#but that bit??? where just??? starts BARKING?????

[littlelamy]

hear me out: prince(maybe king)!rafe x maid!reader. 🧖🧖🧖🧖

author's note: eeekkk i am so so excited that someone requested this. i went a bit overboard and created a moodboard with the request. ahhh i hope you like it!!!🤭

rafe had always been a man of extremes. as a prince, he had earned a reputation for his ruthless cunning and the unyielding fire in his blue eyes. the court whispered about him—how he wanted everything in his kingdom to shine with perfection, to bow to his every whim. yet, none of that prepared anyone, least of all you, for the way he turned his obsession toward you.

it had started so innocently. you were just a maid, one of dozens who cleaned the gleaming marble floors of his grand castle, who arranged flowers in gilded vases and tended to fires in his countless hearths. you had caught his eye in a fleeting moment, bending to pick up a stray petal from the floor of the great hall. rafe had been striding through, his voice sharp as he barked orders at his entourage, but he fell silent as his gaze landed on you. that single moment was all it took.

from that day on, you felt the weight of his attention like an iron chain around your neck. it wasn’t long before his orders began to involve you directly. he demanded you be reassigned to his personal chambers. at first, it was simple tasks—polishing the ornate frames of his mirrors, arranging the heavy drapes that shielded his private windows. but as days turned to weeks, his demands grew stranger.

“stay,” he would say as you finished your work, his tone leaving no room for argument. he’d sit at his desk, pretending to pore over documents, but his eyes always found you in the reflection of the polished glass. “just for a moment longer.”

rafe’s fixation was terrifying in its intensity. he spoke to you as if you were the only thing that mattered, as if the kingdom itself was a distant second to your mere existence. his words were laced with a dangerous kind of reverence. “you don’t understand,” he whispered one evening, his voice low and almost tender. “you’re the only thing in this place that feels real.”

you tried to avoid his gaze, to keep your answers curt and respectful. “your grace, i am only here to serve.”

“and serve you will,” he replied, his lips curving into a possessive smile that made your stomach twist. “but not as a maid. no. i have other plans for you.”

those plans became clearer as he began to isolate you. you were no longer allowed to eat in the servants’ quarters or mingle with the other staff. instead, meals were brought to you in a small, luxurious room he had ordered prepared for your “comfort.” guards watched your every move, their silent vigilance a reminder that escape was not an option.

rafe’s obsession was suffocating. he lavished you with gifts you didn’t want—silken gowns, jeweled necklaces that felt like shackles against your skin. and yet, despite the fear that gripped your heart, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder at the man behind the obsession. there were moments, rare and fleeting, where his intensity softened into something almost vulnerable.

“they all want something from me,” he confessed one night, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “power, wealth, favor. but you… you didn’t even look at me. you didn’t try to catch my eye.” he cupped your chin then, forcing you to meet his gaze. “do you have any idea how maddening that was?”

you didn’t dare respond, your heart pounding in your chest. his thumb brushed over your cheek, a touch that was both tender and possessive. “you belong to me now,” he murmured, and the finality in his voice sent a shiver down your spine.

one evening, as you stood in his chambers, preparing to leave after completing your duties, rafe stepped into your path. his gaze was dark and unreadable, his breathing uneven. before you could protest, his hand reached out to cradle the back of your neck, pulling you closer. his lips met yours in a kiss that was as fierce and demanding as the man himself.

it wasn’t gentle. rafe kissed like he was trying to claim every breath, every thought, every part of you. his hands tightened their grip, one tangling in your hair while the other pressed against the small of your back, anchoring you to him. his touch grew rougher as the kiss deepened, his fingers groping at your waist and hips, pulling you flush against him.

he tilted your head back, his teeth grazing your lower lip before pulling away just enough to let his breath ghost over your skin. his eyes burned into yours as his thumb brushed over your swollen lips. “so beautiful,” he purrs, his voice low and guttural. the word sent a flush through your body, leaving you stunned and breathless.

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with your own. “you drive me mad,” he whispered, his voice rough. “but you… you’re mine. never forget that.”

in the days that followed, you tried to find cracks in his armor, weaknesses in the iron-clad control he had over you and his kingdom. but rafe was relentless. his obsession consumed him, and in turn, it threatened to consume you as well.

late one night, as you stood on the balcony of your gilded cage, staring out at the moonlit expanse of the kingdom, you felt his presence behind you. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest.

“you’re mine,” he said again, his lips brushing against your ear. “and i will destroy anyone who tries to take you from me.”

you realized then that there was no escape, no reasoning with a man like rafe. he was a king in every sense of the word, and his obsession had made you his queen—whether you wanted to be or not.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah

[peachhcs]

the new guy | the wonder years

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

will finds out about samy's new boyfriend kevin after thinking there might be a chance for them after they kissing at her senior year kickoff party

wc: 1.7k

cooked this up because 1. i love wonder years and 2. i don’t think i’ve ever written everyone meeting kevin for the first time (i’m also running out of pics so im resorting to gifs lol)

au masterlist

it was a typical friday night for the boys. they raced home after their game to change and make it to samy's first soccer game of the season that started promptly at 7. their goal this season was to make to every single one of her games that didn't coincide with their own games. ryan's mom's suv was definitely going to be put to good use.

the seven of them piled in and were on the road by 6:15 which was record time for them considering their game just finished at 5:30. will was feeling a bit giddy tonight. he had a great game with two goals and an assist and now he was about to see samy for the first time since last weekend. he was still thinking about that drunken kiss they shared.

he knew they were just playing with one another like back in april during that seven minutes in heaven, but will couldn't help thinking that maybe it meant something more this time. it'd been on his mind since last weekend when it happened and the boy started wondering what exactly the relationship he had with the girl was. they were friends, yeah, but..could there be a possibility for something more?

will's never really thought of her that way. maybe that one time when they were twelve, but that didn't count because they were twelve. all he knew was that she'd been on his mind a lot more recently and he started wondering what it meant or if it was even normal to be thinking of his best friend that much? surely it was because he thought of all the guys in the car with him a fair amount. either way, will was excited to see her.

they pulled into the already full lot exactly fifteen minutes before kick off. gabe was texting marcie and riley asking where they were sitting as they walked towards the bleachers. they spotted the two girls in the student section and quickly joined them.

"i'm surprised you guys made it in time," marcie teased and made room for the seven of them.

"you should've seen will barking us around. he was not playing around," ryan teases the blonde who flushed. he scanned the field for samy.

she was by the bench talking with some of the girls. her captain band was wrapped proudly around the top of her shin before her socks started. will knew how hard samy worked for that honor this season and he was proud of her for finally being able to show it off and lead the girls to another successful season in her last year.

"this should be an easy sweep. central michigan has always had a shitty defense," marcie mumbled as the boys' gazes swept over to the other team warming up.

will's gaze followed the other students in the stands. he recognized some of them from the parties samy dragged him to. being in the student section really made the boys feel like they were in high school which was another reason why they wanted to go to the games because they got to experience high school traditions the dev program didn't give them.

samy finally waved up at the stands to the boys who eagerly waved back at her. will smiled widely when he caught her gaze. he watched her gaze fall to the other side to wave at her parents and then the next person she waved at caught him off guard.

it was a guy with brunette hair about three rows down from them. he was taller and stood with some friends that looked to be on the boy's soccer team. samy was smiling widely at him and will's stomach twisted seeing her wave at him.

but he tried to not think about it too much. maybe he was just  a friend? yeah, a friend. she could have friends. will was thinking about this too much.

the game was a clean sweep like marcie said. samy's team scored three goals, one of them being from samy and she assisted the other two. the students cheered for them as they ran up to the bleachers to give out high-fives before running back to the benches. the students began filing out of the bleachers to meet the players in the parking lot after their post game debrief.

the boys talked with marcie and riley waiting for samy to come out. her parents joined them a second later where ellen and jim happily greeted them and thanked them for coming. will was too immersed in his conversation with drew and aram that he didn't see samy come out and turn her attention to the boy she waved to before the game started.

she greeted him with a warm hug and blushed when he gave her flowers. will didn't see them coming until gabe nudged his shoulder and marcie ran to hug her best friend.

"you played so well!" the girl exclaimed making samy flush.

"thanks for coming guys. i didn't actually think you'd make it on time," the soccer player said the the boys.

"thank will. he got us moving," ryan clapped his friend's shoulder. the blonde smiled softly at her. she returned it before directing her gaze back to the boy will saw earlier.

he quickly noticed the flowers in her hand and the shy expressions on both of their faces. that twist in will's stomach quickly returned as he put the pieces together.

"there's someone i want you guys to meet. this is kevin," samy introduced him and he shyly waved at everyone.

for a second, everyone looked at will while the blonde had a blank expression on his face. the excitement he had earlier started fading as he realized what this meant.

"nice to meet you. we're samy's hockey friends," ryan finally said and held his hand out. he was always the one to break the ice first. kevin shook his hand.

"good to meet you guys. samy talks highly of all of you," kevin chuckled.

will struggled to meet samy's gaze that he knew was on him because she was searching for his approval. he didn't really know what to think.

it was dumb to think that maybe he had a chance with her. samy was right. those two kisses were just for fun because they were drunk half the time anyway. it didn't mean anything and will shouldn't have thought it did. he swallowed and sucked up his pride.

"didn't know samy had a new fling," drew chirped up with a small, teasing smirk.

"we've been talking for a few weeks," the girl giggled and then will's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. a few weeks? she's been talking to this guy a few weeks and they still made out in her friend's bathroom last weekend. were they even official then?

"we've been keeping it on the down low until making it official a few days ago," kevin slung his arm around her shoulders.

will found gabe's gaze beside him. the dark-haired boy spoke with his eyes like he knew exactly what will was thinking. gabe didn't really know about the drunk make-outs will and samy have done, but he could probably take a guess. it was fairly obvious whenever the two came back out of the bathroom. all gabe did was place a hand on his friend's shoulder and offered a tight-lipped smile to the new guy in front of them.

"well, it's nice to meet you, kevin. hopefully we'll see you around more," gabe said.

"we're gonna head out, but thanks a lot for coming guys. i always like seeing you guys up there," samy grinned and walked back through the parking lot with kevin.

ellen and jim wished the others goodbye and safe travels back to plymouth. the boys glanced between one another.

"sorry i didn't mention anything. samy wanted to like..surprise you guys," marcie said and looked at will. everyone seemed to be looking at will.

"it's fine. he seems cool," the blonde finally said.

"i know you guys are..and we tease you guys about.."

"no, we're just friends, you know that. all of that doesn't mean anything to us," will cut marcie off, managing his best smile. the others exchanged quick glances before deciding to let it go for now. they said goodbye to marcie and riley before climbing back into ryan's suv to head back.

the car ride was a bit silent. will stared out the window suddenly rethinking everything. he should've known him and samy's relationship would just be a friendship and nothing more than that. it was stupid of him to even think otherwise. they hardly even talked too. usually, samy would be all over him after the game and wanted to talk until they had to leave.

she just left without even saying a word to him really. that did kind of hurt.

ryan dropped everyone back off at their houses. the two boys walked back into the house in silence. ryan didn't want to prod, but he's also never seen will so quiet before.

"look, i know it's not my business, but are you good?" the brunette raised his eyebrow when they were away from the prying ears of their moms.

"i'm fine, why?" will didn't meet his gaze.

"you're just weirdly quiet," ryan mumbled.

"i'm fine. it's nothing," the blonde shrugged and as much as ryan hated prying, he kept talking.

"look, i know the teasing we make at you is all in good fun about samy, but..i didn't know she was talking to someone. i'm sorry."

"why are you sorry? it's not like we were like together or liked each other," will said quickly and ryan gave him a look that both of them knew the blonde was not telling the full truth or at least that ryan saw right through him.

"right, yeah," the brunette mumbled. they left the conversation at that because ryan wasn't gonna poke anymore. will was left to think about ryan's words and what exactly they meant to him because surely, he didn't actually like samy like that.

right?

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 13 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇Pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warning: suggestive stuff

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The morning sunlight filtered through the high windows of the banquet hall, casting a golden glow over the rows of tables laden with bread, fruit, and roasted meats. Y/N sat beside her brother Antinous, picking at her food lazily as the boisterous laughter of the suitors echoed around her.

Antinous tore into a piece of bread, occasionally nudging her with his elbow whenever one of the other suitors made a particularly unfunny joke. She barely reacted, still preoccupied with her own thoughts, namely, the events of the night before. Her fork toyed with a piece of fruit on her plate as she tried to shake off the memory of Telemachus’s warmth beside her and the way his voice had sounded so earnest in the quiet of her room.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when movement caught her eye. Telemachus was passing by the hall’s entrance, dressed neatly but clearly in no rush as he walked past. For a moment, she felt relief that he didn’t stop. But then he glanced in her direction, his eyes locking with hers.

