couldn’t explain what exactly. She shook her head and she got inside the carriage.

Pacing around the ethereal gardens of Aubrey Hall, her mind couldn’t help the quick escapades to the first time they kissed. Sitting under the blossoming tree, Anthony and her were watching the sunset taking with itself the traces of winter, welcoming the first of many spring nights. The two of them were abnormally quiet, as if the sight of the moon had bewitched them both. (Y/N)'s spine could still feel violent shivers traveling down her spine when recalling the way the Viscount had lightly brushed his nose against hers before capturing her lips into a slow deep kiss. His chapped and demanding mouth stole a couple more pecks before laughing airly, rising from their hidden spot and offering his hand to help her on her feet. 

That glorious evening marked the beginning of … Well, she couldn’t quite state what it was. The rest of the summer was filled with fleeting glances, embraces away from prying eyes and laughing, lots of laughing. (Y/N) had never been happier; after all, the Viscount was by her side every other night. Still, a series of dark thoughts anxiously floated around her head whenever he walked away to attend the gentlemen’s club, or whenever he tried to avoid her gaze after implying anything that had to do with love or compromise outside his mattress.  Shaking her head and changing the subject usually did the trick, but for the last few days, Anthony had been acting ever so strange. 

(Y/N) was absent in deep thoughts when she felt a familiar touch on her back. 

“Anthony” It was not a  question, but the most confident of statements.

“How did you know it was me so surely?” he said while flashing her with one of his infamous smiles.

She raised her head so her eyes stared at him directly. “I could recognize you by smell, by the prints you leave when you step on the ground on a rainy day or simply by tracing your features with only one finger, eyes completely closed. You are no mystery to me” her answer was sweet and sincere, with a touch of flirting attitude.

He went quiet, very quiet. Every bit of the playful attitude  he had shown earlier had disappeared, now replaced by a hard expression. “You ignore plenty of things about me, so stop acting like my-”

“What has come over you? Your usually particular temperament has worsened these past two weeks. I do not appreciate that you talk to me in such a way” she abruptly interrupted in hopes of obtaining any kind of answer that would help her understand.

“I cannot bear with this any longer. I just feel like we have gone astray from the path we had established for us. I wish for us to be on the same page, and that implies remembering the casual nature of our… deal. Please tell me you understand” his pleading eyes accompanied the request perfectly.

“Forgive me, Anthony but I can’t wrap my head around what you are saying. I thought we were evolving, like our relationship. I know you are not the most kin on marrying or doing this as everyone else does, but after all we’ve been through, don’t you dare tell me that I have been delusionally imagining all these romantic gestures and moments”

“Mademoiselle Parisot is upstairs waiting for me. I would love to continue to discuss this in another time, unless there’s anything that must be told in this exact moment” Was his voice meant to sound confident? (Y/N) could almost feel some sorrow slipping through the cracks of his quick confession. 

The astounded expression on (Y/N)’s face showed that she did in fact not comprehend any of what Anthony was rambling about. A quick sight that denoted shock and upset preceded the lady’s monologue.

“I love you, Anthony, and it’s ruining my life. I can’t keep sighing like a damsel trapped in the highest tower, as I yearn for a future that my eyes will not behold. I can’t keep masquerading my true desires, in hopes that you will choose to stay. I will not continue to morph into whatever kind of woman you fantasize about at the moment, making all those efforts for a man who could never spare a glance at me in such a way, and losing myself in the process. I always thought my worst misery would originate in a forced, loveless marriage with some old earl at best , that would little by little drain every spark of joy within me. But oh, what fool I have been. This senseless affair we have going on has come to distress me more than the worst of husbands ever could. So, go on, run straight into her arms. I do not care, not one bit, my lord. You have shattered my heart a million times throughout the years, I cannot feel it tearing apart anymore.”

His stupidly handsome face showed an evident feeling of distraughtness ; she had never raised her voice like that, nor had she ever used similar words around (or against) him. He quickly shook  his head to wash away the initial shock, substituting it with his typical stoic mask.

“I have never intended to inflict any kind of pain upon yourself, my lady. But, as my dearest friend, you should have known what you were getting yourself into, (y/n).”

His casual condescending  tone made her sick to the stomach and the loudest of silences entered the scene. After a minute or two, a gentle breeze interrupted (y/n)’s pondering. She then raised her head up in a defying manner. After making sure her voice wouldn't give up on her (even though her lower lip was trembling), she decided to voice her thoughts. 

“That's the thing that bothers me so much about infatuation. It makes humans stupid, it makes them believe it can fix anything, even lost causes such as yourself, Viscount Bridgerton. I do not desire to disturb my lord any longer, so excuse me.” And just like that, she was heading back inside the ballroom.

The sound of her heels furiously hitting the floor with every step matched perfectly with the accelerated heartbeat of the man left stranded in the gardens. Without much thought he decided to return to the chambers where his seemingly perfect mistress awaited for him.

Not very far from the action, a slightly inebriated Benedict was laughing obnoxiously loud with Eloise and Colin. The sight of  (Y/N) crossing the doors so rapidly while trying to contain her sobs and tears made the three Bridgerton siblings turn their heads to follow their friend’s trajectory. 

“Should we-” Benedict was eager to console (Y/N) despite his clouded reasoning.

“I would say that she needs a moment to collect herself, Benedict. Our presence could do more harm to her already poor state.” Colin spoke.

“I will try to approach her later. I wonder what has happened… Wasn’t she talking with Anthony?” Eloise recalled perfectly how Anthony had started to converse with Miss (Y/N) earlier that night, right in front of the thriving gardenias. Everything seemed perfectly normal when she was passing by, but it was obvious that something had happened after she had gone back inside.

Eloise moved rapidly to peek around the corner, followed by the two males whose curiosity was unbearable as well. On the other side of the garden, an obviously tense Anthony was making his way to his chamber with a light emanating from the inside of the room.

Without a second thought, Benedict voiced what the three of them were thinking in that moment.

“I think that is exactly the problem, my dear sister…”

[chillinglyadventurous]

Fiddleford Knows

When I read this request, my jaw DROPPED! I immediately stopped doing what I was doing and wrote this. How could I not? It’s the perfect request???

Tags: Absolute Fluff and pining!

“Hey, Specs!” You shouted as you burst into Fiddleford and Stanford’s dorm room. “You’ll never guess who just got called into the dean’s office after Honor’s Geometry.”

You plopped yourself onto Fidds’ bed as you always did when you burst in to tell him something. He was sitting at his desk with a book in hand. You glanced at the bed to your left, finding his roommate laying there with a textbook in his hands too. You gave Ford a shy smile before returning your attention back to Fiddleford.

Your friend barely looked up from his book, noticing the blush on your cheeks when Ford smiled back at you, “How do you know everything about everyone all the time, [Y/N]? This is a big school.”

