#i have a few other ideas that need sketching

[ya-zz]

Ramattra Drabble

Wherever the omnic went, there was always a book in his hand or under his arm. At first, you thought it was just some reading material, but as time went by, you concluded that it wasn't a novel of some sort, but rather a notebook.

You had asked him about it multiple times on various different occasions but he never opened it up to show you. In fact, he never spoke about what was inside of it.

Figuring that it was something to do with his work, you stopped asking, admitting defeat and dropping the subject entirely.

There had been days, however, that he would leave it on the table or on the counter but he always came back within minutes to retrieve it, not leaving you with enough time to sneakily flip through the pages.

But you respected him. You trusted him. You wouldn't actually bring yourself to do it, no matter how much it gnawed at you. It was important work, so you thought. Maybe he'll show you when he's achieved what he needed to.

Months went by before the book was even mentioned again, but it wasn't you who sparked that conversation. It was Ramattra.

"You have wanted to see what was inside of here for so long." He looks down at the book in his hands before glancing back up at you, optics studying your face. Confusion but also curiosity. His arm extends outwards, book between his fingers as he holds it out to you.

"You're finally letting me look?"

Ramattra nods once before speaking. "Yes. Though, it will not make sense at first." He watches as you take the book, sitting down beside him so he can watch you turn the pages.

He wasn't wrong. Omnicode and equations riddle the first set of pages, scribbles of what you assume were weapon ideas and snippets from newspapers of world-wide events. It wasn't entirely what you were expecting.

As your fingers flip over to the next page, things start becoming a mess. Equations are scrapped, red and blank ink hiding what was once written and some pages were crumbled, seemingly from a small fit of rage where he scrunched the page.

"What is all of this?"

"That is not important." He silent urges you to keep moving ahead in the notebook and when the next few pages are turned, his systems momentarily freeze. His optics were locked onto your face, studying your features.

"Ramattra...?"

Amidst the omnicode, small sketches of you fill the page. At first, it was just one or two that fit the spread but as you continue to turn the pages, the sketches become larger, filling the pages entirely. Various angles and poses, sometimes when your back is turned, others when he's been sat directly across from you and you didn't even realise.

The omnic couldn't find the words, his vocaliser emitting a small hum of static. His hands that rest on his knees begin fidgeting, pulling at the soft fabric of his pants or rubbing the metal joints of his knuckles.

You can feel your heart fluttering, chest growing warm with what you believe is affection. The parts of you that you hate, he's sketched so perfectly. You're seeing yourself as he sees you.

"How long has this been going on for?"

Ramattra realised he never even dated them, but his memory serves him well in remembering the first time he sat there and sketched you. "Since the start of the year."

"And you've done so many-" You keep your eyes glued to the pages, admiring each and every single sketch. Some in pencil, some in pen.

"You are too beautiful not to draw." He chuckles when he sees the flush that instantly appears on your cheeks and he couldn't stop himself from bringing his hand up to cup your face.

You had reached the final page of the notebook, noticing how the final page was yet to be filled. Looking up at the omnic sat next to you, you're about to speak before he cuts you off.

"I was saving that page for now, if you would let me?" He watches as your eyes widen and that flush only deepens. The timid nod from you causes the omnic to tilt his head, his systems warming up.

His hands retrieve the book from you as he watches you get comfortable on the sofa. Before he starts, he hears you speak up.

"Thank you." You can sense the confusion so you elaborate. "For showing me. I didn't expect any of this."

"Thank you for being a perfect model." He chuckles along with your nervous giggle.

He admires you from the opposite end of the sofa, the way your eyes glittered in the light of the room, the flush that still painted your cheeks and the soft smile that graced your face.

Now knowing that you're aware of what he's been hiding all year, it causes his systems to heat up, fans whirring loudly in the otherwise quiet room. He speaks, a hint of sheepishness in his tone as he begins, pencil scratching at the final page of the book.

"You are the definition of beauty, you know?"

[nelothsmushroom]

Hello morrowind fandom. May I offer my idea for an argonian nerevarine in these trying times? His name us Gullu-Sahtee, which (afaik) translates to Moon-And-Star in the argonian language. That is what his ashlander friends call him, hearthfriend Moon-and-Star

[ofcowardiceandkings]

i will say though my pile of art ive got to finish up for posting is all stuff im VERY pleased with, which is a nice feeling

i just want it to be finished now lmfao

[vetyr]

hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

[covenofagatha]

A Helping Hand

You're helping your Professor gather ingredients for a potion she's brewing when you accidentally knock over a jar of sex pollen and need help.

Word count: ~3100

Warnings: smut, mommy kink, fingering, Top Agatha, magic cock, blowjob, magic cum, pure filth, teacher x student, age gap (everyone's legal)

Your brow furrows as you stare at the open spell book in front of you. You have a Potions test tomorrow for Professor Harkness, and evident by your lack of understanding of any of the words on the page, you are not going to do well. 

“What’s wrong?” your roommate, Wanda, asks you. The two of you are the top witches at the Academy of Dark Arts, and yet, neither of you has a strong suit in potions. 

And of course, the Potions teacher, Agatha Harkness, is the hardest teacher you have. 

“This is impossible. How am I supposed to remember that, for the Wolfsbane Potion, you have to stir three times counterclockwise, say this incantation, and then stir four times clockwise, all while making sure I’m continuously pouring in Dragon’s Blood?” Your head hurts just from reading it from the book. 

Wanda snorts. “Agatha doesn’t expect it to be perfect.”

You give her a look. You both know that’s a lie. Agatha is the teacher that makes you redo written homework assignments if you leave too much space between the words. 

The Academy of Dark Arts was a home for witches like you and Wanda: witches that did not have a coven, or even a family. The Academy was supposed to teach girls to harness and understand their powers. 

You have been here the longest, ever since you were twelve. You are almost twenty now. You had always put off taking Potions until you could no longer avoid it, mainly just because of how hard everyone else said it was. You had briefly interacted with Professor Harkness before the class, passing her in the corridors or making eye contact at meals. 

And maybe, just maybe, you had developed a bit of a crush on her once you were in her class. 

Who could blame you, though? She was the definition of perfection, with the way power just exuded from her, and the way her long, dark hair tumbled down to her lower back, and her piercing blue eyes that you suspected could see right into your soul. 

But your little infatuation was not what you needed right now – no, right now, you need to study. 

“I just don’t know anything,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. “I can’t even read my notes.” Agatha often went so fast in class that you had no other option than to just scribble down everything you thought she said as quickly as you could. 

And now you just had pages of illegible chicken scratch. 

“She’s probably still in the green house, why not just go ask her for help,” Wanda says noncommittally, too engrossed in sketching a picture. How she is so calm with this test hanging over the both of you, you have no idea. 

But you nod. That’s a good idea. You can go see Agatha, ask her to clarify a few things, and then stay up all night cramming ingredients and directions into your brain. 

“I’ll be right back,” you promise, and then scoop up your book and your notes. 

You pass by some younger witches in the hallway and you give them a tight-lipped smile. Wanda was really your only friend at the Academy, the other girls too boy-crazy or too self-absorbed for you to really connect with them. 

Other than those girls, though, the Academy is quiet. No sign of any of your other teachers, and you’re sure they’re either in their private quarters or still grading papers in their classrooms. 

You have to leave the main house of the Academy to get to the greenhouse, where Potions takes place. The cold November air stings your cheeks and makes your eyes water, but luckily, it’s a short walk. 

“Hello, Professor Harkness?” you say timidly, knocking on the door as you push it open. She’s sitting at a stool, cutting plants with a sharp knife. Her hair flowing down her back and she's wearing a tight white button-down shirt on that’s tucked into high-waisted purple pants, and a long, navy coat.

She glances up and smiles when she sees it’s you. “Y/n, what can I do for you?” 

“Oh, I just wanted to come see if you could help me clear some things up for the test tomorrow,” you say, a little flustered by how good she looks. 

“Sure thing, hon. First, I need your help. Hand me those powders from over there?” She points the knife over to the counter by the sink and you oblige, grabbing the four vials and putting them down next to her. She picks each one up and examines the label closely. “Ah, shoot. Sorry, dear, could you find the jar with the powdered root of asphodel? It should be in the pantry somewhere. I thought I took it out, but I guess I forgot.” 

“Yeah, of course.” You repeat the powder name in your head a few times so you don’t forget it and then go search for it. 

You finally spot it on the fourth shelf, sitting in the middle of some other jars, and you reach up on your tip-toes to grab it. As you’re pulling down the correct jar, you accidentally knock it into another and it falls to the floor next to you. 

“Shit!” you mutter, immediately crouching down to assess the damage. The jar of some unknown powder has broken and its contents are spilled everywhere. Without even thinking, you start to sweep the powder into your hands so you can try to put it back in the bottom half of the jar that’s still intact. 

You didn’t even notice Agatha coming over after she heard the noise. “Everything okay – don’t touch any of that!” she exclaims, seeing the bottle that broke on the floor.

You drop the mound of powder in your hands and whirl around, eyes wide open. 

“What is it?” you ask, afraid of the answer, but she doesn’t give you one, instead opting to pull you by the sleeve over to the sink. 

“Wash your hands now,” she demands and stands there watching you scrub your skin until it’s red. “How do you feel?” 

“I feel fine,” you say, but as you say that, you notice something. There’s an unmistakable heat growing in your stomach. And it only gets worse when Agatha places a hand against your forehead. You lean into the touch and have to forcibly bite your tongue so you don’t moan. 

She looks you up and down and you can feel yourself getting hotter. You’re sure your cheeks are flushed. 

You’ve never felt this way before. 

“Um, just out of curiosity, what was that powder?” you ask, wetness pooling between your thighs. The ache between your legs is becoming hard to ignore. 

Agatha meets your eyes. “It’s called sex pollen.” Your heart skips a beat. “I honestly forgot it was back there. I came across some a few decades ago and wanted to study it.”

You swallow hard. “So if someone gets some of it in their system, do they just need to touch…” You feel yourself blushing, not quite believing you’re asking Agatha Harkness if masturbation is the key to get this heat inside you to die down. 

She smirks. “You can’t get it out of your system by yourself.”

Well, fuck. “There’s no other way?” 

“Where would the fun in that be?” She winks playfully, and you wonder if she’s ever used it, or used it on someone else. “But you said you feel fine so you shouldn’t have to worry about it.”

“Right,” you reply shakily. Her fingers brush a strand of hair out of her face and you literally clench at the sight of them. You feel so empty, so needy, so desperate for her. 

“You said you had some questions for the test tomorrow?” She takes the root of asphodel that you had forgotten you were holding and beckons you back over to where she’s working. She pats the stool next to you and you sit, the pressure on your clit making you jump. 

You just have to make it through this, go back to your room, and then drag Wanda out with you to a club or something so you can get fucked. 

The only problem is, you’re not sure you can wait that long. Your hips have started squirming on the stool beneath you and you can’t control it. 

“Um, so,” you start, opening up the textbook to the Wolfsbane Potion you were studying earlier. “The directions for this potion are–”

You’re cut off by her putting her hand on top of yours and you literally whimper at the contact. You stiffen and see her turn her full body towards you, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead, your darkened eyes, the way your hips are moving on the seat. 

“Oh, you poor baby,” she taunts. 

You give up the pretense of being unaffected by the pollen. “Professor, I’m so…I need…please…I think the pollen...” 

She laughs. “Yes, dear, I think the pollen got into your system. Do you have anyone who can take care of you?” 

You blush at the implication of Agatha asking if you have a fuck buddy and then shake your head pathetically. “I was gonna go out with Wanda and try to find someone,” you mumble. “I’ve never…” You trail off, not wanting your incredibly hot professor to hear you say out loud that you’re a virgin. 

“Honey, you can’t have your first time with a random person from a bar,” she tuts. “Plus, sex pollen amplifies feelings you already have. Getting fucked by a random person won’t help as much as by a person you already want.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” you whine. “Can you…will you…please?” You can tell the pollen is affecting your ability to think straight because there is no way you just asked your centuries-old professor to fuck you. You’re about ready to run out of the room and die of embarrassment when she grins. 

“You want me to help you?” 

Your breath catches. “Professor, please, please, I need it. I need you. I just feel so…hot.” 

“I’ll say,” she says appreciatively, this time letting her eyes wander over you slowly. “Are you sure? I don’t want you regretting this when the pollen wears off.” 

You shake your head. “I won’t. I’m sure. I want you so bad. I have for a while. And you said it has to be someone you already want.” 

Her eyes darken. “Get on the table.” 

You’ve never moved so fast in your life. She takes your shirt off and throws it somewhere else in the room, and then her hands are cupping your breasts and her mouth is on yours. 

You moan hungrily into her hot mouth, feeling her tongue against yours. Your hands tangle in her hair, pulling it gently, and she groans into your mouth. Agatha quickly undoes the clasp of your bra and finds your nipples, tugging at them. She kisses down your neck and your fingers leave her hair to hike up your skirt. 

“So eager for me,” she whispers against your clavicle. You gasp when she bites down. 

“Please, professor, touch me.” 

“I am touching you,” she teases, fingertips lightly skimming down your stomach. You tense at the touch as she gets lower. 

Your moan is downright pornographic when she first slides her hand into your underwear, sliding through your folds. She makes a sound as well. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re soaked,” she says. 

“All for you,” you say weakly, hips grinding up and down against her fingers. She’s yet to touch your clit, but you fear the second she does, you’ll cum. 

“My dirty girl.” Agatha finally pushes her middle finger into you and you clench down immediately, needing more. She easily finds the spot that makes you squeal, and her thumb brushes against your clit. “Do you think you can take another finger?” 

“Oh my god, yes,” you enthusiastically agree and she slides in her ring finger as well. It’s a bit of a stretch but you’ve never felt better. 

“Your cunt feels so good around me,” Agatha says, grabbing your chin with her other hand so you meet her eyes. “So wet, so warm. I want to stay here forever. You can’t get enough of my fingers, can you?” 

“No, Professor, I love your fingers,” you babble, right on the edge. She knows it too. 

“Be a good girl and come for mommy,” she whispers right into your ear, her hot breath warm, and the name, coupled with the way she twists her fingers and roughly strokes your clit, sends you climaxing. 

“Fuckkkk,” you moan, your nails digging into her shoulders. She fucks you through the aftershocks of your orgasm and then slowly pulls her fingers, which are drenched, out of you. You can’t help but feel empty and the heat inside you isn’t completely gone. 

Before you can say anything, she slides her wet fingers into your mouth and you lazily lap at your juices. She bites her lip at the feeling. 

“How are you feeling now, baby girl?” 

Her fingers leave your mouth with a pop. “Better but I still think I need more.” 

Her eyebrow raises playfully. “My fingers weren’t enough to quell your thirst?” 

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed. 

“I think I know something that might help.” She waves her hand and a poof of purple smoke appears. You’re not quite sure what she did, but she gives you a wicked grin and unzips her pants, pulling out a purple strap-on. 

Your mouth falls open. 

She grabs a hold of the base and starts to stroke herself, groaning. 

“Wait, can you-” 

She looks up at you. “Feel it?” She nods. “I wanna feel you clench around my cock. Wanna fill you up.” 

You let out a small gasp. “Mommy, please, I need your cock.” 

She steps back over to you and runs a hand up your slit, collecting your wetness, which she then rubs on her cock. “You’re plenty wet already, but why don’t you get on your knees and show me how much of a good girl you can be.” 

She doesn’t have to tell you twice. You practically fall to the ground in front of her, ignoring the sharp pain in your knees. You look up at her, awaiting instruction, and she bites her lip softly at the sight of you. 

She puts a hand on your head and pushes you closer. “Put a hand around the base and then run your tongue up and down the length.” 

You do as you’re told and you delight in the loud moan that tears from her mouth. Her hand just rests on your head as you then experimentally suck the tip of her cock between your lips. 

“Good girl,” she says gruffly, and her praise drives you to test the waters and go down further. You bob your head on her dick, never breaking eye contact. “Fuck, baby, your mouth is so hot.” 

Meanwhile, the need inside you is growing so much you can barely fight the urge to slip a hand up your skirt. But you don’t. You figure Agatha won’t like that, and also, you want to focus all your attention on making her feel good. 

“Such a dirty slut on her knees for mommy. So desperate for this cock,” she says and you groan around the strap-on, making her hands tighten in your hair. She pulls you back and a string of saliva connects your lips to her. “Get up.” 

Once you’re standing in front of her, she flips you around and bends your front over the table so she’s standing behind you. She pushes your skirt up and traces your pussy with her cock, sliding it up your slit to your clit and then back. You’re grinding against her, trying to get some stimulation. 

“Are you ready?” Agatha asks. 

“Yes,” you answer, voice hoarse with anticipation. You feel her line the tip up with your hole and then slowly start to push in. 

Both of you moan. She is so big but the stretch is exactly what you need. Once she bottoms out, she holds still for a second, letting you adjust to her size. 

“You take my cock so well.” And then she’s pulling out and thrusting back in, picking up speed and intensity. You lift a leg up so she’s able to get deeper and you can feel her hips stutter. “You pretend to be so innocent but look at how desperate you are for me. Just a little slut, needing me to fill her up.” 

“Yes, just a slut for you, mommy.” 

Her nails dig into your hip and her other hand comes down to rub your clit. You clench around her. 

“You’re so tight, so hot, you feel so good squeezing my dick,” Agatha murmurs, saying the filthiest things right into your ear. You’re so close and it’s only been a few minutes of her pounding into you. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. Her hand leaves your clit and you gasp. 

“Not yet, baby, wait for mommy. Do you want me to fill you up?” 

“Want you to fill me up, mommy, wanna feel you dripping out of me,” you babble. 

“Oh shit, baby, gonna cum in you. Cum for me,” she says, and you do. This orgasm is even more intense than the one before and you feel her give you one last hard thrust before warmth spreads through your cunt. She stills for just a second and then gingerly pulls out. You can feel her cum dripping out of your hole and down your leg and it almost makes you cum again. 

Agatha turns you around and spreads your legs so she can watch it better. She takes two fingers and lazily smears her cum mixed with yours all over your pussy lips. She raises her fingers to your lips and you eagerly taste both of your juices, moaning around them. 

“Do you feel better now?” she asks, a playful glint in her eyes. 

You sigh dramatically. “For now. But who’s to say I won’t get into more sex pollen some other time?”

She chuckles and matches your smirk with one of her own. “Well, I guess I better keep a careful eye on you then.” 

[biteyoubiteme]

redlightdesign

fem!reader x hyunjin 

synopsis: you get tattooed by your favorite tattoo artist. 

warnings: !!!🔞!!! tattooartist!hyunjin, tattooing, needles, pain, oral (f!rec), use of teeth, overstim, multiple orgasms (f!rec), squirting, fingering, pussydrunkvibes, subspace kinda, prob forgot some sorry 

wc: 5.2k

an: I want a new tattoo </3 feedback appreciated! [m.list] not proof read sorry ;-;

You didn’t think you would ever get a consolation let alone an appointment with redlightdesign. For over three years you have been submitting a request anytime their books were open. You set timers for when the form dropped to make sure you were one of the first to be seen but everyone was doing the exact same thing. 

redlightdesign would make an announcement that the submissions were closed an hour later saying they were booked solid for the next three months. The process repeats itself and every time you pray you get a response. 

Thirteen forms later and you finally got an answer. Your dream tattoo will be underway in a matter of weeks. You made sure to keep the perfect space open for the piece. Not a single artist is the right fit to do your idea justice the way Redlightdesign could. 

Before you read the email you didn’t even think you would ever be picked, your thigh would just always be bare for the possibility that never would come to fruition. But sitting in a coffee shop on a Sunday morning avoiding finishing your homework for Monday's class you jump on the opportunity to check your phone when it dings. Post notifications for redlightdesign on since you started following them. Every time they announced open books or a dropped appointment you jumped to put yourself up for the running. You remember the magazine article Redlightdsign had been featured in that started your obsession. The anonymous tattoo artist is based in Seattle and New York, traveling across the states to get a wider audience. Not that they needed the help, they were globally known, with people submitting forms all around the world, purchasing plane tickets after they confirmed an appointment. 

It was stiff competition and the anonymity of the artist was sacred to each client. There was barely any information about Redlightdesign on the internet besides the finished product, and the address to their studios was only given out just before your appointment. Once the details of the New York studio had been doxxed online and redlightdesign had stopped working for a year, packing up and shutting down in well deserved retaliation. When they came back to their socials they made it clear the next time they wouldn't stop for a year but quit entirely. No one shared any information after, only stating that Redlightdesign was one of the nicest people they have ever been tattooed by and a photo of the beautiful work after. 

But there sipping on an almost empty drink avoiding work that needed to be done you felt your pulse race just like every other time you've submitted a form. Only this time your stomach bottomed out seeing the email that popped up in your inbox a few minutes later. 

h.rldesign/gmail.com Hi, I love your idea and sketches. I think this would transfer perfectly in my style. If we are to do the piece on the thigh at the size you want I think it's best we split the work into two appointments. My open slots for this would be January 9th and 10th. Let me know if these dates work for you and then I can get started on designing and cleaning up your idea. -redlightdesign 

even just knowing their email address was shocking enough, seeing a response could have sent you into a coma. If Redlightdesign needed you on the 9th and 10th you would do everything in your power to be right at their door. You didn't care if you had to call in sick, you would put on the most convincing fake cough known to man; you would sell out stadiums with the performance if need be. 

You couldn't type a response fast enough, needing to send in a confirmation just to know it was solidified. Within seconds you got a link for a deposit to hold the dates and a promise that Redlightdesign would be working on your piece asap. You were too excited to even think about your work anymore, sitting in the coffee shop staring down at your phone in disbelief. 

It was only a few days later when the first drafts of the tattoo you would be getting were sent over for you to approve. You could tell the work had been drawn in a sketchbook and scanned to send in an email, the charcoal lines and highlights showing the detailed work. It was everything you could have hoped for, redlightdesign taking the amateur rendering of your idea and turning it into the masterpiece sitting in your inbox. They promised to have perfected versions ready when you arrived early on the ninth, reminding you that they would transfer it into the stencil and use a pen to finish drawing the finishing touches to make sure it flowed with your body just right. Make sure to eat before the appointment and don't wear any lotions on the tattoo area. Take care to remember we can take as many breaks as you want you have the day booked up with me so no need to rush through just to get it over with. 

You made sure to dress appropriately. A pair of shorts you didn’t mind getting ink on in case any decided to ruin them. It was cold the morning of the ninth, a drizzle setting in as you made your way towards the address you had been sent before you had woken up. Even just seeing the street name and knowing this whole time you’ve been a fifteen-minute walk away from Redlights studio was bizarre. How many times have you driven by the building without ever knowing? 