She froze, her fork stilling mid air.

He winked.

And then, as casually as if he were adjusting his tunic, he made a quick, hand motion he drifted his hands down to his crotch, then made a jerking hand motion. It was subtle enough to go unnoticed by the others but deliberate enough for her to understand the implication. Her face turned crimson in an instant. Her eyes widened, and she quickly looked back down at her plate, her heart pounding furiously.

Antinous, who had been in the middle of a conversation with Eurymachus, suddenly paused and turned to her, his brow furrowing. “What’s wrong with you?”

“W-What?” she stammered, struggling to compose herself. “You’re red as a beet,” he said, leaning closer to inspect her. “Is your food laced or something? Did someone mess with it?” He glanced suspiciously around the hall, his protective instincts kicking in. She waved a hand dismissively, her voice high pitched. “I’m fine. I just…I bit into something spicy, that’s all.”

“Spicy?” Antinous looked at her plate, unimpressed. “It’s fruit.”

“Maybe it’s bad fruit!” she snapped, shoving a piece into her mouth to demonstrate. “See? Perfectly fine now. Nothing’s wrong.” Antinous gave her a long, skeptical look, but eventually shrugged and turned back to his conversation. She exhaled quietly, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for her goblet. From the corner of her eye, she saw Telemachus disappear down the corridor, the ghost of his infuriating smirk still burning in her mind.

As she took a sip of her drink, she couldn’t help muttering under her breath, “I’m going to kill him.”

——

The midday sun beat down on the palace courtyard, where Antinous stood with his arms crossed, his piercing gaze fixed on his sister. She stood in the center of the training ring, her sword raised as she faced the training dummy he had set up.

“Again,” Antinous barked. “Your footing is sloppy, and your swings lack precision. You’ll be dead before you land a hit at this rate.” She rolled her eyes but adjusted her stance, gripping her sword tighter. “You don’t have to be so dramatic, Antinous. It’s just training.”

“Training for your life,” he retorted. “Now stop talking and focus.” She exhaled sharply and swung her sword, landing a satisfying strike against the dummy’s torso. But before she could gloat, Antinous stepped forward and used the flat of his blade to knock her weapon out of her hands. “Too slow,” he said, smirking. “You left yourself wide open. Do you want me to spell out every mistake, or can you start fixing them on your own?”

She bent to pick up her sword, gritting her teeth. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re lazy,” Antinous shot back, turning slightly to adjust his own sword belt.

It was at that moment that her eyes caught a flicker of movement from above. She glanced up discreetly and spotted Telemachus standing on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. His face was full of mischief as he placed a finger to his lips, silently asking for her cooperation.

Her lips twitched, barely suppressing a grin.

While Antinous continued lecturing her about discipline and precision, Telemachus crouched dramatically, holding an imaginary sword. He mimicked Antinous’s stern expression and stiff posture, mockingly imitating his training stance. She snorted, barely able to contain her laughter. Antinous immediately turned to her, narrowing his eyes. “What’s so funny? Did I say something amusing?”

“No,” she said quickly, biting the inside of her cheek. “Just…remembering something.” Antinous grumbled and turned back to reposition the dummy, muttering something about her lack of focus. As soon as his back was turned, Telemachus straightened and struck an exaggerated heroic pose, puffing out his chest like a pompous general. He pointed an invisible sword at her, shaking it like a lecture stick. She burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold it back.

Antinous spun around, glaring. “Y/N, if you’re not going to take this seriously, then maybe I should—” But when he glanced around, he didn’t see anything unusual. His gaze flicked up to the balcony for a moment, but Telemachus was already out of sight, ducked low behind the stone railing. “Should what?” She asked innocently, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

Antinous huffed, shaking his head. “Never mind. Pick up your sword.” She obeyed, barely able to keep a straight face as Telemachus reappeared, this time pantomiming an elaborate duel. He twirled his imaginary weapon dramatically, pretending to stumble and fall in the most ridiculous way possible. She had to clutch her stomach to stop herself from doubling over with laughter.

Antinous’s face darkened. “That’s it. What is wrong with you today?” He turned sharply, scanning the area behind him, but again, there was no sign of Telemachus. “I’m just in a good mood,” she said, managing to suppress her laughter enough to appear halfway serious.

Antinous narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing, returning to the training session with a resigned shake of his head. Above them, Telemachus gave her a cheeky salute. The training session dragged on, with Antinous pacing around his sister like a hawk circling its prey. She was supposed to be focusing on her strikes, but her attention kept slipping, particularly because Telemachus had reappeared on the balcony.

At first, he resumed his silly antics, pretending to fumble with an invisible weapon and nearly tripping over his feet. She did her best to ignore him, though a small smile tugged at her lips. Antinous noticed and scowled. “Stop smiling. There’s nothing funny about your form.”

“Right, sorry,” she muttered, biting her lip. But as Antinous turned away, Telemachus’s antics escalated. He leaned lazily against the railing, his hand tracing slow, exaggerated motions in the air. At first, Pandora wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but then his gestures became clearer, deliberately suggestive, playful, and entirely improper. Her face turned bright red, and she quickly looked away, her grip on her sword faltering.

“Y/N,” Antinous snapped. “Your stance! Focus!”

“I—I am!” she stammered, forcing herself to raise the sword again. Telemachus smirked at her reaction and decided to push further. His hand drifted down in an obvious motion, trailing slowly as he licked his lips with deliberate exaggeration. His expression was a mix of mischief and challenge, daring her to keep her composure.

Her grip tightened, her knuckles white around the hilt of her sword. Her entire face burned, and she felt her focus slipping completely. Antinous frowned. “Are you even listening to me? Strike the damn dummy already!”

“I’m trying!” she snapped, her voice higher-pitched than she intended. “Trying to what? Embarrass yourself?” Before she could answer, Antinous moved forward to demonstrate proper form. But Y/N, still utterly distracted and flustered, misjudged her positioning.

“Y/N, watch your—”

Antinous’s arm swung wide as he corrected her grip, and his elbow accidentally connected with the side of her face. The impact wasn’t hard enough to seriously hurt her, but it startled her, sending her stumbling back with a sharp gasp.

“Y/N!” Antinous barked, his eyes widening as he realized what he’d done. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why weren’t you paying attention?” She clutched her cheek, her face now a furious mix of embarrassment and pain. “I—nothing! I just—”

Antinous stepped closer, inspecting her with a mix of irritation and concern. “You’re flushed, distracted, and now you’re not even blocking properly. What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing!” she repeated, her voice cracking slightly. From the balcony, Telemachus stifled a laugh, though his expression softened slightly when he saw her rubbing her cheek. Still, he couldn’t help giving her one last teasing gesture, a quick, mock sympathetic kiss blown in her direction before disappearing out of sight again.

She bit her lip, her face burning hotter than ever. She glared at the spot where Telemachus had been, silently cursing him while trying to keep her brother from noticing anything else. “Go get some water,” Antinous grumbled, stepping back. “You’re obviously not in the right headspace for this. We’ll pick up again later.”

She nodded mutely, grateful for the excuse to retreat, though her mind was already racing with a mix of mortification and anger. If she didn’t deal with Telemachus soon, she was certain she’d lose her mind entirely.

——

The sun filtered through the grand hall where Y/N leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching the suitors gamble and boast. Antinous stood nearby, speaking with Eurymachus about some idiotic bet, his sharp laugh cutting through the air. It was a typical scene of chaos and indulgence, one Pandora had grown bored of quickly.

She sighed and shifted her weight, casting her gaze toward the ornate carvings on the walls. Her mind wandered until a sudden, fleeting sensation snapped her back to reality.

Smack!

Her eyes widened in shock as she realized what had just happened. Before she could fully process it, a familiar figure darted past her, Telemachus, moving with surprising speed for someone usually so composed. His hand was already at his side, but there was no mistaking the smirk on his face as he disappeared down the corridor without so much as a backward glance.

It took a moment for the delayed reaction to kick in.

“AH!” She yelped, straightening as her face flushed with a mixture of shock and fury.

Antinous spun around at the sound of her outburst, his expression immediately shifting to one of concern. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I—nothing!” She stammered, her face still hot as she clutched at her chiton, trying to compose herself. Antinous narrowed his eyes, stepping closer. “Nothing doesn’t make you yell like that. Did someone do something?” His voice dropped into a dangerous tone, his hand instinctively moving toward the dagger at his side.

“No, no!” She waved him off frantically, forcing a nervous laugh. “I just…tripped, that’s all!” Antinous raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “You’re acting weird. Who were you looking at just now?”

“Uh—no one!” she said quickly, her eyes darting down the hallway where Telemachus had vanished. “It’s nothing, really!” Antinous crossed his arms, still suspicious but unwilling to press further in the crowded hall. “If anyone messes with you, you tell me. Got it?”

“Of course!” She said, her voice a pitch too high.

As Antinous finally turned his attention back to Eurymachus, she exhaled sharply, her hand twitching with the urge to storm after Telemachus and give him a piece of her mind. But she hesitated, knowing she couldn’t act without drawing her brother’s attention. Eurymachus gave her a knowing smirk, and raised his eyebrow, oh how badly she wanted to rip that ugly smirk off, but Instead, she gritted her teeth, glaring down the hallway.

He’s going to regret that, she vowed silently, her cheeks still burning as she plotted her revenge.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The next morning, Y/N strolled through the palace corridors with extra confidence in her step. The sunlight filtering through the arches warmed the marble floors beneath her feet, but her mind was entirely focused on the payback she’d planned for Telemachus.

It wasn’t long before she passed by the dining hall and spotted him. There he sat at a modest table with his mother, Penelope, delicately sipping from a goblet while nibbling on bread and olives. He looked…calm, far too calm for someone who’d pulled the stunt he had yesterday. Let’s fix that, she thought, her lips curling into a devilish grin.

She slowed her pace as she entered the hall, deliberately letting her footsteps echo. Telemachus glanced up, meeting her gaze, and his expression instantly stiffened, his body going rigid.

“Y/N,” Penelope greeted warmly, unaware of the tension.

“Lady Penelope,” she replied sweetly, dipping her head in respect. She moved to pass by the table, but instead of continuing on, she stopped just far enough in Telemachus’s line of sight to execute her plan.

With a casual stretch, she raised her arms above her head, letting her tunic cling to her figure for a brief moment before bringing her hands down in a slow, deliberate motion. Her fingers traced along her sides as she leaned slightly against the doorway, her hips shifting in an exaggerated sway. Telemachus’s face turned a deep shade of red as his jaw clenched. He darted a glance at his mother, who was entirely focused on her plate, thankfully oblivious.

But she wasn’t done.

She bit her lip playfully, her eyes locking onto Telemachus’s as her hand made an exaggerated sweeping motion across her abdomen. Then, in a bold move, she placed one hand on her hip and tilted her head, mouthing a silent kiss in his direction before trailing her fingers along the edge of the doorway and stepping forward in a slow strut.

Telemachus choked on his drink, coughing violently into his goblet. Penelope frowned, glancing at her son with concern. “Telemachus? Are you all right?”

“Yes!” he squeaked, hastily wiping his mouth. “Fine! Perfectly fine!” Y/n smirked, savoring the sight of his flustered state. She swayed her hips just a little more as she made her way out of the room, glancing back over her shoulder for good measure.

Telemachus caught the glance and glared at her, though the blush on his face betrayed his frustration. She winked at him before disappearing down the hall, her laughter echoing faintly behind her. Back in the dining hall, Penelope studied her son with a raised brow. “You’ve been acting strange lately. Are you sure nothing is bothering you?”

“No, Mother,” Telemachus muttered, avoiding her gaze. “Nothing at all.” But as he stared down at his plate, his appetite completely gone, he knew Y/N wouldn’t let him live this down anytime soon.

——

It was a crisp, sunny morning, and Telemachus found himself in the garden, crouched beside his mother as she carefully pruned a bed of roses. Penelope had insisted he take some time to help her, claiming it would clear his mind and teach him patience. He agreed, though he couldn’t help but think about how uncharacteristically peaceful the palace felt today. He brushed his hands against the soil, pulling out a stubborn weed, when a shadow flickered in the corner of his vision.

Y/N.

She stood near the garden path, her arms clasped behind her back as she hummed a soft tune. Telemachus stiffened immediately, shooting her a warning glare. She met his eyes and gave him the sweetest, most innocent smile, too sweet, in fact.