“I’m observant,” you countered. You propped yourself up on your elbows, “Emma May Dixon, the dean pulled her out this morning. Apparently, someone caught her sneaking into this very building after hours.” You waggled your eyebrows at him.”I just hope whoever she was coming to see has a strong alibi. Like, I don’t know, a super cool roommate named Stanford, perhaps.” You stretched your arms above you head, “Anyways, I just thought I’d let my best friend know.” You stood up, giving the boys a wink, “Well, gentlemen, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast. I better get back to the ladies’ dorm before I get caught like Emma May. Goodnight!”

Ford rested his textbook on his chest and folded his hands behind his head, “You’ve noticed she has a really pretty accent, right? It’s not just me?”

Fiddleford looked up at his roommate. “That’s all you have to say about that conversation?” He set his own book down on his desk, “Nothing to say about me sneakin’ Emma May in here?”

“When did you sneak her in here?” Ford sat up straight. He wasn’t even a heavy sleeper.

The next morning, you found the boys sitting at a table in the dining hall. Fiddleford was having eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns. Stanford was eating a simple bowl of cereal. You scooted in next to Fiddleford with your hands clasped together. A bright grin was covering your face as you sat in front of Ford. 

“Stanford, I have a surprise for you!” He choked on his milk when you looked at him, a blush crept up his neck, through his face, and to his ears. You didn’t notice. You thought he was always red in the face. “I found it on my way here,” you opened your hands to reveal a two-headed toad. You ran a finger down its back as you met Ford’s eyes, “Isn’t he cute? He’s a little weird, just like you, but absolutely adorable.” A snicker from beside you wiped the smile off your face. You blushed then. “I mean,” you stammered, “it’s cute. You’re not cute. Well- I mean, you’re not not cute. This guy, though-  I mean, just look at him.”

A hand clamped over your mouth, your eyes wide. “Stop talking, dummy,” Fidds whispered into your ear.  “She’s had too much coffee, Ford, don’t you think?”

“Decaf is better for you,” Ford mumbled through a mouth full of cereal. A few o’s slipped from his mouth and back into his milk.

You giggled as you watched the man you’ve had a crush on for weeks wipe his chin in embarrassment, but Fiddleford’s elbow planted itself deep into your ribs, “Uh, well, boys, I better get going. I don’t want to be late for World Lit.” You placed the toad into Ford’s open hands, “I’ve named him Hopper. Not very original, I know, but I just found him a few minutes ago. Not much time to think of something clever. I’ll be by later tonight to check on him.”

Ford watched you walk away hoping you’d look at him before you disappeared. You did, “Did you see those blue earrings [Y/N] was wearing? They really brought out the color of her eyes.”

“What did she name the toad, Stanford?”

Ford’s eyebrows furrowed, looking down at the amphibian in his hands, “I’m pretty sure she said Four-Eyes. She’s very clever like that.” Fiddleford looked at him with utter disbelief in his eyes, “You see, it’s funny because I wear glasses. A common nickname for people who wear glasses is Four-Eyes. This toad has two heads and, therefore, four eyes.”

“She named the toad hopper,” Fiddleford chuckled with a roll of his eyes. He watched as Ford pet the toad lovingly on its back as if it were the greatest gift he had ever received. “Why don’t we go to the pet store after breakfast and get that little guy a proper enclosure? You can show it to [Y/N] tonight.”

Once midterms rolled around, you saw less of Fidds and Ford. You’d been busy studying and so had they. Even your weekly DD&MD campaigns had gotten lost in the shuffle, the panic of studying nonstop. When you did see them, it was often in the library. You would sit with them, your face blushing everytime you and Ford made eye contact. Unbeknownst to you, Fiddleford was rolling his eyes, completely distracted by the two of you. Neither you nor Ford could sit still around the other, often causing him to move tables. If he was going to pass any of his exams, he needed quiet.

“Fiddleford, we need to talk,” you whined as you burst into his dorm again. 

You quickly glanced around the room to make sure Ford wasn’t there. Luckily, all you saw was Fidd’s and a mountain of reference material. Normally, anything you needed to say to your childhood best friend could be said in front of his roommate. It wasn’t like you were shy. You were very open, very out going, and you didn’t care what people though. Right now, though your words were for Fiddleford’s ears and Fiddleford’s only.

“What’s wrong, [Y/N]? Are you alright?” Fidds looked concerned. Your red eyes and sad face were enough to make him worry, “What happened?”

You gave a pathetic whine again, laying onto Ford’s bed. Often you had chosen Fiddleford’s, but you required this one for what you were about to admit, “I think I’m in love with Stanford.” You held up your hand when Fidds glanced toward the stack of books in front of him. “Please don’t interrupt me. I need to get this out before I explode.” You rolled onto your stomach, your voice muffled by Ford’s pillow. Why did it smell so good? You picked the wrong bed, “He’s just so handsome. He’s so smart. Ugh-” You rolled onto your back again. You didn’t care that your long skirt was getting twisted around your legs or that your hair was about to tangle. Who cared about your appearance in that moment? It wasn’t like Ford was in the room, “And he’s so cute, you know? I just want to kiss him all over!”

You spread yourself out on his bed and looked up at your friend. “Quit looking so smug! It’s not funny!” You let out a fake sob, “And have you seen his hands? They’re so weird, like him, but it makes him so unique and beautiful.” You let out a frustrated groan, “It would be so nice to hold his hand, wouldn’t it? My hand would just feel so secure in his.” You flipped over onto your stomach, unsure of how to make yourself comfortable when you’re spilling your guts like this. Your head was propped up in your hands, “Fiddleford, you have to tell me what to do! Please?”

When Fiddleford sat back in his chair, legs crossed and his hands behind his head, you sat up, “What’re you looking so smug for? You knew for a while I liked him. It’s not like you’re learning something new here.”

Fidds chuckled, his head motioning towards the stack of books, “Hey, Stanford, what do you think she should do?”

Your breath hitched in your throat when Ford came out from behind that mountain of books. His face was beet red and his hand nervously scratched the back of his neck. A flood of emotions flowed through you. At first, you slammed your fist on Ford’s bed because you were angry Fiddleford didn’t warn you. Next, you were embarrassed because those words never would have left your lips had you know the subject of your rant was sitting right there! Third, you were sad, afraid of rejection. Finally, however, you stood from Ford’s best. You fidgeted uncomfortably in the middle of their dorm before bolting toward the door.

Fiddleford chuckled, “Go get your Princess Unatainabelle, Ford. The damsel is in distress.”

Ford hesitated for a moment before he was on his feet. He ran after you through the door you left open, too much in a hurry to close it behind you. You heard him calling after you, but you wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t  You didn’t want to hear him say he just saw you as a friend. 

He caught you by the shoulders. Looking into your eyes, you panicked, mouth moving a mile a minute, “Stanford, I’m sorry. I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship. You’re a great guy and i just really like you. It’s stupid, i know, but I thought we got along and you don’t have a girlfriend, so-”

Your rambling was cut short. A six fingered hand covered your mouth to stop you. He needed you to stop talking, “You’re the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, [Y/N].”

