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murdockparker · 8 months ago

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Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

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

Word Count: 11.8k

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you know—”

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

“Oh?”

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

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

“Brother?”

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

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

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

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

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

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

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

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

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you need a hand?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

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

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

“Benedict.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Benedict.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She froze.

“Ah, what was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I—of course not!”

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

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

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

He paused, clearly taken aback.

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

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

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

“That seems awfully specific—”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

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

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

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

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I do not care for tea?”

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

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And a sponge cake is…?”

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

“And Harry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

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

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

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

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

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

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

“Paste your lips together?” She offered.

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

“Horse racing?”

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

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

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

“You are serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The winner?”

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

“So you lost?”

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

“I lost?” She scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

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

“Was I inhuman before?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said.

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

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

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

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

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

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

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

“I-I don’t understand—”

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

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

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

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

“(Y/N)…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

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

“You know that is not what I meant—”

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

“No—(Y/N)—”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And abandon our legacy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She insulted me!”

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

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

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

Rain.

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

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

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

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

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

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

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

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

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

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

“A caller? In this weather?”

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

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

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

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

“(Y/N)…”

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

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

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

“For what?” He asked genuinely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not wish to impose.”

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

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

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

“I could never ask you for that—”

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

“Benedict…”

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

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

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

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

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

“I should not have done that…”

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

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

“But you cannot stay here…?”

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

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

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

“I will pay your way.”

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

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

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

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

“France?”

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

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

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

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

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

“And you…?”

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

She nodded, understanding.

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

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

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

“Sounds perfect.”

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

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

Could it be?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Smart man,” she hummed.

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

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

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

“That is the only reason?”

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

Her heart fluttered again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Leaves?"

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

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

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

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #this is a doozy and i am sorry #but only a little bit!!!

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buttercuparry · 4 months ago

Text

I am deeply saddened by the fact that in all of 12 hours today, Siraj Abudayeh could only raise $30 CAD .

It is devastating how quickly the donations dropped and the fundraiser stagnated with Siraj relocating to a safer camp ( the important word here being "safer", a comparative degree as there is no true safety anywhere in Gaza)

It is true that Siraj set up a short term goal of $10000 CAD because he wanted to relocate quickly with his family. He feared that he would be caught in the line of fire and just mere weeks later the IOF attacked the Khan Younis area. You have to understand that this relocation though necessary, is an unfortunate blow to Siraj's finances. He has had to dip into the donations to procure necessary items of survival like tents, food etc. There has also been transportation costs, and commission rate on monetary transactions! So all in all this has set back Siraj's plans to invest in the reconstruction of his house.

Listen! I have said it before and I am saying this again, campaigns set up for rebuilding Palestinian homes is no less important than evacuation funds...I do not want to assume but it seems like less and less attention is being paid to efforts of rebuilding Palestinian homes! If truly we believe in a Free Palestine then this cannot happen. It is condescending as outsiders to pick and choose when to focus on rebuilding Palestine! And yes I say Palestine because it is the people of the soil who make it so. Siraj is Palestine ! His family is Palestine ! The thousands of Gazan families are all Palestine !!

I know the $82000 CAD seems daunting but if we can even spare $5 CAD steadily, we can get there. Siraj is not even asking for 82k now, his next short term goal is $20k. Please help him reach there. Please do not look away. I promise you, your $5 matters immensely. And I promise you that you are not alone in this:

There are many people all around the world who are tirelessly helping Siraj to rebuild. So help them, help him. Truly believe in a Free Palestine! Boost and donate what little you can and we can get there. Please.

#free palestine

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lustspren · 7 months ago

Text

Royal ft Miyeon, Soyeon.

length: 14.6k words ✦

Miyeon, Soyeon & Male Reader.

O Sole Mio Sequel.

genres: threesome, breeding, overstimulation, blowjob, squirt, facefuck, voyeur, hard sex, bi, creampie, pussy eating, party sex, public sex ✧

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Month and a half since you were in Los Angeles. Month and a half since Miyeon saw you, Soyeon and Yuqi naked in her own room.

You thought about it often; her reaction had been hilarious to say the least, but you were afraid that it would change your relationship with her in some way. Luckily that didn't happen. However, every time you saw her you couldn't help but remember that day. You were sure the same thing happened to her.

When the recordings of the Queencard and Allergy music videos were finished, you returned with the girls back to Korea and everything continued as usual. To no one's surprise, Queencard became such a hit that it gave the girls a PAK. An achievement like this, desired by so many groups and artists within the country, was not something that was achieved every day. It deserved celebration.

You had already had a small meeting at Soyeon's apartment to drink and do karaoke, but the idea for something bigger came from Minnie: the only person among them capable of spending absurd amounts of money without the slightest remorse. Her idea was to organize a big party, with a multitude of idols and their respective companions—if they had them—as main guests. It seemed crazy to you, but neither Soyeon nor the rest of the girls thought it was a bad idea.

Although Minnie was the leader of that initiative, the rest of the girls, in her eagerness to participate, convinced her to also help with the expenses. This is how they inaugurated the fund from which all the money destined solely and exclusively for the party would come. You, of course, couldn't contribute anything even though Soyeon was always in charge of giving you everything you needed; the amount of money you earned was tiny compared to the current most famous group in Korea. You had no choice but to help with all the logistics, at least.

No expenses of any kind were spared: they hired private security personnel, apparently among the best. They also bought alcoholic beverages of all kinds, snacks and sweets to fill the cupboards, and a sophisticated sound system. The jewel in the crown was the place that was rented for the event: a big house located in an exclusive neighborhood under construction in Yongin-si, a city located 40 kilometers south of Seoul.

The fund was made up of all the girls, but Minnie was responsible for all that uncontrollable spending. The speech she used as an excuse was that 'the fund would never fall short as long as she was the main investor.' You couldn't argue against that, besides, it was her problem.

You were with Soyeon like a limpet, glued to her at all times, doing preparations and errands everywhere. Aside from this, a big part of your job—or rather your girlfriend's—was making calls to every entertainment company you could think of to fill them in on the details. The big hook that Soyeon had going for her was that they wouldn't have to worry about security and privacy issues. Some bigwigs objected and dismissed the idea as crazy almost immediately, but in these cases Soyeon used her influence to get CUBE's own staff—who had no choice but to obey the person who fed them—to convince them in person.

So, with a bit of tug-of-war all the corresponding permissions were obtained, and invitations began to be sent to every possible idol in the girls' contact book. If your calculations were correct, by the end of that day around 60 people had been invited. That's not counting the possible companies that each one will bring.

What a mess.

"Hey, remember what I told you that night with Minnie?" Soyeon asked you.

You were in her apartment, sitting on the couch with the table in front of you full of papers and folders. You had been making expense calculations and adjusting budgets, and then sending the documents to Minnie. After a couple of hours Soyeon had gotten up to get cups of coffee and take a break.

You sipped the steaming energizing nectar, a pen held to your ear.

“Huh…” you thought about it for a moment. "The thing about...?"

"Aha." she nodded, crossing her legs, the coffee cup in her hand.

"Yeah, I remember. Why?"

Soyeon leaned forward, arms crossed over her knee.

"Because this will be the perfect opportunity to make Miyeonie take the bait." she said, lowering her voice, as if someone else, in the apartment where it was just the two of you, was going to listen.

You had had few interactions with Miyeon since that day, but all of them were normal, pleasant. Of course you acted like she hadn't seen your dick a month and a half ago, but you were sure she thought about it every time you talked, because every time she zoomed out looking down. You didn't know if she was looking where you thought she was looking, but she was, which was suspicious enough.

"And how do we plan to do that?" you said.

"Bringing her to a point where she can't resist. Cook her over low heat." She took a sip of her coffee.

You hesitated.

"She's not like Minnie or Yuqi. She's not easy to corrupt."

"And you're right, but," she held up a finger and set the coffee cup down next to a folder. "It's easier to make her give in on her own."

You wrinkled your forehead.

"What are you supposed to mean by that?"

"You'll see, darling," she patted your knee. "you will see."

—A week later—

Getting ready for an event where everyone was more attractive than you was a pain in the ass.

The day finally arrived. A Saturday night. You and Soyeon got ready at her apartment; three long hours that seemed eternal while Soyeon took even more time than you to choose what to wear. More than once you were honest with her and gave her the go-ahead for many outfits, but she just kept dismissing them. In the end she opted for a short black dress with long sleeves, wide wrists and pointed shoulder pads. She adorned her neck with a necklace of black pearls, and on her feet she wore wide, high platform heels.

The dress code was elegant, and the color was black. That was supposed to make things easier, but it didn't. You were Jeon Soyeon's partner, you just couldn't look dull.

You already had the complete outfit: black cotton sweater, high-waisted dress pants, and wide-soled formal shoes; but you were missing something, you could tell at a glance what it was, so Soyeon took you out of the house and bought you a nice leather blazer to wear over it. Now you were perfect for the occasion.

After an hour and a half by car you arrived at the neighborhood in question.

There were rather very few inhabited houses around; everything was in the process of being remodeled, and all the residences that had already been put up for sale were at least three blocks away in the case of the closest one. One of these houses was the one that stood in front of you, but the girls had only rented it for two nights. It was a masterstroke, not only were you out of the eye of the hurricane, but within that same block no one was going to be able to bother you.

As soon as you got out of the car you saw Minnie in the doorway, talking to two tall, robust men dressed in suits. You moved to the lower sidewalk and walked past the garage door until you stood behind the men. Soyeon cleared her throat, and they immediately moved aside to make way for you.

You and Soyeon greeted Minnie—who also looked spectacularly luxurious, in a black top and skirt and a black feather coat—and walked through the gate to stand behind her.

The men were the heads of security, who repeated the information they had given to Minnie so that she would be aware as well. Basically, a surveillance perimeter had been set up around the house to monitor any suspicious movement and act immediately against a potential photographer. You doubted how legal that last one thing was, but they seemed like completely professional people. Besides, you trusted Soyeon and Minnie's judgment.

After the explanation, one of the men left and the other stayed as a doorman, with an iPad with the guest list in his hand. You three went inside.

"Damn, you've worked on it, haven't you?" you asked Minnie, as you walked through the front entrance and into the living room.

She turned to look at you with a sneaky, almost arrogant smile.

"What did you think, that we were going to invite half of the industry here and not have security well covered?" she raised an eyebrow.

The living room space was divided into two zones: the left side, with doors leading to a small private dining room and a small space that led to a bathroom and a guest bedroom; and the central part, where you were standing, with an opening that offered a view of the second floor ceiling, from which hung a set of circular lamps that floated at least two meters above your heads.

The entire front part of the living room was glass panels facing the yard, where Yeh Shuhua was taking selfies and taking photos of the mountain scenery. Minnie went to sit on the large sofa installed behind one of the wooden beams, but you went through the door on the right to get to the kitchen. There you met Yuqi, with whom you exchanged a few words while you drank more than necessary glasses of cold water.

There were no traces of the leading star down there, so you went up to the second floor. The master bedroom was just up the stairs, behind a door on the right. There you found her, standing in front of a tall floor mirror; she fixed the short dress she was wearing, adjusting the thin straps with which it was held around her neck.

The aura of confidence that she emanated was one of the most attractive things she had in her arsenal. That, of course, is not counting a beautiful pair of legs and killer shoulders. One side of her shiny black hair fell in front of her left shoulder, and the other fell behind her right. Half of her back was exposed, a sight for which you had to thank the almighty himself.

She looked at you sideways and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She then took out a lipstick from a small bag.

"You could at least knock on the door," she said, putting on lipstick. "I could have been in my panties."

"And what would have been wrong with that?" Soyeon replied, walking behind her to sit in the corner of the gigantic bed.

You put your hands in your pants pockets and stood five feet behind Miyeon, looking her up and down. She glanced at you through her reflection, and to your surprise she winked at you.

"Well, that would have been a pretty unfair way to get revenge for what happened in L.A."

Your gaze was lost and your thoughts went blank, not expecting her to take out that dirty cloth so soon. You stayed quiet for a second until Soyeon evaded the topic.

"My goodness, woman," she said, looking her up and down. "You look fucking beautiful."

"Yeah." You nodded. "Nothing new about you tho, but something tells me you know you'll have competition today huh?"

Miyeon adjusted her earrings and turned to look at you. She raised both eyebrows as if you had said the most absurd thing in the world.

"Competition?" she asked, amused. "Ha! Who's going to compete with me? That's ridiculous."

Soyeon laughed.

"At levels of egocentrism, well, quite a few people, you're right about that." she said before standing up.

"Your boyfriend's eyes don't say the same," Miyeon gave you a look and turned towards the door with a mischievous smile. "I'll wait for you downstairs."

Soyeon waited for Miyeon to come out of the bedroom before standing in front of you and look at you with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" you asked.

"Couldn't you be a little more sneaky?"

"But what did I do!" you protested.