The email with the address had said the door would be open and to take the stairs up to the loft. The separate space on the ground level was a bakery, the sign flipped to closed. But as you felt the first droplets of rain you pulled on the handle for the door only for it to not budge. You check the address again to make sure it is right, you can see the windows to the studio above but the curtains are pulled shut. You were running over the email you could send to redlightdesign, reading it over once more when someone reached past you making you jump. “holy shit you almost gave me a heart attack,” you breathe your phone pressed to your chest. 

The soft laugh of the person beside you is muffled behind the black medical mask they wear, long dark hair hanging on their brow leaving only smiling eyes glancing over you. “I'm sorry I was running late and didn't make it in time to beat you here,” they push their key into the lock twisting until it clicks, painted nails wrapping around the handle to hold the door open for you. 

You give a weak thanks stepping into the little hallway leading to the stairs waiting for them to step in and follow. 

You're trying hard not to make it seem like you're staring at them but it's almost impossible not to. Right in front of you is the person whose identity has been hidden from the public for years. You've tried to imagine what redlightdesign looked like since you read that magazine article. Now with the early morning mist still stuck to their hair you were seconds away from knowing exactly what they were like. Watching how their long fingers flipped over the keys looking for the one to unlock the loft door, how they used their shoulder to push open the door turning back to give you smiling eyes, waving you in. 

They moved around to pull open the long cream-colored curtains, the gray light pouring in revealing the space. The walls have tacked up charcoal drawings, painted landscapes, and oil pastel flowers. A worn brown leather couch pushed to one side, heavy white blanket pushed back like someone had taken a nap there against the throw pillows. Tattoo bed next to rows of inks and past designs. On another wall a cluster of polaroids, stepping closer you can see its every tattoo that redlightdesign has done here. You're excited to see ones they haven't posted on their socials, so distracted you don't hear a closet door opening and the wheeling of a cart behind you. “I wanted to be set up so we could get started right away but,” when you turn you see them shrug. The view outside of the waterfront off in the distance matches some of the paintings done during different times of the day. 

“It's okay I can wait, we're booked all day right?” 

“yes that's right,” they go through their bag pulling out a large sketchbook, “here take a seat and we can go over some of these together,” 

they sink into the couch pushing back the blanket to make room for you to follow. Your thighs touching before they hand over the sketchbook. You're amazed by the craftsmanship, and the detail put into each variety of the tattoo idea you have given them. No other artist has given you so many possibilities, maybe one of two but a whole spread dedicated to small details was never on the table. redlightdesign had taken time working through this with passion. “Wow,” you breathe not knowing where to look first. 

“do you like it? It's a big thing, a tattoo of this size, and I wanted to make sure it really had all the elements you wanted in it while also not being too chaotic and messy. You see this one has less shading and seems more open but this one is heavy-handed if you're into that kinda style. I see you have other work done on your arms and if you want to go that way style-wise I think this one would be perfect,” they point at the one you've been focused on knowing that it was exactly what you wanted. 

“It's amazing, they all are, I'm so impressed redli-“

“Hyunjin, you can call me Hyunjin,” they chuckle, “I should have introduced myself earlier but I was late and it slipped my mind I'm sorry,” 

“no, it's okay thank you hyunjin,” you try the name in your mouth, “I think this is exactly what I want, better than what I could have imagined,” 

“great I'm happy to impress let me get this printed in a stencil and we can add anything else after we find the right placement,” you watch as they stand moving to the corner with a desk, you can't see their face but know they've taken their mask off as they turn on the printer. “Do you live around here or was it a commute?” 

“oh I live right up the street, I was surprised to see how close it was to my place actually,” you say over the sound of the scanner. 

“that's good, sometimes I have people coming from all over it's fun to finally have a local visit,” 

“I would have come out to New York if that's where you would have been,” you admit. 

“I haven't been out there in a while, they are doing construction on the street the studio is on so I've been located here for a while now,” he states pulling out the stencil sheet. “I did a few different sizes to start with,” 

he turns around and you're shocked at how beautiful Hyunjin is. In all the time you've thought about redlightdesign never did it cross your mind to account for prettiness but if you did your scale would be broken. You're still seated when he comes over and kneels in front of you. 

“Can I?” he asks looking up at you, your hands in your lap covering your thighs.

“oh yeah sure,” you're flustered lifting your hands away. 

“left or right?” he asks, holding two of the stencils over each leg. 

“right,” your hands sinking into the couch as Hyunjin wipes his thumb over your bare thigh. He shows you the three different sizes and you decide on one before he asks you to stand in front of the mirror so he can place the stencil on. 

“Here,” he mutters, being gentle to get the placement right in the first go. “We can always print more if you don't like it here,” he blows cool air over the purple lines traced on to make sure it's dry enough for you to move. He slides his hand behind the pit of your knee tugging your leg. You reach out to steady yourself with his shoulders, the backs of your hands feeling the tickle of his long hair hanging past his ears. He lifts your leg enough so that your foot is resting on his thigh, his hands slipping over your skin checking it looks good. 

You love the way he's found the perfect spot on your thigh so that it flows with your body, “I think you got it first try,” 

“Look in the mirror first just to make sure,” he lets you go, pulling himself to stand behind you so that you can see yourself. 

“yes it's perfect,” and he nods, grabbing a purple pen. 

“finishing touches then,” he gets back down in front of you lifting your foot back to his knee so that he can steady you. The marker is cold on your skin as he draws, adding lines and shading in spots to make the work blend better. When he blows on the wet lines of ink you shiver especially when he draws on your inner thigh, your skin so sensitive you swear you could imagine his fingers tracing shapes instead of the pen. “Perfect,” he states, giving your knee a tap letting you know he's done. “Let me set up and if you need the bathroom before we start I'd go now. I have water and a kettle for coffee over under the desk, and we can stop for lunch around let's say twelve or one-ish?” 

You nod, taking your seat on the tattoo bed. He's set it up so that you're slightly leaned back but still sitting up. You watch him pull on black gloves and get all of the inks and needles ready, following a system you've seen done before. He clicks on a stereo the soft song playing in the background just loud enough for us to talk if we wanted to or just to listen. you adjust in your seat when you hear the sound of the tattoo gun whirring, hyunjins free hand stretching your skin in preparation, “The hard part will be around the knee so let's get that area out of the way,” 

you nod watching as he starts, the familiar burn of the needle digging in but not too painfully. He was right that it was worse than some of your other tattoos but not unbearable. What distracts you is how concentrated he looks leaning over your leg, hair pushed back behind his ears but one strand hangs across his forehead, the corner of his lip between his teeth. 

He starts to ask you small questions about yourself, the conversation leading to learning about him and how he got into tattooing. He talks about his art and the little things he likes. Both of you are so invested in one another that you don't even notice how far you've come in the day, lunch already rolling around before you know it. He's gotten through more than half the outline when he starts the loose wrap to keep it clean while you go out for lunch. The bakery is just downstairs offering lunch deals you can't refuse and when you get back upstairs both of you sit on the couch and continue your conversation. Giggling over nothing much but being comfortable in each other's company more than what you could have asked for. 

redlightdesign could have been a total dick but you were blessed enough to get someone so genuinely kind and talented. And when you got back in the chair to finish the day's session you were sad to know that tomorrow would be the last time you saw Hyunjin unless you somehow got another appointment. The idea in it of itself was making you dread leaving. 

“Could you tie my hair up?” he asks lifting his wrist up to you, a hair band waiting for you to take off. You lean over taking the tie from him and running your fingers through the dark strands. He hums as you brush the hair from his face gathering it all to tie into a ponytail. “thank you,” he nods letting the end bob up and down, a sweet smile teasing his lips before he goes back to the linework. 

When he finally declares you done for the day you sigh, his thumb smoothing over the ends of the tape he's put to hold the wrap he put over your thigh. His finger slips across your inner thigh making you jolt harder than when the needle was to your skin. “sensitive?” he asks and you nod, not wanting to think too much into it. You were definitely sensitive but not from the pain, watching his long fingers work over your skin didn't put the cleanest image in your head. 

He starts to break down his workstation, cleaning up and wiping everything to disinfect. While you put on your coat he asks, “Do you want to get dinner?” you turn to make sure he is not on the phone but he is in fact asking you, “I know this great spot a block over it's not that far a walk if you're up for it?” 

“Sure,” you nod and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“You know if you're not busy or anything I don't usually ask clients out for dinner but we were having a good chat and you know if you don't want to,” he drags on his ears pink, it was cute to watch him flustered. 

“I'd love to go to dinner with you hyunjin,” you smile following him out. 

You share an umbrella as you make your way to the small cafe-style restaurant, outdoor seating covered with a canopy so you won't get hit by any rain. Sitting across from one another, Hyunjin asks to see your other tattoos. You lay one arm down on the table, hyunjins fingertips ghosting over your skin as he traces the lines of all your other work. “I think I've seen this one before, did you get it from Felix? Or what's his username…”

“youg.ink?” you nod, “I actually got it because I saw you mentioned them before and it introduced me to their work. instantly fell in love with this when he offered it up,” 

hyunjins not even paying attention to the tattoos anymore as he lets his fingers glide over your smooth skin. Most times after a client was done for the day in his chair he walked them to the door, waved goodbye, and worked in the studio on the next person's design. Most times he had people who he didn't mind not seeing again but you and your laugh, your gentle conversation, made him want to break his own rules for once. He walks you home after dinner and promises to see you tomorrow at the same time. 

When you show up for your second session you're double fisting two iced coffees; the door is already unlocked as you make your way up the stairs. Hyunjin is sitting at the desk with headphones on sketching away before he sees the movement in the corner of his eye. He gives you a big smile, all teeth and is so cute. He tugs his headphones off letting them hang around his neck, “you got me a coffee?” 

“Maybe or maybe I have a caffeine addiction,” you joke, handing over his cup. You look over to see what he's working on and he leans back to give you a better view. 

“The next client wants their back done, it will be spaced out over the next four months. first sessions tomorrow,” 

“I wouldn't even know where to start on something that big,” 

“the same way I started yours,” he looks down at your legs, the wrap still in place only today you're wearing a skirt instead of shorts. The only other clothing item you felt would give him space to work today. Hyunjin looks back to his sketchbook, shutting it and standing. “let's get you up on the chair and get started,” 

you follow his instructions, sinking back into the chair and letting your skirt bunch between your legs to expose your thigh. Hyunjin starts to set up his station, pulling on his gloves after flipping to the sketch of your design to have to glance at while he works. “might hurt today with all the shading if you need any breaks let me know we can go as slow as you need,” he peels away the tape before cleaning your leg with a towel and watered down soap. “It already looks good,” he nods, pressing around the tattoo. 

“I think I can handle it,” 

“Okay, we can work the bottom to the top again today, get the area closest to the knee and get the most painful bit first,” 

and you think you can handle it and you can for the most part but the dragging of the needle over the still red outline from yesterday is painful today. Your hand bunching in your skirt as you remind yourself to breathe. You let your head roll back in the chair not able to watch anymore, focusing on the music playing, the dull hum of the tattoo gun usually comforting you but now a reminder that you're here for a while. 

hyunjin is trying to concentrate, he's great at what he does, but what's testing him is how you're flashing your panties at him. he was going to say something, bring up a conversation about anything but when he looked up, a simple glance he was face to face with the dark grey fabric, the outline of you silencing him. You didn't even notice, your neck exposed as your free hand not holding your skirt gripped the armrest. 

Tattooing people made nudity and almost nudity normal. It was why Hyunjin preferred his private studio so that he could make people feel comfortable, it was better than having someone who wanted a hip tattoo strip in a shop where anyone could watch. But with you sitting in front of him he forgot that he shouldn't look so close. Because instead of ignoring the view he was imagining ways that he could make your pain more bearable. Imagining how if he reached over and brushed where he knew your clit would be waiting you wouldn't be moaning in pain. 

It's not until lunch that your skirt is let go but it's done the work of keeping Hyunjin hard for the entirety of the progress he's made toward the tattoo. When he sprays the tattoo down with the soapy water beads roll back up your leg because of the way the chairs are angled. The cold water feels great against your hot skin and Hyunjin apologizes for the mess passing you a paper towel to wipe any that got too far. You slightly lift your leg to wipe your inner thighs, the movement flashing Hyunjin again only this time the droplets of water had dampened your panties. The gray fabric was dark where he had been fantasizing they would be. 

He doesn't even want to think about standing from his stool knowing that the second he does he will have to adjust himself only drawing attention to the fact he is very hard. He tries to make a list of things in his head as he wraps your thigh. To think about how it's almost over, that you will be gone in the next hour or two but that only makes it worse. You would be gone when he was this needy? He wanted to make an excuse to have you come back for another session. But it was quite obvious he would be dragging out the appointment when he only needed to do a small section when the two of you were done with lunch. He could have waited and finished, pushed your lunch back, and waved goodbye but no. 

He swiveled his chair away from you, taking a sip from his almost empty cup of coffee as you slid down the bed to stand. Hyunjin takes a breath and prays you don't notice but it's the first thing you see when he turns, the strained outline not very well hidden. You pretend to look out the window, feeling your cheeks get hot. All you can think about is if it was your noises that did it, all the whimpering wasn't usually how you handled tattoos but this one was the biggest piece you've gotten, and didn't know two sessions would make your usually composed self break so easily. it would explain the silence compared to yesterday. So you toy with the idea, how far would he go if you made yourself available? 

You grabbed lunch together, hyunjin putting a pillow over his lap to steady his plate of food but both of you knew that wasn't the real reason. And when you were back in the chair you intentionally let your skirt roll up this time. It doesn't help that he's now working on the part of the tattoo closest to your center, how he wraps his hand around your thigh, pushing your legs further apart to reach a spot on your inner thigh. Gloved fingers brushing over your panties for the smallest second, your hips sinking into the seat to keep yourself from moving. Hyunjin noticed but needed to get through the rest of the tattoo, if he stopped now he wouldn't know when he would start again. Your lip between your teeth he watched as you tried to close your legs again to block your exposed panties, now wet with your slick and nothing else. He could see the spot and almost ripped his gloves off as soon as he finished his work. But now he was teasing you. Cleaning the tattoo down and wiping it down. He doesn't even bother with the normal photos he would take right away instead putting on the second skin to protect the tattoo. As he smooths the thin film over your inner thigh he lets his fingers slip up brushing against your center to see your reaction. 

Your head rolls to your shoulder watching him through your lashes as he takes off his gloves and tosses them on the cart. He lifts the armrest on the tattoo chair before reaching behind your knees to pull you to the edge of the seat so your legs are dangling off the side. “how is it someone can make the prettiest sounds and sit so still for me?” he leans down and plants a kiss on your tattooless thigh, “because all I could think about was how I wanted to see your legs shaking for me while you whined like that,” 

you tried to draw your knees together but he was in the way, kissing up your inner thigh, nipping at your skin with his teeth. When he reached your skirt he flipped it up with a lazy hand giving you no time before his thumb was over your clit rubbing a harsh circle over the fabric. You felt the shock run up to your stomach, your voice breathy as you whimpered his name. He followed the wet line down the front of your panties before hooking his finger along the seam to pull them back. He wanted one taste, needed one taste but knew he wouldn't stop at just one, not when you looked this edible and ready for him. 

He ravages your clit, your hands shooting to his head burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks. He's careful of your tattoo but your other thigh is fair game for him to wrap his arm around and push you open, fingers bruising with how he spreads you. His free hand prodded your entrance, circling in your wetness before slipping in knuckle deep. “Hyunjin,” you whine, your hips rocking against his lips, feeling the build up of your orgasm. He curls his fingers pressing up into you enough to make your legs jerk from the new angle. 

You're seeing spot before too long, hips stuttering as he gives a final hard suck, fingers still as you clench around them. You're moaning so loud you're sure someone will hear but you don't even care. Hyunjin doesn't stop the flick of his tongue against your clit making you cry out, “I said I wanted to see them shake,” devilish smile covered in your slick before he latches on to your clit again. Fingers pumping in and out of you before he presses deeper into you. You can feel tears at the corners of your eyes, and when he pulls away slightly to let his teeth brush your clit you're done for, legs trembling as you cum. He is persistent and you have to tug his head away, a slight smile stuck on his wet lips as he watches your body shake from the overstimulation. “once more?” 

“I can't- I can't do it,” you shake your head but he drags his fingers out slowly before inching them back in, your hips jumping. 

“I know you can, you've been doing so good for me already, one more time won't hurt,” he hums, dipping his nose down to brush over your nub. Jolting at the feeling he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh, slowly building up speed with his fingers, “can't you do just one more?” it's the way he asks so softly, the heavy gaze under heavier eyelids that makes you nod. 

You're so sensitive that one lick has you shaking, your orgasm feeling so far and yet so close all at once. His tongue laps through your folds circling your clit. Hyunjin is obsessed with the taste of you, completely under the spell of your pussy and how it responds to his touch. He could go all night eating you out, watching as you fell apart again and again before him. Your cries are getting louder and before you know it your back is arching into him almost coming off the seat, your orgasm so intense you don't expect the clear fluid to squirt out of you until it has. 

You're breathing so labored you place a hand over your chest to try and calm yourself. hyunjins pleased grin is the only thing you see before he pulls his fingers out of you and sticks them in his mouth to clean them. Every once in a while your legs jerk from an aftershock, the delight in his eyes worth how tired you feel. Your thighs are sticking to the leather seat under you as Hyunjin pulls your underwear back into place leaning down to leave a ghost of a kiss over your clothed clit. “next time I want you to cry this pretty for my cock okay?”

[multiverse-menagerie]

Perhaps could I request the bg3 companions going through Tav's sketchbook and finding that it's riddled with drawings of each companion, but especially them. Maybe it's the early stages of a romance or smthn?

I’ve been slowly spinning this around in my head, yessss

Gale

At first, Gale thinks journal is a book you’ve left for him. He’s not really one to go through your personal belongings after all. But upon opening the journal and finding swaths of drawings of your party and him, he’s thrown a little off kilter

He returns it to you immediately (read as: he fights with himself for a good ten minutes to stop looking at the sketches of himself and return the book to you) but asks you about your hobby

Listens very intently to however much you’re willing to tell him. Gale would ask, “are those me? or do you know some other roguishly handsome wizard with a penchant for fancy robes?”

He’s trying Very Hard to downplay his feelings about the whole matter. He’s not used to being the admired one…but he’s certainly not complaining

Shadowheart

As she hopes everyone will respect her need for privacy, Shadowheart strives to do the same for others. Despite many opportunities to peak at your journal, she resists and eventually asks you about it directly, but with no pressure

shy!Tav, nervously showing off the sketches and trying to gloss over how many of these drawings are of Shadowheart - after a deep breath, Shadowheart ignores the blush rising on her skin and asks about some of the other drawings

Confident!Tav, flipping through the sketches and happily showing off the images of Shadowheart especially - Shadowheart flusters, sputters out a near incomprehensible jumble of words and rushes off

Either way, the moment lives Rent Free(tm) in her head and she hopes you’ll show her the journal again

Astarion

STUNNED. like, almost drops your sketch in surprise bc wait. Holy shit. Is that him??

recovers smoothly, plays down the way his adrenaline has spiked

It does not matter how good the portraits of him are, sketches or fully finished drawings, he is Memorizing those pages

If you draw him with any soft expression, he’ll point out that image to you and be like “I think you’ve messed up on that particular reaction, dear” (that’s how he looks at you, shh don’t tell him)

Wyll

He spots you watching him one day as he’s training, your eyes flipping between him and the journal in front of you. Eventually he gives in and wanders over, inquiring about what you’re up to

when you show him the spread, sketches of him doing swordplay (and a few close headshots) - Wyll is both very impressed and very flustered

He compliments your skills, though jokingly questions the subject of your drawings. Certainly someone else would make a more attractive drawing, he says, gesturing vaguely to his mismatched eyes and newly acquired horns

Is surprised by the fierce frown you give him, the disapproval in your voice at his suggestion. You’re drawing him for a reason. Thoroughly chastised and a little embarrassed, Wyll thanks you (he doesn’t elaborate beyond that but you get the idea)

Karlach

Karlach is too afraid to touch anything that seems even vaguely flammable, but she’s seen you scribbling into your journal on many an occasion. Eventually her curiosity gets the better of her and she asks you about it

If you’re hesitant to show her, she’ll back off…but kind of pout like a little kid. Not in an attempt to make you feel bad but just bc that’s who she is. If and when you decide to show her the sketches, she’s super hyped

Jaw on the floor. She’s not got the patience or skills for drawing, not really, but your talent blows her away. And then she sees the drawings of her and she’s like - mouth open, heart eyes

jokes about how you’ve drawn her, with a huge grin on her face the whole time “how long have you been staring at my thighs to get the drawing this accurate? should I get a new outfit for your next page?”

Lae’zel

She’s never really cared much for her appearance - don’t get me wrong, she thinks she looks great but she’s never really been the one to stare at her reflection or anything

But Lae’zel sees herself in your sketches, drawings of her in softer states, in relaxation, and shes…surprised

Part of her bristles - she’s a strong warrior on a mission, she doesn’t need you seeing her as soft. But a different part of her…eases. Relaxes. You see her as an individual worth affection.

Lae’zel wouldn’t comment much about the drawings, but she would ask to sit and watch you draw, if it wouldn’t bother you. Your skilled hands, the way your brow furrows as you draw. Yes. She likes that.

Halsin

At first, Halsin is simply impressed by your talents. Artistry has always been something he’s enjoyed, no matter the form, so he’s happy to get to see your work

When he comes across the pages devoted to him, he’s thrown off a little. He’s used to being admired, if we’re being honest. As long as he’s lived and as many people he’s been with, it happens. But he’s not used to…this. Being part of the art but without any expectation of him.

Traces a finger over the lines of his face - somehow you’ve captured a look that makes him seem so…heroic. Is that how you see him? Warmth feels his chest and he goes to seek you out

You don’t get much of an answer, when you ask why he’s scooped you and paying you extra attention, nuzzling his face into your hair

[motthe]

hiii !! just read like ,, a BUNCH of ur lumen au stuff ,,,, truly i am brainrotted now because i'm just thinking of so many different scenarios involving the lumens and i am just . EXCITED !!! its SUCHHHH a good concept im a big big sucker for soulmate stuff ,,,,

i was just wondering how you feel about jayvik x reader ,,,, TWO lumens ,,,,,,,, idk if you write for anything poly or not, but id love to hear your thoughts on it !!! either through headcanons or a ficlet, whichever you feel like :]

my first viktor x reader x jayce piece i’ve ever written… wait is this my first poly drabble?? it might be actually! i hope it’s fun to read ♥️

warnings: fem!reader, slight negative feelings of not being good enough, but overall fluff!!!

The scientific jargon that came with having not one but both of your fated being inventors was overwhelming. The words they tossed around became an entire other language since you’d all gotten closer. It left you feeling unbearably empty-headed, wondering why the universe would bond you to such intelligent men.