[brnesblogposts]

Stuck

bucky barnes x reader

a/n miscommunication & close proximity trope is all i’m gonna say, it’s very fluffy once well- read it and find out reblogs appreciated!!!

“You’ve gotta be shitting me” Bucky speaks under his breath, frustration evident in his body language and tone. A feedback sound started on the speakers on the ferris wheel.

“Ladies and gentlemen there seems to be some technical issues with the ferris wheel, remain calm and stay seated and we should have it back up and running soon”

You heard a heavy sigh escape from Bucky as his head hung back in defeat.

“They said it’ll be fixed soon, won’t have to be stuck with me for long Buck” Trying to cut the tension that sat between him and yourself only earned a side glance from the man beside you.

You looked down to the car just beneath you “STEVE, NAT!! ARE YOU GUYS OKAY??!” Their heads whipping towards you as you spoke at a far too loud volume.

“WE’RE OKAY! YOU?” Natasha replied back and you gave her a thumbs up, her and Steve getting back to bickering and giggling about whatever they were talking about. Meanwhile you were sat next to Mr Grumpy-

“Can you stop moving,” he spat out without looking at you. Bold of you to assume you were getting somewhere with him, even on the brink of considering him a ‘friend’ but that idea was shot down quickly.

“I’m not moving, it’s probably the wind or maybe it’s you and you don’t realise” Tapping your fingers on the barrier that held you in place, he turned to you and gave you a bitter look which only made the situation more awkward and tense.

“How’d i get dragged onto the ferris wheel anyway” He huffs.

“Because, Steve and Nat are your best friends and also Nat is really scary and saying yes was easier than saying no” You looked down at the two as you spoke, their flirting ever so obvious even from your height.

A few minutes passed where nobody said anything, you both avoided eye contact and it gave you time to reflect on what you could’ve done to make Bucky so impassive to you, you’d barely talked to him because if you tried he disregarded you or made an excuse to leave as soon as possible. You really wanted to be his friend too. It’s awkward when the four of you go out and Steve and Nat obviously want to do things together as a couple making you stuck with Bucky and him with you. At least being civil is all you want, for Bucky to be able to hold a conversation with you longer than a few seconds.

“Are you cold?” His voice broke you from your thoughts, you were shivering and you hadn’t realised as you were so deep in your head. You looked at the goosebumps on your arms and turned to him,

“I guess I am, yeah.” you laughed at your ignorance for not noticing your body temperature drop. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Bucky starting to take his jumper off.

“What are you doing?” You furrowed your brows at his action, there’s no way he was about to give that to you, he doesn’t even like you, you don’t think so anyway based on every interaction you’ve had with him ever.

“I’m giving you my sweater?” Now he was confused, it was quite obvious to him what he was doing, why else would he take off the jumper and sacrifice himself so you could be warm? He’s a gentleman first if anything. He got it over is head and handed it you, you took a second to take it as you were flabbergasted at his sudden kindness towards you.

“Oh.” You broke your gaze from him down to the jumper “Thank you,” you smiled gratefully and put the jumper on. The sleeves swallowed your hands, which helped because they were freezing before. Then you looked back at Bucky who now sat next to you in nothing but a black t-shirt “Are you not cold?” Once again furrowing your brows in his direction.

“Not as cold as you” He was looking straight ahead at the city view from your spot at the top of the ferris wheel. Reading his expression was impossible and you were really trying to—

“Okay well uh— thanks again.” You repeated your thanks as you snuggled into the jumper that now enveloped you, “So.. kinda awkward, huh?” You tried cracking a joke laughing a little as you did so which made Bucky turn to face you, analysing his features which you didn’t notice softened as he saw you smiling.

Bucky coughed awkwardly “Uh-“ He let out a small laugh too “Looks like Steve and Nat aren’t bothered by this disruption at all” His tone was lighter.

“Those two wouldn’t notice the world ending while they’re gazing at each other like that” You laughed again, Bucky liked that sound.

“So in love, it’s sickening” He retorted with a shake of his head and a smile which earned a glance from you, just a brief one before you looked back down at your sweater paws as they rested on the barrier, Bucky has noticed and he found it endearing, he felt warm whenever he saw you smile or heard you laugh and every time your thigh accidentally touched his due to your close proximity he swears a bolt of electricity travelled through him making his heart beat faster.

“I think it’s cute” You had a small pout on your face as you spoke, still looking down towards your two friends “imagine being stuck on a ferris wheel with someone you love, not the worst thing in the world in my opinion, it’s kind of like an impromptu date where you have no choice but to talk because the other option is incredibly awkward silence” You fiddled with the sleeves of the jumper.

“I guess, but what if you were trapped on a ferris wheel with someone you liked who you knew didn’t feel the same, that’s awkward all on its own” He was playing with a thread on his jeans as he spoke, you noticed.

“How would they know if the other person didn’t feel the same? Had they asked?” You inquired as the tension between you grew once again because the situation was too close to home.

“Isn’t asking embarrassing though?” Bucky asked breathily, like he was nervous.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?” He looked at you.

“I mean the worst that can happen is they say no and you’re sad for a bit but you’d move on eventually” You smiled but you weren’t looking at him.

“Right, yeah” He coughed awkwardly again and the silence resumed until he broke it about a minute later “Uhm” clearing his throat again Bucky decided it was now or never “Are you doing anything Friday night?” He closed his eyes for a brief second because there was no going back now.

“No, why?” You looked at him and smiled, maybe he’d finally be your friend, that was progress and you could work with that.

“Would you uh- like to get dinner with me? Like a date..?” He avoided your gaze as he asked.

“What” It caught you off guard and you responded without thinking.

“Fuck” He swore to himself “sorry forget I said anything, I don’t know what was going through my-“ He began to ramble.

“Bucky no I mean, I thought you didn’t like me” His head turned to face you as he thought about your words.

“What? No I do like you” He furrowed his brows thinking back on the interactions you’d had where he hadn’t realised he’d been so nervous it came off as rude. “Shit i’m sorry, i’ve been an ass to you now that I think about it, I wasn’t trying to though, I thought I was uh- I thought i was disguising my attraction to you well because i didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but I guess it came off dickish” He internally slapped himself at his mistake

“Oh, OH” The realisation and his admission hit you “Awe, Bucky,” you laughed at how silly it all was, if you’d have just talked to each other sooner this could’ve been avoided “Bucky I would love to go to dinner with you” You smiled at the man.

The ferris wheel suddenly began again and you were on your way down, both smiling like idiots and laughing whenever you’d glance at each other, two idiots that had liked each other this whole time who didn’t know it. You both stepped off the car and down the stairs smiling and giggling still and approached Natasha and Steve,

“What the hell happened up there?” Natasha laughed because she had never seen the two of you so cosy before, Steve raised a brow but you two only burst out laughing again and started walking ahead of them and snickering as they both stared in confusion and disbelief.