"Yeah yeah, forget it," she said with a swing of her hands. "Listen to me carefully," she grabbed your face. "I won't be able to be with you for the entire party, unfortunately I have to play my role as hostess and I can't leave the guests unattended. Anyway, I'll be going with you frequently, so don't worry."

You nodded throughout her explanation, and did so again as you grabbed her waist.

"Yeah, don't worry about me, I think I can acclimatize well." You leaned down to peck her lips. She gave you another one immediately and looked into your eyes.

"Hey, don't forget," she lowered her voice. "This is your perfect opportunity to spend time with Miyeonie. Golden opportunity, actually."

The music began to boom from downstairs, getting louder with each passing second. It seemed like they were testing how high they could go without making it unbearable.

"I don't promise anything. That woman looks innocent but she's… scary."

"I was too when you met me," she objected. "And now I'm taking you late at night to the mall to buy you a jacket."

You and her shared a laugh, gave each other one last kiss before leaving the bedroom and headed downstairs.

The music resonated throughout the house through an interconnected series of powerful speakers installed at different points on the ground floor, connected to a main sound system located on the yard porch. Yuqi and Shuhua were in front of it fiddling with things on the console, since they were in charge of the playlist. The two of them had a pretty solid taste in music, so you were calm about that.

Soyeon left you to go talk to Minnie, leaving you alone with Miyeon at the bottom of the stairs. Kanye West's Gold Digger started playing.

She turned to look at you.

"I'm going to go take some photos, are you coming with me?" she asked.

"I mean I don't have much to do in here, come on," you gestured with your chin towards the yard.

Miyeon walked ahead of you, you followed her from behind. Soyeon's gaze was fixed on the two of you for a few seconds, but she didn't take long to hide it.

As you walked out onto the porch you gave Shuhua a friendly tap on the back of the head in greeting. You had to run away so she wouldn't kick your ass in response.

Miyeon took you to the side of the house, where there was a dining area covered by a large patio umbrella. You walked ahead and pulled out one of the black chairs for her. She giggled.

"Woah, what a gentleman," she said, taking a seat.

"I know right?" You sat next to her and left your phone on the table. "I'm clearly a different breed."

"Oh yeah?" She raised both eyebrows and laughed again.

You nodded your head slowly, sinking into the seat.

"Yeah, there are few like me left in the world you know?"

"Right," she nodded as well, pulling her phone out of her clutch. "That's appropriate then, if you're going to be my company for the night you must be one of those."

She entered the camera on her phone and started taking selfies. You stared at her, your hands inside your jacket pockets.

"As long as you let me be, I'll be delighted."

"It's not like I have a choice," she said without looking at you, doing different poses and angles. "Sana is on tour and Jiwoo has a busy schedule."

"Ouch, that means I'm the last option."

She turned to look at you with a confused expression.

"Don't talk nonsense, silly." She looked back at the screen. "You're far from being a last option. Besides, I need few things on a night like this, and you can fulfill all of them more than well."

You raised your eyebrows and tilted your head, nodding.

"May I know what those things you are talking about are?"

Miyeon put the phone down and looked you up and down. Again, she stayed looking down for too long, but when you tried to follow her gaze she quickly raised it.

When she was about to answer you, you realized that there was beginning to be movement inside the house. The guests had begun to arrive.

From your seats you saw how the yard began to fill with people that you had only seen through a screen or from far away during your work. Miyeon didn't look fazed about it, but it was overwhelming for you. On top of that, it got worse when some idols came up to greet Miyeon: Wendy from Red Velvet, Jiwon and Seoyeon from Fromis, Mingyu and DK from Seventeen, Sehun from EXO, Eunwoo from Astro and even Somi herself, to name a few.

At one point you realized how truly gigantic the industry really was, as the place was packed with people. And that didn't even represent 20% of all of them. But you were sure that every big shot that could be there, was.

There were few who went with a non-famous person, you could count them on the fingers of both hands. One of them was Isa from STAYC, who was arm in arm with a foreign guy who seemed very familiar to you, but you didn't know where from. They were talking to Minnie and Ryujin, with whom you knew Isa was friends.

While you looked in that direction your vision was obstructed by Soyeon, who was accompanied by some of her close friends that you didn't know until now. Somi was behind her, as were Elkie, Sorn, and Yeeun, the three former CLC members. She formally introduced you to everyone. They were kind enough to you, but that didn't make you feel any less like a little ant in the middle of a metropolis. You still seemed confident and fun on the outside, or at least you tried to.

She left with them, and she left you and Miyeon alone again.

You stood up and wandered around the house, striking up short conversations—or rather Miyeon—with several of her friends, many of whom had already gone to say hello previously. By then you had already started drinking. You two drank from thermal mugs to make it more comfortable while you went from here to there. Yours had vodka and lemon soda, and Miyeon's had white rum and watermelon juice.

You hadn't been drinking for long, you had barely finished a drink and you had just finished refilling your mugs. But you already noticed that Miyeon was behaving slightly differently, she seemed eager to move her body, you noticed it while you were starting a small conversation about your favorite vocalists.

"Wait a minute," you interrupted her, while she was talking about Christina Aguilera. "Wanna dance?"

Miyeon tilted her head and looked at you as if you had guessed the lottery number. You decided not to point out how much it showed on her.

"Oh, actually… yeah,” she nodded. “Come on," she smiled, and she took your hand to lead you inside the house.

The heart of the party was there. If outside it seemed like the place was at maximum capacity, inside you felt like you were in rush hour in Seoul.

You made your way through the crowd, Miyeon leading the way as she held your hand. Having that point of view was kind of comforting: all those people you saw on screens, shiny and seemingly perfect, being ordinary people. There was nothing new under the sun, it was evident that these young people enjoyed their private lives as much as anyone else. But being there, meters—even less—from them, made you forget that they were famous people. That made you feel more comfortable.

Miyeon led you to a corner of the living room, near the stairs leading to the second floor. You stood with your back against the wall, and Miyeon turned her back to you to corner you against it.

You had four guys from NCT Dream nearby, but you only recognized two: Mark and Jisung; you knew the other two, but you couldn't remember their names. They were talking to two girls you didn't know even by face and to Sehun from EXO. They all gave small polite bows to Miyeon and went about their business.

You weren't dancing as such at first, you were just moving subtly to the rhythm of the music while you drank and enjoyed the atmosphere. She just made sure that you were pressed against the wall at all times, so that you could soak in the scent of her hair and the warmth of her body as much as possible.

She turned her head and leaned closer to your ear.

"Won't Soyeonie be upset if she finds us like this?" she asked.

You thought about it for a moment and let out a chuckle.

"No, I don't think so," you shook your head.

"Great, then it's my time to check something."

Miyeon pressed her body against yours, her ass, firm under her short dress, rubbing against your bulge. You let out a sly smile, realizing that your mission was not going to be as difficult as you expected.

"Hmm… even this way it feels really good against my ass," she continued, then took a sip of her drink. "Come on, let's dance."

She had dared, now you had to dare too.

You wrapped your hand around her waist, placing it right in the center of her abdomen, which she didn't seem to mind. You didn't want to get hard, but despite your efforts you were sure she ended up feeling the firm bulge press against her.

You danced for a couple of songs. Nothing too flashy or risqué, but you remained close during every second. You were lying if you didn't say that you wanted to bury your face in that long, slightly sweaty neck, or kiss those pretty lips with the aftertaste of liquor on them, but you couldn’t rush.

You were forced to stop when Yuqi appeared in the crowd. Her gaze dropped to your hand on Miyeon's abdomen. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but she didn't say anything about it.

"Hey, Soyeon sent me to find you!" she said. "We will hold a hate convention towards CUBE."

Miyeon jumped away from you and smiled broadly at Yuqi.

"I'm in!" She looked at you and offered you her hand. "Come on!"

She was the happiest you had seen her all night. That said a lot about the experience of those girls under the yoke of a disgusting company. Of course you took her hand and followed Yuqi.

Yuqi led you back to the side alley of the house. In the dining area, where you and Miyeon were before, Soyeon and Minnie were sitting along with a good number of people you already knew beforehand: Elkie, Eunbin, Yeeun, Sorn, Dawn, Wooseok, Kino, Sanghah, Juhyeon and Hina. All former, or idols under CUBE Entertainment. It was going to be a more than entertaining talk.

"Hello everyoneee!" Miyeon greeted, taking a seat in a free chair. You sat on the side. "Where is Shuhua?"

"We have no idea," Soyeon responded from across the table.

"The last time we saw her she was with a guy I don't know, two girls from STAYC, Hanni from New Jeans and... her name is Rei, right?" Yeeun said next to Soyeon, looking at Lightsum's Hina, who was also Japanese.

"Aha," Hina nodded.

"Oh, I just saw her with Hanni and Isa in the dining room," said Yuqi sitting on your left. "I didn't see the other guy or the other two."

"And why didn't you tell her to come with us?" Elkie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I did!" Yuqi protested. "But you know how that girl is, she didn't listen to me."

"It doesn't matter girls," Soyeon said. "That shouldn't be an impediment for us."

Of course, the main subject of the conversation was CUBE and why they were a huge garbage company.

You didn't have much or practically anything to contribute to the conversation, since you weren't even an employee within that company or had any connections of any kind beyond the girls. Even so, they came to you from time to time to find out what someone's point of view was like from the outside, so you enriched the conversation anyway.

Listening to their experiences was heartbreaking for you. They had all been through horrible, unfair treatment, but you were surprised by how lightly everyone talked about it. You even noticed that they took it with a certain amount of humor. You couldn't blame them, after all it was a very natural defense mechanism in everyone, but you knew how they felt. In the end you all agreed on the same thing: CUBE deserved the worst.

Over time—about an hour or an hour and a half—the group began to dissolve piece by piece, either because they were going to dance, because they were going to refill their drinks, or because they were going to talk to other people at the party.

Soyeon also left, telling you that she also wanted to spend some time with her Lightsum hoobaes. She gave you a kiss and winked before leaving with Sanghah, Juhyeon and Hina.

In the end, only you, Miyeon, Yuqi and Minnie were left at the table.

"Now why are you two so close together all of a sudden?" Minnie asked cross-legged.

"Yeah," Yuqi nodded. "I can count the times I saw you together during these months."

You were about to jump to your defense, but Miyeon beat you to it, placing her hand on your right thigh.

"He's just looking out for me," she said. "You know, neither Sana nor Jiwoo can be with me today," she pouted and looked at Yuqi. "I thought you would know what a good company he is."

As she said that last sentence she slowly moved her hand up your thigh and squeezed it very close to your crotch, even touching your bulge with the side of her hand. You couldn't say a single word, you were frozen.

Yuqi opened her eyes wide. You noticed that her cheeks turned into an intense blush and that she shifted nervously in the seat.

Minnie wrinkled her brow and looked at Yuqi with a raised eyebrow.

"What is she talking about?" she asked.

Yuqi looked at you, looking for help. You just shook your head. She then looked at Minnie.

"Uh… oh!" She pretended someone was calling her from behind you. "Chenle is calling me!"

She stood up and ran with small jumps around the table, grabbing the skirt of her dress so as not to trip.

"Wah! And Xiaoting unnie too?" she said again, as if her flight had not been false enough already.

The three of you looked at her as she left, in disbelief. She didn't end up going anywhere. She stood in the middle of the yard looking for one of the people she had just named, but when she didn't see anyone she quickly went into the house.

"Very well, I won't be anyone's third wheel," Minnie said as soon as she locked eyes with you. "Have a good time, cuties."

Minnie stood up and blew you both a kiss before leaving as well. Only then did Miyeon remove her hand from your thigh. You looked at her, narrowing your eyes.

"What are you playing, Cho Miyeon?" you asked.

She turned to look at you with an innocent expression.

"Huh?" She was playing dumb. "I only said that because I know how much fun you guys had in L.A."

"A certain part of me caused so much fun, can you imagine what I'm talking about?"

Miyeon put a finger to her lips and wrinkled her forehead, pretending to think. In the end she shook her head.

"The truth is that I have no idea, I'll try to search my memory to see if I remember anything."

"I could help you with that, don't you think?"

"Yeah," she nodded, looking into your eyes. "I'm sure you could."

"Do you want to go inside?" You gestured towards the house.

"Yeah!"

She pushed the chair back and stood up, but when she put one foot away from it she 'tripped' and fell sitting on her side right on top of your bulge. You instinctively held her waist. Her sexy little waist.

"Oops," she said, her face inches from yours. "The heels played dirty on me."

"Thank god you landed in a safe place, then," you said, looking at her lips and then at her sideboob inside her dress.

Miyeon nodded slowly, holding onto your shoulders.

"Very comfortable, too," she added, looking at your lips. "I wouldn't mind falling here more times."

Your lips were very close to each other. You thought it was time. You could smell her breath, hot and tempting. She approached you, squeezing your shoulders with her fingers. But just as your lips touched, a commotion meters behind you interrupted you. You turned to look.