They were already changing an entire city with their ideas, and you would bet the world would soon bear their mark as well. In comparison, you were a meager artist making ends meet at festivals and street corners. Sure, maybe your work could be seen on a few shop signs or covering a wall or two in a cafe, but that was as famous as you’d ever be—a stranger to the passing eye.

“We need to widen the cylindrical chamber, maybe add an exhaust pipe to help with the cooldown.”

Jayce’s voice slipped through your head, smooth and confident and making no sense. You’d gotten rather good and tuning out the meat of the conversations, only recognizing the tones and emotions.

The heavy, warm accent of Viktor’s replied, swirling in the back of your mind as your pencil swiped over the heavy parchment against your thighs.

Recently, they’d begun inviting you to their lab to spend your free time in their company. There were two desks to choose from, though they were usually piled high with blueprints or notes. Jayce had moved a couch into the space for your comfort, placed in the corner and under a window, well away from any dangerous work they had their hands on, though they usually took anything too precarious into another portion of the building.

Their assistant, Sky, was in and out, always double-checking if you needed anything. She was a kind young woman, curly hair and glasses and a smile that made anyone feel at home. She brought you your own coffee and snacks, promising it was no trouble since she was already bringing them to Viktor and Jayce, anyway.

“You actually eat them,” she chuckled. “Jayce will if he notices they’re there, but it’s a long shot most days.”

You understood what she meant, seeing how focused the men became on their gadgets and studies. You’re sure if you got up and left they wouldn’t notice for a good, long while.

Today was one of those days, though there was peace in your private little corner as you sketched away. You squinted over the top of your sketchbook, skimming the outline of Viktor’s goggles pressed into his thick, winding hair and quickly adding the little licks of tresses to the paper before he was moving again.

You switched targets, taking in Jayce’s side profile and adding a bit more depth to his eyebrow and under eye.

Taking a moment to look between both drawings, you were hit with their beauty once more.

Jayce was deemed the academy’s “pretty boy,” with his strong jaw and perfect smile. He was a clean cut handsome, peak health and built with broad shoulders. He knew how to use those looks to his advantage.

On the other end was Viktor. He was a haunting beauty, sleek and angular. If he had the same charisma with speaking to the masses as Jayce did, that accent would gain him more than a fair share of admirers, but his confidence and skills lied elsewhere. He had a sharp eye and wore his emotions rather loudly on his face.

Where Jayce had faint lines from how much he smiled, Viktor had a feather soft crease between his brows from how often he furrowed them. Where the golden boy’s hands were always warm, his partner’s was cold. They made such gorgeous opposites, yet they held so many comparisons in mannerisms when it came to their shared hobbies and passions.

It was safe to say you adored them and their intricacies.

Taking a slow, deep breath you checked both shoulders before moving the tuft of black in your periphery into your hand. Gold shimmered between the dark mass that made up Jayce’s lumen, settling deeper into your palm as you raised your arms and stretched.

When you moved your drawing pad to the side, you spotted Viktor’s wedged between the apex of your thighs. Swallowing your gasp, you scooped it up, praying it hadn’t been smushed the entire time.

“When did you get there?” you whispered, rubbing your pointer finger into the tawny fuzz of his light. His lumen had always had a bit more give to it, leaving it to wedge itself under your leg or your shirt collar. Viktor’s preferred to be as close as possible to you, even if it left his lumen squished.

Jayce’s lumen was firmer, still soft but in a velveteen sort of sensation. It was bigger, taking up a good portion of your palm. Now your second month with it, you’d learned if it wasn’t on one of your shoulders, it was likely circling your head. His never went far either.

You wondered if you’d received Jayce’s lumen first, if it would have more of an attachment to you. As it stood, you’d had Viktor’s since you were young while he’d held Jayce’s and Jayce yours. The three of you being tied together had become quite the story as there went many outward poly fateds in Piltover, but luckily the gawking had passed after the first handful of weeks.

It was only a few days ago that Viktor confessed he’d been rather confused when he’d met Jayce and the lumens had flashed against one another.

“There were no similarities,” he’d explained, holding up one long, thin finger for your lumen to rest on as it hovered in front of him. The three of you were cozied up in your lackluster apartment—a studio more than a bedroom but it had a nice pullout couch and plenty of blankets to rest on in front of your heater. “Jayce was ecstatic, of course, but I was ruminating over your lumen when we first met.”

“I thought he hated me,” Jayce had murmured, breath warm against your ear as you laughed.

“I did not hate you,” huffed Viktor on your other side, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand, your lumen resting within. “I wasn’t aware we had a third, yet—it was puzzling.”

“I had to explain it to him,” Jayce chuckled. “One of my old friends was in a poly.”

“And, then, he was even more ecstatic,” Viktor sighed but there was affection in it. “I thought you’d follow him home some nights.”

“And leave you all by yourself?” You laid your head on his shoulder, grinning as his eyes fled. It was still so early into the relationship, and he grew flustered with physical affection whereas Jayce sought it every chance. “I’d never.”

“It’s better now, we’re all together,” Jayce hummed, lowering to lay his head in your lap. You brushed your hand through his hair, smiling as his lumen lit up in Viktor’s lap.

“Yes,” Viktor had agreed, careful as he laid his head against yours. “It all feels…complete.”

Your chest warmed at the memory as you held both of their lumens in your hands, giving a fleeting kiss to each. Viktor’s snuggled happily into your palm while Jayce’s pulsed a happy gold before flying off, likely to check in with Viktor.

As your eyes lifted to follow its journey, you jumped when you found Jayce smiling from a few feet away by his desk. He seemed to be shuffling through some papers. Your lumen floated just nice his head, twinkling in the sunlight that shone through the windows behind you.

“Didn’t see you there,” you said, stretching your legs out before standing. Viktor’s lumen left your hand, keeping close to your neck.

“I hope you’re not bored.” He opened an arm up and you approached. You still grew giddy with any chance to be wrapped in his embrace, quick to accept the invitation.

“I like spending time here with you both,” you assured, giggling as he bent down to kiss your forehead. “Gives me plenty of practice.”

His eyes lit up, one of those dark eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“I know what you’re about to ask—”

“Please?” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist. “I wanna see.”

“They’re just rough sketches!” you laughed, pushing against his chest.

“C’mon, I bet they’re great! I’m sure Viktor wants to see them, too.”

You shook your head, a mess of giggles as he wrapped both arms around you and slowly edged his way towards the couch.

“Did someone call my name?” asked Viktor, turning from the machine he was working on. A torch was in his hand but luckily still off for the time being. Jayce’s lumen was sitting on his knee.

“Viktor tell her you want to see her art!” Jayce goaded.

“Tell him he needs to wait for a real piece,” you threw back, wrinkling your nose at him as he stuck his tongue out.

“You’ve been drawing us?” Viktor’s voice seeped with awe and innocent curiosity. “May we see?”

Jayce bounced his eyebrows at you, all too smug. “Told you.”

“Fine—fine!” you sighed, throwing your hands up and wiggling out of his hold as you went to grab your canvas notebook. “Don’t gripe when you see your half-finished faces.”

The tap of Viktor’s crutch intermingled with Jayce’s footsteps as they met you by the couch. As you handed over your work, Viktor was the one to accept it as Jace stood over him. Both their eyes went wide at the current page and your hand went straight to your arm as you shuffled in place.

“Those are just warmups, so…”

“Warmups?” Jayce breathed, looking up from the notebook. “These are amazing!”

“I have to agree, the detail is astounding,” Viktor hummed, looking to turn back a page. He caught your eyes before he did. “Is this all right? Tell us if we’re overstepping.”

“No, it’s okay! I’m used to people watching me draw on the street, it’s just… I don’t know.” You shrugged, bringing a hand up as Viktor’s lumen rubbed against your neck. Jayce’s was just settling on your shoulder again. “I care about what you guys think. It’s not anything big like you do, but…”

“Big?” Jayce echoed, both of their sights set on you.

“Well, it’s not as important as what you both do is what I mean.”

“Of course it’s important,” Viktor argued, expression stern.

“But it’s art!” you laughed, waving off the sudden seriousness growing from them. “It’s helping a bunch of people like your creations do. That’s much more important.”

“Art is just as, if not more, important,” he continued, passing the notebook to Jayce. “We are helping people in different ways, but do not do yourself the disservice and think what you create is anything less than what we do.”

“He’s right,” Jayce agreed, holding up your work. “This? This speaks to people. Your work can bring life to a room and lets people save a special moment in time.”

“Okay, don’t butter me up so much or I’ll melt!” you squeaked, too embarrassed to look at them as they chuckled and continued flipping through your sketches. It wasn’t long before the three of you were on the couch, both of them pointing out their favorites.

“Is my hair truly that messy?” Viktor grumbled, raising a hand to it. “Perhaps I should cut it.”

“No, I like it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “You twirl it when you’re thinking! It’s so sweet.”

He blinked at you. “I do?”

Jayce whistled and you turned and gasped, completely forgetting the drawing you’d done of him in the forge. It was more from memory so your imagination had left it a bit more detailed than the rest.

“Okay, that’s enough!”

You swiped for the book, shutting it as Jayce laughed. Viktor rolled his eyes, smirking as he nudged your shoulder.

“Should I be worried of any scandalous pieces of me in there?”

You pouted, holding the notebook tighter to your chest.

“Oh?” Jayce breathed. “She didn’t say no!”

“You two are the worst!” you groaned, unable to help yourself from smiling as they both laughed in tandem.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Zevran, under a cut for length:

"I was going to skip over Zevran, honestly, as I felt like I didn't have a lot to tell in the way of stories about him... but I know he still has some (ardent) fans. Plus, on reflection, I thought maybe I DO have a few things to say. 😅 Sooo we'll see how this goes. Zevran came along much later in the DAO process, as we were trying to round out the cast of party members. Alistair and Morrigan were well underway (as "main" characters, they were concepted very early) and I'd just started to consider who our Rogue followers might be when... things changed, a bit. See, BioWare had released a game not long beforehand called Jade Empire. It had included some same-sex options in its romances - not obscured like the way Juhani's "romance" had been hinted at in KotOR, but explicit. To this day, I have no idea who on the Jade Empire team was behind it, or why. More to the point, the same-sex options had received a lot of attention and praise - almost universal praise, in fact. In 2005, everyone was just pleasantly surprised. And I don't recall if I went to James and asked about it or if he came to me to suggest DAO should include it. The latter, I think."

"You might ask "Aren't you gay, Dave? Weren't you already pushing for this?" And the answer to that is, emphatically, "no, not at all". It might seem odd looking through the lens of 2024, but there was no talk of 'representation' or 'diversity'. Not at any level where we were aware of it, anyhow. Today, fans argue about how MUCH representation to include and whether it's done well enough... the idea that, less than twenty years ago, it being included *at all* was very much in doubt feels so far away. But, back then, I'd always assumed my private life and my work in games would never meet. So I think it was James who brought it up, because I remember being startled. Pleasantly so, of course. Now I had to look at our two rogues and figure out how this would apply. I sketched out the female of the two (who was taken on by Sheryl Chee) and then looked at the male - he who became Zevran. I'd been reading about the CIA and one thing that stuck with me was how they'd (allegedly) recruit gay men as assassins because they rarely had familial ties. Zevran wasn't going to be gay (bisexuality wasn't a question of representation, but a cost-benefit compromise) but that was the inspiration."

"Then there was the question of how "flamboyantly" I was writing this character, whether that might be too stereotypical? I don't remember how it arose, but I had too many "flamboyant" friends to do anything other than double down. This character was gonna be Zorro the goddamn Gay Blade, that's what. So that's how Zevran happened. Fun, a bit nihilistic, maybe a bit too overtly flirty for today's audience but very confidently *sexual*. Everything I'm not, so I'll admit it was an interesting exploration to dig down and find that voice somewhere inside. He was the anti-Alistair, and I needed that. Casting him was difficult. Caroline always tried to go for authentic accents, when we could, but for some reason this was getting us nowhere. I think back, and I suspect it's because I hadn't yet learned the lesson to not use terms in casting descriptions I thought were universal... but were not. What do I mean by that? Well, there was one write-up that said "drow elf". Now, I know what a drow elf is. It wasn't even important to the description, but the director saw the word "elf", and you know what we got back? A Keebler elf. Like a leprachaun, high and sweet and cutsie. Can you imagine?"

"In this case, I think it was the use of the word "assassin". Combine that with the sorts of roles many Hispanic actors in LA probably are asked to play, and all the auditions we were getting were 150% dark, mean, and gritty. 🫠 So we widened the casting call a bit, and this led us to Jon Curry. I knew Jon wasn't Hispanic, but what I wasn't prepared for when I flew down to meet the DAO actors was that he's this extremely tall, extremely Nordic looking dude who just happened to do the most amazing Antonio Banderas impression. Watching THAT man channel Zevran was... more than a bit surreal. 😅 And he had fun with it. As soon as we gave him the go ahead to play the fun and flirtiness to the hilt, that's exactly what he did. Over the few days where we found Zevran's voice, it totally supplied me with something I could hold in my head when I went back to Edmonton and finished writing him. Zevran was funny enough that the fans liked him. The only part of the reception I thought odd was the occasional comment by a male player who felt "tricked" into having sex with Zevran. "You mean... that part where he invites you to his tent for a sensual massage?" "Yes! I was expecting a massage!" "He literally says the massage is sensual." "Well he wasn't clear enough!" This is where I first came to the conclusion that a certain number of our players just don't know how to people. And that maybe an adjustment to the way we approached the messaging (or massaging lol) of romance was in order. If I could go back, would I change anything? Maybe I'd remind the systems team Zevran should really be able to pick a lock. And maybe not allow him to die. We had no idea we'd need to import these choices into the future - we kinda thought DAO was "one and done". Not so much, as it turned out. 😁"

[source thread]

David Gaider: "there's something to be said about how Zevran flirted and even had sex with you because he thought that's all he had to offer... not just you, but anyone. And when he realized you wanted something deeper, suddenly he was on unsteady ground and it truly unsettled him. It was fun to explore." [source]

User: "So David - besides loving the fact that the third image you picked is a gay sex scene - what happened in DA2(DAE - come on) with Zevrans design?" David Gaider: "Check the ALT text. It wasn’t a custom sculpt, so that’s as close as they could get it. Which… was not close." [source]

User: "Just to make sure I fully understand: the director (was it the voice director?) saw the word "elf" and thought you were looking for someone high, sweet, and cutesie?" David Gaider: "Yeah, this was from back before we managed VO in-house. The voice director in this case just didn’t have an association with “elf” like some familiar with fantasy would." [source]

[midnighvtm4ss]

omg I feel like if anyone could write this right it’s going to be you. we need arthur FLUFF with a reader on her period!!!

RISES THE MOON

cw: fluff, toothaching fluff, period cramps, arthur is a sweetheart, please arthur marry me :( wrote this on my notes app, grammar errors

wc: 1,8k

a/n: this piece was so comforting to write aaa thank you anon for the request <33 i hope this will soothe anyone who’s having period pain rn, i suggest you listen to this song and this one, i had them on loop while writing this. This piece is shorter than the others but I think it suits the mood in a way,, idk ! enjoy!!

The last few notes of the sweet melody coming from Javier’s guitar floated quietly in the air.

The night had fallen gently over the camp, wrapping everything in a quiet, soothing stillness. The campfire flickered softly, casting a golden light on the nearby trees, creating a cozy circle of warmth for those near it. Most of the gang had long since retired for the night, leaving only the faintest murmur of voices in the distant watching post and the occasional pops and cracks of burning wood.

You stood near the fire, trying to find some relief from the chill in the air, but more than that, you were trying to ease the dull ache that spread through your body. The cramps had been like little devils on your lower belly throughout your day, starting as a minor constant discomfort but now growing into something more relentless, making you wince with every movement and your back aching with every step.

Your day was filled with chores left and right as some of the girls left camp and went into town under the request of various groceries items for Pearson’s wagon. You wanted to join them but unfortunately your body had other plans. You came up with a simple excuse and promised to go with them another time. You hadn’t mentioned the true cause to anyone—it was just your period, no need to alarm anyone after all—but now, at the end of the day, you were desperately ready to crawl into the comfort of your bed and hope the night might lend you some kind of relief.

Arthur had been finishing up his usual nightly chores, checking on the horses and bringing them fresh hay. He always had a fondness for horses, no matter if they were his or someone else’s. His love for them often found sketched freely in the various pages of his journal. As he made his way back from the hitching post his eyes scanned the surroundings, making sure the camp was in order for the night. His eyes, like magnets drifted to your figure near the campfire.

You could feel his eyes on you, catching the small signs of discomfort you tried so hard to hide behind your calm demeanor. But he noticed something was off, he always noticed. The way your hand kept drifting to hold your stomach, the subtle wince that crossed your face when you thought no one was looking—it didn’t slip past him.

The crunching sound of boots on dirt floated in the air making its way towards you. You knew who it was and you took a moment to regain yourself and put on a calm façade.

“Y’alright, darlin’?” The gentle rumble of his voice pulled you out of your thoughts as he came to sit down on the log beside you, his gaze full of quiet concern as he searched your face for any hint of discomfort.

“Sure,” You tried to smile through the ache, not wanting to make a fuss. “just a little sore from the day. It’s nothing.”

But Arthur wasn’t one to brush things off, especially when it came to you. He studied your face for a moment, his brow furrowing making a small expression line form between his brows in that familiar way that told you he wasn’t about to let it go. Without saying anything, he slipped a warm, steady hand to the small of your back, moving it in small comforting circles.

“Come on,” he sighted, his voice still soft but insistent. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

He guided you away from the fire and toward the tent. You didn’t argue. The idea of lying down, of finally resting, sounded too good to resist.

The two of you slipped into the quiet of the tent, Arthur hand left yours to go and close the front flap of the tent and light up the creaky old lantern on the makeshift bedside table, the lantern casting a soft glow over the familiar space.

The moment you sank down onto the bed, you let out a long sigh, curling up slightly to your side in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in your belly. But even then, the cramps persisted, growing stronger by the minute.

Arthur knelt beside the cot, his arms folded on the soft mattress watching with that careful, gentle intensity of his. He reached for the blanket, tucking it around you with a tenderness so far different from his usual hard front he put up with everyone. Then, without a word, he got up, kicking his boots away and settled down beside you, his large frame stretching out on the bedroll as he gently pulled you into his arms resting your head on his firm chest.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he whispered. His breath warm against your temple as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you higher against his chest.

You melted into him, resting your head against his chest, your body relaxing instantly in the comfort of his embrace. Arthur’s warmth surrounded you, his steady presence already making you feel better, more at ease. His hands, rough from all the manual work, moved with a soft, gentle care. One hand drifting under your nightgown towards your lower belly, the action far from sexual while the other moved to untangle your hair from the simple hairstyle you had for the day.

“That time of the month?”

You let out a muffled grumble against the fabric of his red union suit as an answer, making Arthur let out a small laugh.

“I can tell it’s hurtin’ you,” he said quietly, his voice low and soothing as his thumb began to rub slow, comforting circles over your stomach. “Let me help.”

You closed your eyes, letting out a soft breath as the warmth of his hand started to ease some of the ache. His touch was gentle, massaging your lower belly putting just enough pressure to soothe the tension without causing more discomfort. The pain didn’t go away completely, but the care in his movements, the way he held you, made your heart sing with joy making it easier to bear the pain.

“That’s better,” you whispered, your voice soft with relief. “Thank you.”

Arthur’s lips curved into a faint smile, though you could feel the ghost of worry still lingering in the way his hand moved over your belly, never stopping, never hesitating. “You don’t gotta thank me for takin’ care of you, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’d do it every day if I had to.”

“Be careful of what you wish for, Mister. I might start to demand more if you spoil me”

“Oh I can’t wait,” he teased. “Forever at your service mylady.”

His words made your heart swell with warmth. Arthur wasn’t the type to shower you with flowery words or grand gestures, but it was in moments like these that his love showed itself at its truest form—in the quiet, steady way he was always there, making you smile, always looking out for you, even when you didn’t ask for it.

For a while, the two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth. The moon rose higher in the sky and the outside world faded away. Arthur’s hand continued its slow, soothing movements, his touch tender and full of care, and little by little, the pain in your belly began to ease ever so slightly. You felt the tension melting away under the work of his hands, the cramps becoming a dull background ache rather than the sharp, insistent pain it had been just an hour ago.

“Y’know,” Arthur said after a long moment of comfortable silence, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet, “I remember Miss Grimshaw used to make me and John chamomile tea when we had stomach cramps.” his hands never stopped their movement.

“Marston used to drink a lot of it—that poor bastard always seemed to eat the nastiest shit he could find around,” he laughed lightly, reminiscing of the early days of the gang when a camp cook seemed such a privilege.

“Anyway, I can make you some if you want,”

You smiled against his chest, the simple thoughtfulness of his offer making your heart ache with affection. “That sounds nice,” you whispered, though truthfully, you were already feeling better just being in his arms.

“I don’t know how much it can be of help but it’s better than nothin’”

Arthur shifted slightly. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Before you could protest for the lack of his warmth against you, he slipped out of the tent, moving with that same quiet efficiency he always had.

A few minutes passed, you were almost asleep when Arthur came back and with him the chill night breeze entered the tent waking you up.

“There,” he said softly, his deep voice full of quiet satisfaction as he sat the mug down the bedside table. He sat down beside you, pulling you up into a seated position before handing you the tin mug filled with the golden brown liquid. “This should hopefully help.”

You nestled into him, feeling the warmth of the mug and the steady, grounding presence of Arthur beside you. It was amazing how he could make everything feel better, just by being there—by holding you and letting you know, without words, that he was there for you.

A comforting silence fell on both of you as you drank your tea slowly, feeling your whole body relaxing with each warm sip you took.

After a while, the pain in your belly faded into the background, and you found yourself growing drowsy in the soft cocoon of warmth and care that Arthur had created around you. You laid down again and Arthur followed your action putting your head on his chest. His hand moved to your back, tracing lazy, soothing patterns there, his fingers brushing gently over your spine.

“Y’know there’s no need to hide when you’re hurtin’. You’re always helping everyone around, sometimes you gotta stop and look after y’rself.”

“Arthur,” you whispered, your voice full of sleep and gratitude. “I love you so much, I don’t deserve you.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed another kiss to your temple. “Ain’t no such thing,” he murmured, “you deserve more than me.”

His words, so downgrading for himself yet full of love for you, made your heart ache in the best way.

“You’re everything I need,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyelids grew heavy. As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped safely in Arthur’s arms, the pain and discomfort of the day faded away completely, replaced by the quiet, steady warmth of his love.