What is she up to now? he thought, already bracing himself. As Penelope moved to trim another section of bushes, y/n stepped closer to the herb garden, pretending to inspect the lavender. She bent down slowly, arching her back just enough to draw attention, her hands trailing dramatically over the plants.

Telemachus froze, his jaw tightening as his gaze snapped back to the soil. “Focus,” he muttered to himself, tugging at another weed.

But Pandora wasn’t done. She shifted her position, swaying her hips as she leaned forward even further, plucking a sprig of lavender and raising it to her nose with an exaggerated flourish. She inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering closed as if she were experiencing the most divine scent in the world. Telemachus felt heat creeping up his neck. He refused to look up, but her movements were impossible to ignore.

Penelope, still oblivious, glanced at her son. “Telemachus, could you hand me the shears?”

“Y-yes, Mother,” he stammered, fumbling with the gardening tools. As he stood to hand them over, his eyes involuntarily flicked back to Pandora, who was now on her knees, reaching deep into the bushes. Her chiton shifted slightly, exposing just enough of her thigh to make him gulp audibly.

Y/n glanced over her shoulder, catching his stare, and smirked. She tilted her head innocently, feigning confusion as she said, “Oh, Telemachus, is something wrong? You look…distracted.”

“Nothing’s wrong!” he snapped, his voice cracking slightly. Penelope raised an eyebrow at her son’s sudden outburst. “Are you sure? You seem a little flushed.”

“I’m fine,” Telemachus said quickly, thrusting the shears into her hands before crouching back down to attack the weeds with unnecessary harshness. Y/n chuckled softly, brushing her hands over the lavender as she stood. She gave him one last lingering look, tilting her hips slightly before walking away with deliberate slowness, her laughter trailing behind her like a playful melody.

Telemachus clenched his fists, glaring down at the dirt as if it had personally wronged him.

“Patience,” Penelope said gently, misinterpreting his frustration. “Gardening is all about patience.”

“Right,” he muttered through gritted teeth, though in his mind, he was already plotting how to get her for this.

—

The stone hallway echoed with the soft shuffle of footsteps as Telemachus walked alongside his mother. Penelope was explaining something about palace affairs, her tone calm and measured, while Telemachus nodded politely, half listening and half lost in his own thoughts. Behind them, Y/N crept along the wall like a shadow, her eyes locked on Telemachus. A mischievous grin spread across her face as she tiptoed closer. Her fingers twitched with anticipation, her smirk growing wider by the second.

Just as they reached a quiet stretch of the hall, she struck. Her hand shot out with precision, landing a sharp smack on Telemachus’s ass. The sound reverberated through the hallway like a clap of thunderbringer.

“AH!” Telemachus yelped, jumping nearly a foot in the air and clutching at ass. He whipped around, his face a mix of outrage and confusion, only to see Y/N standing there, frozen mid step like a child caught stealing sweets. “Y/N?” Penelope’s voice was sharp but measured, her eyes narrowing as she looked between her son and her.

Telemachus’s face burned red as he pointed an accusatory finger at her. “What is wrong with you?!” She quickly straightened, smoothing out her chiton as if nothing had happened. She raised her chin and, with a dramatic flourish, said, “There was a fly on his ass!”

Penelope blinked, her expression utterly unreadable.

“A… fly?” she repeated, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“Yes,” Y/N said, nodding with all the false sincerity she could muster. “A very persistent one. I merely did what any good citizen of Ithaca would do, protected the royal family from such a vile creature.” Telemachus looked like he might die on the spot. “Are you serious right now?”

Y/N shot him a look, silently pleading for him to go along with it, but it was too late. Penelope crossed her arms, her expression unimpressed. “Y/N,” the queen began, her tone sharp but restrained. “I would expect this sort of behavior from a child, not from someone in your position.” She winced, her mischievous bravado faltering. “I swear it won’t happen again, Lady Penelope.”

“It had better not,” Penelope replied, her eyes narrowing. “If you cannot behave yourself, I will have a word with your brother.”

The mention of Antinous made Y/N’s stomach sink. She nodded quickly, her usual confidence replaced with uncharacteristic meekness. Penelope sighed and turned back to her son, who was still glaring at Pandora. “Come along, Telemachus. We have work to finish.”

As they walked away, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. But as soon as Penelope’s back was turned, she couldn’t resist sticking her tongue out at Telemachus.

He groaned, rubbing his temples as he muttered under his breath, “Why me?” She stayed behind, biting her lip to stifle her laughter until she was sure they were out of earshot.

“Totally worth it,” she muttered to herself.

——

Y/N spotted Telemachus and Penelope walking side by side again through another hallway again. Her lips curled into a mischievous smirk as she silently trailed behind them. The temptation to mess with Telemachus one more time was too strong to resist. This time, she planned to be quicker, smoother. She would land her strike and dart away before Penelope even noticed she was there. Steeling herself, she crept closer. Her hand hovered just behind Telemachus’s back, ready to make its move. But at the last second, Penelope stepped ever so slightly into Pandora’s path, completely oblivious to the chaos about to ensue.

SMACK!

Y/N’s hand collided with Penelope’s ass instead of Telemachus’s.

The queen froze mid step, her back straightening like a string had been pulled taut. Telemachus whipped around, his jaw dropping as he took in the scene. Y/N, meanwhile, had turned pale as ghost. Her hand hovered awkwardly in the air where Penelope’s back had just been, and she looked like she might faint on the spot.

Penelope turned slowly, her expression a mix of shock and simmering fury. “Y/N,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “What in the name of the gods was that?” Pandora stammered, her usual quick wit utterly failing her. “I—uh—it was—” She glanced desperately at Telemachus, who was too busy trying not to burst into laughter to be of any help. “I-It was an accident!” She finally blurted out.

“An accident?” Penelope repeated, her eyebrow arching in disbelief.

“Yes!” Y/N nodded furiously. “I was aiming for—” She stopped herself just in time, realizing that admitting the truth would only make things worse. “I—I thought I saw…another fly?”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed. “Another fly.”

Y/N nodded again, sweating profusely. “Yes, exactly! A huge, menacing one! It’s been buzzing around all day, really. You didn’t see it?” Penelope crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “This wouldn’t happen to be the same imaginary fly you claimed to see earlier, would it?”

Telemachus, unable to hold it in any longer, let out a snort of laughter, which he quickly tried to disguise as a cough. Penelope’s gaze shifted to her son, then back to Y/N. “Did Antinous put you up to this?” she asked sharply. “Because this reeks of one of his idiotic schemes.”

Her eyes widened in panic. “No! No, Antinous has nothing to do with this, I swear!” Penelope studied her for a long, tense moment before letting out a heavy sigh. “Y/N, I am this close to losing my patience with you. Whatever this nonsense is, it ends now. Am I clear?”

“Yes, my lady,” she mumbled, looking thoroughly chastised. Penelope shook her head and turned to Telemachus. “Come along, Telemachus. Let’s leave before she causes any more trouble.”

As they walked away, Y/N slumped against the wall, her face burning with embarrassment. She could feel Telemachus’s smug grin without even looking at him. Just before they disappeared around the corner, Telemachus glanced back, his expression somewhere between amusement and triumph. “Nice aim,” he mouthed, before turning back to his mother.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress @f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho

[emshiftss]

‧ new year's shifting pick a pile ✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

{ i've been meaning to do another collective reading but honestly forgot, but hey it's a new year so... this will just be anything you may need to hear right now. i hope you find what you were looking for, and if i was able to help in any way then i'm glad. and just like any other reading you find, take what resonates and leave what doesn't }

❆ take a deep breath... and choose the pile you're most drawn to...

✿ PILE ONE ⋰˚☆

KEYWORDS/SIGNS: rain, orange slices, pie, hot tea, 777, gloomy weather, allergies, ears ringing, dogs barking/whining, 222, trust, hourglass, boredom, keys, heart ache, homesick, road trips, four leaf clover, golden child, shaking hands

❆ a decision, a choice. is this right? am i making the wrong choice? let’s take a deep breath ok? it seems you are at a crossroads of sorts. perhaps you don’t know what to do with yourself when it comes to your shifting journey. that’s ok! whatever this issue is for you specifically, i believe you already have they answer. let’s slow the roll, take some deep breaths and try to see this clearly. to me it seems you are over consuming information. i suggest you log off of social media for a bit, sit with yourself and look over the information you already have, discard what no longer fits you and keep what works. you know you best! some random person online cannot (unfortunately) fix your supposed problems for you. no matter how much advice you seek, you can only do that. you need to let go of this internal struggle, you are only fighting yourself, creating resistance. if the answers still seem to be foggy to you, perhaps you can meditate and look for the answers there.

❆ it seems your mind might be in the midst of chaos, or perhaps your life is as well. yet when it comes to your shifting journey you may just be on the brink of a spiritual awakening you desire (or need). the clarity is within YOU. it looks like you are walking down this path with a blindfold on, unsure of where you are going, what choices to make. maybe there is something you don’t want to face. but these fears and worries do not need to hold you back. let’s try to use them to your advantage. face what is holding you back and if you just can’t rid it, know that it does not stop you, only shows a different part of yourself.

❆ instead of putting your journey and motivations on others, it’s time to look within. there’s only so much more “new” information you can gain. your journey is yours and yours alone. that doesn’t mean it has to be a lonely one though. trust that you have the answers, and trust that there is still a community for you! having so many different pieces of information and advice forced upon you to try and digest and make use of is not helping you. sit with yourself and ask yourself if there is genuinely anything you still need to learn from others at this point? at what point do you let it all go and just use it to your benefit?

❆ maybe creating some sort of routine will help you as well, setting up some self-discipline. on the flip side you may need to let go of perfectionism as well. you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. shifting is supposed to be fun. maybe reflect on what you can do to make this all the more enjoyable. let go of the process and remember where you started.

SONGS ✧

‧ ₊ escaper - sarah kinsley

“ everything changed

but my mind couldn’t change me ”

‧ ₊ wildflower - beach house

“ need a companion…

a hidden prayer

you know your not losing your mind

what’s left, you make something of it ”

‧ ₊ eye contact - fromis_9

“ When I closed my eyes and felt it, there was a small gap between you and me

I want to see you again, I want you so…

When you look at me, the moment I started believing in eternity

When I look at you, it was possible because of you ”

METHOD SUGGESTION ✧

{ remember you don't need a method! }

‧ ₊ void/pure conscious

‧ ₊ julia method

✿ PILE TWO ⋰˚☆

KEYWORDS/SIGNS: waterfalls, cinnamon, 444, crows, 88, water damage. doubles, holiday, patience, crowns, one of a kind, eye on the prize, chocolate cake, stars

❆ let’s take a moment to give yourself a pat on the back! give yourself space to celebrate your accomplishments, big or small, bright or dim. it’s ok to reflect and give yourself credit for all you’ve done, someone has to, and you deserve it. you are at a place of harmony and balance in your journey. embrace it! know that you already have it, and if necessary take a breather, pause and look around yourself. look at all you’ve achieved! it will still be here for you, even if you take a break from it all. whether it’s here or in your desired reality, you are surrounded by so much love and support. even on your worst days. your vision is clear, if you're ready, know that it is yours, and make that first step. perhaps all you need is a little reassurance, you got this!

❆ you’ve clearly invested a lot into yourself and your journey. your hard work will pay off, you just need to sit back and let it. perhaps you are confused over slow results. yet you should persist, for it is already yours. stay in a mindset of gratefulness, if needed share your feelings with someone, talk it out.

❆ stay steady and clear, you are on the right path. if victory is what you want, victory is what you’ll get. you are just on the verge of making a breakthrough. keep going. embrace all your ideas and write them down. let yourself create your vision, live in that moment. your creativity is your strength. you may be overwhelmed with the excitement, all the possibilities. harness it and let it push you further. it is all up to you.

SONGS ✧

‧ ₊ mariners apartment complex - lana del rey

“ i ain’t no candle in the wind

i’m the board, the lighting, the thunder…

they mistook my kindness for weakness ”

‧ ₊ numb - men i trust

“ please forgive me if i ever did you wrong

i’ll be your candle; burn me upside down ”

‧ ₊ moon song - beabadoobee

“ i’m lying on the moon

my dear, i’ll be there soon

it’s a quiet and starry place

time’s we’re swallowed up

in space we’re a million miles away ”

METHOD SUGGESTION ✧

{ remember you don't need a method! }

‧ ₊ intention

‧ ₊ lucid dreaming

✿ PILE TWO ⋰˚☆

KEYWORDS/SIGNS: love, pairing, 555, daydream, interruptions, cats, heartbreak, lonesome, tears, sleeping in, not sleeping enough, castles, cages, 333, 1212, floating

❆ it has been a long journey for you, a hard one at that. you may have found yourself in many setbacks. perhaps you blame yourself, there’s a lot of sadness and anger here. in this moment you can choose forgiveness, forgive yourself and know that it’s all ok. whatever has happened, there’s no use for guilt. open up to a friend, a stranger, someone. vocalize your feelings and hardships. with mistakes you can learn and grow from them, and ultimately come out stronger in the end. show yourself grace and love, and set your eyes on newer and better things. know that no matter what you can still trust yourself. take small steps and build yourself back up. find the romance and beauty in shifting again, it’ll always be there.