[cambankromyy]

THE ISLAND LOOKOUT (pt.12): after - (smau & irl au) childhood bsf!rafe cameron x thornton!reader

series masterlist; general masterlist; taglist

warning/an; smut!!!!! for those who have been waiting & lowk emotional aftermath... also this is a pt.2 of the previous chapter, kinda like a continuation

part 11 - part 12 - part 13

after midsummers, at tannyhill;

tannyhill’s alive with energy, the party still raging even as you make your way upstairs. everyone’s still drunk, still reckless, still not ready to let go of the night.

john b practically kicks open the door to sarahs room, spinning around like he’s just won something. "god, i love rich people houses."

"my house," sarah corrects, flopping onto her bed.

jj, of course, makes himself at home immediately, heading straight for the minibar like he owns the place. you follow, grabbing whatever bottle he shoves into your hands while he digs through the stash.

"your house is a minibar away from a full nightclub," he mutters, twisting off a cap.

you're mid-pour when jj suddenly stops, his eyes flicking past you. you glance over your shoulder—just in time to catch sarah practically yanking john b onto the bed, her hands already in his hair, his hands already wandering, both of them completely dismissive to the fact that they’re not alone.

jj stares for a second, then clutches his chest like he’s about to cry. "ladies and gentlemen… true love."

you snort into your drink, and sarah barely pulls away, just flips jj off before going right back to whatever she was doing. jj grins, undeterred. "john b, my brother, my captain, my king. you’re an inspiration, really."

john b doesn’t even acknowledge him, too busy with sarah, who groans against his mouth before finally pulling back. "can you fuck off, jayj?"

jj throws his arms out dramatically, holding back a laugh. "this is sick. this is so sick."

sarah gives the nastiest side eye, and you don’t need to be told twice. you grab jj’s arm, dragging him out before you have to witness any more. the door clicking shut behind you.

jj looks at you, lips parted in mock horror. "truly, the king and queen of PDA."

you snort. "you act like this is new information."

he sighs dramatically, throwing an arm around your shoulders again. "guess that means we gotta fend for ourselves now, huh?"

you roll your eyes, but you don’t push him away.

jj grins. "c’mon. let’s be fun."

you don’t argue.

somewhere between stealing more drinks from sarah’s stash and arguing over what to do next, you and jj end up sprawled across the couch in the middle of tannyhill’s ridiculous sitting room. pope and cleo were supposed to come back with you at first, but decided they were better off heading home after getting sick of babysitting everyone else. kiara's mom was being a bitch as usual so they left before they could get into an argument. so now it’s just you and jj, the house around you too big, too empty, still buzzing from the alcohol.

jj groans, dragging a hand down his face. "you take forever to pick a song."

you’re curled up against the armrest, legs tucked beneath you, scrolling through your phone like the fate of the night depends on whatever song you choose next. everything’s hazy, warm, the alcohol making it harder to focus, but you’re trying. trying to land on something that makes everything feel right.

"i’m curating a vibe," you mumble.

jj mutters something under his breath, then suddenly—he swipes the phone straight out of your hands.

"jj!" you yelp, sitting up fast, reaching for it, but it’s too late. he’s already tossing it across the room.

your phone lands on an armchair with a soft thud, and the song you had just clicked starts playing anyway, filling the space between you. jj just stretches his arms behind his head, smug as ever. "problem solved."

you gape at him, fingers flexing like you’re actually considering throwing hands. jj watches you, waiting for the explosion, waiting for the snarky comeback, but it doesn’t come.

something feels off. not bad, not wrong, just—off. like a weight pressing on your chest, like a second thought that shouldn’t even exist right now.

your jaw clenches, and you roll your eyes instead, sinking back into the couch, crossing your arms tight over your chest. "you’re so annoying."

jj grins. "huh? what? what’d i do?"

he’s messing with you. you both know exactly what he did. you shake your head, more flustered than pissed now, looking away like you don’t want to meet his eyes.

jj notices, and for the first time all night, neither of you have anything to say.

the silence stretches—not awkward, not really, just… heavy.

his knee bumps into yours, and neither of you move away. your arms uncross. your fingers twitch against your thigh. jj’s watching you like he’s waiting for something.

you should be into this. it’s jj, he’s hot, you’re drunk, and this is exactly what you need—something easy, something fun, something that won’t make your head spin.

his gaze flickers to your mouth, his breath warm against your skin. it’d be so easy. too easy. you're overthinking it, because jj's voice jolts you back to reality.

"you good?"

jj’s voice is low, rough around the edges, barely audible over the music still playing somewhere in the background. his fingers trail along your hip, thumb pressing into the waistband of your shorts like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

you take a breath—sharp, unsteady. your skin is buzzing, flushed from the alcohol, from the heat of his body against yours, from the way his hands skim higher, fingertips teasing at bare skin. everything feels warm, hazy, like your head’s wrapped in cotton.

you force a smirk, tilting your chin up. "why wouldn’t i be?"

he hums like he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t pull away. instead, he leans in, breath hot against your jaw as his lips graze over your pulse. you tip your head back, giving him more access, letting his mouth move down, down—

and then it happens. like a reflex, like something automatic, something you can’t control.

rafe.

the thought flickers through your mind like static. there, then gone. quick enough to ignore.

you exhale sharply, shoving it down, burying it beneath the feeling of jj’s hands slipping under your shirt, his fingers splaying across your ribs.

"what?" he murmurs against your throat, noticing the way your body stiffens for half a second before you relax again.

"nothing," you lie, gripping the back of his neck and pulling him in to kiss you harder, desperate to overwrite the feeling creeping up your spine. you throw your leg over him, now straddling him.

you don’t want to think. you just want this—something easy, something fun, something that doesn’t mean anything.

his hands slide lower, gripping your waist, and down to your ass. you let yourself melt into it, let yourself move with him, let yourself forget.

but then his teeth graze your collarbone, sharp and fleeting, and something about it makes you think. think about—

nevermind.

your stomach twists. you feel dizzy for a second, head spinning—not from the alcohol, not from jj, but from the way your brain keeps betraying you.

jj’s mouth moves back to yours, swallowing whatever thought was about to slip out. his hands are sure, confident.

you let him kiss you. let him touch you. let him take whatever he wants. because maybe if you let this happen, if you just lose yourself in it, then the thoughts will stop. then rafe will stop.

so you don’t stop.

you just close your eyes and let it happen.

jj breaks the kiss to blaze a trail down your neck, sucking and biting like he's done this a million times before, which he probably has.

his mouth moves back to meet yours, grinning against your lips and pulling back just enough to look at you with lidded eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. your hands move down to his bulge, palming him over his pants.

he groans as his fingers tangle in your hair, gripping gently, guiding your head downwards.

he leans back against the couch, watching you with a hungry gaze as you settle between his legs. the bulge in his shorts is unmistakable, straining against the fabric. he shifts his hips, pushing the waistband down just enough to free himself.

you take a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way your mind keeps wandering to places it shouldn't. jj isn't rafe, and this isn't about rafe. It's just you and jj, and this is what you want.

wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, you lean in, breathing in the musky scent of him before taking him into your mouth. he's warm and hard, the skin velvety soft. you swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the saltiness of his skin.