[chobunz]

── inked. ( cbg ) 💉

๑ You ask your boyfriend, Beomgyu, to give you a tattoo. Who was he to decline ??

pair: tattoo artist!beomgyu ㅊ gf!reader | warnings: fluff, beomgyu kissing you through the process, suggestive content, praise, break-time visit, sketching | words: 1.1k

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“i’m still shocked you just showed up here without texting me.” beomgyu says as he drew out some of his clients ideas on a sketch-sheet. his voice low, full of concentration.

“what? so i can’t surprise visit my boyfriend now ? is that what you’re saying?” you dropped your vivienne westwood bag on his desk, peering over his shoulder to look at what he’s working on.

“yes, thats exactly what that means,” he spoke sarcastically, raising his brows, “y’know you’re welcome anytime.” “what about this ?” his arm lifted to show the man in the chair a few different designs. “go sit over there baby, i’ll be done in a quickie.” he rubbed the small of your back, kissing the crown of your forehead before walking across the room.

“okay.. ” you knew it wouldn’t be a long wait since the sketch seemed to be of something simple, like a name. you’d gotten comfortable on the couch for about an hour. most of the time you were occupied on your phone or studying beomgyu and his work environment.

you’d always wanted a tattoo, but upon watching a couple videos of people everytime you got curious— the cringe your body would feel after seeing them wincing in pain, you’d rather not. though, having an extra detail on your oh so very plain body wouldn’t be so awful. you could just picture yourself with a tattoo, something so small being well over enough to drastically change your appearance.

you caught yourself glancing over at the client, watching his facial expressions as beomgyu marked his pale skin. he hadn’t really made any look of discomfort. you weren’t that surprised though, he was full of ink. quite literally.

you’d be lying if you said some of beomgyu’s own tattoos hadn’t inspired you. his were so pretty and well put together. he had a full sleeve of ink and other random ones scattered all over his body, which he did most of them himself.

the noise of the door shutting awakened you from your trance. you watched as your boyfriend swept some of his hair out of his face, fixing his bangs to get a better look at you. “all done ?” you ask, body moving on it’s own, like a chunk of metal to a magnet. you caressed his figure, kissing his chin.

“yeah, for now, i have no more scheduled clients.” tongue grazing his lips before they latched onto yours, humming against the plump skin. “i’m on break right now though.” he smirked.

“‘s that so ?” you teased, caressing the side of his jaw.

“but you’re not here for me ? are you?” he laughed, seeing right through your intentions.

“well, no.. but yeah..” you showed your set of pearly white teeth once hearing his contagious laughter.

“what’s on your mind bun ?” he sat on his chair, motioning for you to come sit on his lap.

“well, you know— i dunno..” you shyed away. what if he didn’t want you ruining your skin, he’s always said he liked the pure look you gave off. what if he’ll be unattracted to you once you ruin it? you felt his hand caressing your thigh. he knew you were nervous, and he gave you all the time you needed. “what if.. i got a tattoo ?” “could i have one ?..”

he looked at you with furrowed brows. “why’re you asking me, you’re a grown ass woman.” he chuckled.

“but—”

“i don’t care what you do to your body baby, i’ll love it either way.” he cut you off, kissing your knuckles. “if you want one, i have nothing against your decision.” you had a sulky look upon your features, hearing how he spoke about you.

“i don’t know what i want though..”

“what are your looking for ? simple ? bold ? big ?”

“simple, for sure.” you quickly answered. his arms circled around you before he placed you down on the raised chair. he was quick to start sketching simple drawings, some cutesy ones you might like. he even wrote your name in a few different fonts.

“baby.. don’t you think that's a little narcissistic.” you giggled, eyeing his pen.

“have you seen yourself ? if i looked like you i’d be the biggest fucking narcissist.” he pursed, earning a grin from you. picking up the paper, displaying it before you. “choose wisely.” watching as your eyes curiously scanned the paper.

“hmm, i want this one !” you pointed at a star design. it was simple, small, but also gave off y2k vibes which you adored.

“you sure ? remember, there’s no going back.” he warns again, getting an alcohol wipe from his drawer. “where?”

“gyu, how come you never ask your actual clients these questions before you tat them ?” you pointed at your lower hip area indicating that’s where you wanted business done.

“i don’t know those people, who am i to tell them not to put some stupid shit on their skin.” he shrugged, lifting up your shirt, taking the cold wipe to your skin.

“valid— shit, that’s cold baby !” you caught his hand in your hand.

“my bad, princess.” he threw the wet tissue in the trash bin, taking the gun checking and shaking the ink that remained inside. “sit back and relax, kay ?” he kissed you after changing the tip on the machine.

it wasn’t until then that your breathing hitched. “baby.” he said sternly, looking at you. “just look at me. think about ponies or something.”

“shut the fuck up.” you rolled your eyes, “let’s do this already.”

he giggled before he took the tattoo gun to your skin, eyes shifting from the sketch and back to your skin.

surprisingly, it didn’t hurt but for a second. it just left you with a burning sensation once he finished. wiping the excess ink from your skin with another alcohol wipe, making you gasp for air.

“aaand we’re done cutie !” he grinned at his work, spreading a protective coat easing the warm area. “you did so well for me,” he kissed your head, helping you get up from your seat to look in a long mirror. “look at my beautiful girl.”

you weren’t in shock or anything, you knew you’d look hot with a tattoo— just kidding you were phenomenal. “woah, it looks really good ! thank you baby!” you clapped after flexing your waist in your reflection. “okay, now how do i care for it ?” you turn around to face his hovering figure.

“why do i need to tell you ? i’ll do it myself.” he wrapped his arms firmly around you.

“rightt.. well how much was it baby?”

“nothing at all.” he cheesed, admiring how pretty you looked.

“c’mon on that’s not fair ! let me pay !” you pout.

“no !”

“fine…how about a tip ?”

“just take care of mine..”

๑ ๑ ๑

[s-awturn]

Written by Lana Del Rey || F1 Dilfs

cw: a little obscene, nostalgic feeling, cute, sweet love, some jokes about age, suggestions for sugar daddy x sugar baby behavior

a/n: I didn't tell you, but I finally got out of the unemployment statistics and this week didn't help me feed the creativity for what I have open, I sketched a few things here and there, However, nothing came out to my liking, so I focused my efforts on other things and here we are. And obviously, I'm focused on my new hyperfixation, enjoy!

starring: Toto Wolff, Sebastian Vettel, Fernando Alonso, Jenson Button, Mark Weber, Kimi Raikkonen.

TOTO WOLFF, be my daddy.

“You can be my daddy tonight-night-night

If you're seeking heaven

Then you wanna come and get it, get it”

Considering the age difference between you two was almost 25 years, you used to joke with Toto about him being your sugar daddy. Not that you were with him because of any advantage that Toto could benefit you, but that didn't mean he wouldn't give you gifts or try to make your life easier in any way he could.

And by God, he loves to spoil you, give you expensive gifts, take you to extravagant surprises, if that makes him your sugar daddy, he doesn't care, after all he's not even close to stopping.

“I already told you that you don’t need to spend money on me, Torger” You returned the box with the Bulgari emblem on the lid. You knew it was the watch you had glimpsed in the display case a few weeks ago. Toto was getting uncontrollable.

“And I couldn’t care less about that, accept it” he pushed the box back to you “there’s no chance of this being returned, just take it”

SEBASTIAN VETTEL, say yes to heaven.

“Cause I've got my eye on you

I've got my eye on you”

From the moment you met him, you knew it would be impossible to take your eyes off him. Sebastian He caught your attention from the first moment you saw him. You spent weeks talking about him, how attentive he had been in the interview he gave you, how kind and helpful he was. It was no surprise that you were in love with the Formidable Sebastian Vettel.

But it was a surprise to discover that he reciprocated your feelings.

“I thought you were reading,” he said without taking his eyes off the puzzle he was putting together. You felt your cheeks flush as you were caught red-handed.

“And I was,” you confessed, dropping the book on the arm of the couch, “but I thought I told you that sometimes it’s impossible to keep my eyes off you,” and it was his turn to blush.

FERNANDO ALONSO, off to the races.

“My old man is a tough man

But he got a soul as sweet as blood red jam

And he shows me, he knows me”

People said that Fernando had bad posture, he was a difficult guy to deal with. But you never cared about that, because with you, he was nothing more than putty in your hands, he could be as hard as a rough diamond and as sweet as fruit jelly.

Fernando didn't care about being labeled as a difficult guy, he just needed to be good to you, the rest could go away and he didn't care. It wasn't like he could stop himself from being soft on you, after all you dug deep into his chest until you had his entire heart in your hands.

“I love knowing that only I have your soft side, Nano” you say, kissing his chin before giving a startled little scream as you are thrown onto the bed.

“Not for long, tesoro” He murmurs, giving sweet bites to your bare thighs. You giggled before grabbing his hair.

JENSON BUTTON, video games.

“Heaven is a place on Earth with you

Tell me all the things you wanna do

I heard that you like the bad girls, honey

Is that true?”

If a few years ago, someone had told you that you were with Jenson Button, you would have laughed out loud in disbelief. After all, there was no way you could have fallen in love with him, not by the guy who was the very meaning of the word “scoundrel” in the dictionary. You wouldn't believe it if someone told you that Jenson would give you his very idea of Heaven on Earth, that Jenson would look at you like you were the only thing keeping him on the planet.

He made you feel unique, and to him, you are the only one.

“You should sleep, peach,” he murmurs sleepily, tightening his arm around your waist. You felt your whole body heat up, few things in the world were better than Jense's sleep-husky voice.

“I don’t feel tired, Jen” you slide your nails down the back of his neck.

“Then let me tire you out, peach” he says, getting under the sheets and the next sound was his moan across the room.

MARK WEBBER, summertime sadness.

“Kiss me hard before you go

Summertime sadness

I just wanted you to know

That, baby, you're the best”

There are the good things in life, and then there is Mark Webber. Sometimes you couldn't believe you had managed to marry him. Despite all the hustle and bustle that surrounds his life, the few intervals of time he spends with you at home, you can't help but feel lucky to have him, Mark had brought you the peace and tranquility you had been searching for.

And all of that made it worth it every time he went out to work, because Mark may have left Formula One, but Formula One never left Mark.

“Don't study too much, I know your thesis needs to be done quickly, but you need to rest, princess,” he says, watching the car pull up at the front door. “And eat right, you can't spend fifteen days eating only instant noodles”

“It's your fault if you got me addicted to your food, love... But I promise I'll take care of myself" you reply before kissing him, enjoying the last moments of his summer vacation. “Call me when you land and go to bed early, you're not young enough to stay up all night.”

He rolled his eyes “I thought we were past the age jokes phase.”

“Never”

KIMI RAIKKONEN, bad boy.

“Baby ghetto love

Mama knows I like the bad boys”

And there was nothing he could do to stop you, when he noticed, you were already infiltrated into his skin, hidden under the entire layer of ice. And Kimi wouldn't allow anyone to try to take you away from there, you had already received the title of Raikkonen girl.

He was the kind of man her mother said would break her heart, Kimi was the perfect kind of bad boy.

He wasn't called the Iceman for nothing, Kimi was the most indifferent person you've ever seen in your life, No one could be that stoic except Kimi Raikkonen. And not even his usual coldness stopped you from approaching him, you seemed drawn to him like a moth to a flame, you wanted to know what was underneath all that ice.

“Your mother hates me anyway, so what difference will a bottle of wine make?” he asks, pressing the buttons on the joystick.

“And I’m still labeled as the bad guy in this story,” he murmurs, dropping the controller anywhere before kissing her.

“It’s not for her, it’s for me,” you reply, sitting on his lap, not caring about disturbing his game. “Only drunk can I put up with you two exchanging barbs all dinner long.”

gif credits: hookhausenchips, lostfxwn, tur80, the-offside-rule, vro0m, summerblueringo.

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO S-AWTURN™ 🪐. I do not allow copying or republication. Any unauthorized publication will be reported.

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[fayes-fics]

The Secrets We Keep: Pt II

<< Part I

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you… (part II, see above for link to part I)

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f), cunnilingus, hand job, vaginal sex, woman on top, orgasm. Also a lot of fluff and a few dashes of angst.

Word Count: 8.5k (13.6k for complete fic, including Pt I)

Authors Note: Part 2 of 2. Part 1 linked above. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. Here is the conclusion to this Benepic! Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. Enjoy! 🫶

-vii-

The first thing you feel is throbbing pain, an insistent drum in your head, mouth dry as if you have been chewing cotton wool—the instant regret of excessive drinking floods through you. However, when your eyes reluctantly peel open, your predicament escalates.

You have no earthly idea where you are. Or how you got here. The last thing you remember was Benedict kissing you; then the room was literally spinning from entirely too much brandy. 

Still in the dress you wore yesterday, but tucked under crisp white linens. A trace of a familiar scent upon the pillow that you cannot quite place in your fuzzy state. Gingerly sitting up, you try to get your bearings, not yet awake enough to have any reaction beyond puzzlement. 

The room is darkened, thankfully, save for a sliver of the rising sun that slashes across the bed through a narrow gap in the curtains. You are in a large mahogany four-poster bed; the room is decorated in rich jewel tones—heavy velvet burgundy drapes and dark blue Persian rugs, panelled walls on which stunning artwork hangs. Embers glow in a nearby fireplace as you spy your pelisse hanging on the back of a door and your shoes neatly arranged nearby.

Then you twist and see the bedside cabinet, and your stomach plunges.

There, alongside a glass of water, is your notebook. Your secret notebook. The one that should still be concealed within the hidden pocket of your pelisse. But instead, it is here. And what is worse, it is open. Open to a page with one of your favourite sketches of Benedict: his eyes crinkling against the strong rays of the sun, a carefree smile on his face.

Instantly, you grab it and slam it shut. Fingernails drumming urgently on its silken cover, now hugged into your chest. Horrified that your mystery generous benefactor, who must have seen you to bed, has also been privy to your most private thoughts. 

Galvanised by a need to solve the mystery of who, you relinquish your tight hold on the tome. It is then that a folded letter slips out of its pages and drops into your lap. Tentatively, you unfurl the paper and are aghast by the headed notepaper declaring the author and revealing your host. The worst possible person you could think of.

But then your gaze falls to the elegant script inked onto its thick parchment, and your life is indelibly altered.

Dearest Y/n

I hope you are well-rested. There are so many things I am impatient to impart, but I must begin with an explanation and, indeed, an apology.

You are in my bedroom, at my lodgings. I brought you here as I saw no other option that would guarantee your safety and welfare, which is always my utmost concern.  I made pains to ensure your arrival here was not seen, and I must assure you, in case your recall is uncertain, that nothing has happened between us beyond our kiss. 

Now onto my apology, which is two-fold, although I suspect it should contain multitudes more. Firstly, my most sincere and unreserved apologies for my ungentlemanly conduct at our last two encounters. As wondrous as those kisses were, they were nonetheless inexcusable. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my impulsive actions.

Secondly, I must apologise for my discovery of this, your private diary. My knowledge of its existence is purely accidental; I removed it from your coat merely as a wish for your possessions to be in neat order upon your awakening. My knowledge of its contents, however… for that, I must throw myself at your mercy and beg for your forgiveness. Curiosity and liquor are not the best companions, and it seems both got the better of me. 

In what I hope is partial recompense, I will confess a secret of mine. Arguably selfish in nature and most likely the worst possible timing, too. However, given what I have now seen, I am utterly compelled to convey it….

I love you, y/n.

Most ardently and most truly. 

There is no person in the world I would rather spend time with. Whose thoughts I am always impatient to know and whose every moment I wish to be a part of. For some time now, you have occupied my every thought. 

It is why I felt compelled to act when I heard from Eloise about your impossible situation. I will do anything within my power to assist you. It is why I said that I want to alleviate your burdens. I meant every word and more. My happiness is seemingly inextricably calibrated to yours—when I see you happy, it brings me great joy, and when I see you are not, it brings a pang to my chest I know not what do with. 

I would have taken these feelings to my grave… were it not for this diary. When what I found hidden within ts pages gave me the exquisite burden of hope. Hope that perhaps you return my affections? May indeed have done so for quite some time as well? 

I must also take a moment to compliment your poetic talent, and that is to say nothing of your artistic abilities, which quite frankly are humbling. Dare I dream of a day that we could paint together? Sorry (Again! Multitudes indeed!), I am likely getting far ahead of myself.

I will not be home when you read this. Partial cowardice on my part, no doubt, but born out of utmost respect. You always deserve the right to choose, y/n, and that includes what you do with this confession. I do not wish for you to be obligated to see me or let me know your response, thoroughly eager though I am to hear of it. 

If you wish to speak to me before your wedding ceremony, please leave your hair ribbon tied to my phaeton upon your departure. I will find a way to see you. If you do not, I shall, of course, respect your decision. 

A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo: You will always have my heart; I hope you also choose to be its haven.

Benedict

You could read this confession a thousand times over and still scarcely believe it; the depth of his feelings declared plainly, boldly, and so lyrically in writing. You pour over it once more, giddily aglow, your fingers tracing across his elegant, looped script, your lips moving as you mouth his words, needing to have them within you somehow. Then, you lovingly refold and place the letter between the last two blank pages of your notebook—a more fitting denouement to its contents you could not imagine.

You put on your shoes and pelisse, still floating on a cloud. A valet meets you in the hallway and, with a wordless nod of acknowledgement, leads you out of the rear mews entrance, handing you a large silk scarf to conceal yourself under. With one final glance up at Benedict’s abode, you unfurl the ribbon from your hair and, insides aflutter, tie it in a neat bow onto his phaeton before wrapping the scarf around your head and stealing out onto the streets of Mayfair. 

-viii-

Still in a daze about Benedict’s confession, you slip into the servant's entrance of your family home, tiptoeing through the dormant kitchen and tugging off the scarf. Just as you believe yourself home-free, Mrs White, head cook and ersatz maternal figure, materialises from the pantry, nearly dropping a bag of flour in surprise.

“Lawks alive, sweet child, you gave me a fright!” she exclaims, clutching her chest. “Pray tell, why are you sneaking into my kitchen at the crack of dawn?”

You cringe and turn sheepishly to meet her gaze. “Sorry for the scare, Mrs White. I, um, indulged rather too heavily last night. I was in no fit state to return home. I stayed with a trusted friend.” The truth, albeit behind a veil of obfuscation. “Please do not tell Father!” you add hurriedly.

As she plunks down the flour and smacks her fingers together to rid them of its nascent dust, she chuckles. “I shall not divulge if you do not… for I was already under your father’s employ when I did the same many years ago, the night before I made my Harry an honest man.”

“Deal!” you giggle, clutching your notebook tight to your chest, unable to quash the ebullience fizzing in your being.

“You look as if you caught a rainbow and sold it to the sky,” she declares, crossing her arms and observing you closely. “Wedding day excitement, yes?!” she adds pointedly with a raised eyebrow, even as her tone very much suggests she suspects otherwise. 

“Of course, Mrs White…” you concur, attempting to conceal the quirk of your lip. 

She rolls her eyes and shoos you affectionately towards the hallway. “Away with you! I suspect the less I truly know, the better…”

You say nothing; just give her a nod and race up the servant's stairs, keen to make it to your bedroom unseen. 

As soon as you are safely there, you toe off your shoes and only then relinquish your vice-like grip upon your notebook to hurriedly change into your nightgown as if you had been asleep in the house all night. Enacting a plan you conceived on the brisk walk home, you grab a night bag from your ottoman. Flinging open your wardrobe, patently ignoring the wedding dress hung upon its door, you bundle the notebook with a couple of your favourite outfits and stuff them into the bag. Buckling it shut while you scoot across the room, you open the sash window and  - with a quick check of the garden below - drop the bag into the large rhododendron beneath, hopeful the dense, fragrant blooms will conceal its presence for now.

Just as you are closing the window, a gaggle of ladies descend upon your room, led by your fussing mother, your ladies' maid Rachel among them. Realising she has had to lie to keep your cover since yesterday at the modiste, you silently shoot her a brief look of reassurance.

“Rise and shine, darling!” your mother chimes. “‘Tis your most special day!”

And then everything is a blur as the preparation for your wedding starts in earnest, you still slightly detached from it all, your thoughts purely of Benedict. It is only sometime later that you get a few moments of peace with just Rachel as she puts the finishing touches to your look.

“You seem changed, my lady…” Rachel opines sotto voce, sliding a pin into your hair.

You say nothing, even as your eyes meet in the vanity table mirror, unwilling to confess details of what has transpired just yet. Unsure yourself even what it could mean until you get the chance to see Benedict yourself, your stomach in knots to do so.

“I told your family you took dinner alone last night in your room after returning from the modiste, and then you went to sleep…” she whispers, leaning in even though you are alone.

“Thank you. I am truly grateful,” you offer sincerely before adding: “I will tell you more when I am able. I do beg one more favour of you…?”

She makes eye contact again in your reflection, giving a brief tentative nod after a pause.

“If you should hear from a Bridgerton valet, please follow any directions he provides,” you implore, the image of your hair ribbon fluttering gently in the breeze emblazoned in your mind.

“A valet? Not a ladies’ maid?” she checks softly, frowning.

“Yes, just please… do as he asks?”

“Yes, my lady,” she demures before reaching for your jewellery.

It is only as the carriage you and your mother ride in shudders over the cobblestones towards St George’s church an hour or so later that reality comes crashing in. 

So engrossed in thoughts of seeing Benedict all morning, you had almost forgotten the dreadful fate that likely awaits you. A sudden spike of fear that he will not turn up, that something will prevent him from seeing you, or, heaven forfend, today’s stiff breeze has blown your hair ribbon asunder. 

All at once, your head is spinning, your dress feels too tight, and there is a plunging dread in the pit of your stomach, your skin prickling hard before your vision seems to swim with dots before narrowing to blackness…

“Y/n!? Whatever is the matter?!” your mother’s alarmed voice rings out as you woozily return.

You are slumped sideways against the glass window, its cool surface a balm on your suddenly fevered temple.

“Is it what I told you about your wedding night…?!” she frets, her laced glove tickling your forehead as she appears to be checking your temperature. “I can assure you, you will get used to it…”

You bat her away and slowly sit upright, taking a calming breath while also trying to blot out the memory of her talk about marital relations right before you left the house. Not able to confess it as unnecessary without raising suspicion, you had to endure a stumbling, unhelpful explanation of things you already know. Indeed, you have witnessed at Granville’s parties, even if you have not taken part yourself. 

But then the sudden thought of being required to do such with Lord Farringdon has you grasping the curtain, your empty stomach heaving at the mere prospect. The silent hope that Benedict can assist you at the eleventh hour is the only thing that stops you from passing out anew.

With a shaky gait and a queasy, oily feeling, you alight a few moments later, your mother lending an arm of support as your father and brothers pile out of the other carriage. This is to be the entirety of your wedding guest list. You have pulled into a side courtyard of the church, concealed behind high walls, away from the inquisitive sights of the Ton. The rushed nature of the union and Whistledown’s latest means your family has no wish for this to be a public event, keen to be rid of scandal. Only your immediate family, your husband-to-be and the vicar - a friend of your father’s - know of today’s ceremony. Well, and Benedict. You did not even get the chance to inform Eloise of this expedited schedule.