❆ i see that you may be someone shifting for love. keep your partner in mind. despite everything, please remember you are deserving of love and happiness. keep your love close to you. just as you wish to be with them, use it to bring you two together. your emotions are not a flaw, feel them, sit with them, BE them. wherever you are and where you want to be, what are you feeling? are you in your bed? perhaps the arms of your lover. whoever you want to be, FEEL IT, let your compassion drive you forward. there’s no need to be embarrassed over your feelings, they are valid, and so are you.

❆ you need to make the decision. you can’t sit in despair forever, pick yourself up and know that there are better things for you. use it all to your advantage, all the bad just as the good. being interrupted during a meditation? that’s fine, it doesn’t have to stop you forever. Distracted? that’s ok, take a deep breath and know that it doesn’t have to hold you back, unless you let it. you don't have to have the most squeaky clean mindset ever to shift, that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense does it? accept where you are at, and accept where you want to go.

SONGS ✧

‧ ₊ whale - kim sejeong

“ i find you hidden in the dark night sky

when i walk on the purple road among the clouds

Can I face you only at the end of the darkness?…

Where did you disappear

i miss my whale…

time has become today in front of you ”

‧ ₊ high - slow pulp

“ i have to much in my pockets

i wish they were empty…

my limbs are feeling lazy

why won’t they work with me?

and now i can’t seem to focus my eyes

won’t let me see ”

‧ ₊ sweet nothing - taylor swift

“ they said the end is comin’,

everyone’s up to somethin’

i find myself runnin’ home to your sweet nothings…

to you, i can admit that i'm just to soft for all of it ”

METHOD SUGGESTION ✧

{ remember you don't need a method! }

‧ ₊ fives senses

‧ ₊ staircase method

‧ ₊ wake back to bed

[fanaticsnail]

I just reread Vulnerability and it just made my heart freaking melt! Do you think Wire would ever meet someone who made him feel that way? Or what his type would be?

I am so glad you like that one!! I loved writing it so much, simply because I adore Heat. But I digress.

Lets talk about Wire.

The way I personally characterise Wire is like a black cat on the outside, but once he warms up to you, he is the largest, sloppiest Great Dane with joint pain on the inside.

He wants someone to work a little bit to get his sweet side, but once they've got it, they've got it. All bark, also bite when provoked, but he wants to have those soft moments of comfort in the solace of his quarters with his favourite person.

He is a little bit of a diva: he likes to smell good, and he likes looking good too. He manicures, enjoys massages, facials, and pedicures to match. He likes taking care of himself, but it's exhausting most times and would prefer to be taken care of. He's just so tired, but does it all for the sake of feeling his best.

When he's coupling with an overnight lover, he's rough and dangerous. Yes, they will feel good when he's done with them, but there is no tenderness to his actions. When it's someone he loves, he melts and is an absolute enabler. He acts tough on the outside, especially considering his advanced age in comparison to the rest of his crew, but is the most secret softie.

He's one of the oldest members of the crew, over a decade older than his captain, and thinks he's past the age of indulging romance. He prefers flings simply because it's easier to get up and leave in the morning - knees clicking in protest and all.

Until you.

As a predominantly 'x reader' writer, I think you're his type. Just as you are, he loves you.

When Wire is in love, he tries to fight it. It starts off as small waves of favouritism. Where you sit, he'll be almost right beside you. He has a small amount of possessiveness in his eyes each time someone gets close enough to touch you. Heckles up, as it were. You're your own person, and so is he, but he wants you to be his person as well.

If you are someone who will:

Not mind that he's a little older.

Fight past that crunchy outer layer to get to his gooey centre.

Dote on him and enjoy working out his joint pain.

Be happy with a large size difference.

Allow him to be the bigger person and protect you in battle.

Put up with a few aspects of his 'diva' mentality.

Indulge in joining him on spa days.

Spoil him. Spoil this man. Make a wife out of him.

You're his type. Even if you don't meet this fictitious criteria, I still think you're his type.

The fic I'm writing for Wire right now is with a 'you' who only meets a few of these points, and he still loves you for it. Whatever 'you' you are, he will embrace completely.

Thank you for your ask! This was beautiful to think about, and I hope you enjoy my thoughts on it.

[notomys-mordax-blog]

Part 2: Neve Gallus and the Shadow Dragons

Overall: 7/10

Important things first. I absolutely love Neve's design. Her casual outfit with the IDGAF unbuttoned shirt is 10/10. She's both very fashion-forward and feminine, but doesn't look soft. It's neat. The only real critique I have here is that I don't like how most of her face is hidden by her hat. While this felt like an intentional choice, I think it detracted more than it added to her vibes. 

Speaking of vibes, Neve's vibes are impeccable. She's a classic hardboiled detective solving mysteries and putting anything resembling a feeling in a box where it can't hurt her. They really leaned into the film-noir vibes with her voice direction with mixed results. Sometimes it's really effective, but other times it's stilted, especially next to characters who haven't been pulled out of a crime procedural. Overall, I really enjoyed her bit, but I can understand where critique about her voice direction comes from.

Despite her serious allergy to admitting her emotions, you can see how deeply she cares about the people around her by her actions. This worked really well in her interactions with the companions, but was a little bit more uneven when it came to Rook. I really liked seeing the social activities around the Lighthouse, but it was disappointing that Rook wasn't really directly involved in any of them. As a result they felt like an outsider (or like the Boss that people don't want to get too close to).

You could also see this with Neve herself. She liked to give the other characters small, practical advice and support for their problems, but didn't really seem to give Rook (who frankly, has more serious problems than a lot of his companions) the same treatment. I think this is really an area where the writing would have benefited from the addition of some barks and greetings to help link the "relationship-level-up" scenes and make it feel more like the characters are slowly getting to know each other, versus have an uneven sort of ladder where the relationship moves in jumps and starts.

This unfortunately also extends to her romance. I am the kind of person who really enjoys NPC romances. It not only makes me feel like the characters have more agency, but it is often a two-cakes scenario when it comes to interesting ships. The gender inversion of the detective x femme fatale of the pairing between Neve and Lucanis is really interesting, and they both use acts of service as their love language. Unfortunately, while the two of them have a lot of chemistry with each other, their chemistry with the player character is pretty flat. Lucanis's romance suffers more, in my opinion, because the content is so much sparser, but I also felt it with Neve.  My poor head canons need to do a lot of heavy lifting to make the Veilguard relationships work. 

Neve's role in the story is twofold. She helps provide a number of useful connections in Northern Thedas (Harding also plays this role). Additionally, she's our guide to Minrathous. For a Rook who does not have a Shadow Dragons origin, she's responsible for convincing the player that the city is worthy of saving. Personally I feel like the narrative emphasized how hopeless the whole situation in Dock Town a bit too much. I would have liked the narrative to give approximately 15% more weight to scenes like Hal and his fish-stand to show that Dock Town had good people and was worth trying to salvage.

Admittedly, I'm also pretty disappointed that we finally get to see THE BIGGEST AND MOST MAGICAL CITY IN THEDAS, but are limited to just exploring Dock Town which feels like a pretty generic fantasy dock town. I feel like this was a big missed opportunity. Frankly I would have preferred if Veilguard was set entirely in one city and we had the chance to really explore that one location. 

Neve is one of two characters who can become hardened. This is done not through her personal quest, but through an early-game decision to choose which of two cities to protect from a blighted dragon attack. Thematically I like how the game is moving away from good versus evil choices. One of the major themes the story was trying to tell was that there are sometimes no "good" choices. There are some interesting parallels between Solas and Rook and the themes of regret. What I found awkward here was that there really wasn't justification for why Rook played such a key role in the defence of the city (and subsequently why people outside of Neve/Lucanis blamed Rook for what happened). I also think that the narrative could have done a smoother job explaining that with Minrathous, the problem was not in the defence of the city, so much as it was the political implications. I think this choice would have felt more interesting if they worded it more explicitly to be a choice between protecting the civilians in a city from the immediate brutality of the dragon attack (Treviso) versus protecting the civilians in a city from the long-term brutality of an oppressive political regime (Minrathous). 

As a slight aside, I did feel like it was kind of goofy that Neve, who is a well-known public figure, could just waltz into a venatori gathering. 

Her personal quest is a paint by numbers affair. You help her with a case that spirals into a confrontation with her nemesis, a venatori mage. She needs to be guided through choosing to leverage the help of a shady organization, or crack the case through legitimate channels. It folded in nicely with the main story, but did illustrate the problems with the venatori as one of the main groups of villains.

Part of me almost wishes that the outcome of Neve's personal quest would depend on whether or not she was hardened, versus something that you explicitly chose. I feel like hardening Neve had much fewer implications on the story than hardening Lucanis, and I would have liked to see some story changes. 

The Shadow Dragons

I really liked the idea of the Shadow Dragons. I think they were probably my favorite of the factions. It was really brutal to see what happened to them if you chose to save Treviso over Minrathous. I also feel like their existence could have gone a long way in explaining why the culture of Tevinter was so different from what we might've expected given how it was depicted in the games based in Southern Thedas. Throw in a few lines about how attitudes of slavery in Tevinter have been shifting over the last 10 years due to changes in policy from Dorian and Mae, underground movements like the Shadow dragons and maybe, for bonus points, a certain elf who has been cutting his way through slavers. 

Not including Fenris in the Shadow Dragons really does feel like a missed opportunity. Quantum characters are one of the general design problems with the Dragon Age games. Getting to see cameos of characters from previous entries into the series is a lot of fun, and something that the series wants to do. Unfortunately, because of the complexities that would arise from the different configurations in people's worlds, these cameos either have to be super shallow so an NPC can be easily slotted in -- or people's previous canon need to be handwaved a-la Leliana-lyrium-ghost. Personally, I'd prefer half-assed explanations about why a character who should have been dead (or otherwise incapacitated) is back in action, but that's not really a good solution either. Frankly I think returning characters end up creating a sort of damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don't situation. 

Back to the Shadow Dragons. I liked them! I think my only quibble is that the Viper being the Black Divine was a weird narrative choice. I'm not complete with my save-mintrathous playthrough, so this might end up coming up more in the future, but thus-far, this revelation has been treated like a fun Easter egg. I also thought it was kind of funny (derogatory) that the ventatori who captured him didn't think to unmask the mysterious masked leader of the rebellion. I think the reason they didn't was because the narrative didn't want to deal with the fallout ... which is kinda lame. 

Another intrusive thought I had whenever I saw him was that there is a whole masked empire in the south, and whether or not people thought that the Viper was from Orlais. This is a dumb thought, but it is one that I couldn't help but think.

How I would fix it: 

Neve's storylines are folded into the main story much closer than Harding's. This means that resolving them would require addressing some of the deeper flaws in Veilguard's narrative. Despite my desire to write multi-thousand word essays analyzing the flaws of the game, I did ultimately enjoy playing it and would describe the experience as being a mostly fun romp with likeable characters and an interesting story that sometimes flubs the execution. I ran across a post describing DAV as one of the most polished unfinished games they've ever played, and this really resonated with me. 

The Venatori (and Antaam) were one-note villains with the same pedigree as Corypheus. Note how I didn't name a specific Venatori. Aelia, who was the main antagonist of Neve's route, didn't really have much going on besides "evil venatori blood mage". While I don't think we need to make the pro-slavery nationalists sympathetic, I do feel like they would be more effective villains if it was more clear what their goals would actually look like for the people on the ground. As an aside, my eye twitched a little bit every time the phrase artifact or ritual was used. This felt like a huge opportunity to add a little bit of flavor into the stew. I don't think we need major lore reveals, but what seems more interesting: "We've got to stop the Venatori from using an artifact to complete a ritual" or "We've got to stop the Venatori from using the Chalice of Lost Souls from making legwarmers soul weave"? 

Not specifying what the ritual or artifact was really made it clear that these things were just MacGuffins, and doesn't give the player any idea about why the Venatori are evil. While I think the scenes in Arlathan were they tortured animals while sitting on human chairs, it at least gave some specificity to their evil. 