"fuck," jj groans, head falling back against the couch as you start to move. his fingers tighten in your hair, not pushing, just holding on as you work. his breath comes in short pants, and you can feel the way his body tenses, muscles flexing under your hands.

his grip on your hair tightens, and his hips jerk forward slightly, not enough to hurt you, but enough to show he's getting close. "shit, yn," he gasps out, voice strained.

you pull back, releasing him from your mouth with a soft pop. kooking up at him, you smirk, running your hand along his length, giving yourself a break. he looks down at you, making eyecontact before he throws his head back, groaning. you take that as a sign to go back to using your mouth, sucking on his dick, gagging as it hits the back of your throat.

jj's grip on your hair tightens, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you continue working him with your mouth. His hips start to rock slightly, thrusting up to meet your movements.

his words dissolve into a low moan, and suddenly his body goes rigid. he tenses, fingers gripping your hair tightly as he lets out a guttural groan, his cock pulsing in your mouth as he comes hard.

you feel the hot, salty spurts of his release hit the back of your throat, and you swallow instinctively, working him through it until he slumps back against the couch, chest heaving.

"holy shit," jj pants, looking down at you with a dazed, satisfied grin. "that was... fuck, that was really good, Roni."

you wipe the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, letting out a breathless laugh as jj pulls you up, crashing his lips against yours again. it’s messy, desperate, his hands roaming like he’s trying to make up for lost time.

but then—

your brain does it again.

rafe.

you freeze for half a second before forcing yourself to push through it, kissing jj harder like you can chase the thought away. you tangle your fingers in his hair, dragging your nails against his scalp, but even when he groans into your mouth, it doesn’t help. it doesn’t make it stop.

jj moves to kiss down your jaw, sucking a mark into your neck, and for some reason, it makes your stomach twist. it feels wrong.

"wait," you mumble, barely audible. jj doesn’t hear you, not at first.

you press a hand against his chest. "jj, wait."

he pulls back immediately, eyes flicking to yours, breathing heavy. "what?"

"i’m just—" you shake your head, exhaling. "i’m tired. we should go to sleep."

jj studies your face for a second, like he’s trying to read something in it. his hands are still on you, but they’ve softened, looser now.

then, he nods. just like that.

"yeah," he mutters, licking his lips. "yeah, okay."

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, nodding as you shift off his lap, ignoring the way your skin still tingles where his hands had been.

jj doesn’t question it. doesn’t push. just grabs the blanket off the back of the couch and tosses it over both of you.

"night, roni," he murmurs, voice quiet in the dark.

"night, jj," you whisper back.

but sleep doesn’t come easy. not when your head is spinning, not when you’re still buzzing, not when you know exactly why you stopped.

tags: @italk2god@angelicameron@marleymarleymarleymarley, @queenvane64, @raeven-marie43@idiotussupremus@sereneera@yesshewrites1@inlovewithchriss@ethanthequeefqueen@amterasuu@popou61@drewsstars@yannew@anothertimegirl@flvredcas@yootvi@mrsdrewstarkeyy @niaunofficial@cooper8224 @rafegetinmybed @pogueprincesa@6r4cie@adalia-lovelace@bee-43@drewrry@masongetinmybed@defnotayonna@lcversvoid@my-name-is-baby@lolasangelz@polli05927@laniirackssss@rafecameronswifeyy@starsval@hypnotizedstarkey@wintercrows@d-daxx@dontknow3m@jjasmiineee

[dinogoofymutated]

SFW!Nightcrawler/GN!Reader - Part 1 - part 2 - Part 3

kdhbcjshbc I know I said I was gonna work on my Wolverine fic rn but I got sidetracked. This was originally going to be one long ass fic but since the first half ended up already over 4k works I decided to split it into two! It's basically a friends to lovers fic and I know the beginning is a bit of a jumpscare but they're both adults by the end of the fic I promise!! Edit: I totally forgot to add!! Another special thanks to @blue-devil-of-the-lord for their help with german translations!

Tws: Mentions of animal cruelty in the circus. The ringleader is an asshole. I might have made Kurt's brother a bit of an asshole too sorry. Kurt's backstory is going to be kinda a combination of all the shit I've read/know so please be patient lol. I'll go back and add more tags if I think of any.

    You were sixteen when you first met Kurt Wagner, although, he went by Kurt Szardos back then. You had never been to the circus before, and you hadn’t really paid to be there anyway. The show had already started when your father had taken you into the tent, sitting you down in an absent seat near the front. You didn’t want to get in trouble, but he had assured you it was fine. He had business to attend to, and told you that his future employer had given his blessing for you to sit and watch as your father handled business. After all, the two of you were a combo deal, and if you were to be working for the circus, you might as well know just what you were getting yourself into.

    The circus tent was loud with laughter and the sounds of an awed crowd. It was a little overwhelming, to be honest. There were simply too many voices, too many lights- and yet when you finally set aside your grievances to try and enjoy the show, you still struggled.

    The monkeys were annoyed with their handler, and every shout towards the crowd was an insult. The lion was young, and still afraid he wouldn’t make the jump through that vicious ring of fire- still healing from the burns he earned by brushing against the flames during the last performance. The doves from the magician act were a bonded pair, rejoicing the time and attention they were being given in the spotlight- and yet the male was already dreading their moments after the show and the dark, dirty cage they would kept in. The female was trying her best to cheer him up. Every animal was unafraid to keep their voice down, and you had never heard animals speak so loudly before. Part of you wonders if it was simply because they were so used to being ignored, they had grown used to letting their voice free- speaking from the heart and yet always being unheard.

    You didn’t like this part of the circus much- and although the tricks these animals did were beautiful and amazing, you couldn’t manage to enjoy it like all the others around you did. You were frowning while all others were smiling and laughing so joyously- perhaps that was what drew him to you in the first place. 

    “And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present-” All but one of the spotlights have started to circle around the tent, the ringmaster standing completely within the only lingering light. “Our Flying Fiend… the Daredevil Demon… The one and only, Nightcrawler!” Every moving spotlight lands on a single man standing on one of the high beams. He’s smiling so brightly that you can see it from where you stand feet below him. He’s… strange. Elf-like ears, yellow eyes, and blue skin. A pointed tail sways eagerly behind him, and he takes a deep bow in front of you. His yellow eyes peer open as he does so, and for a moment, you swear he looks straight at you. You’re not entirely sure if he was wearing a costume or not anymore. 

    The performance starts out with one hell of a beginning. Every flip and jump is an incredible act of athleticism- and you find your eyes following Nightcrawler throughout every trick. Two other acrobats join the fray, and yet he’s the only one who catches your eye. At one point, they bring out these long swings- ones that sweep right above the audience with every swoop. There’s one swing for every side of the audience- and the acrobats switch with a dramatic flare every few swings. 

    On the very last switch, Nightcrawler is the one who swings over your seats. 