As he leads you up the stairs and into the side vestibule, your father informs you that Lord Farringdon is already awaiting you at that altar and that he will appreciate a swift ceremony. You swallow thickly and nod mutely, sensing the window of opportunity creaking closed with alarming alacrity, each incessant tick of the church clock seeming like both forever and not enough time, scrabbling for any chance to stall.

Just as you are about to lose all sense of hope, you see movement over your father's shoulder that has your heart leaping into your throat. There, through a mullioned window, you see the distorted outline of a phaeton swiftly pulling up on the other side of the church from where you entered, a palpable wave of relief and excitement washing over you. 

Benedict has come!

-ix-

“Father, may I please have a moment alone?” you rush out breathlessly, pulse-pounding hard in your ears. Hoping he will interpret your request as mere nervousness about the imminent ceremony, you add: “Before I must take this big step and become a wife?”

He reluctantly grants your wishes, brusquely telling you it should be brief before following the rest of your family through the doors into the nave. 

As soon as the coast is clear, you are darting out the entrance again and running around the outside of the church, wedding dress swishing around your legs, until you skid to a halt next to a pillar that conceals you from the street.

There, before you, arrestingly beautiful and jumping athletically down to the pavement, is Benedict—a vision in a blue velvet jacket and teal cravat. 

Your eyes meet, and your knees want to buckle; such is the magnitude of the moment. He bounds up the granite steps and crushes his lips to yours briefly.

“No time to talk,” he rushes out. “If you wish to escape, take my hand, for we must depart now!”

Your heart hammers as you do the only thing you could ever want to: grab tightly onto his proffered hand as his face breaks out into the most arresting smile. Then it's a blur as he whisks you down the steps to his phaeton, hoisting you up onto its leather bench and throwing a blanket into your lap, then clambering in himself. With a shake of the reins, you lurch and take off down an alleyway at a rapid pace. The velocity of motion, red bricks of buildings whizzing by mere feet away, has you momentarily stunned and so you almost jump out of your skin when he speaks loudly over the rushing noise.

“Cover yourself before we get to the street,” Benedict advises quick-fire, only taking his attention off the road briefly to nod to the blanket. Just as you are struggling to conceal yourself, the horses careen onto Park Lane, attracting attention for the speed you are already travelling.

“Benedict!” you chastise, your arm shooting out to grab the side of the partial umbrella-like hood that arches over you, having to cling on for dear life. “This is not exactly a stealthy escape!”

“I know,” he grimaces, not looking at you, “but we must make haste and be as far away as we can as soon as possible.”

“Regardless of destination, we will need to stop at my house!” you almost have to yell to be heard over the jostling wheels on either side of you.

“Why??” His whole face screwed up in disbelief.

“I must gather some things! I will not leave without them, Benedict!!” you warn.

“What could possibly be worth stopping for?” he decries, the whole vehicle swaying violently as he rounds another bend.

“Perchance, other clothing?!” you wither loudly, frowning that he had not considered such, before adding: “And your letter!?” 

His head whips around to look at you and there is an intensity in his gaze that has your heart stuttering. An all-consuming want to kiss his lips as his gaze falls to your mouth. Only the urgent yelp of a pedestrian you narrowly avoid colliding into rips your attention away from each other. 

He rights the phaeton, tugging the reins so the horses slow.

“Alright,” he concedes, quieter, calmer. “But please do be as quick as you are able…”

You don't get the chance to inform him you have already packed and stowed a bag because he is pulling up in the quiet mews behind your family home. You jump down and take off, sprinting through the small gate and across the lawn. Soon, you are diving into the large bushes on the side of the house beneath your bedroom window. Fumbling around, you have to wrestle your dress from a branch before you reach the wall. Emitting a muted noise of victory as you are finally able to grab your bag and out of the foliage without looking.

“Miss y/l/n!?”

You jump out of your skin, spinning to see Mrs White standing at a nearby door, wielding a rolling pin.

“Mrs White, please,” you beseech, “please, do not tell anyone!” 

She takes stock of you: your animated state, your wedding dress torn over your knee where it snagged upon that branch, a night bag grasped in your ringless left hand… and she appears to make a calculated decision.

“I fear I could not, my child,” she offers with a shrug, “I do not see anyone for me to tell of…” 

The small, sympathetic nod and smile toying her lips has you barreling towards her, throwing your free arm tight around her as flour dust puffs onto the silk of your dress. You utter your thanks, flooded with gratitude, hugging her close before disentangling, you take off sprinting before she can say anymore.

-x-

As you depart from your family home, a companionable silence settles between you—a tacit understanding that there is much to discuss, but the journey is not the ideal place to do so. Both resolute to put some miles between yourselves and your family, likely now emerging from the church and wondering where on earth you are. A flare of guilt in your belly for not informing Rachel or even your mother. You resolve to send word tomorrow that you are safe without providing details.

As the edges of London give way to the countryside, you do decide to ask one simple question. 

“Where are we headed, Benedict?”

“I have a suggested destination….” he begins enigmatically, an odd cadence to his voice, “but we will discuss that later, once we stop for the night at an inn.”

There is a little flutter behind your ribs at the thought, but it is forgotten as a strong gust of wind whistles over the carriage, making you shiver and burrow into the blanket, wishing you had grabbed your pelisse from the night bag before setting off.

You startle as Benedict pulls you snugly into his side, adjusting the carriage hood and then the blanket, too, so he provides partial shelter from the winds as they whip across the fields. 

“I am sorry I do not have an enclosed carriage for you to journey in comfort,” he winces, his speech humming into you. “But it is best we use this speedier option anyway. We will cover more ground swiftly travelling light.”

You nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you for the blanket, at least; it is very considerate,” you respond, not unpleased to have an excuse to cuddle into him as you reassure him: “I am well now.”

Indeed, the warmth of his flank on yours and the steady rocking motion of the carriage is soporific, the whirlwind of the day hitting you even though it is merely lunchtime.

“Please rest if you need to,” he intuits, “I will wake you if needed.”

And despite the elements, you find the lure of sleep inevitable.

A warm wetness on your brow stirs you.

“Y/n…”

You wish you could always be roused like this; your name a soft rumble from Benedict’s lips as they trace gently over your forehead. You nuzzle unthinkingly into the sound and feel, which has him chuckling into your skin.

“We are here, at the inn….” he murmurs, his breath hot into your hairline.

You blink awake. “We are?!’” You twist to see you are stopped alongside an elegant Tudor wood building. “How long have I been asleep?!”

“All afternoon,” he admits, a touch sheepish. “You looked so peaceful and I assume you must need the rest after a tumultuous few days.”

His touching manner has a warmth spreading behind your ribs that makes you push up and land a kiss on his jaw.

“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling away but pleased to see a dot of colour high on his cheekbones.

“‘Tis nothing,” he demures before changing the topic. “I am sure you are hungry and in need of refreshments. So we shall dine and remain here for the night. We have covered a considerable distance from London already—around forty miles.” He jumps down and stands expectantly holding out a hand for you to follow suit as he continues speaking. “To avoid attention, we should present ourselves as family relations—cousins, perhaps?” 

“I am in a wedding dress,” you remind as you wrestle your way out of the blanket and reach for him to descend.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he scans down your form, lingering slightly.

“Oh yes. Well. Umm. Perchance as husband and wife then?” he flusters as you step down with his assistance.

“Would that not draw the attention you mentioned we should avoid?” you murmur, your hands still joined even though you are on the ground now.

“Do you have another suggestion?” he queries, his breath warm on your face as you stand entirely too close, fingers flexing around yours.

“Unless you wish me to remove my dress out here…” you goad, a little crest of victory as his pupils rapidly dilate and he huffs a breath, “...then I do not.”

“We have much to discuss,” he almost growls, which stokes something low in your belly as he tugs you along towards the entrance, only stopping to nod briefly to the inn’s groomsman who emerges to take care of your horses.

-xi-

The tavern at the inn is a warm, convivial space, wood-panelled, the smell of delicious foods wafting in the air alongside the tannin of wine and the ferrous tang of dark beer as crowds of people of all walks of life gather. Benedict sees you into a corner booth away from other patrons as he orders food, then goes to secure your accommodation for the night.

As he returns, passing you a glass of wine, there is a nervous churning in your gut; this is the first opportunity you have had to talk properly since you awoke to his life-changing letter.

“I have no idea where to begin,” he confesses, looking perplexed, and it makes you reach out in reassurance over the table, pulse strong in his raised veins under your fingertips.

“Your letter was the single most wondrous thing I have ever received,” you offer honestly, his eyes softening, making your heart flutter. “Benedict,” you take a steadying breath before ploughing on with the truth you have never spoken aloud before, “I have loved you for as long as I can remember…”

His face lights up, and his hand turns under yours, your palms touching as he laces your fingers together in a tight knot, then brings your joined fists to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. 

“Why did you never tell me?” He entreats softly.

“Why did you never tell me?” You return lightning quick, a quirk on your lips that has him chuckling.

“An entirely fair accusation,” he concedes, shuffling closer and grabbing your other hand, your heads so close together now. “I suppose I thought my feelings irrelevant, futile even, that you would secure a titled husband. Though why your father chose such a vile one confounds me, I must confess.”

“I believe that a chastisement,” you commence but are interrupted by food arriving at your table. 

So, as you eat, you explain the whole story between mouthfuls. That you were able to delay your debut last season in your father’s absence, but it meant this season, he was determined to see you matched swiftly. Recounting fondly your time spent with your Aunt Eliza, Benedict appearing impressed as you reel off all the skills you now possess. You also talk in detail about how her encouragement meant you fell into the London art scene and how you know Henry Granville. Benedict listens intently, taking bites of his dinner, but his attention never wavers from you as you recount everything. 

“So yes, I believe the match was about my father’s wish to quash a perceived rebellion more than a match society might deem appropriate for the firstborn daughter of a Viscount.” 

“An untitled second son, even less so,” Benedict muses softly, downcasting his eyes, a flare of insecurity that has you putting down your cutlery and grabbing his jaw.

“Benedict, please do not,” you petition, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “You know me. You know that I have never cared what society might think! If I were to marry, I would only ever want it to be a love match. I would not give a damn if my husband were a penniless beggar as long as he loves and respects me.” 

You pause as he raises his soulful gaze to yours, your faces so close.

“Luckily for me, the man who stole my heart fifteen years ago is neither penniless nor a beggar. He is a wonderful, caring, handsome, passionate artist who I would indeed be lucky to paint next to,” you conclude with reference to a line in his letter, a scene you can picture so clearly it seems more premonition than a dream.

“Fifteen years?” he repeats, a look of utter wonderment as he turns his lips aside to kiss your palm where you still cup his face. You nod, a little nostalgic smile tugging at your lips as he adds: “Then I must confess… I have never been more grateful for my incessant curiosity; it led me to your diary and thus to this very moment.”

He takes your hands from his jaw, then kisses both of your knuckles again in turn, but this time, he lingers, his lips warm, damp and pursed open, and a trace of his tongue dabs your protruding bone. A shiver runs down your spine, stoking something acute, dangerous and exhilarating.

“Do you know I have kept that notebook hidden since I was fourteen? Sewing a secret pocket into all of my coats or hiding it under floorboards so it would never be found. For six years. Yet it took you less than one evening…” 

“Maybe it was waiting to reveal itself to the one person who needed to see it the most…” he muses between kisses, his breath gusting hot over your fingers. 

That seismic but simple poetic sentence devastates your ability or wish to talk anymore—a thronging need for him that you are powerless to resist any longer.

“Take me to our room, Benedict,” you command, voice tremulant with want and hope. 

His head shoots up, his face a captivating tapestry of barely bridled passion and astonishment.

“But I-I booked us separate rooms,” he stumbles, confounded, and that gentlemanly act just makes you want him all the more.

Uncaring that you are sitting in a wedding dress in a public tavern, you pitch forward and capture his lips in a kiss that instantly becomes passionate and demanding, your hand running into his hair and tugging him closer.

“You should return the key and request your money back, for that will not be necessary…” you decree, breathing the words into his mouth.

That seems to light a fire in him. He shoves back the table and sweeps you into his arms bridal style, striding out of the room purposefully, his mouth hot on yours, your pounding heartbeat almost drowning out the bawdy, raucous cheers from the drunken patrons you pass.

-xii-

Once the room door clicks closed behind you, his demeanour softens. He gently removes your shoes before setting your stockinged feet down on a plush rug in front of a roaring fire. He tugs his jacket off so he stands before you in a colourful waistcoat and ruffled shirt.

“Are you certain?” His ask is chivalrous, tinged with such delicate hope it makes you melt.

“I have never been more certain of anything in my entire life,” you declare candidly, boldly stepping towards him.

His hands encircle your waist as yours slide up his biceps, the warmth of his skin through the crisp white fabric making your blood run warm. 

“I may be chaste, but I know of what we are to do; I have been at Granville’s, remember. I also know that I want this. So very much.”

“I am the luckiest man…” he asserts in a low rumble, your honesty seeming to ignite him again as he crowds into you.

It’s an electrifying kiss that has your scalp tingling: his hands moulded to you, mapping your every curve as you take from each other as you never have before, desperation bubbling over with each parry of tongues. His fingers land on the buttons of your dress, between your shoulder blades, silently asking permission.

“Rip it off me,” you urge impulsively, chest heaving within your stays. “I want you to destroy this very dress and everything it represents….”

His responding growl inflames your core, molten liquid heat as his large hands grab the material and tear it asunder from your body so you stand before him, trembling with desire in just your stays and chemise.

He guides your fingers to his waistcoat, the crackle of the fire and the huff of his breaths the only sound in the room. His chest rises and falls steadily as you work on each button. When you reach the last one, he shucks the garment from his torso, then crosses his arms and discards his shirt in one swift motion, sailing away in a puffed arch. The broad expanse of smooth chest before you has you tongue-tied. A lean musculature and pale complexion reminiscent of Italian renaissance sculpture… but living, breathing and looking at you as if you are the most precious thing on earth. 

Long arms wrap around you, enveloping you in his warmth, fingers spidering up the notches of your spine through the thin cotton of your chemise until they reach your stays and pluck upon the laces there. He unties them slowly as his lips trail hotly down your throat. You have observed forms of intimacy but didn't expect the firsthand experience to be so rich, so all-consuming. The sights, the sensations, the scents. Like the tangy undernotes lurking beneath his woody cologne, an aroma that is all him, his bare skin. It makes your mouth water and lean into him; a want to be a part of him almost—so much heat and touch.

As your loosened stays drop to the floor behind you, a clawing need for his flesh on yours has you rapidly discarding your chemise over your head, naked now save your stockings. But before he has the chance to see, you propel yourself into him again, his solid chest colliding with your breasts, your peaked nipples trapped against his warmth. A loud groan from his lips that you swallow as you push up onto tiptoes and wrap your arms around his strong neck, kissing him ferociously. His grip slides down to grasp your bottom, pulling you into him, something rigid pressing your stomach through the refined wool of his trousers. 

“Let me look at you,” he pleads, withdrawing a half step, his eyes sweeping covetously down your body as you feel aglow in the heat of the adjacent fire. “You are so beautiful,” he attests shakily, an insistent throbbing between your legs that is all of his making, so close without any stimulation.

“Touch me, Benedict.” 

It’s equal parts order and request, grabbing his wrist and guiding it low over your belly. His elegant fingertips curl through the patch of hair before swiping between your legs, dilated pupils boring into yours as you emit a wanton moan, knees almost buckling. A strong arm wraps around you to keep you steady as he observes you up close, repeating the motion, parting your folds this time, you honeying upon his fingertips as he glances over your swollen clit. 

You whimper his name, and he claims your lips again, sliding the pad of his fingers over that spot over and over. Fingernails digging into his arm at his expert touch, the air swirling with the wet sound and scent of your arousal.

“You smell so utterly divine,” he groans, pitching forward and almost biting your bottom lip in a toothful, desperate meeting, your moans echoing over his tongue. “I need to taste you,” he stutters.

You have to shoot out an arm to grasp the mantlepiece as he suddenly drops to his knees before you and buries his face into your mound, inhaling deeply, his nose pressed onto your clitoral hood. He is so primal in his desperation as he lifts one of your legs and places it over his shoulder, diving into your folds, his tongue a wet, hot spear over your swollen nub. Your other hand burrows into his thick head of hair, scratching along his scalp as he hums his approval into your damp heat, the vibration causing sparks of pleasure to fan out.

It takes what little shred of concentration you have left to stay upright, clinging to the fireplace and him, rocketing skyward so dizzyingly fast, slack-jawed, breathless, rooted in your body as you gawk down at him. You had no idea this would be so intense, so carnal. His stare is fixated upwards on you, reading your reactions like a book, his glazed jaw moving with expert precision buried between your legs—an intoxicating sight that burns into your retinas.

“I need you to come for me, y/n,” he begs hotly into your soaked flesh, his tongue a muscular swipe greater than his fingers, his fingers plucking the ribbons holding your stockings loose so they slide down to your feet.

“I want to do so with you…” you gasp, unable to prevent whatever forms in your mouth from slipping out, leaking profusely onto his chin.

“You will; I promise,” his gravelly assurance, the permission you need to let go, riding his tongue with abandon, your body undulating, chasing that ephemeral high you have only experienced from your own touch before. But this is so much more, so wholly other, magnitudes indeed, the words from his letter never far from your thoughts even as you spiral somewhere close to bliss. His gaze locked onto you, able to read all your signs: skin flushed, ragged pants, shuddering with each quest of his tongue.

And then he gently bites your clit, and you are gone, his hands needing to clamp onto your hips to hold you upright as your body convulses. You cry out, sagging onto him as your body races with a high that fizzes in every cell, radiating in waves of pleasure that have you calling out, uncaring who may hear, incapable of anything but clinging to his hair for dear life and scrunching your toes into the thick wool rug underfoot.

You know you utter a curse, entirely overpowered by the euphoria coursing through you as he stands back up and pulls you into his arms, kissing your cheek chastely, the scent of you strong on his face. But as you come back to yourself, renewed passion stokes in you, determination to give as good as you have been given, a drive for mutual pleasure that has you shoving him backwards forcefully.

He falls back onto the bed, a look of total surprise claiming his face as you crowd over him, laying prone, attacking his trouser buttons with a vigour that has him stunned, his mouth agape. But he doesn't move to stop you, far from it. There is a flash in his eye as you grab his hands and cage them onto the sheets briefly before returning to attack his clothing. Wordlessly, he lifts his pelvis when you tap his hipbone, and then you are tugging his trousers down and off, flinging them across the room.

You are momentarily taken aback when you look down and realise he is without underwear, now as naked as you. His cock, nestled in a small patch of hair, is larger than you have seen before, tinged dark pink and leaking from the tip. It looks so good you bite your lip, a twinge deep inside that is pure want. 

His moan is beautiful as you take him in hand. He is hot and steely in your grip as you move your hand up and down, learning his contours, fascinated by the contrast of how silky his skin is.

“I am so glad you have seen things you should not have,” he groans, squirming delightfully, so very responsive to your touch. It makes you greedy always to have him like this, yearning for you as much as you do him, stuttering your name as you change your grip and move a little faster.

“Please stop…” he grits out, his hand covering yours and slowing your motions, but you can tell it is utterly reluctant. “I am too close, my love…”

That reflexive term of endearment makes something melt behind your ribs, and you crawl up over him as you release his cock, claiming his lips in a kiss, his hands encircling your waist, pulling you down so that his cock is trapped under your pubic bone.

“I love you,” you breathe quietly over his lips, holding his face, wanting to convey the depth of feelings you have for this man.

“I love you too, y/n,” he replies earnestly, his eyes glassy, a cloud of emotion claiming his expression as his hands cup your jaw as well, a profound moment of heartfelt sincerity amid this tableau of fevered physicality.

“May I?” 

Your ask is hesitant as you rearrange, sliding your legs up either side of his hips, signalling your wish to ride him, a need to be the one to give your virginity to him more than him to take it. Something achingly significant in the ability to choose.

He nods a reassuring and spellbound look, and a beguiling hitch in his throat as his tip brushes your entrance.

“It may hurt a little, my love,” he advises, wincing as if wishing that was not the case for you.

“I know,” you murmur back, grabbing his hands to aid you in sitting up so you have more range of motion. 

And then, with a steadying breath, you lower yourself onto him, mouth falling open at the invasive stretch with barely a fraction of him inside you. His face is a kaleidoscope of everything you hope for him—joy and bliss. Your fingers grasp tight around his knuckles, your joined hands a knotted fist, as you feel a pinch of pain that makes you suck air through your teeth, knowing this is the moment you become a woman. So glad it is with him, the categorical love of your life.

Luckily, the ache is fleeting, and you sink lower, him moaning your name lyrically, you puffing a breath at the complete fullness. A pressure holding you open that is so galvanic you now understand the hedonism of what you have previously witnessed—the drive to satisfy an urge that is innate and potent.  

“Oh my god, Benedict,” you stutter, as finally he is fully seated within your body, clinging to him, held open in the most arresting way.

“I know, my love, I know…” he soothes, untangling your hands to touch your skin, running his palms reverentially down your body. “You are amazing, a wonder…” 

“Guide me…?”

He smiles and whispers gentle instructions for you to push up with your thighs and then sink back down, his hands now clamped around your waist to assist you. The sensation is indescribable, the drag of his cock against your walls as you slowly ascend and descend, trying to catalogue every second as a precious memory.

Your speed increases as you get used to the physicality of movement, a cloying, dewy heat spreading over both your bodies as you move in unison. He starts to tilt his hips off the bed to assist in your strokes, pushing to a new depth that catches your breath and has you muttering a curse, your hands scrabbling his abdomen, enjoying the flex of muscles there. His grip moves to your breasts, teasing your nipples in a way that has you gasping and riding harder. His fingers snagging on your sensitive buds is a beeline zipping to your engorged clit, that mashes into his body with every downward stroke you take. Still on a high from your last orgasm, it won't take much more for you to come again; this time, you hope in tandem.

His movements become more urgent, his noises louder, his touch firmer, squeezing you, bucking up with force now, making you moan with each new plunge onto him, as if he craves to leave an imprint of himself inside you.

“Are you close, my love?” you query, borrowing his term of endearment. It has his screwed-shut eyes flying open, his hands flexing on your hips, and a ripple up his rigid cock you can actually feel.

“Yesssss,” he hisses back, “please call me that again,” he entreats through clenched teeth, a prominent vein in his neck pulsing hard as his whole being seems to tense.