It turned out that some guys, among whom you recognized three from The Boyz and a couple from Enhypen, had brought out a ping pong table—god knows where from—and were installing it there, along with a bunch of party glasses and a ping pong ball. One of them had a bottle of vodka in his hand, which he placed in the center of the table before starting to play.

Miyeon turned her gaze to you.

"Do you want to go play?" she asked.

"I would like to play with you, not gonna lie."

She raised an eyebrow and grabbed your face, her lips pressed into a mischievous smile. She scrutinized your face and ran her thumb over your bottom lip.

"Later..." she said. "I don't feel horny enough yet."

"No rush, then," you smiled.

You made an attempt to kiss her, but she pressed her index finger against your lips and slowly shook her head before standing up. The damn proud smile she wore on her face only made you want her more.

Reluctantly you stood up and walked with her to where the crowd was gathering around the game. There you met Shuhua, accompanied by Isa and Hanni. Soon they were joined by who you assumed was the guy Yeeun told you about; with him came Yoon and Rei. You spent another little effort trying to figure out where you knew him from, and finally your mind clicked: you knew him from a viral clip of him playing Fortnite, he was a famous English-speaking streamer.

Once you took off the weight of knowing who he was, you didn't pay him any more attention. You focused on beating Cho Miyeon at beer pong.

She was kicking your ass in a somewhat humiliating way. You didn't know whether to associate it with beginner's luck or the discouraging fact that, at that moment, the universe was against you. Out of 10 balls you could score, maybe you got 3 or 4. Miyeon scored 8 of those 10.

Every gulp of vodka burned your throat and made you wrinkle your nose. It went down your entire body too quickly, as it didn't take long for you to feel dizzy. You needed a break, so you motioned for Miyeon to stop and move aside. This was a roundabout way of accepting defeat, and she didn't hesitate to tease you for it.

"Are you ok?" she asked between silly laughs, her hand on your shoulder.

You looked at her with a frown. You noticed her flushed cheeks, a sign that the alcohol was also affecting her.

"Fuck yes, perfectly," you replied, concentrating on not losing your center of gravity. "Since when the hell are you the Stephen Curry of beer pong?"

Miyeon laughed harder and hugged your neck, almost making you fall backwards with her. You wrapped your right arm around her waist and anchored your right foot behind you.

"Beginner's luck, I guess?" she said in your ear.

Yeah, that was the answer.

"Your beginner's luck just destroyed me," you grabbed her waist and subtly pushed her away because you really felt like you were going to fall.

"Let's eat something in the kitchen, that will help," she said with her hands on your chest.

"I hope you're right, come on."

You let Miyeon pull you with her. You had no choice but to trust her and let her guide you, since your body couldn't coordinate movements with your brain very well at all.

When you got to the kitchen you found at least a dozen people pouring drinks or mixing them as if they were in some kind of bizarre laboratory. Miyeon pushed everyone out of your way just with her presence, and the first thing she did when you arrived in front of the refrigerator was push you back against it.

"Wait a minute, you're in all your senses right?" she asked, both of her hands on the refrigerator on either side of your head.

You frowned. What a random question.

"Uh… yeah?" you said. "I mean, my motor sk…."

Before you could continue speaking Miyeon grabbed you by the neck and crashed her lips against yours.

Surprised and still confused, you wrapped both arms around Miyeon's waist and reciprocated her kiss. You felt that all that preparation had been worth it; her lips felt delicious, with an addictive aftertaste that made you want to go deeper and deeper. She granted you that pleasure, adding her tongue to make clear what an excellent kisser she was.

While you pressed her body against yours and made the gesture of lowering one of your hands to her ass, something happened that completely took you out of your bubble: Miyeon pushed you to the side, opened the refrigerator and took out a box of Choco Pies .

She pulled away from your lips and looked into your eyes, showing you the box with a little smile, as if nothing had happened.

"Do you want a Choco Pie?" she asked innocently.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, trying to solve the indecipherable enigma that Cho Miyeon was.

"Yeah..." you nodded, looking at the box. "Sure."

Miyeon took your hand, closed the refrigerator and led you to the area on your left: an extension of the kitchen that housed the dining room and some appliances and also led to the yard.

You sat on two empty chairs and began to eat the Choco Pies while you saw many of those present making fools of themselves. Among them was Yuqi, dancing with Elkie, Chenle, and Yiren. You put your hands to your foreheads when she tripped over her own dress and fell on her butt against the grass.

About twenty minutes and several Choco Pies later you already felt composed and ready to continue, so you went with Miyeon to the kitchen and refilled your mugs with more drink. This time you put less alcohol in yours, not wanting to push your limits further.

"Let's dance again, handsome?" Miyeon asked, looking at you with mesmerizing eyes.

You grabbed her waist, pressed the side of her body against yours and gave her a small kiss that she gladly accepted.

"Only if you promise not to hold back this time," you said against her lips.

"Oh don't worry, I won't," she assured, with a smile that should have terrified you, but instead turned you on.

This time it was you who led the way to the living room. The corner where you had previously danced was occupied by a couple who were kissing. You noticed that they were Chaeyoung from Fromis and Soobin from TXT. Who was going to say it.

You went to the opposite side of the room, just below the threshold of the passage that led to the bedroom and bathroom doors. There you were clearly blocking the way for anyone who wanted to enter, but you didn't think about it—or rather, you did but you didn't care.

Now you and her reversed her roles: her back against the wall and you cornering her against it. She wrapped her arms around your neck and you grabbed her waist. You began to dance face to face, with your lips inches from each other at all times.

Every few seconds you let your lips touch in a fleeting kiss. Your hands began to run up and down Miyeon's waist, who gently stroked the hair at the nape of your neck. You discreetly placed one of your hands behind her, on her lower back, and then lowered it to grab her buttock. It felt too good not to do it again with the other one.

The song changed to A Milli by Lil Wayne, a moment that Miyeon took advantage of to turn around and press her ass against your cock. She began to move it like you knew she knew how, making wonderful use of her hips to rub against you to the rhythm of the music.

You buried your face in her neck and breathed against it, clinging firmly to her waist as she moved her ass against you. You heard a gasp from her, and then she went against all your expectations: she reached between your bodies and reached down to grab the now hardened bulge in your pants.

You hid the surprise as best you could, in order not to draw too much attention from the people around you (they didn't give a damn anyway). You put your free hand on Miyeon's abdomen, while she squeezed your cock and massaged it through your pants. You lowered your hand to try to reach her crotch, but she gave you a pat to stop you in your tracks.

“Hold it there, cowboy,” she said in your ear. "If you want dinner, let's go upstairs."

You smiled from ear to ear and licked your lips.

"Are you horny enough yet?" you murmured, peppering the side of her face with kisses.

She gave your cock another firm squeeze.

"Pretty much," she simply replied, then bit your bottom lip.

You took a step back and grabbed her by the forearm to separate her from the wall. Then you took her hand and went to the other side of the room, towards the stairs. You went up and tried to quickly go to the master bedroom, however, you ran into an unexpected problem.

It was locked from the inside.

"Huh?" Miyeon said, frowning. "Did you close it when you came down?"

“Nope,” you shook your head. "In fact I'm pretty sure I left it open."

You tried opening it once more and then pressed your ear against the cold wood. You couldn't hear anything inside. It was to be expected: whoever was inside must have had a good scare when they saw the knob turning unsuccessfully. They were trying not to get caught.

"It doesn't matter," you said, renouncing. "Let's go to the other one."

As you walked through the short hallway that led to the other side of the second floor, you couldn't help but think about Soyeon. You were making a move without her, a giant one, how was she going to react if she found out about it? You didn't think about the consequences at the time: you were so clouded in your desire for Miyeon that you took it as a secondary problem, something you would deal with later.

You reached the end of the corridor to enter the bedroom, which luckily was open and empty.

That bedroom wasn't much smaller than the main one, in fact, they were practically the same: both with dressers and beds of the same size. The only differences at first glance were that the master bedroom had a small library room and was better furnished.

It wasn't even important. The last thing you and Miyeon paid attention to was the quality of the bedroom. You only needed a bed, and even that was optional.

As soon as you locked the door behind you, you left the mugs on a dresser, and Miyeon lunged at you with her arms around your neck to kiss you.

Without the annoying restriction of being surrounded by people you now let yourself go, wrapping your arms around Miyeon's waist and pressing her against your body in the middle of a kiss that lacked tenderness.

Miyeon clung to your neck with both hands, breathing heavily as a result of the intense exchange of saliva. You were moving stumbling to the right, towards one of the side edges of the bed, which Miyeon collided with and fell back onto the mattress. You fell on top of her.

"Would you let me eat your pussy, Miss Cho?" you asked, biting her bottom lip and pulling on it.

Miyeon let out a tiny moan and pulled the jacket off your shoulders. Her eyes burning with desire fixed on yours.

"Eat whatever you want from me," she replied with a gasp, bringing one knee up to rub against your crotch.

You dove into her pretty, soft neck, showering it with kisses as much as possible.

"Fuck… watch your words, I can use them against you," you muttered against the end of her neck, almost touching her collarbone.

That had been an invitation that you did not hesitate to reject.

Not wanting to leave her neck too quickly, you stayed there for a few more long seconds, just kissing it and filling it with eager hickeys that were soon reflected in light dark marks. Miyeon just let you work, rubbing her thigh against your cock.

You put your hands under her and reached behind her back, to untie the small knots that held the straps of her dress to her neck. With her dress already loose at the top you were able to slowly lower it, covering each new area of bare skin with deep, wet kisses. Before releasing her tits you went up again to her marked collarbone, and one last time to her neck. You went back down, and with a single pull you revealed a pair of perfect perky breasts.

You didn't hesitate for a second to put one of them in your mouth.

"Hfmmm..." Miyeon moaned, bringing her hands to your hair to tangle her fingers there.

You grabbed your right arm behind her waist and lifted her forward to bring her further into the center of the bed, sucking on her nipple and licking it up and down. She kicked off her heels and hugged her legs to your waist, as she let out small moans.

Because of this, her dress went up to the elastic area that kept it attached to her abdomen. Her beautiful pair of legs were now fully exposed to you. You placed a hand on each of her thighs, squeezing them on the underside with your fingers and then rubbing them up and down.

After leaving one nipple covered in saliva, you moved to the next. Miyeon's moans, although still small, became more desperate with every second that you didn't touch her. You brought your right hand to her crotch, rubbing her slit with your thumb over her soaked lace panties.

"Fuck, are you going to eat me or not?" she asked between gasps.

You lifted your mouth from her nipple and smiled to look at her. Her cheeks were burning with blush.

"Are we needy, Princess Cho?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah..." she nodded slowly, looking at you. "Too much, so please give me what I want."

"What you want? How do you know it's not what I want too?" you said, giving kisses to the outline of her tits.

"Because it's obvious," she replied. "How can you not want to eat a princess's pussy?"

You should have seen that response coming. You laughed, and lowered the top of her dress even further, until it joined the bottom. Now every part of her dress was bunched just above her navel.

You freed yourself from the embrace of her legs and moved back onto your knees to get comfortable. With your face now at the level of her sexy belly, you covered the lower part of her abdomen with a lot of kisses that you eagerly enjoyed, and later reached her crotch.

You grabbed her panties by the curb and pulled them off her legs. You were met with a perfectly shaved and beautiful pussy, soaked in a light layer of shiny fluid, the product of so much foreplay. Miyeon held her breath, thinking you would attack her pussy all at once, but instead you moved towards her inner thighs.

"Oh, come on!" she whimpered, hitting the mattress with her clenched fists.

You had to hide your smile behind her thigh, which you kissed very slowly on purpose. Her hips writhed with subtle movements, and her chest rose and fell in desperate breaths. You moved to her other inner thigh, now kissing so close to her pussy that she let out a high-pitched squeal, grabbed your hair and buried your mouth against her pussy herself.

"Fuck, finally." she said with a sigh of pure release.

Once you were there you couldn't just back out, you would let her win just this once.

Her pussy felt so good against your lips that you were afraid you would become addicted to the sensation. You started with soft kisses and sucks between her folds; then you moved up to her clit and licked it slowly, drawing deep moans from her.

Miyeon caressed your hair and tangled her fingers in it to give it little tugs. You gripped her thighs with both hands, holding them back so they wouldn't move as you picked up a gear. Now you could tell that you were eating her pussy properly.

"Oh yeah..." she moaned, arching her back slightly. "Just like that daddy!"

You certainly didn't expect that word attributed to you from her, but it didn't bother you, on the contrary it awakened a deep instinct in you: it was the sensation of wanting to make her your property, the wild desire to show yourself as a possessive animal.

You grunted in a short breather and wrapped your arms around her thighs, hugging them, to dive back into her wet pussy.

You began to devour her with hunger, driven by the uncontrollable desire of wanting to flood your ears with her beautiful moans of pleasure. Every time she let one out of her, your hands pressed firmly against the flesh of her thighs, and your mouth, as well as your tongue, moved in the most frantic ways possible.