The Tevinter presented in Veilguard doesn't really reflect how the Empire was presented in the previous games.  If the narrative choice to downplay racism and slavery was done because the creative team no longer felt interested in those themes or equipped to write them a statement should have been made to this effect. Regardless, the in-game cultural shift would be much less jarring for a returning player if some in-universe explanation had been provided. In the previous section I discussed a few different factors that may have shifted the attitude of the general population in Tevinter. This would help show the player that the Tevinter they've heard about isn't really representative of what the "average" Tevinter citizen is like. I think this could be accomplished really smoothly with a banter between Neve and Harding. Harding is surprised to see that the elves are treated more poorly in the South than in Tevinter. She can talk about the horrific blood orgies she's heard about. Neve can bring up that the average Tevinter citizen is horrified that the Danariuses of their country are how other nations perceive them. Additionally, this would help give the player a better idea of what the stakes for allowing the Ventori to get a foothold in Minrathous would be. It's the cultural traditionalists of Tevinter who want to go back to blood orgies. 

My making the Venatori more compelling villains, I think you'd end up fixing 70% of the problems with Neve's story. 

In terms of the other 30%  percent, this is really where you feel the pain of removing the small ways the player can interact with the companions. Even though walking up to the companion and overhearing "hey Rook" is narratively identical to needing to press x to initiate the same "hey rook" conversation, it feels different from a gameplay perspective. Adding this back in would help make it feel like Rook was actually talking to his companions. I would also have really liked to involve Rook into the slice-of-life activities at the Lighthouse! Let the player decide if Rook would be interested in joining a book club, or explore what kind of cook Rook would be. I think this would help the feeling that Rook is a weird boss who listens in on people's conversations. 

In Conclusion: 

I like Neve a lot and think that the idea of a detective procedural set in Thedas has a lot of potential. I really liked her interactions with the other characters (especially Bellara!) and enjoyed watching her slowly warm up to the party. It's just a bit of a shame that I didn't get the same sense of slowly building friendship from the player-character. 

As an aside, Tevinter Nights definitely enhances the experience of playing Veilguard. In addition to providing introductions for most of the companions, it also introduces a lot of important NPCS, this is where you see Neve first confront Aelia.  

As another aside, I'm tired of games with end-of-the-world stakes. DA2 is probably my favorite entry into the series, and it has a much smaller scale than the other games. I really would have enjoyed a game consisting of helping Neve unravel mysteries in Minrathous and think that narratively, that sort of story is much easier to tell in a satisfying way.

So those are my thoughts on Neve. I would drink whisky with her while we speculated on who the Viper actually was, but first we need to do something about those Venatori (explain what the heck the cult actually wants).

[elkian]

Finally reading Dungeon Meshi proper and like, I fully acknowledged that Laios was Mega Autistic before even getting here but wow

I think my favorite example tbh is when a former party member is waling on him and shouting grievances and Laios starts punching back BUT it is incredibly obvious that he isn't coming at this fistfight from the same emotional angle at all. His expression is one shade off from 8> the whole time. It's like he got punched in the face and realized Sureau was gonna keep going and was like "oh, this is how we're interacting now? Okay, I'll do my best!" I love him.

[aidenwaites]

AHH IM SO PROUD OF RENFIELD

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

My dads finally going out of town

I get 4 days of unimpeded dog training

[voxhypno]

DAY 1

It's just one file, you tell yourself. You've been curious about hypnosis for a long time, bumming around in a few chatrooms where "hypnotists" wait all of 30 seconds to try clumsily to make you send them pictures of your ass, and eventually you stumble across a link that leads to the video that you're staring at now.

"Obedience School (Puppyplay)", proclaims the title, along with a still image of a green spiral, mid-swirl.

You tell yourself, "Here goes nothing", and press play.

The spiral leaps to life, spinning around and around on your screen, immediately drawing your eye. As a low, warm, soft voice begins to play through your headphones, telling you that it's okay, you can relax, your eyes start to flutter. Your body begins to feel floaty and light as your mind... just...

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

You wake up on the floor, the computer screen frozen on a spiral no longer spinning. Your clothes are half-removed, as if someone or something with no knowledge of how they work tried to pull them gracelessly off of your body.

Your face is flushed, your hair disheveled, and your cheeks and chest covered in... drool?

Blushing furiously, you wipe yourself clean and try to remember what happened. Bits and pieces flicker through your mind... your tongue sticking out... the feeling of carpet against your palms and knees... and a warm, all-encompassing happiness, radiating through your brain, the ripples of pleasure and relaxation still echoing within your muddled mind.

Grinning, you save the link to the video. You know you'll be back.

Day 7

The entire day, you've found it hard to focus. You've been thinking about the video more and more often the longer you've gone without watching it.

That spiral, that voice, they just seem to beckon you. Those fleeting memories, feelings... You've been able to piece them together more now. You were a puppy, a brainless, happy animal. You crawled around, did tricks, panted and barked. Ordinarily you'd find it embarrassing.

You don't, though.

It was a nice break, being a puppy. Not having to think about your job, your worries, your cares. You just got the chance to bliss out and enjoy the feeling of being cared for, being told what to do, not having to stress for once.

You walk into your room, resolute. You're going to watch the video again. You need to know whether it was a fluke or not.

As you walk to your desk, without even really considering it, you pull your clothes off, sitting down naked. For a moment, you wonder why, but you remember the way that your clothes were disheveled last time. Of course. It makes sense for a puppy to be naked. Puppies aren't used to clothes. You're a good puppy.

...you stop, momentarily confused. Where did that come from?

Shaking your head, you click play on the video, and the spiral starts up again. This time the voice doesn't even say 5 words before you're drifting away.

You're so immediately out of it that you don't notice you were softly panting before the video even started.

DAY 30

You're barely even inside the door before you start ripping your clothes off, your hands paws clumsily pulling you free. A few weeks ago, you would have at least worried that the neighbors would see you. Now, that thought doesn't even enter your mind.

You drop to your knees all fours where a good puppy belongs and crawl to your living room, where you've set the spiral up on your TV. You're already panting and wiggling with excitement.

In your hazy head, you still can't believe that you managed to work up the courage to message the creator of the video Master. He was so understanding and nice! He called you a good puppy for being able to type out that whole message with your hands paws, and he even started making some special videos for you! You can't help but wag your butt tail at the thought of having such a nice new friend Master.

The spiral starts up, and you're already gone. Plopping down in a perfect sit position like you've been trained to do, tongue out, happily staring and letting your mind be coaxed and teased away by Master.

You know what you are now. You've heard it over and over again. You're a puppy. A dumb dim doggy pet. You love to crawl. You love to bark. You love to play and do tricks and get belly rubs and treats.

When you finally squeaked out a blushing request to see the man behind the voice, Master very kindly obliged. And it was then that you learned something very special about being a puppy.

You go into heat very easily.

It wasn't long before you were whimpering and begging on a video call, Master chuckling as you bounced up and down on a dildo, a rubber bone between your teeth to match the one you were riding.

Wasn't long before you were panting over pictures and videos of his cock, sliding in and out of a pocket pussy held in his strong hand, while his deep calming voice whispered into your mind that it should be you there taking his dick into every one of your happy puppy holes.

Lost in adoration and arousal, you barely even realize that the spiral has ended. You have commands you don't remember receiving. You no longer want to resist them. You don't remember ever wanting to resist them.

You crawl to your cell phone, laying on the floor. You open it and type in a number you don't recognize with your paws. You mindlessly bark into the receiver. And you hear the voice you love so much.

"Good dog! Sit tight, girl. I'm gonna come get you, okay?"

You don't even hear the last part. As soon as the words "good dog" hit your ears, you were already cumming your mind away.

DAY ???

You sleepily rise from your bed in the den, stretching out and yawning, flexing your paws. You shake your head, trying to clear it, the tag on your collar jingling. You're so thoroughly conditioned that even that little sound sends a wave of emptiness and pleasure through your head, and you press your pussy against the rough fabric of your bed, humping brainlessly.

Your sleepy mind registers the sound of the front door opening, and you bolt out of bed, leaving behind a dripping wet spot that you'll come back to idly sniff and lick at later. Master is home!

Barking, you scamper into the living room on all fours, the tail plug in your ass swishing from side to side as you rush to Master's side, pressing your cheek against his leg and panting happily.

He smiles, scritches you in your favorite spot behind your ears, and says some words that you no longer understand. Somewhere in the sounds falling from his lips are the words "good girl", though, so you cum unthinkingly, automatically, with a whimper. Like a good, well-trained puppy.

As the glow fades, you can't help but press your chest to the floor, hiking your rump in the air, staring at him pleadingly and swaying your tail back and forth. You need a treat so bad... You were a good dog and waited all day... And Master seems to understand.

He chuckles, and as per your daily welcome-home ritual, he unzips his pants to reveal your favorite treat. That dick that broke you. The cock that helped you realize your place, owned and collared. No past, no future, no stress, no worry. You almost cum again at the sight of it as you sit pretty, just as you were taught.

Teasingly, Master waves that perfect cock in front of your face, the scent of it doing nothing to stem the flow of your drool onto the floor. He's making the sound that means "wait", and so you do. You're a good dog.

He snaps his fingers, and your mind disappears.

And as you eagerly pounce, slobbering and licking over Master's cock and looking up at him with empty, adoring eyes, you know for certain that you've never been happier.

[starcrossedmusings]

Pretty Hands

Pairing: best friend!Yunho x f!reader WC: 3.2k Warnings: eventual smut, reader has a thing for Yunho's hands (who doesn't??), swearing, fingering, choking, a little bit of degradation (he compares her to a whore literally once), PRAISE so much praise, Yunho talks reader through it (you're welcome), pov is kinda all over the place just let it be, Yunho is absolutely WHIPPED for reader teehee, probably some other things that I missed (let me know)

Summary: You and Yunho have been friends for years, and you tell each other everything. He suddenly takes a much more vested interest in your love life when you can't stop mentioning your newest interest.

A/N: This is entirely self indulgent and also I just wanted to get something full posted. The Phantom fic is turning out to be much longer than I originally anticipated (and so did this one once I started writing it). Let me know what you think♡

Stepping into Yunho's apartment had always felt like coming home, and today was no exception. You take your shoes off in the tiled entryway and pad your way through the main living area, calling out to him as you walk.

"Yun? I'm here!"

His muffled response flows down from the end of the hall, "Bedroom!"

You make your way through the back hallway and enter his room, finding him exactly where you thought he would be, focused in on his computer. There's a selection of empty drink cans and snack wrappers scattered around his desk, which tells you that whatever he's currently building on Minecraft has probably occupied the majority of his day so far. He pauses the game and turns his chair to face you.

"Whats up?"

"Got bored at home and my roommate isn't even trying to muffle her pornstar moans for her new boy toy."

Yunho barks out a laugh, "Does she seriously sound--"

"Just like it Yun I can't make this shit up. I'm starting to think maybe they're recording themselves in there."

Yunho wiggles his eyebrows as he stretches his arms up and over his head, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if I ever see your living room on Pornhub I'll be sure to let you know"

You crinkle your nose. "Ew. I do NOT need to know that."

"Whatever, don't act like you haven't been talking to me for weeks about how horny you are. If I have to hear about your vibrator dying one more time I'm gonna buy you a new one myself."

"You try getting unintentionally edged three nights in a row with a full charge, it's some bullshit Yun. Besides, I'm allowed to complain about my dry spell."

Yunho scoffs, tone playful and lighthearted. "Dry spell? It's been what? Two months?"

"It's been three thank you very much." You move to sit on his bed.

"Well some of us haven't had sex in much longer."

"Oh, please, that girl that San was messing around with was all over you at his birthday party last month, don't tell me you didn't take that opportunity."

Yunho raises his eyebrows in shock, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait, really?"

"Oh my GOD Yun you are so oblivious. Yes really. She was all giggly and twirling her hair and shit. That's like...girl flirting basics."

"I am not oblivious, I am actually quite observant. I could tell you things about yourself you don't even know. I just have my sights set on someone and that someone is not her."

You shoot him an incredulous look and snort out a laugh, leaning back to lay down completely on his bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Sure Yun, whatever makes you feel better."

You hear Yunho stand from his chair and feel his weight shift onto the mattress. He appears in your vision, a challenging playful sparkle in his eyes as he peers down at you. "Okay, fine. I can tell that you're trying out a new perfume, you just went shopping because your leggings are a different brand than you usually wear, and I know that you washed your hair last night because you're wearing it all the way down today."

You do your best to ignore the way your stomach summersaults at his attention to detail about you and your routines. You roll onto your side and prop your head up on your elbow, matching his challenging gaze. "Okay Sherlock Holmes. What kind of underwear am I wearing then?"