    He’s much more handsome up close, you realize, blushing even where you are now. You swear with every swing, he’s looking at you. It makes your heart flutter a bit, and on the very last swing of the night, he takes out a rose, pretending to throw it to multiple groups of screaming fans, before he swings again with a dramatic flair. Unlike the other times, he’s holding onto the swing with his feet and tail. He’s so close to the audience without touching a single hair on anyone's head- and then he gets to you.

    You could have sworn that time had slowed, no matter how quickly it happened. The two of you finally lock eyes, and his hand stretches out. The rose falls into your lap, the air whooshing by your face as he’s gone just as quickly. You pick up the flower, a genuine smile finally on your face, and you find that all the other voices of excitement around you have finally drowned out.

    That was the first and last time you had watched the show at Herr Getmann's Traveling Menagerie. After that, you and your father were behind the scenes instead of in the stands. 

    It had been about a week and a half since you and your father had been walking to the circus to work. He knew every path and every road like the back of his hand, insisting the two of you walk instead of drive to save money on gas, and he just so happened to know a few shortcuts through the woods. Usually, you were able to rely on him to guide you, but today you woke up late. Your father had already left without you- which you’re not entirely sure wasn’t intentional. He did leave a note for you, giving you instructions on how to get there on your own. 

    Needless to say, that didn’t actually work out too well. A thirty to forty-five-minute walk had quickly turned into an hour, and then an hour in a half. You were trying your absolute best to follow the instructions, but this was hardly a cohesive path in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t exactly easy.

    You’re beginning to give up at this point, stumbling through the brush as you try to find the general direction you think you’re supposed to be going. Your feet have started to ache and blister, and you find yourself beginning to lose hope.

    “Hello!” If the sound of the voice hadn’t scared the shit out of you, the strange man hanging upside down from the branches of a wild Crab apple tree certainly did. You shriek in terror, your feet slipping as you fall back on your butt. You hold your hands over your heart as the strange acrobat from the circus jumps down in a panic, holding his even stranger hands out in front of him.

    “Oh- Es tut mir Leid! I am so sorry! I had not meant to startle you!” He says frantically, kneeling down to help you up in a very gentlemanly manner. You’re wide-eyed as you look at him, letting him help you up without a fuss. Up close and in broad daylight like this, it was very clear that he certainly was… Blue, to say the least.

    “I-it’s okay.” You stutter. He smiles warmly at you, tail swaying excitedly behind him, and it simply confirms to you that he wasn’t wearing a costume at all. You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find some words. He blinks at you as you do so, patiently (if not obliviously) waiting for you to speak.

    “You’re from the circus, aren’t you?” Is what you finally land on, still a little startled from before. The acrobat nods eagerly.

    “I am. I'm happy that you remember me! I’ve been told I leave a bit of an impression.” He jokes, and you find yourself smiling again. He was charming, for someone so strange. “The farrier is your father, right?” He asks, taking you by surprise. You didn’t think that anyone had taken the time to notice you, your father’s shadow in every sense of the word. It makes you feel a little funny, but surely he didn’t remember you from that first performance, right? Maybe he’s just very observant of those who come in and out of the circus stables. 

    “Well, yes.” You affirm, starting to anxiously fiddle with your fingers. “I didn’t really expect you to know who I was, to be honest.” He lets out a happy chuckle at that.

    “Of course, I know! A face like yours is hard to forget.” He chirps, sending you a wink. “But I must say, You’re a bit far from the circus, Meine Freundin.” You make a bit of a grimace at that, and he sends you a questioning smile.

    “Yes, well… To be frankly honest, I’m a bit lost.” You admit, eyes locked solely on the ground, taking the time to notice the various fruits that had fallen from the tree and gone bad. You can see the acrobat’s tail swaying in your peripheral vision, and still feel his eyes on you. It makes you blush a little from embarrassment, a little flustered that you had become so lost.

    “I’ll gladly show you the way, I was just about to go back myself.” Your head snaps up to look at him in bewilderment at that, before you realize just how lucky you are to have found him out here. He picks up a basket of crab apples that you hadn’t noticed before, and you offer to carry it for him as a thanks for guiding you back. He won’t let you no matter how hard you try, certainly the first gentleman you’ve met in quite a while. He tells you that your profuse thanks is more than enough for him.

    The two of you get to talking while you make the long walk back to the circus, and he tells you about his mother, Margali Szardos, and how she had asked him to wander over this way to pick the fruit from the crab apple tree for her. She was fairly adamant about him doing so, telling him that it was of great importance, but he didn’t quite understand why fruit could be such a pressing matter. He’s very funny, and you find yourself greatly enjoying his company. The two of you feel like close friends already, and you hadn’t even realized that you didn’t even know his real name until you’ve already arrived at the plethora of brightly colored circus tents.

    “I’m so sorry, I don’t believe I ever asked for your name.” You say, the awkwardness of the question not even registering with how happy you are to simply be in his company. He sends you another dazzling smile before he holds his hand, offering it for you to shake.

    “I’m Kurt.” He tells you. You introduce yourself as well, happy to have made a new friend today. You hear someone calling your name from not too far away, and spot your father waving his hand at you, calling you over.

    “I have to go, but thank you so much for your help!” You say, once again thanking him adamantly.

    “Walking with you was lovely. I hope to see you more often.” Kurt says, right before you go. You can’t help but blush a little, unable to keep yourself from smiling widely. You couldn’t help it! He was just so handsome in both looks and personality, the strangeness of his skin color and three-fingered hands being something you easily begin to care less and less about.

    “Likewise.” You agree, almost completely flustered. Your father calls for you again, and you quickly say your goodbyes before you rush off to him. You find yourself in a rather good mood for the rest of the day, despite your sore and blistered feet from the long journey here.

    Many months flew by very fast while you and your father worked for the circus, and you and Kurt had grown very close. He visited you when he could sneak away from practice and performances, and although you were more concerned about him staying out of trouble, you began to appreciate the company beyond the way a simple friend would, finding yourself blushing and flustered while around him.

    A fact that hadn’t changed throughout your time there was the treatment of many of the animals. All of them had a grievance or problem of some sort, and it broke your heart to have to stand by without the ability to help them. In the eyes of the circus, you were just the Ferrier’s assistant, nothing more. At first, you were, in the very least. Some of the animal trainers had noticed how good you were with the horses, and how even the most skittish of the equine animals would calm around you and let you handle them without any trouble. Things like that don’t go unnoticed, and soon enough many of the animal handlers had heard about your “gift” with the live attractions. Part of this was due to your Father’s constant bragging about your special skill with animals, although you were the only one who knew the truth about it all. After a while, the frustrated animal trainers began to ask you to assist them with the other animals as well, noting how it hadn’t taken very long before they were at ease around you. The size of cages and the attitudes of the trainers were something you couldn’t change very much, but even if you could only help out with a few things here and there, you were happy- and the animals were too.

    Today, you were doing your best to handle an absolute disaster. 