Miyeon writhed on her mattress, both hands outstretched at her sides with her fingers crumpling the white sheets. She was trying to close her thighs around your head, but you simply wouldn't let her; instead, she grabbed onto your hair again to push you harder against her pussy.

"Don't you dare stop!" she screeched, her thighs shaking. "Keep going, keep going!"

Seconds later Miyeon reached her wonderful, electrifying orgasm. You let go of her thighs, and she instantly trapped your head between them to grind her hips against your face. You ate her all that little while, with long tasting licks and loving kisses as her peak slowly subsided.

“Oh my god…” she gasped, letting go of your head. "Take off your clothes. You deserve a good blowjob."

You got up so quickly that in a way you were even embarrassed.

You took off your shoes first, then you moved on to your sweater and finally your pants. Miyeon settled on her stomach, her head just above the edge of the bed. In front of her was your hard throbbing bulge, which almost ripped the fabric of your boxers in its eagerness to be released.

"Come on, show me that thing daddy," she said in a provocative tone, then approached your cock and kissed the outline.

You let her worship your cock for a few more seconds. You stared at her, mesmerized by how she pressed her lips against your shaft and balls, eager to receive more. Soon you would give her what she wanted: slowly pulling down your boxers so that your cock, once freed, would slap her pretty face.

She let out a loud breath of surprise. You smiled, holding your cock by the base to rest it flat on her face.

"Just like you remembered?" you teased.

“I think even better…” she replied, opening her mouth to slide her tongue out and press it against the back of your shaft. "I should have seen it closer that time."

Miyeon's lips and tongue moved into action; she took your cock in her hand to kiss the sides of it, highlighting each path of kisses with sensual licks. She looked up at you, kissing just below your tip before swirling her tongue there.

She made a move to take you into her mouth, but as soon as your tip passed the threshold of her lips she changed her mind and went down to your balls, using her hand to rub the first few inches of your shaft while she salivated them between sucks. You growled and clenched your fists, knowing well that this was a revenge.

"Fuck, is this really necessary?" you complained.

Miyeon let out a smile as she licked your balls and around your base.

"Are we needy, daddy?" she asked, in a mocking tone.

Damn woman.

‘You reap what you sow.’ There, helpless in the face of Miyeon's torturously slow advances, you understood that saying perfectly.

You stayed as still as you could stand, watching through gritted teeth as Miyeon teased you. She repeated the same damn movement without stopping, hoping that you would finally feel the warmth of her mouth. At least what she was doing felt good: by this point your entire shaft was covered in saliva thanks to the tireless sequence of kisses and licks.

But no, damn it. You needed more. And if she had given in to her own impulses, you wouldn't be shy about giving in to yours.

You grabbed a handful of her hair in your right hand and held her still, but she, perhaps anticipating that you would do that, immediately stuck out her tongue to greet you. She had beaten you again.

"You clever bitch..." you muttered, finally taking your cock inside her mouth.

Miyeon accepted you gladly, with a deep resolute moan. She wanted it, she was crazy about the idea of having you inside her mouth, but she just wanted to make you give in to your desperation. It felt like a chess game in which you had received a checkmate.

She sucked a few inches of your cock, her hand gripping the base. Her mouth felt so good that she made you gasp multiple times from the beginning; she moved it slowly, each time taking it further. Finally she stopped a couple of centimeters past the middle. She looked up, evoking pure lust from her dilated eyes and her flushed cheeks.

She pumped her head a few times, moaning around your cock before pulling out.

"I know you'd love to fuck my face..." she murmured, placing kisses on your tip. "But I waited a month and a half for this moment."

"Ah yeah?" you said, raising an eyebrow. "Then enjoy it, slut."

"That's what I plan to do… daddy," she said, adding rasp to her voice on that last word, before returning to your cock.

You gathered Miyeon's hair and held it with one hand behind her head, in a ponytail, to make her job easier.

She slurped your cock hungrily, as if she wanted to give truth to her words. She did it slowly, with sensual, noisy pumps that covered just over half of your shaft.

You let out soft moans, hypnotized by how Cho Miyeon's pretty lips moved faster and faster on your cock. You leaned forward slightly to grab her ass, giving each of her butt cheeks a small spank that made her moan.

From that position you did not hesitate to put your fingers between her buttocks, to rub between her folds and take them inside her. Miyeon let a small moan escape her and she pulled you out of her mouth for air, giving your cock a long lick along the underside to sink back in.

Your fingers pumped in and out of her tight pussy, as she moaned between the now intense bobs of her head. Her ponytail was still firm and taut in your fist; you used it to force her to take your entire cock in a rough and messy deepthroat.

Miyeon didn't expect it; she latched onto your thighs with prickly nails, struggling to minimize the coughing as the tip of your cock rubbed against the beginning of her throat. You didn't let her go soon, not until thick drops of saliva spilled from the corner of her mouth and fell to the ground between your feet.

Once satisfied, you decided to let her go, also releasing her ponytail so that her hair flowed freely down her back. She let her head fall down and brought her fist to her lips to let more coughs come out, between labored breaths. You leaned to the side to look at her, noticing that her eyes were watering.

You took your fingers out of her pussy, and with that same hand you grabbed her chin to make her look up.

"Would you like something, princess?" you asked in a whisper, running your thumb over her lip dripping with saliva.

"Yeah..." she started to say, taking your cock to rub it slowly. "I want you to put it inside me and fuck me... raw."

Driven again by your wildest instincts, you cradled her face in your hands and forced her to her knees, to share a steamy, sloppy kiss with her.

A few seconds later you grabbed her by the waist and made her turn around on her knees, then put your hands on the back of her neck and pushed her forward, so that she fell on her hands with her ass raised.

Miyeon's ass wasn't exactly the biggest, but it made up for it with a perfect shape and softness, like all of her; you spent a few seconds admiring it, rubbing your hands in circles on her buttocks, which you also squeezed before adding a strong spank to each one.

Miyeon squealed and leaned on her elbows. She looked at you over her shoulder, biting her lower lip.

"Enough teasing, fuck me already!" she demanded with a hint of desperation in her voice.

You smiled and applied another spank, harder. Miyeon screeched.

"You don't need to whine again, baby, I got you."

She spread her knees further and put her ass at the perfect height for you, making a beautiful arch with her lower back. Her pussy looked delicious, inviting you to destroy it. You grabbed her by her waist and pulled her back just a little, to grab your cock and press it between her folds.

As soon as she felt your tip rub against her pussy she leaned forward, away from you, and she gave you a stern look.

"What do you think you're doing?" she said. "Put on a condom right now, that's my only rule."

Coming from her, that didn't surprise you in the least. She might be one of the sluttyest members of the group, but you figured some degree of decorum she had to maintain.

"Fuck, it's okay, I'm sorry," you replied. "But don't look at me like that, I might cry."

You took a step back and picked up your pants from the floor. From it you took your wallet. You searched through the partitions until you finally found the condom; you opened it carefully, then threw the envelope on the floor and quickly put it on.

Now ready, you wasted no time and resumed your position behind Miyeon, standing in front of the edge of the bed. She returned her ass to the previous position, watching over her shoulder as you prepared yourself.

You looked into her eyes, and took your cock with one hand to bring it to her slit, where you made slight pressure forward to finally feel Miyeon's pussy slowly engulf you to the core.

She let out a loud moan and clutched at the sheets, her mouth open in an O shape and her brow furrowed as she stared into space. You held your breath, overwhelmed by how tight she felt around your shaft, which had already disappeared between her buttocks.

"God..." she muttered to herself, letting her head fall between her shoulders. "I have never felt anything like this. Please fuck me hard and show no mercy."

That was an easy task, it was your idea from the beginning after all.

The first pumps were slow, in order to stretch her walls as much as possible so that your cock would slide in more and more easily. It was a wonderful sight you never thought you would see: Cho Miyeon on her hands and knees, with her shiny hair falling down her back and her expensive dress wrapped around her waist, at the complete mercy of your cock.

Soon you demanded more of yourself, and she did the same with her eyes.

Happy to comply with her demands you moved your hips faster, making the crashes of your pelvis more pronounced and louder. You had one hand on her left buttock, which you squeezed tightly, and the other on her waist to keep her in place as you let yourself be carried away by your own desire.

Miyeon sighed contentedly, crumpling the sheets with her fingers and biting her lip with her eyes locked on yours. Her moans filled the room, becoming more frequent and uncontrolled as the seconds passed. She let her face fall, her cheek now pressed against the mattress. Her hair covered her face, but you, needing to look at her at all times, uncovered it.

"Harder daddy..." she moaned, pressing her open hands against the mattress. "Be fucking ruthless with me... I'm ready to take it."

The response you gave was a spank that reverberated throughout the room; multiple more like this followed, each with the sole intention of making her really sting. Soon her buttocks were each glowing an intense red color.

Miyeon screamed again and again, her body being shaken between violent thrusts. She grabbed all of her hair and brushed it behind her back, then looked over her shoulder at you and gave you a suggestive look. You got the message: you grabbed her hair in a ponytail to forcefully pull it back, making her raise her head.

With a strong push you rested for a few seconds, with slow but strong pumps that left Miyeon breathless. Then without warning you returned to hammering her pussy so hard that the bed wobbled. She let out a scream, loud and desperate.

"For God's sake, keep going!" Miyeon groaned, hitting the bed and clutching the sheets again. "I'm cumming daddy! Ahhhh!"

You dragged her to her peak in a matter of seconds, pulling her closer to you so you could grab her neck and lift her back, which you pressed against your chest as you fucked her with frantic thrusts.

Miyeon exploded; you surrounded her abdomen with one arm, and with the other hand you clung to her neck. You turned her face to kiss her, drowning out her loud screams against your lips. She moved her hips back, fucking herself against your cock while you held her upright with your arms.

When her orgasm had passed you let her fall like dead weight forward; with that your cock came out of her pussy, but not for long.

She had fallen stomach flat against the mattress; you took her right leg and flexed it upwards, leaving the other extended. Then you went back inside her, with one hand on her right buttock.

Miyeon, with glassy eyes, let out a small tired moan and just relaxed.

"Come on daddy..." she murmured, feeling you deep again. "Use me for your pleasure. Let my pussy drain you."

You were too turned on at that point to be able to formulate a response. A growl rose from your throat and came out through your clenched teeth, as you fucked her again with rapid pumps, this time up and down.

Miyeon allowed herself to be used as a sex doll, an insignificant piece of meat that you could use at will to fulfill your carnal desires. She was just panting, her mouth half open with her weak eyes fixed on yours and her body being brutally railed.

The tickling in your abdomen was the indication that you were approaching that long-awaited orgasm that you had been wanting all night. You pumped quickly, your veins showing on your neck and one on your forehead.

Just as you were going to cum you pulled your cock out of Miyeon, took off the condom with a hasty yank, and masturbated over her ass until your orgasm hit.

She let out a satisfied sigh, watching as multiple jets of thick semen came out of your cock and fell onto her buttocks; these were covered with the thick liquid, forming a viscous layer that reflected the light from the ceiling.

When you discharged each drop you let out a long breath and sat back on your ankles. Miyeon put one hand on her ass and with two fingers collected some of your cum to take it to her mouth.

"Mmm..." she said, tasting it and then swallowing it. "Thank you for not being a selfish bastard and cumming outside."

"I figured you'd want to taste some after begging me like a whore," you replied, catching your breath.

Miyeon gave a low giggle and lay down on her side, letting the rest of your cum fall from her buttock onto the mattress.

"I knew from the first moment that you would know how to use that thing," she looked at your cock, still throbbing, and then at you. "I have no doubt that Soyeonie and Yuqi had a blast."

"Oh yeah? Well you looked horrified, woman," you laughed.

"How would you react if you arrived at the room where you will sleep for the next few days and found three naked people on your bed?"

You thought about it for a moment, staring into space. You then shrugged, finding no fault with her logic.

"Yes, I thought so," she continued. "Now, can you please find something to clean me with?"

"There's no bathroom in here," you pointed out. "I have no idea what I can get you."

"Just look for some clean sheets in the dressing room, I'll use that."

You nodded and stood up to go inside the dressing room. You took out a thin black sheet from one of the drawers in the third closet at the back. When you returned to the bedroom you threw it at Miyeon, who hurried to clean herself.

She then invited you to lie down and cuddle together to take a break.

After about ten minutes—maybe a little more, since Miyeon's body felt very comfortable in your arms—you got up and dressed again. She did her best to look as presentable as before, giving her makeup a few minor touch-ups and combing her hair.

Once Miyeon was as pretty, elegant and superb as always, you took your mugs back and left the bedroom laughing.

"Did you have a good time?" said a high-pitched voice behind you, as you exited the small hallway that led to the glass railing area.

You and Miyeon almost died of a heart attack. You turned around. Leaning against the wall to the left of the hallway was Soyeon, with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, staring at you.

That was the closest you'd ever come to knowing how those condemned to be executed by guillotine felt.