Yunho pauses to consider before responding "a thong, probably black." You grin triumphantly and lean in just a bit closer.

"Wrong. I'm not wearing any. You lose!" You stick your tongue out playfully at him and he swats your shoulder, falling back onto his mattress.

"You set me up!"

"Face it Yun, I'm just better than you."

"Yeah yeah, whatever" Yunho pouts, voice hightening slightly from surprise. He can feel a slight redness creeping up his ears and prays his hair has grown long enough to cover it. 'I'm not wearing any.' He clears his throat. "So why go commando? You finally planning to seduce your new conquest?"

"He is not a new conquest, he doesn't even know I like him."

"He will once he knows you aren't wearing any underwear for him" Yunho jokes, smiling cheekily. You smack at his chest.

"I didn't want to do laundry last night, asshole. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"You're one to talk" he mutters under his breath.

You sit up fully and reach for one of the pillows at the top of his bed, slamming it down on his face. "Jeong Yunho I swear to god!" On your second swing, he manages to catch the pillow with one hand and pry it from your grasp, but not before giving you an entirely unhelpful image of his long fingers gripping the plush material.

"What?? All I ever hear you talk about lately is how tall and handsome this dude is and how much his hands make you drool."

"You sound jealous."

"I'm not jealous, I'm pissed that I have to hear all about him and don't even get to know what the dude's name is."

"I told you, I'm gatekeeping this time. You run your mouth too much."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Ugh FINE whatever," Yunho chucks the pillow back towards you and you dodge it, leaving both pillows on one side of the headboard, "You're so agitating."

"You know you love me Yun. But just for the attitude," You adjust both pillows and shuffle your way back until you're leaned against both of them, "no pillow for you for tonights doomscrolling session."

He huffs a laugh and scoots up to meet you, pulling out his phone and settling in against the headboard.

An hour later you get up to go to the bathroom, and when you get back Yunho has stolen both of his pillows. You frown and cross your arms. "Hey, asshole, those were mine!"

"Yeah?" He taunts playfully, "Well they were mine to begin with, and my back is killing me. So deal." You roll your eyes and cross back over to the bed, crawling over the side you've been sitting on and curling yourself into Yunho's side to rest your head against his chest. You feel him tense slightly underneath you before he moves one of his arms around your shoulders to let you lay more comfortably.

"There's no way in hell I'm sitting up against that cold ass metal frame you call a headboard." You mutter as you begin scrolling. Yunho's chuckle rumbles through his chest and tickles your cheek. You both sit in silence for a while, content to scroll on your phones. Eventually, you turn to look up at him from his chest.

"I meant to ask how your new project has been going. Whatever you were building when I came in looked pretty intense." You can see the faint tinge of red trail up his ears and neck--a telltale sign that whatever you caught him building makes him embarrassed. You sit up, propping your weight on your elbow and placing a hand on his chest to shove him slightly. "Ooooo now you have to tell me what it is!"

"It's embarrassing..."

"Tell me tell me tell me tell me--"

"Okay fine, fuck. I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh--"

"I won't I swear!"

"Pinky promise?" He holds his pinky out to you, and you raise a hand from his chest. Before you can lace your pinky in his, he pulls his hand up above his head. "I'm serious, Y/N, if you laugh I'll have no choice but to tickle you to death."

He's definitely not stalling because he has to come up with a reply, because he certainly hasn't been building a treehouse for you in what he hopes will one day be a shared server. Yunho thinks to himself that he would rather die than let you find out.

You scoff, "I won't laugh...and even if I did I'm not ticklish so your threat is a moot point."

Yunho drops his hand down onto the mattress. "Bullshit."

"It's not. I don't have a ticklish bone in my body."

"Liar."

You shake your head, and Yunho takes the opportunity to gently press the pads of his fingers into the sides of your ribs. The sensation hits you almost immediately, and you feel the tight feeling in your chest as he begins tickling you. You squeal and thrash around in his grasp, trying desperately to get away from his assault.

"Yun stop it--"

"Not until you admit you're a liar!" You begin to giggle and manage to roll away from him, but Yunho is quick to follow. He swings a long leg over your hips and pins you beneath him, a single large hand trapping both of your wrists above your head while the other dances across your ribs. "Admit it," He sings out.

"Okay! Okay fine I'm a liar!" You gasp out between laughter. Yunho beams down at you and immediately stops tickling your sides, leaving you panting underneath him--

Oh fuck...you're panting underneath him.

He can almost feel the shift in the air as he stares down at you. He knows he should move, just roll off of you and make up some bullshit lie about what he was building. You like someone else, and he clearly wasn't getting out of the friend zone any time soon. He's just making a fool of himself...and yet he just can't bring himself to stop memorizing the way you look splayed out beneath his hips. Eventually he forces himself to stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls or the sliver of your tummy that's poking out from underneath your shirt that's riding up. He locks eyes with you.

Your voice comes out softer than he's ever heard you speak before. "Hey Yun?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that mystery guy I've been telling you about? The one with the pretty hands?"

A twinge of annoyance flairs in his stomach and he can't help but grumble out his reply. "Yeah?"

"I'll give you a hint. He's got me pinned to the mattress right now."

Yunho feels his heart drop deep into the pit of his stomach.

"Like...like right now he does?"

You laugh lightly. "Yeah, right now, Yun."

Yunho swallows thickly as his head starts spinning. He leans down much slower than he would have liked to, giving you plenty of time to take it back--to laugh at him and tell him you got him good. He feels like his whole body lights ablaze when you close the final gap between your lips, and suddenly he is kissing you.

In almost any circumstance that you had seen Yunho kissing someone, he was always fast-paced--hot and heavy petting in the corner of a darkened bar, dares in drunken party circles--which is why you were floored at the reverence he was kissing you with now. His mouth was steady and intense against yours, his hands roaming slowly across the expanse of your torso like he was memorizing the feel of something priceless. You gently pull your hands from his grasp and tangle them in his hair, pulling him closer and matching his intensity with your fervor. You feel his hands make their way to the lower hem of your shirt, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel his fingers ghost along the sliver of skin there. He breaks the kiss and you feel his breath fan across your face as he pants. His hands gently make their way to rest just under your shirt, not quite pushing the fabric up. He locks eyes with you.

"Is this okay?"

You chuckle gently. "Yes, Yun, you can touch me. I want you to touch me." You watch his eyes darken and his hands start running up your torso, pulling your shirt up with them.

"Where do you want me to touch you, baby?"

You exhale heavily and arch your back into his touch. "Anywhere...everywhere...I don't care."

Yunho smirks and feels his ego inflate. "You don't care? Hmm..." He starts planting kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Slow. Teasing. "If I remember correctly, you seemed pretty keen about having my hands in some specific places baby. Can you refresh my memory?"

The low whine that escapes your throat nearly sends him spiraling. "You know where...don't make me say it."

He does know, but there's nothing he wants to hear more right now than to hear you say it. He brings one hand up to your chest, cupping one of your boobs and squeezing gently as he continues peppering your neck with kisses. "Was it here? Or..." His hand trails back down and grips your hip possessively, "Here, maybe?" He hears you huff and feels your hand wrap around his wrist. You try to tug it up, and he chuckles softly but allows you to move his hand. He nips your earlobe and asks lowly, "Where do you need my hands baby?" He feels his cock twitch in his sweats when you wrap his fingers around your throat, guiding him to squeeze the sides gently. Your hands run down his chest and drop to your sides as he squeezes a little harder. "Fuck, look at you. So pretty with my hand around your neck."

You whine and buck your hips up, desperately looking for friction. Yunho coos as he looks down at you, wanting to have the image burned into his memory. He adjusts his position so he's sat on one side of you and brings his free hand to your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and watching the way you spread your legs for him. "Pretty girl, I need you to use your words. Spreading your legs like a whore isn't gonna get you what you want." He revels in the way you throw your head back onto the mattress and close your eyes, frustration evident already on your face.

"Need your fingers, Yun. Please."

Holy shit, he could combust right then and there. He smiles and traces his hands along the inside of your clothed thighs. "Good girl. So polite for me." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and pulls them down and off, leaving you bare from the waist down. "Sit up for me baby. I want you between my legs."

Yunho sits on the edge of the mattress and allows you time to sit up, moving to sit in between his thighs. He hooks your legs over his, leaving you spread and completely at his mercy. A shiver runs down your spine as the pads of his fingers run across your thighs and you gasp as they brush against your core. He presses kisses into your neck and chuckles, "You're already soaking wet, what's got you all bothered hmm? I've barely touched you..." Yunho hums and teases your entrance with this middle finger. He can feel you clenching. "Do you like my hands that much baby? All it takes is a little choking and you're putty for me." He pushes two fingers inside, pumping slowly and curling back to find your sweet spot. He feels pride flare through his chest at the noise you make, a mix between a whine and a moan that eggs him on.

Your toes curl as Yunho almost immediately finds your g-spot. The pace he sets is almost perfect, and when he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit your eyes roll back into your head. The pleasure is a building wave, and it's all you can do to keep yourself remotely still as he continues pumping his thick fingers in and out. "Oh my god, Yun, please don't stop!" You clench helplessly around his fingers and let your head roll back to rest on his shoulder.

"Awe baby I'm not gonna stop. Not until I see how pretty you look cumming all over me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?" he coos, bringing his other hand back up to your throat and squeezing lightly. "Will you cum all over my fingers? I bet you want to right? Wanna come on my fingers while I squeeze this pretty neck of yours?"

You whine and preen at his words and arch your back. Your legs begin to shake as Yunho's circling on your clit quickens pace just slightly, the thrusts of his fingers audible from the squelching between your thighs. Your breath quickens.

"My pretty girl, you're such a mess for me, aren't you? Can you hear how wet you are? All soaked for me? I bet your hands don't feel as good as mine hmm?"

You shake your head no violently, whining as he continues to talk lowly into your ear. Your orgasm builds quickly, and at this point you have no faith in your ability to speak coherently.

"No, they don't do they? I want you to show me how good my hands feel baby. Let go for me, sweetheart."

Your breath catches in your throat as you tip over the edge, and the feeling of your release washes over you. Your whole body jolts in his grasp as he continues pumping his fingers. You feel him squeeze your throat gently, just enough pressure to remind you that he's got you.

"Atta girl, look at you! Doing so good for me." You whine and buck your hips, orgasm still riding through your body. Yunho nips at your neck lightly and slows his pumping to a stop as you continue to shake. "That's it baby, just grind on them for me." The final aftershock of your orgasm finishes, and you go limp in his arms, leaning all of your weight back into his chest and breathing heavily.

Yunho pulls his fingers out and admires the mess you made on them before popping them into his mouth. He's still rock hard, and the taste of you on his fingers makes him twitch again. He'll definitely need your help with that later. He uses the hand around your neck to brush a stray hair from out of your face. "How are you feeling?"

You huff out a breathless laugh and turn your face to nuzzle into his neck. "How do you think I feel? That was...wow."

He can't help the goofy smile that crosses his face. "Oh really? Tell me more, I'd like a full report." He jokes, pulling the two of you down to snuggle on his bed. He grabs a throw blanket from your side and pulls it over the two of you and nearly melts when you curl closer to him, burying your face into his chest.

"Give me a few minutes to recover and I'll show you exactly how I'm feeling right now." Yunho rubs a hand up and down your back.

"I look forward to that."

"And then afterwards you're going to show me what you've been building."

Yunho chuckles and kisses the top of your head. No way in hell.

[aakeysmash]

a favour from college!sukuna for teaching yuuji about female private parts? deal!

college!sukuna masterlist

Your house keys dingle from your pointer finger while you get your shoes off on your front door porch.

“Hello, I’m ho- what are you doing?” You stop walking, seeing a distraught Sukuna.

“The time has come,” he tells you gravely, not looking up. His hair is a mess and his eye bags are darker than usual.

“What time?” You ask confused, pit patting toward the kitchen to make yourself a hot chocolate. You ponder for a moment with the cabinet doors open, thinking about whether to make him one too or not, finally shrugging and deciding on picking up his cup.

“You know. That time. Yuuji. At school,” he deadpans, breathing hard between words.

“What are you even talking about?” You respond, still not grabbing the concept, swirling a spoon in both cups. You just get a grunt that sounds awfully close to a whine from Sukuna. That’s such odd behaviour from him.

“Are you going to faint? Do you have a fever?” You say, now worried, reaching his still crouching form. You gently lift his face with one hand, putting the other one on his forehead. The way he lets you do it, compliantly and so naturally, worries you even more. He just stares at you, a little frown between his eyebrows, eyes a little bit lucid and he almost looks… he almost looks cute.