“My love,” you coo, treating it like a gift to bestow, addicted already to the effect it has on him, his fingers digging into your flesh in a way that will leave marks you will be proud to wear.

You move faster now, the sturdy bed squeaking in protest, the sound of your damp skin slapping together, taking even yourself by surprise at how visceral this is, especially for a first time. Expecting it to be less somehow and enraptured that instead, it is better, burning brighter than anything you have ever fantasised of—skin and sweat, muscle and bone, heart and body in rhapsody. 

One of his hands squirrels between your legs, fingertips hooking against your clit, and within seconds, you are breaking. Your vision whiting out as you slam onto him, your pussy clenching in waves, his cock almost too much as you float somewhere that is both within you and a thousand miles above. Dimly, you sense his nails scrape your flesh as he calls out your name, loudly, debauched, wrecked, a strong pulse through his length as he shudders then goes entirely still, a warmth blooming deep inside your channel that is his seed, something about it so very primaeval. 

You slump inelegantly onto his chest, huffing breaths, altered fundamentally by this magical experience. His touch is soothing, encouraging to lay upon him as he softens within you, eventually slipping out as you lay nuzzled together, exchanging soft words of sated joy—a sudden tide of fatigue lapping your edges. Fuzzily, you feel Benedict chuckle under you and, with hushed, tender words, rearrange your pliant body, rolling you onto your side and curling protectively around you, a warming presence that has sleep seizing you almost immediately.

Awakening the following morning in Benedict’s arms is sublime, his stubbled lips grazing your neck as he rolls you under his warm weight. Just as your body stirs under his sensual kisses, he stops and sighs, dropping his forehead onto your clavicle.

“I wish to spend a lifetime right here, entwined naked with you, my love, but alas, I must desist,” he laments softly. “We need to get moving…”

“You never did say your planned destination,” you point out, running your fingers into his lush hair as he tilts his handsome face up to meet your gaze.

“Did I not?” He lilts, feigning ignorance. “I blame you entirely; your beauty is far too distracting..” Flattery falling from his lips reflexively. “Well, anyway, we must make haste if we are to reach Scotland by Friday as I have planned.”

“Scotland?” you echo breathlessly. “That is so far! Why there?”

“Gretna Green, my love,” his eyes sparkling as he hovers over you, entwining the fingers of your left hands together, his thumb brushing your ring finger. “I hope you are amenable to my proposal...”

And your heart veritably explodes.

-xiii-

The journey is long but worth it. Your wedding, five days later, over the border in Scotland, is everything you could hope for—a beautiful, romantic, private moment for just the two of you, promising your lives to each other in secret. Something thrillingly illicit about its location, too, the place to which all forbidden lovers escape. You do not wear a wedding dress, just a simple light blue chiffon one you had thrown into your night bag, always a favourite since Benedict once complimented you in it. He wears a cravat in the same colour. Exchanging matching wedding bands engraved inside with the same phrase Benedict signed off his love confession with: A vila mon coeur, gardi li mo (Here is my heart, guard it well).

You are happily ensconced in his idyllic Wiltshire cottage by the time family reactions to your elopement reach you almost two weeks later. The Bridgertons are supportive if a little shocked; the dowager Viscountess is always enamoured with a dramatic love story. Your family is less so, but they cannot deny a match with a Bridgerton is no bad thing, even if it was fleeting gossip fodder. You hear from your mother that Lord Farringdon did not demand compensation for your abscondment from the altar. Apparently, you were not the first to do so. Rumour has it that the odious man is negotiating a marriage deal with the Cowpers for their wayward daughter. It may be the first time you have felt a pang of sympathy for Cressida. 

Mostly, you are grateful that the more scandalous truth surrounding your union - Benedict stealing you away on your wedding day - never becomes public knowledge. Every couple must keep some secrets from the world, no? 

Although, a couple of weeks later, on a leisurely Sunday morning, you discover your marriage can no longer be considered as such.

“Darling, you might want to see this…” Benedict drawls casually, wandering into the bathroom as you luxuriate in warm water. 

He drops the latest issue of Lady Whistledown onto a nearby stool as he tugs off his shirt, apparently planning to join you in your bath. Your mouth falls open in shock as you grab the pamphlet. But it is not from his naked form as his trousers hit the floor; it's from what you read:

Lastly, this author may have to eat her hat. News has reached me that Mr Benedict Bridgerton had indeed done the almost unthinkable and married the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. They exchanged vows in a quiet ceremony far from the prying eyes of the Ton and will now settle in Wiltshire, I hear. 

“How did she find out?” you ponder aloud as he slides into the tub behind you. Surely Whistledown must be close to the Bridgertons to discover as such?

“I have not a clue. But perhaps I should send her some honey from our hives to make her headwear more digestible?” he jests, interrupting your reading by pulling you backwards into his arms. 

“Mr Bridgerton!” you chastise playfully, holding the paper aloft to save it from the sloshing he creates as he surrounds you, laughing carefree, so much delightfully naked skin around yours.

“Are you done reading Mrs Bridgerton?” His tone changes to a husky murmur in your ear, his fingers trailing distractingly upwards over your ribs under the water.

“You just brought this to me, husband,” you riposte pointedly, but your argument dies off into a wanton noise as his hands slide up and cup your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples expertly. You abandon any attempt to focus on the page, tossing the paper aside and twisting to capture his lips with yours.

Upon the floor, as water splashes onto the wood nearby, the last few sentences you missed glow in a shaft of sunlight:

Congratulations on the latest Bridgerton love match, and I wish them a lifetime of happiness. As I am certain, do all of you. 

What secrets will I unearth next, dear readers? Even I do not yet know. But I look forward to it. Don’t you?

Yours sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[emo-axel]

Okay, so. I do have a few ideas when it comes to killer and his different stages (yes, these don't 100% follow canon and I'm okay with that) but this is, in particular, for my personal oc/interpretation of killer I roleplay (his nickname is Mira)

I made a little sketch thing that I might detail later... I also have a idea for stage 5 as well. BUT for now, here's this:

OG Killer/Something New belongs to rahafwabas

I also don't know where I saw it but the idea that killer has different sets of pronouns depending on what stage he's in is actually *chef kiss*

Possiblyyyyy...

0 -> He/Him

1 -> He/They

2 -> They/Them

3 -> They/It

4 -> It/Its

5 -> ...?

Jsjdjdjdjsn it's just a really cool idea. Probably 0 & 1 are the only stages where they inform others about their pronouns and what feels right for each stage but, yk, 2 and up they just don't really have the capacity to care/don't think about it. It's something I still need to think about but just know that I AM thinking about it

[mandy-asimp]

Curiosity

sugar mommy lilia calderu x reader

warnings: cursing, some gay shit, smut, kissing mwah mwah mwah, age-gap (kinda unspecified, reader is like 26) uhhh that's it??

summary: your an inspiring actress who tends to have late rehearsals. and having no car, you had resorted to a the train. but then one night you meet a mysterious woman who captures your curiosity instantly.

Special thanks to @yourbasicqueerie for the car details and ideas🙏🙏

Your headphones rested on your head as you waited. You watched the snow fall against the tracks, it was supposed to get worse as the night went on. A white Thanksgiving was expected for New York. It honestly made you a little giddy as you hadn't experience good snow since you were seven.

Even as the thought of being alone for the holidays passed, you consider everything you could still do for yourself. Thanksgiving you could still cook, maybe have a Friendsgiving or open door thing in your complex building. Your neighbors always enjoyed when you had an open door dinner. But for Christmas, you knew everyone would be with family and their friends, leaving you to the comfort of your own home.

The sound of wheels screeching against metal drew you back to reality, your train was here. You had finished another show and could finally rest for a while before having to find something else to pay your bills. You had been searching through company after company, your manager helping the best she could to get you something solid and beneficial for both of you. All you've been coming across are small off-broadway shows and musicals, it wasn't much but it kept you content and cozy.

You flipped your phone over, seeing the screen light up and the time read 3:33 in the morning and you could only sigh as you boarded the train. You took in the few other people who had gotten on with you.

Two teenage boys sat giggling with each other and were finishing up some street food they had found. You assumed they were brothers with how well they got along. The sight warmed your heart. Then there was the woman with red hair. She had her hood up and nodding along to whatever song she must've been listening to. You caught a glimpse of her green eyes. She seemed young and alone. Then there was a tall man sitting way on the other side. His glasses rested neatly on top of his brief case.

The train had began and for at least fifteen minutes you had a smooth ride till the first stop. Not bothering to look up at whoever walked on. All you had known was they sat across from you, which you didn't think was entirely weird but there was an entire car open so why there?

You minded your business as the train began again. You occupied yourself for the ride by sketching and humming just slightly to yourself. And maybe you hadn't really been paying attention to what you were sketching, but as the train came to another stop you had an entire drawing of what you had taken in earlier. Your head tilted as you stared at it.

"It's a good sketch." The voice across from you had spoke, calling for your eyes to leave the paper. And by golly, did your heart leap off an airplane and go skydiving. The older woman was absolutely stunning. Her salt and pepper curls were pulled up yet the perfect amount framed her face. Drawing your attention to the big brown eyes that stared at you with interest and curiosity. Her outfit, you couldn't tell much of it as it was covered up by a black winter coat, but her bag screamed expensive and so did the few pieces of jewelry. "I never even saw you look up once to relook at anyone."

"I have a really good memory...I guess.." You were feeling shy under her gaze. It wasn't unlike you though, you naturally were a soft spoken, well-mannered young woman. You didn't like to be loud, which was surprising to many people you worked with when they had made a joke about you needing subtitles. But then again, that's what everyone else knew you as. There's always two sides.

The woman's silence made you think at first she didn't hear you, and you were ready to just smile and look back down to your papers and start on something new. "But to transfer that so easily onto a page isn't as easy. It's a talent..what you posses."

You couldn't help the smile and confused look you gave her, "posses? Like it's a superpower?" You lightly giggled. The woman had followed along, liking your humor.

"No..more like magic." Something in her eyes changed as they finally took you in. Your vintage racer jacket that covered a sweatshirt with a casual pair of jeans. Your feet covered in boots that looked to be worn to the bone as she just barely caught a glimpse of the gray baggy socks that covered the top. You must be wearing some big socks. "What are you doing this late on a train anyways?"

You hummed before answering, "I'm an actress. I just finished a show and now I'm heading home for the night. I'm hoping for something big next, really make my name."

She saw the twinkle as you spoke about your career. She so easily knew that you were following a dream. She admired that. "And what is your name, baby?" She leaned on her elegantly crossed legs, getting closer to your space.

You blushed and smiled with your eyes closed as you tucked into yourself a bit, having a physical reaction to her pet name. And you had muttered out your name, knowing she didn't hear it as she laughed. Was she laughing at you or with you? "You're a cute one, but I didn't catch that. What'd you say?" She asked again, leaving out the pet name since she truly did want to know your name.

You took a deep breath and giggled once more, finally getting her your name and she repeated it back to you. Softly like it was going to break if she said it any louder. It was said again in a way you've only experienced few times, low and dragged out. Almost moaned under her breath. It made your smile fall to a subtle grin and your blush deepen. You wanted to hear it again, and again, louder, shouted, begged, you had to shake your head of the thoughts and the woman seemed to know what had just occurred.

She stood from her spot as the train came to a halt, "get home safe, baby. You got star potential and it would be ashame if the world never got to see it." She winked before walking away. She had left you so stunned you never even got her name.

All you knew was she was going to plague your dreams for the next week and torture your mind during your searching you had to do. You had named her the train mommy in your diary, which she began to appear more and more as the days drew on. You hadn't stopped thinking of her. You couldn't. But alas, you chalked your dreams up to just that, dreams. You'd probably never see such a woman again anyways.

Right?

obviously wrong.

You had hit December now. The worst one in years, and you were cutting it close with this one. A musical that was supposed to show the weekend right before the big holiday. A rehearsal had gone late, you had really been working on harmonies for a song. You just couldn't help to feed the directors need to run it till it was perfect. The breaks in-between being subtle talking sessions on how to get there tonight before adding in the choreograph.

Back at the train station, you held yourself tight as the snow came down faster tonight. You were praying to make it before they shut down the train due to weather and leave you stranded. Your foot tapped as you stood behind the yellow line waiting for the thing to just finally arrive.

You glanced around the platform. Almost nobody was there, the only other people was a couple. One was with long brown waves that were kept down by purple ear muffs and a matching scarf wrapped around her. Her black coat zipped up as her hands were stuffed in her pockets. she swayed with the other as they laughed with each other. The sound just barely reached your ears. The other was wearing a green beanie and had the hood of her coat pulled over. Her eyes fixed to the other and laughing along with her. Her breath showing in the air as she, you assumed, had sighed at the others shenanigans but leaned in for a kiss anyways.

You pried your eyes away from the romantic moment and began a pointless search on every app of your phone. Only looking back up when the train had stopped infant of you. And you knew then, once settled in your seat, you weren't making it home. It was just you in the car.

You took a deep breath and leaned back as the doors closed. Playing music from your phone as you bobbed your head along with it. Just you in your own train car with your own thoughts. You had shut your eyes as you relaxed.

The next time they had opened was to the car attendant looking at you with an apologetic look. "Our train has been ordered to stop service as the snow picks up, it's getting bad out there."

You gave a soft nod and sat up and blinking away the last of the sleep. You didn't mean to fall asleep, but you knew you weren't even making it home, it was just a matter of how close you could get. You reached for your bag and began to get yourself situated.

"Enjoy your nap, sleeping beauty?" That voice. You couldn't contain the smile as you snapped your head up. Pink dusting your cheeks as you gave her a nod and kept silent. "Do you have anywhere to stay for the night? That storm has canceled every flight, train, and bus out of here." You frowned and shook your head, realizing the situation you were in now. "You're a quiet one tonight, baby. Are you okay?" She stood in front of you now, invading your space and holding your face from being able to tuck itself away. But as you stared up at her with all this adoration, her stare back was of pure concern.

"I'm resting my voice. We overworked them today in rehearsal and our show is the weekend right before Christmas." You quietly explained, sending her a reassuring smile up. To that she gave a knowing nod and smiled again.

"Well then I guess you won't have the voice to argue me, you'll come with me. I'll make sure you're all nice and warm tonight." She reached for your hand, grabbing it and pulling you along with her.

From the train station, all the way back to a parking garage. Her hand never left yours, you had figured it was so she didn't loose you in the snow. She brought you to an older looking car. It was a Porsche, you figured that out by the logo, but that and that it was old was all you knew. It must've been expensive. You thought it fit her well, maybe you could ask her about it more in the morning. You slowed as you watched her walk closer and come into view with it for you. Yet, she didn't make it to the car as you tugged her back.

You realized then you were taller than her and even as she looked up at you, it felt demanding. You had her close to your own body, whispering "your name?"

When she said it, your ears warmed even just at how beautiful it was. You mouthed it back with a delicate smile and gave her a slight nod, telling her to continue on.

You didn't understand how this woman had made you trust her so easily. If anyone else tried to drag you to their vintage car, you would've fought back and found the closest hotel to stay in. But instead, you were accepting her offer without even thinking twice. I mean...if it came to it, you would stand a chance...or at least you want to assume you would be able to.

She drove so carefully through the snow, seeing as it was almost impossible to see five feet ahead of you. It seemed like her driving was memory though as she turned through the roads and managed out the city and to a neighborhood on the outskirts. The house she pulled into was large, something you'd never be able to afford obviously. She let the cold in as she rolled down the window to put in the code for her gate.

The outside however wasn't as exciting as the inside. It was decorated so precisely, but what you really noticed was the different crystals scattered around the areas you could see. Another thing was a tarot deck in almost every room. You grew curious and tapped her hand with your laced fingers. When she looked, you pointed at the deck that sat perfectly in the middle of the coffee table.

"Everyone's got their own thing. I have a collection of decks, all hand painted over time. They hold more power and connection...I like to believe." Lilia shortly explained. She enjoyed the curiosity in your silent words, even nonverbal you could translate such emotions. She'd love to get to know all your emotions and how well you could tell them, but as you yawned, she remembered the time and situation. "Let's get you settled in, huh?" You sleepily agreed with her, following her once again upstairs.

~

Waking up you were surrounded by comfort. Your body could actually stretch out even more than in your own. There was no one else in the room with you in the grand bedroom as you sat up and rubbed away the remaining sleep in your eyes. Finally being able to glance at the clock and seeing it was almost twelve, and you were thankful for having a rest day from the director.

You sighed and went back to observing the room. A door to a closet sat in the furthest corner, you wondered how big it was inside. A dresser in front of the bed with a reasonably sized tv that was still off and only showing you your own distorted reflection. A few more pieces of furniture were scattered about, but the room was clean and tidied. Giving you only so much about the woman who brought you here.

Where was she anyways?

Finally tossing the cover over, you slipped out the bed. Being in nothing but a baggy t-shirt and your socks still. Maybe you had changed and were just too tired to even remember the detail...but you would've been able to recall just the tiny action of it.

Your feet carried you down the wooden steps as you kept pondering how you had changed. Too lost in thought to even notice the few prying eyes from the front room as you went the other way to find the kitchen. "Lilia?" You softly called out, knowing that it probably did nothing with how quiet it came out. You were growing desperate for some tea.

A hand fell to your lower back as the woman had appeared. "Well look who isn't dead in my bed," she was to quick to tease you and watch you blush. "Can I get you anything to eat or drink, hun?"

You spelt tea on her arm and followed her like a lost puppy into the kitchen. Smiling as the room's personality shouted at you as you sat at the round dining table. Your eyes were so eager to take in anything that you could to learn about the woman. The kitchen was cozy and cluttered a bit, but you could tell some good ass meals got cooked in here on several occasions. There were even still crystals littering about the place, which you deemed a house trait.

"How did you sleep?" She had turned from the kettle, bringing you over a steaming cup of water and a few flowers on top. "Chamomile for your throat, wouldn't want to ruin that pretty voice. I have to go finish up a meeting, but you just stay here and then we can talk more ok?" She cupped your cheek, brushing her thumb over the warm apple of your cheeks. You smiled and nodded, letting her get back to it as you sat and drank the tea and kept taking in the decorations.

Unfortunately though, the distant voices shouted for your attention and you couldn't stop the growing curiosity as you snuck to hide behind a little corner. You had just caught the end of Lilia's sigh, "who knows how the New Years party is to go. With how this weather is, I don't know if it's honest such a good idea. I can't let everyone sleepover." She joked, and it brought a smile to your lips at the idea of the woman's house being filled with people sleeping everywhere.

"But you've never let the weather stop you before? Either people will show or they'll deem the weather too bad. A little snow hasn't hurt anyone!" The woman's voice was beyond cheerful. "I think, you should send out the invites anyways and just play by ear."

There were murmurs of agreement, only then did you pick out the two other voices. There were three woman sitting with Lilia. One's laugh stood out to you a bit more, "you could bring your little play thing even. Dress her up as a little server for the night."

Lilia scoffed, "the trains stopped running and she needed somewhere to stay. It was three in the morning and I just happened to have been there. Once the trains are back up, I bet she'll be off to her own life." Her tone was dismissive as her words. "Poor thing would've been freezing outside if it wasn't for me."

"Alright, whatever you claim Calderu. We're on our way out then. Send out the invites for the fun of it. You never know what the weather will do." Another began to make their exit.

You muted the conversation as you sat and thought over the woman's words. Her play thing? You obviously knew what they really were implying and it made you blush profusely at the idea of it. It was absurd, for sure....you had to shake away the opposing and very distracting thoughts.

The sound of her laugh bringing you to quickly come through, staring up at the woman with wide eyes. Even when caught eavesdropping, you still gawked with curiosity. "Listening to my conversations, baby?" She offered you a hand up, which you accept and rose to your knees first.

As your eyes turned to make sure you set the mug down on a stable surface, you missed Lilia's shift as she smirked at the position she had you in. It went right back to her caring smile though when you looked back to her, standing the rest of the way. You had concluded with being two inches taller than her, not much, but there was a clear difference.

"I was curious," you didn't try to lie about it as you grabbed your mug again. You enjoyed how the warm ceramic felt against your palms. "You're hosting a party?"

She squinted her eyes at you before leading the way into the living room. She sat on one side and you sat facing her. Your legs pulled up to your chest, waiting for the story. "Usually I do, it's a big company party. I rent out some big space and everyone gets all dressed up and celebrates the new year."

"But?" You pried for more information. This woman sounded like she lived a life of luxury and you wanted to know as much as you could.

"But with the weather I don't know how well it'll work out. They're saying it's supposed to be calm for a few more days and then right before new years it'll all come down at once." She repeated the forecast for you.

You bit at the inside of your cheek, clearly thinking of what to say to convince her. "Well, if I was invited to some big company gala..I'd find a hotel nearby as standby. Assuming I have the funds for that. What are they like?"

Lilia let the many gala's fill her head. "Each one the same, you mingle with people you've seen around, and then the ones you've worked with. A few other partner companies show up. It's dancing and drinking all night, but they all end the same. Getting in a taxi and going home to the quietness of your own home." She described it, knowing you could paint the picture yourself. "Last year we had it at the museum, met many new people. But by midnight I was ready for bed and reading a chapter from a book."

You sighed dreamily, "I don't think I would ever get tired of that then....What is it-"

"That's not important, but you say that now till you've been doing them for years. And you look no older than eighteen." She jabbed at you, watching as you pouted. "Oh, I'm sorry, nineteen."

You made an offended face, "I'll have you know I'm almost twenty-six." You corrected, taking a big sip of your tea. "I am far from the teens." You sassed slightly. "Maybe not as far as you," you teased quietly.

She caught it however, and honestly you should've known she would've. Her mouth agape, "how dare you!" It was dramatic and adorable to you. The amount of control she had of her features to play into her emotion amazed you. No...it captured you and held your curiosity hostage, refusing to let you go for just one moment in her presence. Even as she pulled her head backwards and the expanse of her neck was on full display for you. You wondered what it would look like covered in your kisses.

Your heart began to beat faster at the images.

Lilia was staring at you and she was speaking. She was speaking and you watched her lips move with each word and yet you couldn't hear any of it. You frowned as her brows furrowed and her eyes filled with a faux concern. "Oh baby...that look in your eyes....you can't help your curiosity can you?" Her words finally got through to you.

"It's a curse..." You sounded dazed out just as much as you looked it. But once the moment fell to silence you began to see through to reality. It was brief, but you realized you hardly knew this woman and by the second time you're already in her house and longing to hear her call you baby again.

Get a grip and get going.

It was a mantra that played in your head as you began to do just that. You gasped and began looking all over. "I...my phone. I should probably see if someone can come get me." You blinked a few times as well before unfolding your legs and getting up.

Not even giving it a second thought as your sock clad feet pattered up the stairs and rushed into the room you left from this morning. Your clothes were folded on the chair in the corner. Your bag next to the chair and boots tucked under. Your rushed and crouched next to it, rummaging through everything and finding it in your coats pocket.