Your heart beated fast and strong. You gulped and gave a small glance at Miyeon—who was a living reflection of yourself—before taking a step forward.

"Soyeon, I-"

She pushed herself away from the wall and raised her hand to interrupt you.

"Shut up you fool," she snapped, putting her arms on her hips. "I'm not mad."

You and Miyeon wrinkled your brows and exchanged glances.

"Aren't you?" you asked, looking back at Soyeon.

"No, on the contrary, I'm even hornier because of this," she looked at Miyeon, who avoided her gaze. "You loved that cock, huh? With all that daddy daddy daddy. I could hear your screams from here."

Miyeon's cheeks burned with blush, no longer in pleasure like before, but in shame. She stammered a few clumsy syllables, looking at the floor.

"I know you did," Soyeon cut her. "You don't need to say anything," she looked at you. "Walk back, come on," she ordered, gesturing toward the bedroom.

The two of you led the way back, with Soyeon behind, as if she were a teacher taking two unruly students to her office.

You walked back into the bedroom, embarrassed by the fact that you hadn't even bothered to fix it when you came out. The black sheet was still there, with a white glob exposed to the naked eye. Soyeon didn't say anything about it, but it was something else that caught her attention.

"A condom huh?" Soyeon asked with a giggle, picking up the torn envelope from the floor. "How responsible."

Miyeon couldn't find a rock to hide under to appease the embarrassment; she had cheeks so red that you could mistake her for a dull-colored apple.

"I always fuck with a condom, please shut up," she finally dared to say, crossing her hands on her belly.

"Ah, really?" Soyeon raised an eyebrow, approaching you after placing the envelope on the nightstand. "Adorable. But it takes all the fun out of it."

Soyeon jumped with her heels still on and clung to you with her arms and legs to crash her lips against yours. She took you by surprise, but you accepted it: wrapping your girlfriend's petit frame with your arms.

Her intentions were not unknown to you: you already knew her well enough to know that what she was looking for was for you to throw her into bed; but to give it a little twist you let yourself fall on your back, so that Soyeon fell on top of you.

"Guys... uhm," Miyeon said to your right, sitting on the corner of the bed as the two of you kissed. "Are you just gonna pretend I don't exist or what?"

You broke away from the kiss to look at Miyeon, but before you said anything, Soyeon put her hand over your mouth and made you look at her. Those eyes made the message clear to you without her needing to say anything: 'Shut your mouth.'

Normally, that woman always had an elaborate plan in her prodigious head, so you didn't question her, even though part of that plan included completely ignoring Miyeon.

It wasn't until Soyeon attacked your neck with kisses that your mind lit up. The memory of what she had told you hours before came to you: 'It's easier to make her give in on her own.' There, looking at the ceiling between gasps, everything made sense to you.

Mother of god, Soyeon was evil.

From that moment on everything happened very quickly: in a matter of a couple of minutes you and Soyeon were already completely naked; you had groped and kissed every corner of your body before the expectant eyes of Miyeon, who couldn't stop moving nervously in the corner of the bed. She wanted to get into the action, her eyes showed it, but she wouldn't be the one to take the step.

You had settled yourself in the center of the bed; Soyeon had an idea that only strengthened the desire she had to make Miyeon desperate: she had turned around on top of you, adopting a 69 position only for Miyeon to see her sucking your cock while you ate her pussy.

"I want to at least be touched by you, just a measly little finger, please!" Miyeon whimpered.

Soyeon took your cock out of her mouth—which she had been sucking with an uncontrollable frenzy—, reached out to grab her own panties, and shoved them roughly into Miyeon's mouth to shut her up.

Miyeon let out a moan with Soyeon's panties inside her mouth: a moan that was more like a complaint than anything else, but your girlfriend had done her job. Despite your limited vision—with Soyeon's entire ass and pussy in your face—you could notice that she was now undressing at record speed.

"Pleaseee!" Miyeon whined again. "Either of you two, I'm begging!"

When she received no response from either of you, she began to touch herself. Her patience was already bordering on non-existence, and you could understand it more than perfectly; the worst thing you could do to a person like her was to deprive her of the attention she demanded.

The constant and somewhat exaggerated moans that Soyeon emitted with your cock inside her mouth didn't help either. You were eating her with hunger and dedication, squeezing her ass in the middle of passionate licking.

Miyeon's moans, small and adorable, now joined Soyeon's; these intensified when you brought your girlfriend to her orgasm.

Her body writhed on top of yours; her muscles were tensing and her joints were shaking. She could not have taken your cock out of her mouth, in fact she never did when you made her cum in that position, but this time she did it just to torture Miyeon.

"Fuck me now!" she said, hoping that her turn would be next.

You thought that was your entrance onto the scene; Soyeon had already gotten off you and was sitting on your side. Miyeon's gaze immediately fell on your cock, soaked and throbbing; it was a predatory, eager look.

But the evil did not die, it did not disappear. It rested and woke up when it was poked with a stick.

"No one's going to touch you until you say the words, baby." Soyeon said, brushing her hair off her sweaty forehead and brushing it behind her back.

Miyeon frowned, tilting her head with her mouth open.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked. "What words?! Jeon Soyeon!"

Soyeon ignored her—again—and climbed on top of you. She rested her feet on either side of your hips on the mattress, facing away from you, and took your cock inside her with a single downward thrust. You, like her, moaned out loud.

Miyeon's pussy was tight, but nothing was a match for your girlfriend; it was simply another level of grip and constriction around your cock.

You held on to Soyeon's waist with your hands, while she jumped up and down on your cock in a reverse cowgirl position, so that Miyeon could see in detail how with each jump Soyeon took you in and out completely.

"What the fuck are you talking about, dammit!" Miyeon moaned, hitting the bed as she rubbed her clit in circles with her other hand. "I just want you to fuck me and treat me like the princess I am!"

No word from you two, just moans, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, and a fluid-soaked cock moving in and out of a tight pussy.

Soyeon jumped non-stop, with the seemingly inexhaustible energy that characterized her. Her loose hair formed a curtain that prevented you from seeing your cock disappear between her legs, so you gathered it all into a ponytail and held it in your fist.

After a few seconds she suddenly stopped and looked at you over her shoulder.

"Fuck me, baby," she said, panting. "Fill me with that load."

You let go of her hair and brought your hands to her waist, then planted your feet on the mattress and pumped quickly up and down, intensifying your own pleasure and consequently, your moans.

Adding to the cacophony of lewd sounds coming from you and Soyeon were more moans from Miyeon, including the constant slapping of her palm against her pussy as she fingered herself.

If you were going to fill your girlfriend's pussy to give Miyeon a good show, you were going to do it in style.

You made Soyeon fall back with a tug on her hair, her back now pressed against your chest; then you lifted her legs up and hugged them around the back of her knees, and now fucked her in full nelson.

"Oh fuck yes baby," Soyeon groaned. "Fuck that tight little pussy, destroy it, fill it deep!"

Soyeon's words came true a few seconds later.

The aggressive and rapid pumps brought you too quickly to an intense orgasm; it electrified your entire body, causing you to be unable to stop moaning as you filled your girlfriend's pussy between slower pumps.

"God... it feels so warm, so fucking delicious." Soyeon said after a long moan.

The load was too big and thick, to the point that you felt your cum leak out of Soyeon's walls and down your shaft until it pooled around your base. For Miyeon, the shock must have been such that she even stopped fingering herself.

It was happening.

"For the love of God, I can't take it anymore!" she screamed out of nowhere, like she was about to cry. "Fuck the condom, I just want to be fucked and breeded right now! I'm begging!"

Soyeon nodded satisfied. The princess had relented.

"Then start by coming here and cleaning, you needy little whore." Soyeon said between pants.

The speed with which Miyeon lunged forward made her look like a jumpscare from Five Nights at Freddy's. It even made you laugh a little.

She herself took out your cock from inside Soyeon's pussy, to greedily clean both parts soaked with cum. First she licked and slurped every drop that leaked from inside your girlfriend's pussy, and later she moved on to your cock to lick it all over. Soon your entire load—which had not been small—was swallowed by her.

When the work was done Soyeon got off you and looked at you. She nodded, giving you the green light.

Damn, finally.

The first thing you did was sit up and wrap your arms around Miyeon's body, pressing her against you and kissing her. Miyeon moaned against your lips, running her hands all over your body; one of these went to your cock, only to rub it gently with her palm as she knew you should still be sensitive.

After a few seconds you grabbed her thighs and pushed her back. She fell face up, instinctively with her legs wide open; Soyeon attacked them with kisses and bites, and you went to the upper body, to eat her tits and kiss her from her neck to her abdomen.

Soyeon began to eat her pussy, eliciting a moan from her that could be translated into sincere gratitude. You meanwhile knelt on the side of Miyeon's face, took your cock in one hand and rubbed it all over her face.

“Fuck my pretty face daddy, please,” Miyeon moaned, kissing your cock and looking at you with a pair of glistening eyes.

"I thought you were never going to ask for it."

Miyeon opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, you took your cock in there with a long sigh.

You grabbed the sides of her head with both hands and lifted her to turn her towards you; then you started moving your hips back and forth.

She moaned against your cock, which was going in and out almost all the way; the only thing stopping you from going all the way in with each pump was that little limit she had that you didn't want to push carelessly either.

Soyeon brought her to an orgasm too quickly, but that didn't stop the two of you; she continued to eat her out furiously, and you continued to fuck her mouth faster and harder.

Miyeon screamed with pleasure around your cock, which she also licked from behind with her tongue as it went in and out of her mouth. Her body shook between sharp spasms, her pussy grinding against Soyeon's mouth.

Eager to give her more pleasure, you leaned just enough to the right so you could reach out and rub her clit in quick circles, driving her even crazier.

She could no longer close her mouth around your cock due to the uncontrolled series of moans coming out of it, causing all of her saliva to spill out of her mouth and soak your shaft.

You grabbed a handful of her hair on the top of her head, using it to push her against your cock as you pumped, feeling yourself getting closer to cumming with each passing second.

Then Miyeon came again, twice as hard and twice as pleasurable for you to feel.

Soyeon had to make a tremendous effort to keep her pinned to the bed, holding her thighs. You on the other hand reached your peak after a few seconds, now cumming inside Miyeon's mouth.

“That's it, fuck…” you moaned, pumping slowly as you shot your cum down her throat. "Take it all, slut."

Miyeon swallowed your entire load diligently, even though she could barely control her body and the sounds emanating from her throat; you could hear the little chokes she had as she tried to swallow every drop.

"Damn, I need a break," you said between heavy breaths. You looked at Soyeon. "Honey, all yours."

You pulled out of Miyeon's mouth and went to lay your head on one of the pillows on the side of the bed. You made yourself as comfortable as possible, to enjoy the show that was coming.

Soyeon then left Miyeon's pussy, only to climb on top of her and straddle the princess's face. She moaned immediately, and you knew Miyeon's tongue had been the cause.

Unwilling to give Miyeon a break, your girlfriend leaned forward and took her two fingers inside her; you heard her muffled scream under Soyeon's ass, who held onto her thigh with her free hand, while with her other she quickly pumped her fingers.

"Mmm, come on princess, I know you know how to do it," Soyeon moaned after a couple of minutes, grinding her hips into Miyeon's face as she moved her wrist at supersonic speed.

You frowned, not knowing what she meant by that. But when you saw Miyeon raise her hips you knew, and you prepared accordingly.

After a few seconds Miyeon came, and an immense, pressurized squirt came out of her pussy; she wet you from your knee to part of your foot, also staining the sheets beneath her as the stream lost strength.

"What the fuck..." you muttered, watching as Miyeon's hips trembled. "Since when does she know how to do that?"

You received no response as the next one to cum was Soyeon. She held onto Miyeon's thighs and buried her face in her pussy, while she ground her trembling hips against her face.

The next few seconds were probably just muffled moans against flesh, until Soyeon, already tired, got off Miyeon with a heavy, satisfied sigh.

Miyeon's chest rose and fell violently, as if she had run two marathons in a row. You sat up to look at her; her eyes immediately met yours.

"Are you okay, Miyeonie?" you asked, kneeling next to her.

"Daddy..." she took a deep breath, trying to get her brain working for a moment. "Fuck me, please... Fuck me and put a huge fucking seed inside me."

You raised both eyebrows in amusement.

"And you're sure you can handle it?" you pointed to her shaking legs.

"I didn't ask for your mercy, you damned fool," she snapped with a frown. "I asked you to put a baby in my damn belly."

A laugh escaped Soyeon. You exchanged glances with her, impressed by that last bit.

"Just give her what she wants, otherwise the spoiled bitch will cry again," she said, kneeling next to her.

"Well," you shrugged. "Clearly I'm not going to refuse."

You grabbed Miyeon by her thighs and pulled her close to you; she then spread her legs wide open, giving you the green light to penetrate her pussy with a single thrust.

She greeted you with a whimper. You held on to her waist and then she held on to your wrists, receiving quick thrusts from the start. Soyeon joined in immediately, getting on her hands and knees to kiss Miyeon's lips and tits.