“You’re alright, big guy,” you softly say, booping his nose, getting your hands off of his face and hurrying back to your hot chocolate cups. He is definitely in a moment, because usually he would've bitten your whole finger off. He wrinkles his nose, scowling, before apparently realizing something and hastily getting up. He grabs your wrist and spins you around, but the strength he does it with whips you around so suddenly that you bump into his chest quite hard.

“What?!”

“You do it,” he tells you, crazy eyes wide open. He puts his rough hands on both your shoulders, stabilizing you, keeping you close enough to be able to talk to you properly but not far enough you can get away.

“What the fuck do I have to do now?” You bark, trying to wriggle out of his hold, unsuccessfully.

“Teach Yuuji about your sex parts, I’ll teach him about mine,” he rushes out, pleading eyes turned on your face.

You gape up at him, stopping your movements, and you stay like that for what feels like an eternity. You raise an eyebrow, as if asking him if he’s serious, but his expression doesn’t change. A snort comes out of your throat.

“You mean to tell me you’re fussing about having to talk about vaginas?” You ask him, now full on laughing in his face. He pushes you a bit, releasing you and grumbling.

“I’m not doing it,” he tells you, crossing his arms. “I don’t even know where to start! He came home asking me where the fuck the urethra is in females and I crashed out,” he shakes his head, distraught, your laugh still ringing in his ears.

“Do you even know the answer to that?” You smirk, turning around to put some whipped cream on your hot chocolate, and giving him his cup (no whipped cream: it's "too unhealthy" for him).

“Want me to point it out on your pussy, baby?” He scoffs, taking one big gulp of his drink.

You gasp, punching him in the stomach. He doesn’t budge and his smirk widens.

“You’re so crude. That’s it, I’m not doing it,” you tell him, walking past him, trying to contain your laugh about how his face drops immediately.

“No, wait- baby, you know I was joking,” he complains, following you toward the couch. Like a lost kitten following its owner when it hears the sound of croquettes.

“Why can’t you do it yourself anyway?” You chuckle. “Are you afraid of vaginas?”

“I wouldn’t be afraid of yours, that’s for sure,” he says, alluring, giving you a once over while you sit. He licks up a drop of chocolate left on his lower lip.

You scoff again. "Boo, bitch."

He tries a different approach. “You’re smarter than me on the subject, you’d be better than me anyway,” The act of complimenting someone is taking a toll on him. He grits his teeth.

“What am I getting out of this?” You grin, getting whipped cream on your nose and crossing your legs.

“Whatever you want, baby. Please, come on,” he crouches in front of you. “I even said please, see? You complained about it last week and I listened,” he croaks, clicking his tongue on his palate. Being nice is harder than he thought. If he has to keep it up he’s going to have a heart attack, he thinks.

“Yeah, because you want something out of it. It doesn’t count,” you sigh, closing your eyes. He shrugs. “But I’m in. I’m helping Yuuji on the big bad wolf his brother is scared of and you’re doing me a favor. Deal?”

“I’ll always deal with you, baby,” he winks. He leans over you, swiping the tip of your nose with his thumb, proceeding then to put his finger in his mouth.

“Stop with the double entendres!”

"Why don't you do this color?" asks Yuuji, next to you. There are 3 different shades of pink nail polish in front of you, and you've been thinking of which one to use on your nails for the past 10 minutes.

"I don't know, isn't it a little bit too pink-brownish?" you respond, tilting your head, pondering.

"Then this one. It matches my hair, so we could be matching!" the little kid says excitedly. Then he turns to look at you properly, the tip of his ears turning a deep red. "Only if you want, though," he continues, shily, averting your gaze after uttering the words.

Your heart squeezes painfully. "Of course I want to, Yuuji. I think that's the prettiest color out of the three," you say, ruffling his hair sweetily.

"Can you not stink the whole fucking place?" grumbles Sukuna entering the living room, grimace present on his face, barely nodding at Yuuji's wave.

"It's just a bit of nail polish, Itadori," you roll your eyes.

"I don't even know why you bother with that," he scoffs, going toward the couch, grabbing the tv remote.

"Because I'm pretty and I'm not a hater like someone else in this room," you throw back, scowling. He stays silent. "What, you don't think I'm pretty?" you ask, baffled. Sukuna side-eyes you, raising one eyebrow, before turning his gaze back to the tv.

"I think you're the prettiest," answers Yuuji in his brother's place, smiling.

"I can always count on you, Yuu," you coo, hugging him tight, and he chuckles, happy. Sukuna makes a weird sound, like he's actually disgusted about the topic.

"You know what? You're going to get some nail polish too," you say, pointing an accusatory finger in the oldest direction.

"Hell no," he immediately answers, glaring your way.

"Uhm, hell yes," you sneer.

"I said no, woman."

A light bulb figuratively pops up next to your face, and you grin, getting up and around the table to face him better. "Matter of fact, Sukuna, you owe me, so you'll do what I say."

He snaps his head toward you. "You wouldn't dare."

"Get your ass over here, big boy, you're getting your nails painted," you sing-song, doing a come here motion with your index finger. You see his jaw tick incredibly hard from where you stand, and he begrudgingly reaches you with his fists clenched.

"I hate you, bitch," he seethes when he's right in front of you.

"Can I get it too?!" screams Yuuji, bouncing up and down.

"Done," you say, delicately putting Sukuna's left hand on the table. After arguing for 15 minutes on the color, he only agreed to let you paint his nails black. If it was for you, he'd have at least 5 different colors on them. He hums.

"It's not that bad, is it?" you ask, wiggling your eyebrows. "I think I did a pretty good job. Black fits your hands really well," you ramble on, applying hand cream on his rough finger pads. Actually fucking training will do that to you, he barked when you complained about his callouses a few minutes ago.

"Stop acting like I'm one of your girls," sighs your roommate, shaking his pink roots.

"You're my main girl, Sukuna," you smirk, sending him a flying kiss.

He gags. "Never say that shit again or I'm pulling out your vocal chords with my new freshly done nails," he says, mocking you in the last part of the sentence, tilting his voice incredibly high.

"Ohhh. You actually like them, huh," you respond, seeing through his bluff, smiling with your full teeth on display. He scoffs, looking over at his now black nails. He has to admit, you did your thing with them.

"Like is a strong word."

"So, you... love them?"

"Shut up."

[murdockparker]

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say. 

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed. 

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”   

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by. 

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise. 

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?” 

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?” 

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion. 

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more. 

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct. 

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”  

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.” 

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.   

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room. 

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it. 

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process. 

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze. 

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.” 

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal. 

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”  

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display. 

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter. 

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door. 

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon. 

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask. 

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say. 

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish. 

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly. 

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered. 

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck. 

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water. 

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face. 

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out. 

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward. 

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed. 

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above. 

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said. 

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—” 

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”  

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother. 

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—” 

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?” 

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain. 

Rain. 

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting. 

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in. 

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise. 

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…” 

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—” 

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified. 

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience. 

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this. 

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him. 

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again. 

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while. 

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter. 

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray. 

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have. 

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

[amirasainz]

Can you do one where there was a large breed dog in the track that’s a stray and everyone is trying to catch it, but then driver reader started talking to it in a baby voice and she begs to keep the dog once she caught it.

Of course I can. That is such a sweet request. 🥰

Enjoy reading and send some requests

- xoxo, Babygirl💋

Just Ken

It was a bright and sunny afternoon at the Brazilian Grand Prix, and the atmosphere in the paddock was electric. The teams were getting ready for the final practice session before qualifying, and the tension was rising. Everything was running smoothly until, out of nowhere, a large dog—a stray by the looks of it—ran onto the track during the break between practice runs.

"Is that... a dog?" Lando squinted from the McLaren garage, pulling his visor up and pointing toward the track.

Charles laughed nervously, leaning on the pit wall next to him. "How did a dog get in here?"

The dog, a huge, scruffy breed that looked like a German Shepherd, darted across the track with a sense of urgency, weaving between the garages and cars. The engineers and staff tried to shoo it away, but it was too fast, dodging everyone and barking wildly whenever anyone got close.

The Red Bull garage, on the other hand, was a bit calmer—until Y/N, the youngest driver on the grid and currently Red Bull’s rising star, noticed the commotion.

"What's going on?" she asked, standing up in the car she had just parked in the garage.

Max shrugged while watching the chaos. "Apparently, there’s a stray dog running around the track. Everyone’s trying to catch it, but... it's not going well."

Y/N’s eyes widened, a glimmer of excitement flickering across her face. "A dog?!" She hopped out of her car faster than anyone expected.

"Wait, you’re not seriously going to go after it, are you?" Max raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-concerned.

But Y/N was already gone, heading toward the pit lane with a bounce in her step, her Red Bull racing suit fluttering behind her.

♡♡♡♡♡

On the track, engineers were stumbling over each other, trying to catch the stray with nets, ropes, and even pieces of food. The dog growled low and deep, showing its teeth whenever anyone got too close, sending them scrambling back.

Lewis was the next to try his luck, cautiously walking toward the dog with a water bottle in hand. "Hey, buddy, come on... let's not make this difficult, okay?"

The dog barked sharply, making Lewis back off. "Yeah, no. That's not happening." He quickly retreated, shaking his head.

Meanwhile, Y/N, standing a few meters away, observed the situation with a thoughtful look. She pursed her lips and bent down, resting her hands on her knees.

"Who's a good boy?" she called out, her voice soft and high-pitched, almost like she was speaking to a baby.

The dog’s ears perked up immediately, and it stopped barking. Slowly, its head turned toward Y/N, who was still crouched down, wiggling her fingers in the dog’s direction.

"Come here, buddy! It's okay!" Y/N cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. She gave an exaggerated pout and made soft kissing noises, as if she was calling a puppy.

The dog—who moments ago had been terrorizing a group of terrified pit crew members—calmly turned and padded toward her, tail wagging slightly. It stopped a foot away from her, tilting its head.

Everyone was frozen in disbelief.

"Is she... talking to it in a baby voice?" George whispered to Carlos, who stood beside him, equally shocked.

"Mate, I think she is," Carlos replied, eyes wide. "And it's working!"

Y/N extended her hand slowly toward the dog. "Hi, sweetheart! You're such a handsome boy, aren’t you?"

The dog, much to everyone’s amazement, gently sniffed her hand, then leaned in to nuzzle her palm, tail wagging now in full force.

Y/N grinned brightly. "Oh, you’re just a big teddy bear!" She wrapped her arms around the dog’s massive neck and started scratching behind its ears. The dog licked her face in return.

The entire pit lane was silent, the drivers and crews staring in stunned silence. No one could believe what they were seeing.

"Is this real?" Oscar muttered, blinking as if he expected the scene to dissolve like a dream.

Even Christian, who had been watching from a distance, couldn’t help but chuckle in disbelief. "I’ve seen a lot in Formula 1, but this... this takes the cake."

♡♡♡♡

After a few minutes of cuddles and praise, Y/N stood up, still holding the dog's collar. "What’s your name, buddy?" she asked, looking into its eyes as if it might answer her.

The dog barked softly, wagging its tail even harder.

"I think I’ll call you... Ken!" she announced, looking around at the crowd with a proud smile on her face. "He looks like a Ken, don’t you think?"

The dog barked again, as if in agreement, making Y/N laugh.

At that point, a track official hesitantly approached, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. "Uh, Y/N, we’ll need to call animal control or find the owner. It’s probably a stray."

Y/N immediately pouted, pulling Ken closer to her side. "Noooo, but he’s so sweet! Look at him!" She scratched behind his ears again, and Ken looked up at her with adoring eyes.

"Ken doesn’t like anyone else, see? He chose me!" she continued, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Max, who had wandered over with a bemused smile on his face, crossed his arms. "I mean, she’s got a point. Ken’s not exactly warming up to anyone else."

As if on cue, Ken snarled at the track official when he took a step forward, causing the man to back off immediately.

"Whoa!" the official exclaimed. "Okay, maybe he’s... protective of you."

Y/N beamed and looked down at Ken. "See, he’s just being a good boy!"

Christian walked over, clearly weighing his options. "Y/N, you can’t just adopt a dog from the track," he said, though his tone was far more amused than strict.

"But why not?" Y/N asked, giving him her best puppy eyes. "I’ll take good care of him! Look at him, he’s perfect for the team. We can put a little Red Bull jacket on him!"

"Ken, the official Red Bull dog?" Max smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos.

At this point, even the other drivers were gathering around, fascinated by Y/N’s new friend.

"Can’t believe it," Charles muttered, shaking his head. "She’s like the dog whisperer or something."

"Yeah, and he’s only nice to her," Pierre added, eyeing Ken warily as he stood close to Y/N but growled whenever someone else got too close.