    Tonight’s animal show was a new set, with lots of loud noises and the pops of fireworks launching far, far above the tops of the tallest tent. With so many new lights and colors, they should have known something was bound to go wrong- and boy, did it. The smallest pony in the show was a stunning Blue Roan mare named Bubbles- and unlike many of the other mares in the show, she was very skittish. Her trainers mostly knew to be careful around her, but that consideration slipped under the radar when it came to all the new changes. Her show went by relatively seamless, with only a few issues here and there- but it was enough to put her on edge. When the fireworks finale went off as she was being led out of the main tent, it was just her last straw.

    I don’t like them. I don’t like the loud noises. Bubbles is pacing anxiously in the back of her tiny stable, still having trouble settling down. Every bump or noise from outside and even the neighboring stables sends her spiraling again. You’re standing at the gate, giving her a cautious amount of room to pace and worry so that she doesn’t feel trapped by you. 

    “I know, Bubbles, It’s okay.” You whisper. You’re so concerned for her, and angry with her trainers, too. It makes your blood boil to remember how one of them had gotten frustrated with her tonight, eventually giving up on settling her completely and thrusting her reins at you, telling you to “take this stupid thing somewhere else!”. The lack of patience and understanding makes you rage, but you know you can’t say a thing if you want to keep this opportunity to work with the animals.

    Please don’t be mad at me. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so scared. I’ll do better, I promise. Bubbles says again. The words almost bring tears to your eyes, hurting for her. You hate seeing her so scared.

“Hey, hey. Easy, I’m not mad at you, I promise. You’re safe with me, okay?” You tell her, starting to slowly approach her as her pacing begins to slow. She whinnies once, huffing as she tries her best to calm herself down. Eventually, she begins to settle, letting you get close enough to reassuringly pet her nose and flank. She leans into the comforting touches, finally beginning to relax after being high-strung for so long. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a minute, enjoying each other's company as you hear the sounds of the circus begin to dwindle and die.

     I’m sorry for all the trouble. Bubbles apologizes quietly.

    “You haven’t been any trouble, Bubbles, I promise.” You say soothingly. “Do you want to talk for a bit before I go?” She nods her head, and that’s all the answer you need.

    The two of you talk for a long, long while as you take off her tack and brush her down, pampering her as you ready her for bed. You talk about food, trainers, the new horseshoes she’s getting next week- anything at all. Even Kurt comes up in conversation, eventually.

    I like him. She says decisively. He sneaks me leftover apples. You can’t help but giggle at that, already having a hunch that he had been giving the horses treats while no one was looking. Not that you really mind, it was nice to know that they had someone other than you and your father looking out for them.

    “I agree. He’s very nice.” You say, smiling brightly. She noses you in response.

    I think he likes you, too. You instantly blush at her words, shaking your head at her with a flustered smile. You honestly doubted he saw you as much more of a friend, even if the two of you have had somewhat sensitive moments sometimes.

    “I really don't think-”

    “Guten Abend!” You can’t help but shriek at the greeting, knowing just who it was as you whip around in the stable, spotting Kurt leaning against the gate with a cheesy smile.

    “Kurt! You have got to stop scaring me like that!” You scold, throwing the dandy brush at him. He pretends to be wounded, holding a hand over the spot it hit him dramatically as he laughs.

    “I’m sorry. Seems I couldn’t help myself.” Kurt says, and you lightly slap his arm again for good measure when you can reach him, trying and failing to keep yourself from smiling at his antics.

    “You could have startled Bubbles. It took forever for me to get her settled after the show today!” You scold him again, smile not letting up for a second. Kurt smiles a little nervously at that before he looks behind you to see the completely unbothered Bubbles.

    He wouldn’t have- I saw him come in. She says. You wave her off discreetly. That’s not the point, Bubbles! But even without being able to understand her, Kurt seems to get the hint that she wasn’t even a tad bit bothered and jumps the gate with such ease you can’t help but be a little jealous of his athleticism. 

    “Then I’ll apologize to you too, Bubbles.” Kurt cooes, lavishing her forehead and muzzle with pets and kisses that she happily receives. You watch him with a smile, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. You knew you were absolutely gone on him, this little crush of yours having developed into true and deep feelings of affection. But how could you not? Even watching him right now it’s clear to see the kindness and support he gives to every living thing regardless of status or species. That meant more to you than you think he might ever know.

    “How was it out there?” You ask eventually, leaning against the side of the stable.

    “So-so. The crowds have started to react less to our sets. Mother says that we’ll get better reactions if we change the performance a little.” Kurt shrugs, tail tucked tightly around his own waist- something you noticed he did every time he entered the stables so that he wouldn’t startle the horses with the snake-like limb. You frown, eyebrows furrowing at the news. You knew that they had been trying some new things for the animal shows, but the acrobatics had always been so incredible and immaculate. It’s strange to you that anyone would look on at that part of the show with a straight face.

    “And how does Ringmaster Getmann feel about that?” You ask. Bubbles huffs through her nose angrily at his name, and you join Kurt by her side, petting her shoulder. You can see that Kurt is frowning, not responding to your question as his eyes stay squarely on Bubbles. 

    “...Kurt?” You’re really worried for him now, knowing that the look on his face can only mean that nothing good will come of it.

    “It’s nothing for you to worry over.” Kurt responds after a minute. “He wants us to do riskier tricks, but Mother keeps telling him it’s not the best idea. He’s rather adamant about it though.” His voice is soft while he delivers the news, and it makes you wonder how on earth he’s not angry about the blatant disregard for both his and his adoptive siblings’ safety.

     I knew I had a good reason to hate that man! Bubbles speaks angrily as she flicks her tail, Kurt being the only reason she hadn’t bucked or stopped in frustration. Your worry begins to deepen as you think everything over.

    “I- You won’t get hurt, will you?” You ask, worry clearly spilling into your tone. “The animal injuries are already bad enough, but if he starts risking human lives-”

    “I’ll be fine, Schatz.” Kurt cuts you off, stepping away from Bubbles to take your hands in his own. The nickname had a tendency to make your heart flutter, but right now all you could feel was the anxiety of an impending disaster. “Please don’t worry for me.” He tells you, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. You’re breath catches at the act, and when you look at him there's a fond, reassuring look on his face. Still, it did not ease your worries in the slightest. Kurt takes a step closer to you, his hand cupping your face now instead.

    “I can’t help it. I worry because I care.” You whisper. Kurt smiles softly at you, leaning in to rest his forehead against your own. The two of you sit in silence for a minute, reveling in the fond moment. Still, your lips tingled with how close the two of you are, eyes darting down to the shape of his lips as you ran your tongue across your own. Kurt’s pretty eyes don’t let the action go unnoticed. He begins to lean in to close the gap between the two of you, and your eyes flutter closed as he does so.

    “Kurt.” The voice startles the two of you, separating immediately. It’s Stephan, Kurt’s adoptive brother. He’s not only startled you and Kurt, but Bubbles too. She spooks in the tiny stables, rearing up before you immediately turn to her, doing your best to calm her down once again. She’s breathing a little hard, but she’s not pacing again, which was much better than before, although you were certainly peeved to have backtracked already.