Miyeon's thighs served as a grip for the next few seconds; you squeezed them under your fingers, hard and backwards, pressing them against her upper body. You were already hammering her pussy hard, mercilessly, just like you knew she wanted it.

Soyeon slipped a hand between Miyeon's legs, where she once again set out to stimulate her clitoris so quickly that it brought her to another inevitable orgasm.

Miyeon squirmed and rolled her eyes, her mouth permanently open. You felt her legs shake and her back bend upward as her spasms attacked her, but that didn't stop you, on the contrary you went even stronger.

"You better get ready, bitch," Soyeon told Miyeon, removing her hand from between her thighs. "You will have no rest until that load is inside you."

She was absolutely right. You weren't planning on giving that woman a break after making a whole scene of whining and tantrums to get fucked. You would give her what she deserved.

No sounds of any kind came out of Miyeon, only hints of moans that got stuck in her throat and disappeared with each thrust. Her eyes were half-closed; in them you could only glimpse a fixed white spot. Her hands were paralyzed as well, one on each side of her hips, with her fingers bent downwards and her nails digging into the sheet.

Another orgasm shook her as if she had received the shock of a defibrillator, but that didn't stop you either. You adjusted her position a little: you extended her left leg and sat on top of her thigh, and put her other leg on top of your shoulder. In this way you continued pumping between grunts.

Miyeon had reverted to her sex doll status, to a piece of meat whose only purpose was to drain your cock. There was a moment when she finally opened her eyes and looked at you; you only saw two wells of tears, which spilled down her cheeks and ruined some of her makeup.

She reached out a hand towards you, brushing your abdomen with the tips of her fingers as you fucked her.

"Give me your seed daddy..." she managed to say with complete serenity, even though her body was shaken non-stop and was full of sweat. "Put it all inside me… every drop… I beg you."

Soyeon put her hand to her mouth, watching the whole scene. She shook her head.

"Jesus Christ, what a fucking whore," she said.

Miyeon came one last time, and a few seconds later you followed. You gritted your teeth; your entire jaw clenched and your fingers gripping the flesh of her thigh as you sank inward. You shot every drop of cum that was left in your balls, making sure to leave that load deep inside her pussy.

"Oh fuck yes..." Miyeon whimpered, bringing her hands to her face and combing her hair back, overcome with pleasure. "My god, it feels so fucking good... put it all in, fuck, all of it. Don't you dare waste any drop."

You pumped slowly, with your mouth half open and your gaze fixed on Miyeon's weak, teary eyes. She arched her back and shifted on the bed, her nails digging into your lower abdomen.

Seconds later every possible drop of cum was inside her. You knew you did a good job when you pulled out of her pussy and only a small trickle managed to leak past her folds.

Already completely exhausted and drained, you fell next to Miyeon, lying on your side and supported by your elbow. You looked at her, realizing that she had fallen asleep instantly. You then exchanged glances with Soyeon, who was staring at you from before.

"What?" you asked.

"I want you to know that whatever happens in that womb is your responsibility."

You thought about it for a second and then realized that Miyeon shouldn't be on birth control for the mere fact that she always used a condom.

But fuck it, there were solutions and you didn't have time to think about it. You plopped down, head now lying on the mattress on the side of Miyeon's face.

"I'll go out in the morning to buy her the pill," you said, closing your eyes.

"It can't be more than 12 hours, otherwise it won't be as effective," she pointed out.

"Don't worry honey, I've got it under control," you nodded, clasping your hands on your abdomen. "Are you coming to cuddle?"

Soyeon stood up and crawled until she was on top of you, straddling you and covering your face with kisses.

"I would love to, handsome," she said between kisses. "But I can't disappear for the rest of the night and leave Yuqi and Minnie alone and drunk."

You laughed and opened your eyes, wrapping your arms around her.

"The last time I saw Yuqi she fell on her ass, and she wasn't even that drunk.

"Then I must go with greater haste to put things in order, lest a disaster occur."

Soyeon gently cradled your face in her hands and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up.

"You stay and take care of the princess. Rest," she continued. "It's up to you if you want to rejoin the party, but she won't wake up until morning."

You gave a thumbs up.

"I'll be down there in an hour, you have my word."

"I'll be waiting there, honey," she replied as she got dressed.

Soyeon left the bedroom a few minutes later, leaving you alone with the sleeping beauty.

You were forced to place her with you on the opposite side of the bed, on top of the pillows. You tried to separate her from you so she had space, but as soon as she felt your warmth she clung with her arms and legs to you like a koala.

Trying to push her away was useless, but it didn't bother you either; you were so exhausted that you just wanted to close your eyes and rest.

And so you did, since after a few minutes you had already fallen asleep. The last thought you had was the inevitable anguish that if luck wasn't on your side, you would have gotten Princess Cho pregnant.

———————————————-

As always. Thanks for reading! MASTERLIST HERE!

#miyeon smut #soyeon smut #idle smut #g idle smut #male reader smut #x male reader smut #kpop smut #smut fanfic

1K notes · View notes

yourtamaki · 5 months ago

Text

o, come, be buried / a second time within these arms

zoro x f!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: hurt/comfort, sex as a form of comfort, fingering, cuddlefucking, creampie, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), cum play, cum eating, violent imagery, bit of aftercare

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there is a storm building inside you.

zoro can see it raging even as you keep your face turned from him. the room dark save for the moonlight that streams in through the open window, just bright enough to spot your outline curled up in bed, covers tucked up under your chin. lines of tension keep your back rigid and shoulders hunched, your breathing shaky and slow as you tell him to leave.

you’re vicious gales and crashing waves wrapped into one, devastating and beautiful.

“you don’t want to be around me right now,” you say, words muffled by your pillow.

“don’t tell me what i want,” he doesn't try to bite back the anger that laces itself through his tone. zoro has never censored himself from you before and he wasn't about to start now.

ire thrums hot in his veins, burning and boiling away beneath his skin. he has always given you every part of himself, heart served in his open, blood-stained palms, for better and most certainly for worse.

the thought of you holding yourself back from him, that there’s a part of you that he’s being denied, sets his teeth on edge. he'd been searching for you all day, prowling around the ship like a caged animal until finally found his way to where his search should have began, the tiny storage room that had become your shared quarters.

“you pissed at me?” he asks.

“no,” you say.

“want me to kill anyone?”

“no.”

it grates on him that there’s no enemy for you to sic him on, no bones to crack, no blood to spill. your pain deserves retribution and he is the blade that would carry it out, if only you would wield him, "then i'm staying."

"zoro, please. just go."

“who do you think you’re protecting by hiding yourself away?” he steps in closer, right to the edge of the bed but makes no move to touch you, “cause it’s not me and it sure as fuck isn’t you.”

you throw a dagger of a glare his way, so sharp it could make a man bleed before he even knew he’d been cut. he doesn’t care. a small price to pay for your gaze.

zoro is too loyal of a beast to flinch away the first time you flash your fangs at him.

you hold his gaze for a moment longer before turning back around to face the wall once more. in your silence, he resolves himself to sitting on the floor by your bedside until he can be of some fucking use to you. zoro would lick crumbs of affection out of the palm of your hand. if the closest you'll let him be to you right now is knelt on the ground, keeping vigil, then he'll take it. he's crouched halfway down when he hears you call for him.

“baby, get in.”

how you have enough sweetness in you to spare him a kind word even when you have none for yourself, he will never understand. zoro takes a moment to pull his swords free from where they hang on his hip, propping them up against the wall where they’ll still be in arm's reach before he pulls back the covers and settles in next to you.

you're cold to the touch despite having been buried under the blanket, dressed only in a simple shirt and underwear and zoro is quick to throw an arm around you and pull you in by your waist until you’re pressed flush against him, his other arm slipping under your head for you to rest on. he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, breathes you in and for a moment he can almost smell the scent of your hurt lingering on your skin, thick and bitter as blood.

there’s an urge, ever present and never sated, to dig his teeth into the side of your neck and bite down until iron coats his tongue, to taste you, know you, in a way no one else ever has or will. it’s an urge he can only hold at bay by pressing open mouth kisses to your throat and feeling your pulse flutter against his tongue.

you slowly start to melt in his arms, the tension you wore like ill-fitting armour stripping off you piece by piece with every kiss until you’re free from its hold, warm and light.

“better?” he asks, slipping his hand under your shirt and pressing his palm flat against your stomach just to feel it rise and fall, follows the rhythm of it and matches his breaths to yours. the reassurance that you're whole and safe is a cool balm to his worries.

“a little bit,” you whisper.

“but you need more,” it’s hardly a question that needs to be answered, not with the way you’ve started to shift in his hold.

“you don’t have to—”

“i do. i want to.”

and there’s more he could say, he knows there is. pretty poetry to comfort you, sweet nothings to soothe you. but what use would empty words be to you? they can’t hold you, can’t keep you warm, can’t wipe your tears.

zoro can. he will. for you, he’d do anything and everything. all and more.

the room settles into silence, his offer hanging in open air and ripe for your taking. you don't reach out for it, not yet, but zoro doesn't mind. he can wait.

“impatience is a swordsman’s undoing,” his master had once told him a lifetime ago when zoro’s palms were still soft enough to bleed and grief was a companion so new it still stepped on his heels as it dogged his footsteps.

of the two of you, patience has always been your strong suit rather than his. it was your patience that brought you together, when you stepped into his life with a hand outstretched and he met you the same way he met all good things that tried to enter his life, with a snarl and blood stained teeth.

zoro kept you at a careful distance with all the wariness of a distrustful stray, always watching but never getting close. it was you who slowly bridged the gap, gracing him with kindness and company he'd done nothing to earn but gorged himself on anyway.

it was only because of your patience that he knows the bliss of falling asleep and waking up with the warm weight of you in his arms. the least he could do is pay you back with what you've always freely given him. so zoro holds you close and waits.

and waits.

and smiles, sharp and proud, when you take his hand that still rests on your stomach and lower it until he’s cupping you between your legs, the heat of you searing his palm even through your panties.

your hips jerk when zoro doesn’t move, a soft whine catching in your throat when his other arm circles around your chest and holds you still against him, “zoro.”

“i've got you,” he says with a kiss behind your ear, toying with the waistband of your panties before sliding his hand inside.

he slides his middle finger down your slit, dipping his fingertips into the slick heat of your cunt to wet them before drifting back up to where you need him most. there’s no rush as zoro rubs neat, tight circles against your clit, slow and firm even as you buck and try to grind down on him.

he wants you to feel every moment of this, to savour it, to drown in pleasure so deep you never want to come up for air.

another kiss to your throat, one on your jaw and you finally melt back into him, legs spreading just enough for zoro reach lower and start to ease a thick finger inside you.

“there you go, baby, that’s it,” he says, “let me in.”

you swallow him down to his knuckle, trembling in his arms when zoro slips in a second finger and crooks them to rub against the spot that never fails to pull the prettiest sounds out of you.

he shifts, trying to move lower between your legs without pulling his fingers out so he can taste where you’re wet and aching for him but you stop him by threading your fingers through his short strands, keeping him in place.

“what?” he asks, “you don’t want my mouth?”

“no, not— not right now. just stay close. keep holding me. please,” he hates how small you sound.

“i’m here. i’m right here. fucking kills me knowing you were in here hurting by yourself."

"i'm sorry.”

"don’t,” the anger he felt when you tried to send him away rears up once more. an apology is the last thing he wants to hear from you right now, “just find me next time. doesn't matter when or where. you find me. got it?"

“yeah, i got it,” you start rocking back into him, soft ass grinding against his clothed cock, “zoro.”

“i know. i know you want it, baby, but i gotta stretch you out first. can’t fit when you’re this fucking tight.”

your answer is lost in a moan as he eases in a third finger, thumb pressing against your clit. the angle isn’t kind on his wrist but zoro keeps his pace steady, spreading and curling his fingers until you’re soaked and soft and ready for him. he pulls his hand out of your panties, kissing your nape when you whine from the loss before he licks the taste of you off his fingers.

“i'm not going anywhere,” he says, "keep your eyes on me."

zoro waits until you turn in his arms and he has your gaze before he gets out of bed and undresses, leaving his clothes in a pile next to his blades. you sit up to tug your panties down and kick them off, your shirt following soon after.

you’re bare and soft and holding out a hand for him to take. zoro laces his fingers through yours and joins you once more, stripped of his swords, his clothes, and his restraint.

you don't crash into each other so much as you collide into a bruise of a kiss. it aches more than it soothes but the shared pain of it only has him pressing closer to you, your soft tits pressed to his chest, legs intertwined and weeping cock trapped between your stomachs.

he reaches up to cup your cheeks and breaks the kiss to pull back just far enough to take in the sight of you, all swollen lips and glassy eyes. it takes a heartbeat longer than it should for you to focus on him. the storm is still raging inside you but zoro refuses to lose you to it. he stands firm against the buffeting winds that threaten to rip you away from him and swipes his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“still with me?” he asks.

you turn into his touch and kiss the rough centre of his palm, “‘m here.”