Y/N grinned as she stroked Ken’s fur. "See? He loves me! He’s just a big softie."

Christian sighed, rubbing his temples, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Fine, you can keep him... for now. But he’s your responsibility."

"YES!" Y/N cheered, pumping her fist in the air. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Ken barked happily, as if sensing her excitement, and gave her another slobbery lick on the cheek.

The drivers watched in disbelief as Y/N led Ken back toward the Red Bull garage, already making plans for his new life in the F1 paddock.

Max clapped Christian on the back as they both watched her go. "Well, looks like Red Bull’s got a new mascot."

Christian just chuckled. "I suppose we do. Let’s hope Ken likes the noise of the cars, or we’re in for some trouble."

[boowritess]

babies!?!?!

simon ghost riley x reader

"Aw I can't wait to see the two of you with your own little one running around." Your sister gushes as Simon balances her baby on his lap while you play with your nephew.

At her words you and Simon give eachother a side eyes. A smile tugs at the corner of Simon's scarred lips, whilst you puff out an airy laugh.

The whole baby conversation was nothing new, and because you and Simon had been together for so long, people were quick to assume that the both of you would start thinking bout having children of your own.

Your sister didn't help, always cooing and awwing about how Simon was so good with the kids, especially your neice.

A large hand rests on your lower back, "Nah, we have our hands filled with Johnny." Simon sniggers, laughing more when you elbow his side. The baby in his lap looking up at him in surpise at the deep noise that emitted from the usually quiet man.

"But it would be so cute. Imagine having a little one that looks like the both of you-" You sister starts to go on her usual ramble about what your kids could potentially look like, how adorable it would be to see the both of you with kids of your own.

Later that evening, at your shared apartment, Simon chuckles as you walk over to where he's sat on the couch, "Looks a bit like you doesn't he?" Simon drawls.

You turn and the asshole has his large hand wrapped around your ginger cats face, his head turned to you. Despite the cats purring and tailing flicking in content, you scowl and wack Simon over the head. "Don’t hold my baby like that!" You snap, settling beside Simon, who releases your cat. The cat settling in your lap.

And in true ginger cat fashion, the very cat who was once purring in content in Simon's hands, scratched the very man who tried to pet him again.

"Scratches like you." Simon huffs, pulling his hand away.

You just chuckle, eyes locked on the four legged creature that bouncrd into the room, "And Riley doesn't listen, like you..." You chime in amusement, watching the dog.

Simon turns his head to the German Shepherd and scowls once he see the mask hanging from Rikey's mouth. The dog having the audacity to wag its tail.

"Fuck sake, Riley, I said no!" Simon growls getting up from the couch and chasing after the dog that barks and runs away from the man.

You watch in content as your cat purs in content in your lap while Simon chases the dog around the apartment.

From this perspective it seemed like you already have your own little one running around doesn't it?

a/n: on my anti-baby agenda lol these the only babies i want in my life oop x

[ceilidho]

'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. First Meeting masterlist

-

Choppy waters like Neptune’s eye meet your gaze when you look back at where you came from, the land on the other side but a beige striation on the horizon. 

“Afraid of heights, doctor?” your escort asks, his amusement borderline distasteful. It must stroke their ego to watch newcomers come aboard and flounder, gawking at the swells and waves crashing against the oil rig, each wave so cataclysmic that it’s a wonder the structure stays upright. A wonder of engineering, that is. 

The rig manager stands closer to the railing, staring without fear out into the ocean surrounding you. His sea legs are likelier studier than the ones that wash up ashore every fourteen days when he’s due for his OSHA mandated break. His knees don’t even buckle at the sight of the barnacles clinging nerve-wrackingly high up on the rig legs. Far too high up for comfort. 

“No, sir,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just water.”

He barks a laugh at that. “Plenny o’ that around here. Wouldn’y go leaning my head over the rail then, if I was you.”

You take another look down, balking at the frothy white streaking the latticework barrier around the jacket legs. No worries there; there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll be going anywhere near the rails. You’re too high up to know for sure, but you wonder if there are sharks plumbing the depths beneath the rig, excited by the noise and activity on board. 

You’d be shark chum if you went overboard. Beyond that, you’d be fish food; no sympathy from the sea to be found this far from land. 

“Where should I set up?” you ask instead. 

Sensing your eagerness to get started—and to get away from the edge of the rig—he gestures for you to follow him and sets off towards the door closest to you, leading you into the interior of the rig. “This way, doc—got a room already set up for ye. Cozier in there than out here.”

The first few days aren’t so bad after that. You spend the first day getting unpacked, your suitcase already waiting for you in your quarters, which doubles as your office, and then turn in early after prepping for the next day. 

As anticipated, you spend the next day hunched over the toilet bowl, stomach roiling from spending too long staring at the turbulent waters below. You’ve done this before but it never gets any easier. Despite your chosen field of research, you’re suited for dry land, not the sea. It’s the price you have to pay though. 

No coffee that first morning. Just tea to help settle your stomach. And it does for a bit—lets you get through your first day worth of tests without you upchucking while collecting water samples from the discharge point. You’ll save your indoor work for the days when the crests of the waves are high enough to spray the working deck. By dinner, your stomach is a little more settled, but still you elect to eat in your quarters instead of with the workers in the mess. 

You haven’t been on the rig long enough to have made any enemies, nor do you think that’s something that’ll happen during your brief time on board, but you definitely haven’t made any friends. It comes with the territory. The men that work on these rigs out in the middle of the ocean—even the ones on land, for that matter—tend to view your kind with distrust at the very least, if not outright hostility. 

It’s hard to blame them. The purpose of your visit isn’t to shower them with praises. You’re stationed on the rig for the next few days to collect data and samples to assess the environmental impact of the rig’s operations. It puts you somewhat at odds with them, the outcome of your work being potentially to the detriment of theirs. 

Some whisper the word like blasphemy. Government worker. They say it like you’re the Baba Yaga or a witch living in a cottage at the edge of the village, like uttering the word too loudly will summon you. There’s too much work to do around the rig for them to cluck their tongues like gossipy hens, but the men find time for it anyway. You’d roll your eyes if you were any greener. 

The truth is though, you’re used to it, and at this point in your career, you don’t have it in you to act like it’s such a shock that they wouldn’t give you the red carpet treatment. All you need is a hot cup of coffee, an office (or even just a desk) to write your reports, and some space to conduct your research without being badgered with questions.

Most of the men tend to blur together, a medley of fluorescent yellow hard hats and navy coveralls, respirators strung around their necks and goggles covering their eyes. It’s easy enough to mistake them for one another. 

Only one of them has managed to catch your eye so far, though you can’t say it’s for a particularly good reason. Of the lot of them, he’s the loudest. Which is saying something, considering that the crew tend to speak in shouts and hollers to make up for the crashing waves beneath them and the howling winds above them. He’s also among the tallest, broad shouldered and muscled—a former first responder or military, if you had to guess, though you keep your assumptions to yourself. 

You know better than to ask questions around him because you’ve learned in the short time that you’ve spent on the rig not to give him—Soap, they call him, or MacTavish when the rig manager is particularly pissed off—even an inch. 

It’s another crew member that gives you that heads up. “Din’y pay him any mind.”

“Who?” you ask, looking up from your work.

The crew member nods to the man posted on the other side of the main deck. “Soap. Bit of a showboat, that one. Always stirrin’ up the boys, gettin’ ‘em all riled up. Din’y let him distract ye too much.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You look back down at the data sheets in front of you. “I’m not worried though. He hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Famous last words. 

He isn’t too much trouble until he suddenly is; until he’s suddenly everywhere, always in your way somehow. Not so much underfoot as just always around the corner waiting with his stupid smug smirk that you’ve grown to despise and half-lidded electric blue eyes roving up and down the length of you. Aggravating you at every turn. 

Your first meeting is an accident. At least, it seems that way, and likely is—he seems too blunt for coincidences or chance meetings, happy to tell you to your face that he manipulated the situation in order to get you on your own. 

You’re wandering down one of the many circulatory hallways and slightly lost when a door suddenly opens, blocking your way. A jumpsuit-clad man twice your size walks out, his hair just brushing the top of the doorframe. Though you recognize him instantly, you’d never gotten close enough for the details to cement in your mental image of him. Up close, you get a better look.

The faint lines around his eyes and mouth betray either his age or the life he’s lived. Weathered; bronzed from days at a time spent under the sun. You’d noticed the mohawk earlier, but staring at the side of his head now, you can see the faint puckering of a healed wound splintering out from his temple into his hairline. Though the sides of his head are freshly shorn, the scar looks old—maybe a year, maybe more. 

When he notices that he’s not alone in the hall, his head turns in your direction and he stops, one foot still in the other room. Two thick brows go up at the sight of you standing there with your tablet clutched to your chest. 

“Hullo gorgeous,” Soap purrs, pupils suddenly pinpricks and your stomach drops. 

Because of course he would. You’d long figured he might be an arrogant piece of work from what little you’ve observed of him from across the rig, but you should’ve known he’d also be a flirt. He’s too good-looking not to be one. Tall and broad, with biceps the size of your head. You’re sure he rolls his shirt sleeves up just to feel them strain against the muscles of his arms. You certainly can’t help the way your eyes are drawn there. 

“Ah ken who ye are,” he says, taking a step towards you until the tips of his boots nearly touch yours. The door is still wide open behind him, swinging slowly towards the wall behind it. Soap towers over you easily, tipping his head to stare down at you. Your lips press into a tight line when his eyes drop to your chest, staring at the outline of your tits through your cardigan. 

“Okay,” you say through stiff lips.

“Yer that lass from the government. Ah thought ye'd be auld,” he jokes, shit-eating grin on his face. 

You nearly groan. It’s too early for this shit and you’re too tired from being up all night working on your report on the rig’s discharge water quality. 

“Well, I’m not,” you reply woodenly instead, altogether unimpressed with him. 

For as fit as he is, you’re not here to flirt or hookup, and you’re good at separating work and your personal life. If anyone manages to get under your skin enough to tempt you, it won’t be the man undressing you with his eyes while covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat. 

“Nae, yer no’,” he agrees, voice a low burr. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m John, by the way.”

“I know.”

“…It’s polite tae give yer name when someone introduces thersel's tae ye.”

“I’d rather you just call me doctor.”

“Doctor, eh?” Soap purrs, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Dae ye dae house calls, doc? Hae been feelin’ a wee bit feverish lately.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat at his comment. “Not that kind of doctor. Do you mind getting out of the way?”

“Jesus, I din’y ken ye’d be so fuckin’ prickly. Thought ye government workers were cheery a' the time.”

“Not when we have work to do,” you bite out, decidedly uncomfortable with his shameless perusal and eager just to get on with your day. “Can you move please? I have somewhere to be.”

All that does is force him to take another step closer, toe-to-toe with you now. You should’ve known he’d take that as an invitation. He reeks of grease and brine, the smell pungent and clinging to his skin and clothes. Almost like he sleeps and works in the same pair of coveralls instead of bringing his dirty clothes down to the laundry facility like everyone else at the end of the week. 

You tell yourself to stop staring at where his coveralls open to a sweat-slicked chest, dark hair poking up over the neckline, but your eyes don’t comply. A small cross dangles from a chain around his neck, nestled in the hair just above his pecs. 

“Good Catholic lass, are ye?” Soap asks, noticing the focal point of your gaze.

You scrunch up your nose at that. “No. I didn’t—it’s none of your business anyway.”

The stutter is where his eyes light up, a little gleam in the blue that lets you know you’ve caught his interest. Like seeing a storm well off in the distance and bracing for it anyway, knowing that you’re in its path no matter what you do. 

“A’right, doc, Ah'll leave ye tae it. Gotta get back myself anyway,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and standing up taller, and it’s only in that moment that you realize how low his neck had been bent in order to get closer to you. “Wait. I can’y let ye go lookin’ like that.”

You’re about to ask him what he means when he suddenly grabs you by the front of your cardigan and pulls you towards him, getting the grease on his hands all over the fabric. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as he pops the topmost button into its corresponding hole, the only one you’d left purposefully loose. 

The only reason you don’t snap at him to take his hands off you is because your tongue is a knot in your throat. 

“There we go,” Soap coos when the button is in, looking down at his handiwork all over the front of your shirt. “Lookin’ like part o’ the crew already.”

Your heart pounds in your chest long after he lets you go. When he steps to the side, the door flush with the wall by now, you dart around him, walking away as fast as your legs can carry you without sprinting. You ignore the way he belts out a laugh at your swift departure. Ignore the way your stomach cramps at the sound as well. 

He might end up being more trouble than you thought.