   “You know you’re not supposed to linger around the stables after the show,” Stephan says to Kurt, who only frowns. The two had begun to form a rather strained relationship as of late, but neither of you would have expected him to go out of his way to catch Kurt like this. You glance back at them as you finish settling Bubbles, staying silent as the two of them share a look. Kurt’s tail sways a bit, and you can see Stephan roll his eyes at Kurt before he nods his head to the door and begins to leave. Kurt sighs deeply before he turns to you with a remorseful look.

    “I’ll see you soon- promise,” Kurt says, taking your hands in his own and giving them a reassuring squeeze. You’re frowning, unable to help it at this point due to the moment being ruined. Kurt leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead before he leaves, and you smile a bit. He gives you another quiet goodbye before he jumps the gate again, and follows his brother out.

    You're left standing there with Bubbles, and despite Kurt’s promises, you have an uneasy feeling in your chest. You want to blame it on the disappointment of the night, but you can't help but wonder when you'd actually get to see him again.

[littlelamy]

Let’s see Rafe x Kook!Reader – A bit of a girl next door vibe. Very kind and gentle. Maybe she sometimes hangs out with his friend group. Kelce, Topper, Sarah, throw in some random girls. But she and Rafe have never really spoken aside from just little small moments like ‘’Could you pass me the beer’’, shit like that. She keeps away from him most of the time in the group because she’s a bit intimidated by his reputation, not to mention she get’s a bit nervous because he’s attractive (and the feeling is mutual)………So a sleepover happens and everyone is paired of with who they want to sleep next too, which leaves her and Rafe being forced to share a bed. Cute little moments because they are both so awkward, maybe he suprises her with what a gentlemen he is etc – maybe reader wakes up to Rafe spooning her?? AHHHH

i hope you like it! ⭐️ you weren’t entirely sure how you ended up sharing a bed with rafe cameron, of all people.

it was supposed to be a low-key night with the group—a bonfire, some beers, and the usual laughs with kelce, topper, sarah and others. you’d always felt comfortable with them, floating on the outskirts of the friend group, friendly but never really diving too deep into their world. you were the one they’d joke around with, the one they’d ask to “pass the beer” or lend a hand when they wanted someone to talk to.

but rafe? he was different. you’d catch glimpses of him at the bonfires, maybe say a quick “hey” when you crossed paths, and that was it. you kept your distance. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to know him—he was gorgeous, after all, and part of you was more than a little curious—but there was just something intense about him. the wild reputation he had was no secret, and you’d heard enough stories to know he wasn’t exactly the “boy next door.”

still, it was hard not to notice him. rafe had this effortless charm, the kind that drew everyone’s attention, and it didn’t help that he was just… attractive. the kind of attractive that had you glancing away the moment his eyes met yours, feeling your cheeks heat up. you didn’t let yourself get too close—intimidated by that bad-boy edge, but also a bit too flustered by the way he could make your heart race with a single look.

so when the idea of crashing at kelce’s beach house came up and everyone started claiming spots for the night, you thought you’d be able to blend into the group as usual. but as it turned out, everyone paired off naturally. sarah grabbed her friend’s hand and headed off to one room, topper and kelce took the couches, and before you knew it, there was only one spot left: the bed in the guest room. and only one person left to share it with.

rafe.

he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as he watched you with a slow, lazy grin. “well, looks like it’s you and me,” he said, looking almost amused. “unless you’d rather take the floor.”

you swallowed, glancing around as if another option would suddenly appear. “i, uh, guess we’re sharing.”

rafe’s grin widened, and he straightened, holding the door open for you with a slight nod. “ladies first.”

you walked in, feeling the warmth of his presence behind you, and settled on one side of the bed. the room was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt almost too loud, and you tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach as he climbed into bed beside you. he stretched out, turning his head toward you with a smirk.

“you don’t have to keep to the edge, you know,” he said, a teasing edge in his voice. “i don’t bite. not unless you’re into that, anyway.”

you laughed softly, hugging your blanket a little tighter. “i’m fine. just… not used to this.”

his gaze softened slightly, and he gave a small nod, a hint of something almost gentle flashing across his face. “yeah? what, you think i’m gonna pull some crazy shit in my sleep or something?”

you shook your head, feeling your cheeks warm under his intense gaze. “no. just… you’re a little intimidating, that’s all.”

he raised an eyebrow, his smirk shifting into something a little more curious. “me? intimidating?” he chuckled, shaking his head as he looked away. “nah. but i get it. guess i’ve got a bit of a reputation, huh?”

you let out a nervous laugh, nodding slightly. “something like that…”

the bed dipped as he shifted closer, his face just inches from yours now. “if i’m so intimidating, why’d you come around tonight?”

“i—I just wanted to hang out,” you stammered, feeling his eyes on you.

“uh-huh,” he murmured, smirking as he leaned in slightly. “i’ve seen you around, you know. thought you were just the shy one, keepin’ your distance.”

you hesitated, suddenly feeling like he was reading right through you. “it’s not that. i just… didn’t think you’d notice.”

he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “sweetheart, i notice a lot more than you think.” there was a mischievous spark in his eyes as he settled back, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse race. “guess tonight’s as good a time as any to get to know each other.”

the tension between you was thick enough to cut, and as he shifted back to his side of the bed, your heart was still pounding. you lay there, wide awake and hyper-aware of his presence beside you, wondering how you’d ever get to sleep.

somehow, eventually, you drifted off.

in the middle of the night, you stirred, feeling a warmth wrapped around you. groggy and half-asleep, it took you a moment to realize rafe’s arm was snug around your waist, his body curled around yours, his chest pressed against your back.

your heart skipped as you took in the feeling of his strong, steady grip, his hand resting on your hip as if he’d done it a thousand times before. he was warm, his breath slow and soft against the back of your neck, and you felt your cheeks heat up, too stunned to move.

just as you were trying to process this, he murmured in his sleep, tightening his hold on you slightly. you felt his lips brush against your shoulder, his voice barely audible. “you okay?”

you could hardly believe he was awake, but you whispered back, “yeah… you?”

a low hum escaped him as he shifted closer, pulling you in with a lazy, sleepy strength. “pretty damn good,” he mumbled, his lips curving into a smile against your skin.

you bit your lip, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened. his hand was warm and steady on your waist, his thumb lazily tracing circles that sent a shiver down your spine.

“didn’t know you could be such a gentleman, rafe,” you whispered, half-teasing, half-breathless.

he chuckled, his voice low and rough, thick with sleep. “i’ve got my moments.” his thumb traced another slow circle on your hip, pulling you even closer. “you’d know that if you stopped keepin’ away from me all the time.”

the words sent a thrill through you, and you felt him adjust slightly, settling into you as if he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. you closed your eyes, letting yourself relax into his embrace, his heartbeat steady against your back.

for the first time all night, lying here in rafe’s arms, you didn’t feel a single bit of nerves.

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