"then take what you need, baby."

you slide a hand between your bodies, taking his cock into your hand and guiding his tip to your entrance. even with all the prep, it takes some time to sink inside you, time you spend peppering kisses across his face. he bears them as he bears the scars that litter his body. with pride. with honour.

zoro bottoms out with a low groan, grabbing you under your knee and hooking your leg over his hip to slip in that much deeper. every sense is flooded with you. the wet heat of you wrapped around his cock, the heady scent of your sweat and need swimming around his head, soft skin beneath his palms.

entangled and weaved together like this, heart and breath as one, zoro is drawn into the eye of your storm.

your pleasure is his, your pain his own.

still, clear waters surround you both as he waits for you to adjust. with how closely he watches you, he knows you’re ready even before you wrap both arms around him and start to roll your hips.

he keeps one hand under your knee, the other sliding down your back to rest on your ass, and uses his grip on you to pull you into a slow, dirty grind.

“oh fuck,” you moan as the two of you find your rhythm together. zoro barely pulls out, keeping himself buried to the hilt inside you. you jerk back as he rolls his hips just enough to grind your clit up against his pelvis, his firm hold on you the only thing keeping you pinned in place.

“easy now. don’t run from me.”

time slows to a crawl, every moment yawning and stretching into the next, slow and sweet as honey. you tip forward, closing what little space there still was between you to pull him into a kiss that has all the intimacy of a hard-fought spar, of learning to move together, of missteps and growing pains, of getting the wind knocked out of him only to be pulled right back on his feet.

you’re close, all worked up and sensitive from his fingers, cunt fluttering and clenching down around him as you near your high. zoro chases your pleasure down, a starving mutt set loose upon a feast. he uses the little leverage he has to wrestle you on to your back and fuck into you with short, heavy thrusts.

“c'mon, baby, that's it,” he says, bent low to brush his lips against your ear, “let go.”

he reaches down between you, thumb pressing firm against your swollen clit and you’re gone, swept out to sea as your high crashes down over you in waves. zoro hardly feels his own orgasm rip through him, too caught up in watching you shake apart and be remade in his arms.

all is still as you pant and come back into yourself. your hand slips back into his and squeezes once. he’s not sure whether you’re trying to reassure yourself that he’s still here or that you are but he squeezes back all the same.

“can i eat you out now?”

and for the first time since he stepped into the room, a smile breaks over your face, bright as the dawn sun breaking through an overcast sky. you pull out of his hold, his soft cock sliding out, and settle on your back, legs falling open, “go for it.”

zoro eases himself down between your legs, throwing your thighs over his shoulders, never letting your hand slip free from his. he takes stock of your fresh fucked cunt, clit puffy and hole clenching around nothing, dripping with him. the scent of you, of the two of you, is thickest here, heavy in his nose, and zoro breathes you in with deep, greedy lungfuls, spent cock twitching against his thigh.

he dives in, catching what leaks out of you on his tongue before pulling back and dribbling the mess of cum and spit all over your pussy.

“nasty,” you say and zoro wants to kiss the curl that sits pretty on the corner of your lips. he settles for kissing your clit instead.

“you like it.”

“i like you.”

you wield your honesty with all the ease and carnage zoro wields his swords, sliding it between his ribs and piercing his heart clean through. the pain is lost as he’s distracted by the light pouring in as the moon rises higher into the night sky.

or maybe it’s your eyes that take the pain away because it’s only through them that he notices how bright the moon’s light shines tonight.

zoro devours you, gaze fixed to yours, one hand still holding yours while the other arm keeps your hips pinned to the bed. he takes his time cleaning you up, lapping at your folds until only the taste of you remains. it’s only then that he sucks your clit into his mouth, slipping two fingers inside you to give you something to clench down on.

you are a vision in your bliss, one he has no right to bear witness to. a lifetime of blood and blades and butchery shouldn't be rewarded with the softness of you in his hand and on his tongue. it's not right.

but as you take hold of his hair to keep his mouth pressed flush against your cunt, zoro finds he couldn't give less of a shit if it's right. all that matters is if he does right by you. there's an oath in every broad stroke of his tongue, a vow in every kiss to your clit, to take care of you in all the ways you need, in all the way he knows how.

today and for all days.

your orgasm is a gentle thing that washes over you and steals your breath for a moment, smaller than the first but leaves you just as ruined.

zoro takes his rightful place by your side once more, gathering you up in his arms and running his knuckles up and down your spine.

"thank you," you press a kiss to his cheek, just below where his scar ends. he accepts the kiss but not the gratitude that comes with it.

a hound needs no thanks for fulfilling its nature.

later, he will carry you off to the baths, let you pop open bottles for him to smell that make his nose itch but that make you beam, wash your back, and wait with the patience you’ve taught him for you to share what’s trapped inside your head.

he may not understand, may not have the comfort of words to give you, but he will listen. and he will stay.

but that is for later.

for now, zoro holds you to his chest and watches over you, moonlight and peace washing over you as you catch your breath.

dedicated to: mah wife @katslutski and loml @saotoru

#zoro smut #zoro x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader #roronoa zoro smut #roronoa zoro x reader

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darkdemeter · 6 months ago

Text

BY THEIR LEASH

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! Female Reader Mafia stuff — mention of death — alcohol consumption (like a lot) — 18+ SMUT, MINORS DNI — Porn with plot? — lesbian sex — threesome — may be some grammar errors and such — slight bondage — little bit of muscle/stomach riding if you squint your eyes, turn your head that way... — I think that's it? ✎ 4.3k

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

An expensive investment. A broad term to use for a werewolf broken in by the system at a young age. But it’s true.

Alexander Pierce, the finance manager and ringleader as a whole, did all he could to break you in, and to say he did is an understatement. He exceeded the limits you once believed you had and once you were ready, he put you out in the field to garner your reputation.

You had no limits. Ruthless in your endeavour to complete whatever task was required of you, prepared to do whatever it took, your peers could only look at you with both fear and admiration.

When all was said and done, you were given your collar, then sold through the underground hub for criminals: the black market.

That’s when you learnt in the span of the few minutes that the auction lasted for, that you were either a trophy to those of the higher class of crime, or a very wanted source of security and war. From black funding operators that had their hand in the military’s pit on the hunt for a war hound, to the gangster overlords who controlled territories in the differing states and countries, requiring some form of high end security, there was a very rapid increase in the price they were each willing to pay.

At a total of twenty-five million, your collar and services were sold to Mr. Tony Stark. From the sleek fit of a light grey, three piece suit and bright pink tie, Stark had a brighter outlook on the window of his underhand activities. He was the type that lounged back in the severity of his criminal dealings.

Unlike his fellow company who each wore darker palette suits of either navy blue or jet black. He stood out for sure as his auburn tinted glasses did little to hide the one question on his mind: Was his money well spent?

Well, to say at the very least, you wouldn’t be here tonight if you weren’t worth every single cent he spent on you three years ago.

Thinking about the memory now, this is a different tone entirely. Dark and neon is how you remember the black market scene, stalls and cube stores with an assortment of supplies anyone in the business would need, whether that be for the amateurs - which were the usual target customers - or the smaller businesses which belonged to small cluster gangs.

The big time runners had designated storehouses to spare where they obtained their supplies, and ran other dealings and hand-offs in and out of private rooms in the clubs.

Here, the scene is warm, lavish and made for those who seek the comfort in living in marble halls and pristine white pillars, short cut grass and elaborate parties such as this one.

“Shit, this party is awfully chipper for someone who died last week,” you huff, eyes scanning the crowd from the smooth, darkly polished bar, which you incidentally found very comfortable to lean back on when told for the hundredth time, “Just sit tight, just a little bit longer.”

You didn’t have the time nor patience to sit around getting older by the damn minute. Thankfully, Tony put his card behind the bar so that meant an endless river of drinks. Because you needed the alcohol. A lot.

Not a moment too late is your glass refilled with your refreshment. And not too soon after is it halfway downed.

“Please, Y/N,” sighs Steve from your right side, arms folded over his chest, navy blue suit straining just a bit too tightly against his body, “have some respect for the Maximoff family. They lost their only male heir to a deal gone wrong. They need our support.”

Your shoulders rise with a particularly deep inhale before falling lax, you swirl the sliver of whiskey left in your glass and with a jerk of your wrist you finish it. Ice rattles in your glass as you shimmy it, indicating you need another refill and pronto.

“People live, people die. You cross someone and you get shot in the back. It happens.”

“He was gunned down in the streets with a fucking machine gun, Y/N. You consider that a mere shot in the back?”

You shrug in response to Sam’s question with a pout of your bottom lip. “Pietro thought he was the shit. That’s what got him killed by Rumlow.”

Sam runs a hand over his face, now distressed by the lack of sincerity you show for the grieving family. “For fuck sake…”

In the three years of your loyal work to the Stark family and those of his brotherhood - his allies - your colours shone through immensely to reveal a shining personality. Excluding the fact you’d become something of a playful rogue with the women.

You simply chalk it up to your animal magnetism. Something that leaves them wanting more whenever in the presence of your company.

In fact, that was how Tony came to own unclaimed establishments and clubs in the boroughs, ones he wasn’t able to get his hands on before, but after he had you as a playable card in his hand, you provided club goers the relief of being harassed and drinks being spiked. Territorial take over schemes from rival gangs were second guessed when they saw you watching over the joint.

The after hour visits for your libido were just the perks. But you left a lot of lustful and broken little hearts in the wake of your work.

For a werewolf, you were always assumed to be a means of security, and that much was true. Didn’t mean it excluded you from taking on other odd jobs for the families from time to time. Debt collection, assassinations, tailing and blackmail ops, the list is endless.

When Steve casts a hardened stare your way, you mockingly raise your hands up in surrender.

“Alright, I’ll offer my condolences to the heiress, but I ain’t weeping at her feet for her brother who got himself into that mess because he thought he was too big for his own shoes.”

“Just behave yourself, alright? The last thing we need is the entirety of Europe at war with us.” You roll your eyes and salute the captain. “Yessir.”

You bring the glass rim to your lips and draw a small gulpful of your renewed liquor, the fiery taste rolls over your tongue, you savour it to keep your sanity intact lest you go insane from the waiting. Where was the heiress?

“Well, well, I thought I wouldn’t see any of you again. Especially you.” Your head, as well as those of your group, direct their gaze to the new voice. The corners of your lips twitch up and you flash her a wolfish grin, chin tilting up slightly in your relaxed position against the bar. You looked like a cat happily laying in the sun.

“Miss Romanoff,” each of the men greeted with a nod of their heads. You, however, pat your thigh as an invitation for her to sit. “I had work to do the next morning.”

“Mm, that’s what you tell the other girls, I’m sure.” You clap a hand to your chest with a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart. If I had the chance, I would have stayed.”

She hums but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe you by the rise in her brow.

Natasha Romamoff is a hard fish to catch. One of the more established families that control practically the entirety of Europe, alongside the Maximoff family, the two were partners and crafting an empire strong enough to stand on their own without any dire need for support.

Yes, her family had prior dealings with the brotherhood. The Starks, Wilsons, Barnes and Rogers and more, whether to collaborate on a bigger criminal project to the smaller portioned deals. Smuggled goods and weapons, blackmail intel deliverance, international bribery to keep the feds off your backs.

But she never committed to joining forces.

You suppose it’s a good power move on her part. She doesn’t have to abide by any of the family creeds, in the end, you’re all loose ends that may potentially be severed if need be. She had the ball in her court and the mysterious Maximoff heiress.

Even your animal magnetism wasn’t enough to charm her into joining forces with Stark and his powerhouse of families, but they were surely enough to charm her into a wild one night stand.

But as you told her. You had work to do. And now she appears to spurn you with her eyes and cruel words, but still entertains your flirtatious advances and indulges the empty space of your thigh.

For a well respected mob boss such as herself, she definitely liked to play it risky; dressing included.

Last you saw her, she was dressed in a more professional manner. But here at this funeral party, whatever the fuck it was, she chose to wear a black, spaghetti strap cocktail dress that’s short enough to be skimming the mid of her thigh. The slit riding the dress up higher is just plain dangerous.

She’s facing you, back arched and arse resting on the cliff of your knee. Your clawed hand supports her at the small of her back. Her perfume is strong and complimenting, a sweet bouquet of lavender which rolls over the exposed tops of her breasts from her even more exposed neck. Her plump, red lips move in a way that’s hypnotic. “So I hear you’re going to be a bargaining chip for Wanda Maximoff.”

“Where’d you hear that?” you scoff with a flick of your chin.

“I have spies who whisper to me,” she answers with a swift quirk of her brow.

Of course she overheard the news. She then chuckles softly, and all eyes watch her with a level of suspicion. “She won’t take any deal you offer her. She’s determined to steer clear of your little gang wars over in the states.”