A few notifications from the other night, friends questioning if you made it ok. Then there were the missed calls from them, a collection of worried text. Your eyes jumped from them all up to the time. It was past ten and your fingers moved as you sat on the floor responding to people.

You didn't notice how much time passed as you became engrossed in your phone and catching up. The device began to ring as Jen began to call. You answered and raised it to your ear, lying back onto the soft carpet and spreading out on it.

"My god we all thought you died!" She exclaimed right away. "Did you make it home? What happened?!"

Your giggle answered first, "do you remember that woman from the train I mentioned to you?" You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth.

"You were practically drooling just by the thought of her."

"Well, she just so happened to be there and she took me back to her home and I stayed there. But I need you to tell me this is crazy. Earlier, she was with friends and they and I quote go 'you can even bring your new plaything'."

"Oh my- girl did you accidentally stumble upon a sugar mommy or something? You literally manifested that shit!"

"No, Jen...I hardly know the woman."

"But you could! Think of all the things this could do. You could be smart with your money too. Move closer to Broadway with us."

"I like my apartment! Yeah it's a little far, but it's self manageable. Plus, I highly doubt she would actually be into that. And we have a show to focus on."

"Oh my god! Seriously if you skip another chance I'm going to beat the shit out of you! Why are you so unfocused on your love life?"

"Because you're my best friend and will only feed into my delusions so I have to be the sane one that listens to you go on and on about Alice." You rolled onto your stomach and began kicking your feet. "But she is hot. God and she keeps calling me 'baby'."

"She so wants you."

"I think I should get going though...call Dottie or something."

"Oh no hun, she said she had something with her kids and my best bet is she is still not available. Sooo in retrospective you are stranded with a really hot lady who could possibly or possibly not be a sugar mommy waiting for someone to come along."

"Jen...I just don't think it's the right time. I want to make a name before I settle down."

"You know, if you do that then how will you be able to tell they're not with you for just the money and fame? Also you're not settling down, just exploring."

"Saying I'm not likable?"

"No you are every ounce of likable, it's what almost makes you unlikable. But I just think that this is the perfect setup and you should take the advantages that are clearly laid in front of you. You yourself said you needed some extra help financially so here's your help."

" I don't know...I don't think she deserves to be taken advantage of."

A beat of silence from her. "I love you and all, but you might just be the dumbest person I've talked to all day and I've been surrounded by idiots."

"Ouch."

"She literally, if you openly asked her flat out, would you be my sugar mommy, I put money she'd say yes! You so have to!"

"No! Even though she's the most striking woman I have ever met and she has such a look. You should've heard her earlier, I mean I wish I had instead of becoming curious about her skin. She makes me beyond curious."

"You're a freak when curious."

"Earlier...we were sitting on the couch and she rolled her head back and I just couldn't stop thinking of kissing her neck."

"Did you know, you actually have been mentioning slightly how badly you want to fuck that woman ever since you told me about her? You don't remember the night right after show ended you came over, we got drunk, you told me in great detail?"

"I could've given you more."

"You are such a lie to what people know."

"What because I'm a human and have natural attraction?"

"Because you're an absolute menace!"

"I tell you I want a mysterious woman I met on a train that has bewitched me with her alluringness to tie me down and then some once or twice and now suddenly I'm a menace?"

"You want me to tie you down?" Lilia's voice carried into the bedroom. Your eyes finding her leaning against the door frame with a surprised smile.

"I will take grave details when we see each other again. This has to be an in person debrief. Love you. Have fun." The line went dead as you lowered the phone down from your ear.

Your cheeks were on fire as you stared with wide eyes. Your throat was tight and your breathing was ragged. There was no way she actually heard you. You blinked rapidly and shook your head. "No! That- I- how long were you there?"

She began to walk in the room, and you don't know what possessed you but you were crawling to meet her in the middle. And it did something to her. It made something shift and click into place when she looked at you again. Her hand coming to your cheek. "Oh baby, long enough and I must say I only caught half that conversation but it sounds like we should talk. Don't you think?"

You dumbly nodded and scrambled to follow her onto the bed. You sat at a reasonable distance, not too far to ruin any chance, but not close enough to seem easy and desperate (even if you were). You stared at her as she slowly crouched onto the comforter. She moved so elegantly compared to your loose movements.

"What did you and your little friend talk about?" She began so quickly. Not even trying to explain first, wanting to know what you knew now and you had told her. You told her everything with no hesitation. Mentioning Jen's theory that Lilia was a sugar mommy.

"People will talk." You flat out said. Your decision was already made since the first train encounter. But you wanted some fight for it to not go through, needing a bigger sign to reassure yourself.

"Talk is cheap." Lilia responded. Her eyes were searching all over you. Drinking you in like she was the most dehydrated plant in the dessert. "What is it that you want?"

You wanted to get to know her more. You wanted to know what adventures she could take you on. You wanted to know how she tasted, how she kissed, how she used those hands. You wanted to know if it would be forever or just temporarily. You wanted to know her deepest secrets and her to know yours. You wanted to know if you could love her.

"I don't know...maybe this is something to be thought over?" You had countered your drumming heart. Its rhythm went from love struck sixteenth notes on a snare to a cello's symphony of sorrow.

What were you doing?

"Well why don't you get ready and I'll drive you home then?" She spoke only after a hesitating breath.

The rest of the time was quiet. You didn't know what to say anymore and honestly couldn't believe yourself. You knew you were tempted by this woman, you just couldn't risk anything yet. Not with everything you had going on with the show (is what you told yourself).

Even as more days went on and on, Lilia grew from a single thought into a plague of them. Anytime you weren't rehearsing or focusing in on something, it was her you thought of. People began noting your ever growing curiosity and distant looks as your focus would wander off so easily. Yet you never missed a beat so no one ever brought it up.

Except as opening night came, Jen could hear your curiosity and she knew you were no where near focused. "Ok, hey!" She snapped in front of your face, turning your chair to face her. "What the actual what is going on with you? Everyone has come to me asking about this dazed look you're always in. So what is it? I mean I actually already know what it is, so what happened?"

You blinked and sighed as your brows furrowed, you were back to reality and heard her question. "I think I'm ready to play by your advice."

Her eyes widened and a shocked smile slapped its way on her face. "Oh!... Oh! Actually?" She seemed in pure disbelief at the idea. "What did you do?"

"She asked me what I wanted. And yeah we all know the obvious answer, I'm a doomed hopeless romantic, but I told her I wanted to think it over." You were hearing yourself for the first time out loud since. "I can't help but to think I played the wrong move?"

"No! No! Now take this chance to make her practically need you. She's had you in and out of reality for the last few days and weeks. You should call her after the show, or text her." She advised.

"I don't have her number..." you sighed. Trying to conjure up any way to find her again. "The train. I'll take the train home and hope to find her."

~

"Are you sure you really want to take the train for this? The snow is rolling in quick and if you get stranded.." Jen jingled her keys slightly by her side.

You shook your head, "no really I don't mind the train rides at night. Usually there's like no one with me so I'm mostly safe." You rounded the corner to cross the stage out.

Both you and Jen had stopped at the sight of an Alice and someone else. "Oh! Matter of fact this is her!" Alice waved you over. You turned to Jen, mumbling a goodnight before joining the two. Feeling shy under the attention of the woman. "This is Lilia Calderu. She's an old friend and wanted to meet you. I have to go though, Jen's probably waiting out in the car already. Have a goodnight you two and you," she turned to you, "get home safe."

You tried not to cringe physically as the woman left you alone so quickly. It was silent until the sound of the backstage doors locking back. It was truly just the two of you now. "You're taking the train home? Even in this weather?"

"It's the only transportation I have at the moment. It's easier anyways." You spun your head to pass her briefly before looking into the empty crowd. "So you know Alice?"

"I worked with her mother a few times. Let me drive you home tonight." She didn't sound like she was asking you and you wanted to know how commanding she could be.

Your head turned and you finally looked at her. "Are you following me?" You don't know why that was the question that got out, but you didn't back down from it. Even when she laughed in your face.

"No, but I do think it's no coincidence this is the third time we've met. So let me drive you home tonight." She insisted again. Her big brown eyes silently pleaded for you to go with her and not the train again.

"I'm out of your way, that's too much inconvenience." You denied with a shake of your head.

She sighed and grabbed your hand. Ignoring your questions and dragging you with her out. You could see the car finally in the dim back lights. Your eyes examined the exterior. "You have a nice car," you stood behind her as she opened the passenger door.

The interior was contrasting to the dark black that coated the outside. It was light and crème with a darker brown accenting it. You began to really process how old the car was when you noted the lack of center console. This wasn't a car you ate in while gossiping. The seats were close, almost one long bench, and you wondered how close you would actually be.

"It's a 1973 Porsche. It was in a car show and I thought it would be a nice one to own." She stepped aside for you to get in. Humming in content as you had finished fighting her. You watched as she went around the front and slide in on her side.

Your answer was you were dangerously close. You could smell her perfume radiating from her and she smelt like luxury flowers. Subtle and strong. "How much did you pay for it?" Your eyes kept taking in every detail.

"The real question is what everyone else couldn't pay for it. Those childish men didn't know when to stop." She shook her head at the memory of the day she got the car.

The way she brushed it off to be nothing made your heart beat find its way between your legs. She spoke like it was hardly a dent in her bank. That it was a rigged game almost. That nobody else was going to be beat her for this car from the very start.

"Are you a witch?" The question was out before you noticed and her eyes snapped to you. They were boring through you and it made you feel drunk. Her attention alone made you feel drunk. And as the feeling grew, you found yourself in a fit of giggles.

Lilia took advantage in the moment and really watched the smile reach your eyes. To see you in a natural state with no knowledge of it. "Now why would you ask me that?" She laughed back her answer.

You raised a finger to your lips, "it's a secret now." Your cheeks were the cutest shade of pink she'd ever seen and she couldn't contain herself anymore.

In the back alley of a small theater, Lilia Calderu let the intrusive thoughts win.

While still in your fit of giggles, you missed how she began to shift around and then suddenly was above you while your back dug against the car door. A predatory smirk graced her lips right before they fell to your neck. You gasped at the first soft kiss, giggles instantly subsiding. Nothing was funny as her lips danced around your neck, searching for the most sensitive point.

When's he found it, she added a little more force. Earning a throaty moan that never made it past your lips. Then she bared her teeth and, grazing the spot before latching on and sucking. "Lilia!" You gasped and a hand naturally flew to her pulled up curls.

"Is it because I've bewitched you? Is that why you ask?" Her tongue ran over the bite marks and pressed a kiss over it. "That's what you said to your friend is it not?"

You hummed under her, "so you are a witch?" You tried to sound somewhat grounded, but with her having you like this, biting all over your neck, you only ended up gasping.

"Do you wanna see what magic these hands can do?" She whispered against your ear before grazing the shell of your ear. "Would you like that baby?"

You giggled deeply, "fuck yes. What are you gonna do to me?" Your eyes began to darken with curiosity as your body kept rising to meet her warm body.

She agonizingly slow found her way back into her seat. Eyeing for you to sit up yourself and get comfortable. "You have a curious imagination, what wondering can you do to find your answer?" She began to pull out. The snow flakes began to grace the earth with their frosty presences.

You felt hot in the car though. Lilia's right hand rested on your thigh and lightly was scratching it. The action made you groan quietly and realize how long this car ride was actually about to be. "That'd be telling you all my fantasies." You had finally answered her question. "Have you thought of things...you'd want to do?"

You felt young and dumb at her wise chuckle. "Oh you have no idea the things I've imagined. And I'll make you an offer you can't resist." She began to shift her focus between the road and you. Pleased with how big your eyes were. You really couldn't help yourself and she was already loving how expressive you were. She knew you were silently asking her what.

That was the night your arrangement had fallen into place. By the end of that weekend you had an agreement signed. She would keep you financially stable, you'd never have to worry about any expense ever again. She didn't care for your protest against not being able to pay for anything, which then led to you swindling it down to any living expense. Any luxury would be your own money. Even though she would give you an allowance every three weeks of three thousand. You got financial stability and free money. Although, you weren't too sure what Lilia got out of it. You were expecting it to be sex in return, that's how most of these things happened. But she didn't right away, she would work you up with just those hands and a few questions that implied many things, but were so simple you never knew. She was keeping you curious and you didn't even realize it.

It was the evening of New Year's Eve and you had been spending a lot of your free time glued to Lilia. She didn't even ask you to, you just found yourself craving to be next to her when she's not working (which you quickly found out you just wanted to always be by her). She had joked that you should just begin to move in. She was sitting in her study with a notebook on the table and she was writing something, you sat under the desk, your legs folded neatly next to you.

You had been in the arrangement for a basically two weeks and still lacked to know what it was she did. Even as you sat on the floor with your head in her lap as her non-dominant hand twisted your hair around her fingers, she didn't tell you. "We should start getting ready soon for the party..."

Sleepily, your head lifted from its spot and bumped against her hand that blocked the sharp wooden edge. Last time you hit it (two days ago) you had sat still on the ground and cried briefly in her lap as she ran a soothing thumb over the spot. "Are we getting ready together?" You got out within a yawn. Crawling away from under and into the open space to fully stand and stretch. You looked back over your shoulder.

"I'm afraid not baby, otherwise we'd never get ready on time." She rose from her seat and gave you almost an apologetic look to your subtle frown.

You gave an understanding nod before slipping off to your room. Lilia had gone through with the party and wanted you as her plus one. But as you had stood in nothing but a black bra and matching panties, you had remembered no theme.

You shook your head and without much thought wrapped the short silk robe around you loosely and ran across the hall. Giving her big door a knock before prying open the piece of wood and poking your head around first. The room was silent as you moved further in, "Lilia?" You called into the master bedroom.

She came around from the bathroom, "yes baby?" She answered before her eyes found you.

You both had done a sweep over the other. Her eyes focusing on the amount of leg you were showing while yours focused on her chest being held up nicely by her bra. Your cheeks burned when you noticed how long you had been silent and staring.

"I...the theme.." you raised the issue you faced. You began to assume it was something more classy as she wore black flowy formal pants. You wondered what they would look like with your cum smeared on them. Your legs crossed as you couldn't stop looking at the piece of clothing.

"It's all black classy half indoors and half outside. But if you're going to wear a skirt or dress, I want you to put tights underneath. Understood?" She gave you that look and you stiffly agreed before rushing back out.

You had no idea what she was wearing but the pants alone did things to you. You were eager to match her. Although, all you owned was clubbing material from college. Which meant everything is shorter than what'd you buy now. You started simple with the tights, thankful for fleece lining. Along with the heels Lilia had gifted you as a welcome gift. They were Red Bottoms, you promised her to take the best care of them since you knew they costed a pretty penny (even if she reassured you it was nothing).

Shimming into the tights, you kept searching over your outfits. A strapless mini black dress grabbed your attention. Its neck line was a trusting heart that held your girls up even without your bra, which was indeed removed as you hated how the material could be seen. You were content with it but you instantly had to address the lack of accessories.

You had a small jewelry box with you, it was one of those things you always carried with you when you knew you were spending a few nights away from home. There were a few silver pieces, you grabbed out three and slid them onto your left wrist. As your fingers searched through the fake silver rings, you began to smile. You loved decorating your hands with rings.

The last things were your makeup and hair, which took longer than you expected but you looked good. And once you had fluffed your hair and did it how you do, you were feeling good. You had been staring at yourself in the mirror when she knocked. "Come in," you softly granted. Watching through the mirror as Lilia came in.

Your breath caught when she had fully came in. Lilia leaned against the wall in the same black pants and a black buttoned up shirt that was left a few buttons undone. The tarot card necklace she always wears drawing your eyes and lazily pulling them down to her cleavage. "That's what you're wearing? Won't you be cold?" She pushed off the wall and sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands brought the shoes closer and then snapped for your obedience.

"I don't think so, I plan to wear a coat over." You stood in front of her and raised a foot up to her while stabilizing yourself with her shoulder.

"Which coat?" She had slipped the shoe on and began fastening it, "too tight?"

Your hair shook, "uh-uh and I have this really dramatic furry black one. I'm pretty sure it's fake fur but I thrifted it a while ago. It's great for pretending I have money." You switched feet on the tap at your ankle.

"Mm, people will know it's fake." She was more smooth with the second shoe, now having a note of how tight you liked your heels. "Let me see if I have anything lying about." She tapped your ankle again before standing up, still having to look up even in her own heels. Leaning forward and planting her red painted lips to your collar bone, leaving her signature as she moved out.

That night you had never once wiped away the mark as you drank and mingled about the high class. Yet as the night kept dragging closer to midnight, everyone seemed to get more and more drunk.

You were everyone.

You had found Lilia and snuck up on her from behind. Arms draping over her shoulder and then hugging around her as your head buried into her neck. Placing kisses all across it as she kept speaking with the group. Her own thumb rubbed back and forth on your forearm.

"The next one was pitched during august and is to be ready by summer. We're aiming to have it be the summer hit." Lilia was still composed and hardly tipsy. You were growing curious if she ever drank at all. "It's an absolute wonderful storyline and the music is so in tune with the characters."

"Well we can't wait to see it," a woman had hummed. Pleased to hear that there was something grand to look forward to. Her voice sounded familiar.

You pulled your head from hiding and stared at the woman. She wore a black floor length dress that fell off her shoulders, a broach right in the middle of the neck line. She was accompanied by another woman, she wore a suit with a dark green tie. Had she been further away you wouldn't have been able to tell it was green. Both had their eyes on you the moment you revealed yourself.

"And who's this, Calderu?" The one in the tie had raised her brow at you. She was attractive, but not like Lilia. She was a scary attractive, that she'd probably be into some freaky shit if you let her have her way. You didn't want that though, just Lilia.

You stood tall at the sound of your name coming from her mouth. A hand naturally sticking itself out to be shaken. "This is Agatha Harkness and Rio Vidal. One of Broadways biggest power couple."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both!" You hiccuped and felt them shake your hand. "I'm sorry it's not under sober circumstances, I truly am a huge fan and wish I met you before I did the shots with the guy from the circus musical over there. He's got a great voice honestly. Now, Lilia..it's almost midnight." You spoke the truth even if it was slurred.

"Ahh yes, ladies if you'll excuse me it's almost midnight." She bowed her head before letting you pull her through the crowd. It was beyond her how you could manage to slip perfectly through and find a secluded balcony. It had a small loveseat that you wondered how it would feel to bask in the summer sun here.

You wasted no time sitting down and sighing. Your eyes closed as the blackness spun quickly. "Lilia...I drank too much fancy things." You frowned.

Your anchor back to reality was Lilia in your lap attacking your neck with her teasing lips. "That'll happen when you do shots of dark after only drinking champagne with me." You heard the vibrations in her voice and groaned as you pictured her smirk. "You got something to say, baby?"

Your head nodded sluggishly but stilled to look her in the eyes geneuinly. You enjoyed seeing her from your angle. "You look very mommy tonight." You so simply said. "Very classy."

She made a silent 'oh' with her mouth turning right into that cunning smirk. "You really think? I figured you were wearing a dress and the heels-"

"I love my heels!" You so suddenly were on a new topic, your hands squeezing her hips subconsciously and missing the muffled moan. "Oh Lilia they were an amazing gift, and honestly you deserve to get ate out for them." You were such a drunken mess.

Lilia's eyes darkened and she stooped to be by your ear. Her warm breath heating your body from the cold that started to nip at you. "Is that a promise baby?" She left a ghostly kiss behind your ear. Her burning stare only fueled your own fire.

Your mind, in poor attempt, pieced what her moans could sound like. What your name would sound like with you buried between her legs. You wanted to know how she tasted.

"Focus baby." She demanded and it silenced all your thoughts immediately. "Good." She purred. "Sometimes I truly do wonder how long you could think for."

"Forever... if you'd like." You didn't even double think it and it was the most sober thing you had said.

Lilia was appreciative of the dim lighting and your intoxicated state so you wouldn't be able to see how deep of a blush painted her cheeks. Something about how you pulled yourself from not even being coherent in compliments to not missing a single beat for her made her body buzz.

Nothing more was said as the surrounding world began to count from ten. But by one, your lips were pressing desperately into Lilia's and trying to savor how her lips felt. Your hands held her hips tightly as hers held your cheeks. You were stretching up into her, etching the feeling your body was going through into every corner of your mind. You weren't oblivious to how she never kissed you on the lips.

Yes, your arrangement had only been going for a week or so, but you couldn't help to think about what she's getting from the whole thing. Fireworks exploded around you and muted the heavy pants that were leaving you. It was just you, your ever growing curiosity, and her. But every question you had wanted to drunkenly asked, the ones you recited so you wouldn't forget, seemed to be lost and you asked her nothing. You were too busy kissing her after all. Too busy feeling her body rumble with a need you've never encountered before.

You pulled back slowly from her and hummed constantly, your eyes were dark and wide as you stared straight up to her. A smile so soft Lilia swore you could wrap a baby in it and they'd fall asleep in an instant. "Happy new years Lilia." You leaned back to peck her cheek.

She repeated it back to you and stood, offering you a helping hand. You took it and she tugged you a bit closer. "You're not to drink anymore, understood?" She kept it low, just between the two of you.

Unfortunately for you though, you were definelty planning on drinking after that kiss. Too many emotions had risen and you didn't feel like thinking them tonight. But you weren't going to lie to her and make the promise you weren't. "I can't promise that I'll stop but I can promise I won't be a hassle even drunker." You raised a pinky between you, ignoring her intense gaze and staring at the lone finger.

Although you wish you took her advice and stopped. These people knew how to party long, the last time you heard murmurs of was one something. You had done a few more shots and now you just felt icky and drunk with no sign of Lilia anywhere.

"You lost, bunny?" A deep voice wrapped around you. The owner dragged a hand around your waist and came to stand in front of you. It was Agatha with Rio coming from the crowd to stand next to her. They stared at you hungrily. "Bet you drank too much didn't you?"

You frowned and nodded. A pathetic whine escaping your lips when they stepped closer to you. You were feeling trapped. "Have you see. Lilia?" You managed, eyes only catching blobs of people.

"She left a while ago, said something about needing to finish up work?" Rio looked around the room herself, signaling to her wife that the woman in question was no where to be seen. "Was she your ride?" Her hand caught your chin to make you look at her. A sinister grin pulling her lips.

You huffed and broke from the grasp, continuing to search the blobs. "She was supposed to be...she wouldn't have left me." You began to walk away, only being pulled back into their web.

"Why don't we take you home, hmm?" Agatha had raised the offer. The couple had talked, and you were their main topic. "I bet we could give you something better than-"

"Lilia!" You cheered as the shorter woman had appeared from the mess of people. You were too busy rushing to her and hiding yourself behind her and in her neck to acknowledge her deathly glare. Breathing her in deeply and giggling. "They said you left and it made me wonder!"