“Rumlow killed her brother and he has bases around our territories. Wouldn’t she appreciate the extra hands in catching the rat?” Bucky poses the question with a dark brow angled high and clenched jaw, the muscles in his cheeks flex harder when Natasha offers no affirmative response; a mark to hopefully land you in the door and good graces with the heiress.

“You really think she wants a guard dog?”

“Hey,” you growl with a wrinkle of your nose, fangs on the precipice of baring at her. How she used the term in a condescending manner made the fur beneath your skin bristle. Sam claps a hand to your shoulder, somehow able to sense the seething anger within you.

“We just want to help. Offer support for her loss and bring Rumlow down.”

“No. You want a foothold in Europe. And I’m sorry but…” She looks you up and down, drinking in the sight of you and you know she can see you without your clothes on. “You’re not going to cut it, babe.”

She turns her body to make her getaway but you don’t let her slip away just like that. She gasps and looks to you with a furrowed glare when your arm circles her waist and tugs her back until she’s flush against you, the men in your company watch with trepidation of your next course of action.

“I will cut it because whether she wants to admit it or not, she needs us.”

Natasha’s eyes, true to her fashion, darken with a challenge. “You’re wasting your time. She’ll get Rumlow herself.”

“And if Rumlow plans to get her first?” For a moment you see the doubt cross her face. “That’s where she needs me.”

“Tony Stark.” Each of the men turn to the voice behind them and their once cool and collected selves turn rigid, nervous under the power one woman can hold so absolute, her green eyes scan each of their faces before they land on you.

You finally look and meet her stare, still holding Natasha against you even as she tries to push away from you.

“Unhand her,” the woman commands with an accented tongue.

At first, you wanted nothing more than to play this out a little, see what makes this woman tick. But both Tony and Steve look at you, silent in their order, you sigh heavily and release Natasha. Once you do, she wastes no time in joining Wanda’s side with a bow of her head.

“I hear that you wished to have an audience with me.”

Wanda is the sole survivor of this ordeal. Her parents were assassinated two years ago and now her brother was killed. This is the stressed matter at hand, her empire could crumble to the ground, all that hard work put into the grave because she’s being so fucking stubborn with this deal.

“I will not sign my family, nor any of my shares, to Stark Industries. Enough have I done to keep you out of the hands of law enforcement. I will handle Rumlow myself.”

This isn’t how any of you hoped this would go. The grief has made her stronger than before. It wasn’t exactly you were waiting for the chance for her to have a weak spot and try your luck, but you all had thought she might even be at least a little desperate for extra help.

Natasha’s face says it all: I told you so. You can only roll your eyes and resume with what you’re doing. Refilling your empty glass with more liquor. You’ve yet to scratch the surface of being tipsy.

“Miss Maximoff, we only wish to help you. All we ask in return is that you grant us some territory to work with for our trade deals as payment, for support lent to you to catch Rumlow.” Steve is calm in his approach to reason with her, but if anything, her raised hand indicates her refusal, unswayed by the honey of his words. Your tongue rolls the rounds of your mouth, each time measured by your impatience as you slowly circle around the dealings table, unable to find yourself comfortable against the stiffened wood of your seat.

“You do realise that you’re asking for more than your so-called ‘support’ is actually worth.” You blink several times, the blow of it a downright attack on their egos.

“No, I want something more.”

“And I want alcohol to affect me so I can sleep well at night,” you mutter to the glassy rim against your bottom lip. Wanda’s eyes flicker to you, bearing down a sinister glare. “Excuse me?”

“And we were just about to suggest that very thing!” Tony interjects with a grin, eager to utilise his card, his Ace Wolf as he liked to call you. He gestures to where you stand now at the table’s other end.

She directs her eyes to look you up and down slowly, gaze polished with keen observation. She hums thoughtfully before she looks to Natasha.

“E atât de bună?”

The red haired chuckles and sitting back in her chair, chest heaving with a breathy sigh, she nods.

“Exceptional de bun. Cu o limbă ca asta…”

Bucky shifts in his seat, a hollow whistle on his lips over the exchange of heated words, and you flash a grin at both women. The words of foreign tongue, however, pass over the heads of the other men, their eyes looking to either you or Bucky only to be answered with a shrug, but knowing that look in your eyes, they can take a good guess as to what’s being discussed.

With another passing frame of time, both women pull away from their engrossed conversation. “I’ve been made aware that you intend to bargain your wolf to me,” she says, once again letting her sight fall on you.

“And if that is the case, and what I have been told…” She trails off momentarily, finding to correct herself in the midst of something you can smell very clearly on her - or rather between her legs. “Then I’ll accept.”

Each man present in the room is given pause to revel in the stun before them. Wanda Maximoff, the heiress of Europe’s biggest family, accepts their deal. All at the price of you.

“You’ll have your answer by tomorrow, Mr Stark,” Wanda says, standing from her chair, she beckons you to follow with a kink of her fingers. One by one and following in unison, their eyes turn to you as you shuffle back on your heel with shrug your shoulders and fanged grin.

“Animal magnetism, boys.”

Wanda’s heels bound a steady beat as she wanders over to the foot of her bed, making an elegant show of swaying her hips and drawing your attention to her form. From behind, Natasha slips the dark suit jacket from your shoulders. Tosing it aside, her hands play the form of an enchanting guide, ushering you forward while tracing the hidden curves of your muscles.

“As per courtesy, Miss Maximoff wants the first claim.”

You huff in reply, “And you?”

Natasha hums softly and plucks your belt loose from your trousers. “I have you two, I won’t go unsatisfied tonight.”

Tilting your head to view Wanda who stands idle, fingers playing with the lining of her dress above her breasts, you stalk towards her, her back arching under your touch with a breathless whimper, you trail the zip of her gown down slowly. Falling around her ankles as a fabricated halo, she turns suddenly and your lips collide together in hunger.

She sinks down to the bed, laying back until her hair fans around her, spreading her legs apart. That feverish hunger boils within your blood, running it hold and thick, the fur beneath your skin bristled in your excitement as you take care to roll the sleeves of your skirt to your elbows. To your knees, you’re brought to the sight of her soaked underwear, the dark patch evidently giving away just how badly she required you between her quivering thighs. Natasha’s hands rake through the length of your hair and scratches at your scalp, earning a low purr of pleasure to rumble in your chest.

You lean forward and all it takes is a single inhale and you’re let loose of your chain of control, claws shearing the fabric that dares to confine her awaiting cunt any longer. She gasps upon contact, your lips smothering her moistened, slick lips and she gives a deep-noted moan, arching her hips up, your hands wrap around her thighs to drag her to you more.

She tastes like the fine wines of heaven, a forbidden savour on the tongue that which you greedily lap, your eyes close as you succumb to the wolf’s hunger, tongue lapping heavily at her clit.

She whines and cries, breath hot and light in her lungs as her nails rip into the sheets to no damaging avail. Natasha hovers above, watching on in her own longing and desire. She dips a hand beneath the hem of her dress, aside she pushes her own soaked panties and delicately dances her fingers over the sensitive bulb with a keening breath you hear catch in her throat.

Natasha leans down low until the scape of her breasts brushes against your shoulder blade, lips a tantalising thing and moving sinfully to mouth, “I’m touching myself to you.”

“Watching you please her is making me so wet, Wolf.”

“Make us both cum.”

You growl deeply and Wanda’s body visibly shudders in response to the wild vibrations that course through her abdomen, shaking her whole and off centre, her hips begin to jerk as she nears her climax. Both women mingle in their euphoria and your own core comes to life, sparked by the noises they make in unison, an orchestra of pleasure. Suckling and licking at her core, she cries out and the lips of her pussy shrink around absence and she sighs in bliss. In tandem, Natasha moans loudly from behind and you feel her body press against you as her hand works hard as fucking her fingers into her cunt, the sound of slick and skin melding together addicting.

“You weren’t… kidding, Nat,” she says between laboured breaths.

Slowing your advances, you finally pull away with a sigh, her juices glistening on your lips. Wanda looks at you and her cheeks flush at the sight before Natasha’s other hand forces your attention to her. Her lips connect with yours and her tongue darts over the bottom of yours, tasting Wanda with a delicious sound that you swallow.

After she pulls from you, she then shares a look with Wanda and the two of them grin. “Shall we reward her?”

“I think she’s been a good girl.”

Oh, how the wolf loves that. Praise for a job well done you can hardly suppress your proud smirk. Buu before you can do much else, Natasha pushes you and your knees are knocked out from beneath you, Wanda having rolled to the side only to follow Natasha’s lead as they both halfway straddle you, otherwise keeping you pinned to the mattress below.

Together they peel away your dress pants, giggling and muttering to one another in that alluring tongue, your mind in a haze to catch barely a sentence shared between them but you gained awareness of what they intended when they each stroked their tongues over your stimulated pearl.

“‘Sh–shit!” you hiss sharply and your hips buck, the two women giggling at the sight of you writhing.

They give no further warning as they duck down. Their mouths work together against your clit, suckling it to draw pathetic whines from that deep part inside you dare not let anyone see, their voices trespass the air with betraying praises that speak only of teases and their tongues lap at the slick of your pussy that clenches at the attention. Your hands grapple the sheets and tear hard, the damage unnoted and not cared for.

“Girls– fuck!” you groan at the rise in your core, oh so ready to reach that climactic end that you have been denied for the past several weeks. It’s not too long that your first release has you whining, the nois a higher pitched sound that does slowly in broken notes as you cum, the girls moaning and allowing their lips to graze one another as they lapped and sucked you.

Wanda is the first to make eye contact and move towards you, her leg swoops over to fully straddle your stomach, in her hands is your belt. She rips the centre of your shirt apart, buttons flying to discarded corners of the room to be mere pebbles of disregard.

You see the way her eyes drink in the sight of your toned muscles, the pinky tip of her tongue darting over her wet lips.

She adores the way you tilt your head to the side, a curious whine on your lips. “I’ve always wanted something on a leash. May I?”

You don’t particularly care for the way her question hits a mark submerged deeper into your heart, reaching for something you denied was there. Dignity. Usually people just took from you and you came to accept that. Expect it.

You nod up at her and she fixes the belt around the column of your neck, the leather cool against the blazing heat of your skin, but something inside you flutters. Quickly, you push it down.

Natasha moves into the same position behind Wanda, your larger size very much able to accommodate both of them, Natasha trails light kisses along Wanda’s shoulder as she fastens the belt and gives an experimental tug. A soft grunt hitches in your throat in retort and you flash her a grin, the sharpened points of your fangs perched against your bottom lip.

“The wolf never let me tame her, Miss Maximoff.”

“Oh, she just needed some reassurance,” Wanda replies gently with a smile. For a moment, you wanted to believe her words were sincere. Your hands run along Wanda’s thighs until they reach her hips and with a roll forward, she grinds her pussy against your torso, feeling the defined muscles press and tense against her, bringing her to moan under her breath. Natasha drapes a hand over your own to roll and pinch Wanda’s swollen clit, her eyes finding yours.

“Watch her,” she commands breathlessly and you do so, amber glows in fluorescent pulses as Wanda biomes slick with her arousal. The fine artistry of their bodies moving together as they roll and grind against you, you cannot help but reach a hand up, claw catching the thin silk of Wanda’s bra and severing the contraption into two, letting it fall and reveal her plump breasts; her nipples erect.

Wanda circles an arm behind her and behind Natasha’s head, her back arching to the pleasure she becomes lost in, and you purely enjoy the show above, admiring the glow of sweat collecting on their skin, groaning as their slick covers your stomach as they ride you. The hand working Wanda’s clit speeds up and then slows, teasing the heiress, she gives you a sly grin.

“Do that thing with the claws,” she says and Wanda’s eyes open, as if awakening from her bliss and becoming enlightened with wonderment.

“W-what thing?”

“I’ll show you.”

You sit by the bed, elbow propped up on the chair’s arm with a glass in your grasp, imagination lost in the reverie of last night’s events with a smirk carved into your mouth. Both women lay wrapped together, bodies nude and pressed up to each other as they continue to sleep. You surely tired them out.

Thankfully and mostly dressed when Tony came wandering in, the band of his fellow brothers staying just beyond the room’s threshold, though it still didn’t make to hide the snarl creeping up your throat as the sudden intrusion. You take a sip of your drink as Tony scans the room, gaze flickering between the two women and you who bares an illuminated glare at him.

“What the hell happened last night?”

“We got her affirmative answer on the deal,” you answer with a raise of your glass in cheers before downing the last of your drink.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Long overdue, finally knocking this one out before it gets retired to permanent draft status ughhhh... *proceeds to fall face first in tired raccoon*

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters @alyciaddict @simpforlizzie @literaturedog @maladaptive-daydreamz @mathxa @blackbirdv98

#headlinesxcomics publishing #female reader #mafia au #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #werewolf reader #wanda maximoff smut #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader smut #wanda x werewolf smut #natasha x werewolf smut #wanda maximoff fic #wanda x werewolf! reader #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff

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