"You can tell me all about it in the car, m'kay?" She brushed your arms before focusing to the other women. "Ladies, I don't know if I have to remind you again, but she's off limits for your games."

Agatha scoffed her laughter, "why? Cause she's too busy playing yours?" She raised a challenging brow. That's where you knew her voice from, she was the one who called you Lilia's play thing.

It's was an intense stare off that was bound to go on if it weren't for you. You had wanted to know more of this possessive side but sober. What would she say to you if she found a hickey from someone else? How would she react? Should she remind you of the agreement? Your hands moved from her shoulders and lazily fell to her waist. You were hugging her more now and humming against her skin.

She let your lips find her ear and then you whispered, "mm I wanna go home Lil'." You sighed out. Your body slightly slumping against her and that's when you remembered you were in heels. Your foot began to lift its self to be freed from the beautiful torture.

"If you'll excuse us. Have a good night." She gave them one last glare right before turning her attention all to you.

Lilia led you for most of the night. Even as you had started stumbling through your night routine. Her hands held you stable and she laughed along with most of your drunk rambling.

You were on about something you did within the night as you stepped into the room. Catching glimpse of you in the mirror, still in the dress and tights that you were dying to get out of. "Mm, can you get the zipper?" You asked while already stripping out your tights. She had appeared behind you with a caring, tired grin of her own. You could hear the tension grow with the sound of the zipper falling.

The dress folded over and pooled at your hips first. Revealing your bare chest as you focused on getting out the fabric. Once you were you stood in nothing but your underwear.

"Baby?" Her voice was deep and raspy. You hummed out your acknowledgement. "Have you been flaunting around all night like this?"

"The dress wasn't going to look good with a bra and I was really wanting to match with you. Especially after I saw the pants you were wearing." Your eyes fluttered lightly as you thought of those pants and blew out.

Now would be the perfect moment. You were practically naked and standing waiting for her next words. Even as her hands slid to your waist, you stayed still and waited for her. "And what about my pants?"

You bit your lip as thoughts filled your eyes. They didn't stop short with details, taunting you yourself and making your body heat up. Lilia was enjoying watching the full body reaction to your own ideas. How she felt you warm up and how your breathing became irregular. Your eyes had fluttered shut as her hands moved further across your body. "Look at me, baby." Your eyes snapped open. She chuckled at how blown your pupils were. "I adore that look in your eyes."

"Lilia..."

Maybe it was the way you whined for her. The way you looked for her in a crowd even when drunk. She hardly had you, and yet she had almost all of you without even realizing. All she knew was you were hers and hers alone, and it drove something in her.

She left from behind you and began to rearrange briefly. Pulling the chair from the corner to be in front of the full body mirror. Lilia took her seat and spread her legs wide, staring through the mirror at you. "What about my pants, baby?" She asked the question again.

Your legs pressed together as you spun to face her. Shivering as her eyes raked over you and darkened even more. She beckoned you forward with a single finger then pointed at the ground. She was demanding you to your knees and you seemed to have no objections as you fell infront of her. One of her wised hands grabbed a fistful of your hair, first pushing you against her own thigh and seeing how you started to fall dazed. Then she lifted your head back and leaned closer.

"I bet...if I pulled these off," her fingers were in the waistband of your black panties. "That you'd be sticking to them without a doubt. Would I be right?" But you didn't have to answer as she went to get her own answer.

Lilia was right. Your faced flushed once you saw how ruined the garment around your thighs. You didn't realize how curious you had been throughout the entire night. You had managed them off the rest of the way yourself, placing them into the expecting hand.

"So, does this curiosity of yours-"

"Mmm," you hummed your protest against the question. Quickly hiding your face into her hip as you really didn't want to crack into that all tonight. Not even drunk you could get through all that embarrassment so soon.

Lilia understood anyways, running her nails dance along your scalp. "Maybe we can discuss it sometime over dinner, hmm? How would that sound?" You gave her another hum, this one being open to many interpretations. There was silence and it was peaceful enough for you to begin to drift in and out. "Why don't...we save this for when you're ready?"

Your head bobbed against her and that's when you swayed backwards. The first thing you did was gaze up to her, "sleep with me tonight..." you used her thighs to help yourself up, giving them a soft squeeze.

There was no space for argument as you began to get yourself ready for bed. Slipping into a big shirt you had managed from a drawer, you grabbed another and handed it aimlessly out. Honestly you weren't too sure if Lilia had grabbed it or you dropped it, but all you saw was a grand bed calling your name. You wanted to know all about the bed.

~

The arrangement was coming up to its first month and there were still many things you were yet to touch on. The main one still being what Lilia was getting from this whole deal.

You had pushed through her front door and sighed at the emptiness of the inside. Lilia was gone on some business trip, for what business, you seemed to keep yourself in the dark by never even looking her up. You wanted her to tell you instead.

She was supposed to be back tonight, having texted you earlier to be at her house when she got home. There wasn't much else given, you couldn't figure out her tone, her emotion, nothing. The text was so stale you were in the dark on what to do. But what you did do was pickup some take out to bring over on your way. It resided in the fridge for now.

You sat on the couch, you had made yourself cozy as you just waited. What 'cozy' came with though were a few shots of whatever was in her stash. Curious to know what this was about, but also nervous because you didn't know what this was about.

And eventually the locks began to undo and the front door revealed the woman of your desires. A tall man behind her dropping all her baggage by the door and sharing a mumbled conversation with her before leaving. The door was locked again and the house began to warm with the owner back in it.

You slid off the couch and right to her, standing proud in her gaze. The furrow in between her brow had ceased to exist as she took you in being. You stood in a white long sleeve that was just teasing being see through with little navy blue underwear, a white little bow at the waist band. Your hair was free and you had a never ending amount of adoration radiating from your stare.

"Hello, baby." She began. Her simple name for you had you practically melting already to be in her space. She came closer and smiled softly up to you. Her hands already knowing their place around your waist as she brought herself into you and began to slowly kiss up your neck.

Her teeth grazed the side muscle and you sighed. "Hi Lilia..was your trip good?" She groaned into you and tightened her grip on you. Her teeth lightly clamped to you. "Not good I assume? What..." you attempted, but stopped at the harsher bite delivered to your skin.

"You know you could always look it up." She answered the unasked question. You shivered at her tongue soothing over her bite marks. "Or is it the curiosity that you get off on?"

A hand flew to the pulled up curls, burying itself near her roots. "Lilia..." you whined in attempt to get off the situation.

"I wonder if you think of all the different jobs I could have, do you?" Lilia's voice was daring as her hands were adventurous on your body. She had you in her web and you were caught and never wanted to leave. Your head nodded vigorously as her thumbs brushed under your boobs. "Or is it deeper than that? You get too curious and begin to think of the things that could happen? Maybe you think of me bending you against an office desk and making only my name the only thing you know?"

You sighed as your imagination and curiosity teamed up and fed you with the very idea. You thought of how she would hold that promise if you knew what she did. That if she had a desk you were determined to be fucked over it. You whined again for her.

Lilia detached herself from you, "how'd you find out about it anyways? Your curiosity. Got too curious one day and started feeling a tingle?" She was staring, expecting an answer to her questions but you just started short circuiting. You began stuttering instead, making her chuckle and shake her head.

She walked past you and into the kitchen. Grabbing the wine glass before freezing and noting the moved bottles and empty wine glass. You stood still, watching her point slightly at the bottle. Immediately you were caught. "You've been drinking baby?"

"I got nervous," your voice was meek and barely audible. You were quick to pull out your doe eyes and come closer to her at the beckoning of her single finger.

"Do you know how hard you make this?" Lilia raised after a second of taking you in. She was talking about the stares you give her as you stood there in a fitted gray long sleeve that just covered over the hem of the matching shorts. But she knew if you raised your arms up just enough, she'd see your midsection.

"I'm not doing anything though?" You were quiet in her presence tonight.

Lilia smiled at that, "oblivious to your own beauty, baby. Truly do you have a bad quality?" She leaned closer to you. A careful hand stroking your cheek. "Let me into your thoughts, what's going on up there?"

You quickly tried to gather a reasonable answer, "what am I making hard?" Was the first thing you managed, shifting closer to her.

The older woman inhaled," this arrangement."

"I wanted to asked you about that." Was quick out your mouth as you climbed over to the couch. She came over as well, wine glass in hand and you found yourself next to her almost in her lap. "I'm confused about what you get from it. I get money...but you haven't asked me for anything really. You give a few kisses to my neck here and there but that's it. You'll talk a little deeper and tease me, but that's it. So what is it that you are getting from our arrangement?"

She threw back the rest of her glass, getting up to pour herself another. You realized she was avoiding your question and stalling. It was in her distant look that clarified it. There was something she wanted but she wasn't asking you for it.

So you waited till she came back and straddled her lap, giving her no choice but to meet your gaze. "Lilia...what can I give you?" You were dying to find out how to return anything.

Her hands caressed your hips, causing them to roll forwards on their own. "I want to know why your curiosity is always so strong." She charted the waters that you've tried to steer away from. You bit the inside of your cheek, debating if the answer was really worth pleasing her. It was an embarrassing story.

"When I was a kid, ten and below, it was genuine curiosity. I just wanted to know what everything in the world was. Then in middle school kids started to figure out what somethings are, and curiosity is a signature trait when growing. It started simple, very vanilla, but then....there's a lot of kinky shit people are into. And being curious it never stopped. But that's not how it really started, it started sometime in high school." You started to relive the days in your mind as you gave her a story. You told it as you saw it and you could tell you were giving her details you would've never told anyone else. Even if it made you flustered and you had to will your body not to move under her hold.

By the end of it, you had a few beads of sweat decorating your forehead and your cheeks were burning red. You didn't even want to think of how wet you must be standing here. You were taking shallow breathes and your throat felt dry. Your vision finally came from your memories to the present. Meeting those brown eyes you found yourself drowning in recently. "And that's why my curiosity is a curse."

Lilia stared for a second. She must've been trying to gather her thoughts of the history of your curse. You, however, weren't expecting her first response to be a bruising hold to your hips as her eyes closed and she took in a big breath. It made you worry if it was too much and she was now uncomfortable or if it wasn't the answer she wanted.

"Is that it? Does that make this over?" You quietly yet quickly asked. Tears beginning to threaten your eyes. You weren't ready to loose her so soon.

She saw the switch in your emotions. To reassure you she gently grabbed your face and brought your forehead to hers. "No baby, it's not over." She whispered so softly to you. "When we made this agreement...I had set a goal to find out how far your curiosity could go, where it stemmed from. Especially when you look at me with those big eyes and furrowed brows."

Your glassy eyes blinked once or twice while leaning back. You were deciding on what you wanted to do from here. You kind of got an answer, even if it didn't explain her avoidance of really fucking you. You for a fact (maybe the most truest one of all) you wanted her to fuck you. Your body practically begged for her hands on the daily. Especially after telling her all about how you touched yourself in high school, your body was worked up and ready. "There's very few things that make me uncomfortable in bed...." your pupils were almost covering all the color in your eyes. "God, Lilia just fuck me. I can't- you have to now. Otherwise I'll have to finish-"

A harsh kiss was silencing you as you moaned into her lips. You were quick with getting rid of her glass before burying your hands all in the hair. You twisted and brought her down with you. The kiss grew messy, oh was it messy. When Lilia pulled away, a trail of saliva kept you both connected. "New years..." she began. Coming back in for another messy kiss, before breaking away to behind your ear. "I had you right there. On your knees..." her lips dropped to your pulse and sucked hard. "And do you know the sight I had the graces of seeing?"

You head shook back and forth, "uh-uh"

Her fingers were in your waistband and pulling your panties down once again. The strands of wetness went with before snapping coldly back against your bare pussy. "You're soaking baby."

"Only for you, Lil" you gasped as your hips rolled against nothing. Your heart was hammering against your ribs as her fingers ran up and collected your slick.

"I'm gonna have so much fun with you sweet thing." Her lips curled when she brought them to view. "The question is where to start."

Her head dipped back between your neck. You giggled out your moan, "your job...why won't you tell me?" You fiddled with the ponytail holder in her hair. You wanted her hair free and wild.

Her smirk against your skin made you heat even more. "Maybe I want to keep you guessing."

"Does it have something to do with mine and that's why?" Your hips jolted up at the featherlight touch that was given to your clit. Lilia's hot breath fanned over the saliva that covered the bruises.

"You gonna piece it together while I eat you out? Is that your plan?" She started moving lower on your body, flattering her tongue in your hardening nipple through the fabric of your shirt. Your body arched up to her. "But yes, my job does play with yours." Her mouth sucked through the fabric.

You struggled to piece together your next question. Her mouth felt heavenly but the shirt was killing you. You needed out of it and out fast. You sat up, Lilia following and knowingly pulled your top up and off.

"Baby do you ever wear a bra?" Her eyes didn't even have to look away from yours to know. "You wanted to tease me?"

Her questions only fuels your inquiry. Did you do it to tease her? To hope it would get her enough that she'd pounce on you? Did you dress for her? Have you been? "How much influence do you have with theater?"

Her head was on your other nipple, giving it the same attention. "Enough to make or break a career." Her voice was low as she released your boob with a crisp pop, pushing you back down with a single finger. "I've made many stars and destroyed many already."

Her touch ghosted over your sides. "Should I be worried about my future then?" Your breath hitched in your chest as her lips pressed right above your bundle of nerves. You were trying to piece together what she could be but with her on you it was harder than normal.

"No, I know how to keep work and personal separate. You have nothing to worry about." She was nestled between your legs now. You managed to pick your head up to see, the sight alone was almost enough to send you over. Lilia noticed it in your eyes as she bored hers up to you. "I want you to keep asking your questions, baby."

"What's your job tit- mmmh." Her tongue swiped through your slit and it was when you knew you were truly in for a challenge. Between a few pants and hums you managed to ask for her job title. She was casting spells on you with her tongue.

"You can't freak," She spoke against you and the vibrations made you let a noise from your chest up. You babbled your agreement, slowly lapsing yourself to the pleasure. "I'm CEO of the theater wing."

Your heart either skipped a beat from dropping into your stomach, or from dropping to your core. The power she really did have. She could easily bring you up to the top, or she could easily blackball you and take everything. "fuck me..." You exhaled and earned a laugh from below. The knot in your tummy tightened. "Would...would you ever ruin me?" Your hand flew to her curls as she picked up the pace and began to really dive in. The question was unanswered as your body began to convulse against the couch. Her name tumbling from your mouth in a careful cry.

Lilia leaned back onto her legs that were folded under her as she used her thumb to wipe off your juices from her chin and suck the finger clean. Never once taking her eyes off your disheveled body. Her eyes really raking over your bareness and twinkling at the marks she left behind. "I guess it depends what you mean." She had a cocky smirk on her face.

"In both ways. Would you?"

The brown eyes snapped up to you and you enjoyed how she let you see the mischief in her eyes. You knew she had a few thoughts run through her mind, "I would never ruin your career, but you...you sure you're okay with this?"

You laughed and sat up, crawling over her now and kissing her hungrily. "I wouldn't have let you eat me out if I wasn't. Are you okay with this still?"

"Yeah...I'm still good with this." Her hands squeezed over her bruises lightly and gave you a slower, more sensual kiss. Hers was brief, although you protested and chased her back. "Let's go upstairs baby, we're gonna need more space."

You beamed and agreed, helping her up and leading her to the bedroom you'd only slept in a few times. Your eagerness was shinning the moment that door closed for the night. "What things don't you like?" Her right hand pointed to the small bench at the foot of the bed, commanding you to sit there.

"Anal, piss kinks, anything that involves food. Oh and toe sucking, leave my feet alone all together actually!" You stalked her steps as she moved about the room and looked like she was reminding herself where everything was.

"And the things you like?" She asked and you heard the smile in her voice. Her answers however was you blushing and giggling sweetly to yourself. Lilia joined in when coming closer to you and standing right in front of you. Her hand holding your jaw just so you could look at her. "I don't give you permission to giggle."

It was like a switch had flipped in you. The noise had subsided almost instantly under her intense gaze. "I like a lot of things. I like hickies, one for the world to see but then the rest just for me. I like being bound, overstimulated, tickled, fucked dumb, anything really. If it makes me curious it's a bonus." You kept your list simple, it went on longer cause that's just the curious freak in you.

"Is there anything you want to try now?" She was giving you the chance to choose where this night was going. A chance to not embarrass yourself, but that's not what you wanted.

"You know what I really want? Like more than anything right now?" Your eyes enlarged right before her. Lilia gracefully shook her head. "I want you to let go. Stop holding back from me entirely. I want you, Lilia...I'm yours however you please."

You were playing a dangerous game with her now. Her lips latched to your pulse, more aggressive than usual as she bared her canine teeth and let them sink in just a little more. Listening to the mewl you let out as the pain made your body fill with pleasure. Her tongue soothed over it, then trailed away as she moved agonizingly slow down your body. She slipped from the bed after placing a kiss right below your belly button. Her eyes were dark and swarming with ideas while she stared your naked body down. You could tell when she landed on her first move.

Lilia had grabbed turned and sat on the bench at the foot of the bed, her back now towards you. "Crawl to me baby." Her voice was low and making your ears ring. You did just that, you went from the side of the bed around. Her fingertips hovered the curve of your back before you sat in front of her. "You're so willing to be treated this way?" She was checking in with you, the slight highlight of worry in her eyes.

"I told you I was very open...are you ok treating me this way? Is this what turns you on? Being in control?" And there was that curiosity again, it never left you and Lilia was realizing she should stop questing if it ever did.

She took a moment to consider, "I do enjoy seeing you on your knees for me." Her hand ran into your hair, and suddenly she was recreating new years. Pulling your head against her thigh. "And this..did you know you make it hard to work when you lay in my lap? I can feel your feather touch tracing patters just barely."

You licked your lips at the idea. Did it really work her up the way she worked you up? Your hand daringly began to trace patterns on the side of her thigh, eyes searching for the reaction in her face. Yet she challenged you and gave you nothing. "What else? What else?" Left your lips eagerly. You were bubbling with the need to know.

Lilia's lips curved into a nasty smirk as she conjured the rest of the night up, your promise stood out. "I've had a long business trip, baby. Im sure you could be of some assistance." She leaned back and was right there. The only thing in your way were her trousers. "Go on, put that pretty mouth to use."

Your bottom lip was pulled between your teeth as you were instantly at work to get rid of her pants. Giggling to yourself as her hips lifted up for you, your lips pressed to the soft skin that was already revealed. You heard her gasp at the feeling and it only spurred you on. Once they were off you threw them off into some corner, eyeing the wet patch on her underwear. You kissed your way up both thighs, leaving one right above the wet spot.

Your hands ran against the back of her legs, fingers pressing into her calves and massaging them. You wondered who was in this position before you. What they might've looked like and how they got here, and it surprisingly made your fingers twitch with jealousy. "Was there someone before me?" You whispered to the inside of her knee. This time, it was Lilia who hummed to get off topic. Except you didn't accept it and grazed your teeth against her. "Did you find them the way you did me?" You climbed closer, fingers tugging at the remaining barrier.

"Why does it matter?" She exhaled, she couldn't get anything else out once the cold air breezed over her. Lilia had groaned your name at the littering of kisses. Gasping when your tongue flattened against her.

"I want to know who I'll be putting to shame when I'm done with you." You didn't waste anytime and started lapping her up. Her moans echoed through the room. The lovely sound of her pleasure wrapped you up in pride. "Tell me." You growled, slowing your pace.

Lilia's chest raised in gasping breathes. Your name falling from her mouth in warning, but you didn't let up. "Fine...there was one other..whiles back...you're the first female baby."

You sped up again, the thought of putting men to shame always ignited something else in you. Knowing that you were doing better already just by sex. It wasn't long before Lilia was coming on your tongue, pushed into another orgasm as you couldn't get enough. She had to grab a strong fistful of your hair to get you to ease up.

When you looked up, you had to crash into her lips. Placing yourself in her lap, a hungry drive for more leading you to abuse all over her neck. "You do that to everyone you eat out?"

"uh-uh, you're a special someone." You were ready for another go. Your hot breath fanned over her entire neck. "Do you still need a second?"

"You want to go again? Twice wasn't enough for you?" She chuckled at your still wandering lips. They were near the shell of her ear, parting just a bit more to graze your teeth. Her breathing hitched at your own laughter.

"Until you have to tap out..." you purred as her hands slid over your hips. You loved how her touch felt and you would die in it if you could.

Her grip tightened, "why don't we focus on you for a bit, baby? It's my turn to be curious. Up, on the bed." She pushed you back and off. Motioning to the bed as she spun to her knees on the bench. Staring at you intently while you got situated in the feather pillows.

Lilia's skilled hands undid the buttons to her top without breaking the eye contact. She was left in just a bra, one you were hoping to get the honor of taking off. She proceeded to find home between your legs, pulling your body closer to her with a dark chuckle. It was like she had used magic to make the vibrator appear.

The buzzing sound had made you erupt into a fit off a mixture of gasping, begs, and giggles. The older woman was curious as to where this reaction came from. Your knuckles turned white from how tight you were gripping the sheets. "Lil'..." you giggled when she kissed your clit. "I should warn you."

You managed to perch yourself up enough to see her between your legs and you knew she saw you clench at nothing. "Warn me about what baby?"

Right as you opened your mouth she pressed the vibrator against you and watched you collapse against the bed. Already writhing under the sensation, getting worse when she added her tongue to you. "Mmm, fuck. Lilia...is this what you pictured?" You managed instead. You were right there, on the edge of the most earth shattering orgasm.

She hummed against your body, it mixing with the electric vibrations. "It's one of the many ways..." she's pictured you in other ways. What ways? How many ways? God was she really going to ruin you? Fuck you'd let her! You'd let her do anything! She looked so perfect between your legs already, how else would she look this way with you?

Your body convulsed as you screamed her name so loud you swore the neighbors heard. Even after she removed every sensation, your body kept twitching as you tried to catch your breath. You stared straight into the ceiling, swearing it was turning into the bright light.

"Well I'll be...you're a messy one baby." Lilia laughed as she stood up from the bench. Her chest was dripping with you and it was no secret you had squirted everywhere. "Is that what you were trying to warn me about? A vibrator too much for you?"

"They just wear me out quicker," you had finally steadied yourself. "You'll need to know that, trust me."

She laughed once more. "Noted, now why don't we take a nice bath and go enjoy that takeout you had in the fridge?"

"You never looked in the fridge tho?"

"Maybe I am a witch," she playfully winked at you, but the second look in her eye was begging you to accept it almost like she was.

You squinted for a second, shrugged, "I'm into it. A witch sugar mommy." Her peppered curls shook as she dragged you from the bed to the grand bathroom.

The rest of your night was history.