#no one gets names in this show for me apparently

[mercy-burning]

…I Wonder

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes a full-time nanny to three-year-old Benjamin, but what she doesn’t realize is just how hard the job will be— not because of the child, but rather her growing attraction to his father. Category: Mature (18+) Content: adults with age gap, drinking, dry humping, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, “little girl” nickname, cum play, praise Word Count: 11k (idk how this keeps happening lol)

MASTERLIST

NOTE: This fic is titled after and loosely inspired by "Pony" by Ashley Monroe. It's not required listening, but obviously I recommend the song. It's been a favorite of mine since I was a teenager obsessed with Dean Winchester, so... that probably explains a lot about why I am the way I am... LMAO anyway, enjoy <3 I had a blast writing this one!!

———

ACT I: If I Had A Baby...

The first job I ever had also happened to be the best job I ever had. I was twenty years old, and I found an ad in the paper searching for a full-time nanny to a little boy. I didn't think anything of it, other than I desperately needed the money and I didn't mind babysitting. A few years out of school with no plans to attend college and no solid idea of what I wanted to do with my life, I wasn't sure if I'd even get hired. I was almost certain that no one would want a college-aged kid with no stable ambitions or previous job experience, but I was desperate. And CPR-certified.

It was a start. A shot in the dark.

By some miracle, Spencer Reid apparently was also desperate enough to be willing to take a chance on me.

He explained over the phone that he was away more than he'd like to be, and even if he tried to work from home, doing FBI work and raising a toddler alone at the same time was nearly impossible. I agreed to an interview, absolutely elated that I had a foot in the door and the bright beacon of hope for some sort of routine. Something to occupy my time and something to care about, to care for.

I was expecting the work to be... not hard, necessarily, but I wasn't naive enough to believe that taking care of a child was a walk in the park. There would surely be tantrums or bouts of "I miss Daddy!" or refusal to eat what I made him for lunch... I knew going into these interviews that I would be signing up for a major responsibility that meant a lot, not only to Spencer but also to his child. I had to prove that I could do my job and do it well. That alone was a challenge, but one I was willing to work with. I was ready for it.

What I wasn't ready for, however, was the betrayal I felt when my brain failed to warn me of the possibility that he was not only a single father, but a hot one.

The second I showed up at his door and he opened the barrier between us, I swear it felt like the sun swallowed me whole and burnt me to a crisp. He smiled brightly and introduced himself, and I was done for.

"You must be Y/N! Hi, I'm Doctor Spencer Reid."

Doctor? So he was smart, then, too. Perfect. The Trifecta of Peak Hotness had been achieved. That instantly made this new job ten-times harder than I anticipated, and I hadn't even started yet.

I wasn't sure I could go through with it at first, but the more we talked, the more I relaxed, and I felt sympathy for him. He was a genuinely kind and loving parent who wanted the best for his son, a three-year-old named Benjamin who loved dinosaurs and airplanes and Cheeto Puffs. I didn't get to meet him that day, since he was with his Aunt JJ (who, the way Spencer told it, was most likely feeding his Cheeto Puff addiction as we spoke), but if the interview went well, I'd get to meet him in the next week.

I mulled over my options and almost decided not to show up for the next interview; to call and tell him I'd changed my mind or something, but it pained me to even imagine the disappointment in his voice had he asked me why. For whatever reason, the vivid image of a toddler pouting and crying to his father because he had to leave, and that no one wanted to care for him burned itself into my soul until I relented and just took the job anyway.

It was fair to at least meet the kid first, right?

Benny was insanely talkative— but not really conversational. Most of the time I tried to keep up, but his mouth was moving a mile a minute, and the conversation always ended up falling flat on my end, so I pretty quickly decided to give up and enthusiastically let him carry it.

He had his father's brains as well. For hours that first meeting, he sat there and read me passages of aircraft encyclopedias, and in between two random sections I politely requested that we move on to dinosaurs (which were infinitely cooler). And then, in that adorable toddler voice that made it impossible to be irritated, he looked up at me with wide eyes and said, "I read all my dinosaur books last week. This week is for airplanes."

Spencer looked like he was going to divert the conversation entirely, perhaps suggest that Benny do something else while we talked some more, but who was I to interrupt the kid's routine and crush his dreams? If I was going to be his nanny, then I was going to have to make him like me. Right?

So, I nodded like I'd never considered it and encouraged him to keep going. To which he did, very happily.

Spencer seemed happy, too. He was always delighted to see Benny when he came home from work, but there was something about the way he relaxed and perked up all the same at my first interactions with his son that twisted my gut. What that man was filled with at the sight of me wasn't just joy, but hope, too, and regardless of where that joy and hope came from, it was an incredibly dangerous thing to notice as a young woman.

It was way too easy to fall into daydream territory. I was alert and attentive when watching Benny, of course, but the second Spencer walked in and completely knocked the wind out of me with that joy and relief radiating from his perfect smile, it was like a screw came loose in my brain and turned me into a feral, horny beast. And then I would return home, alone with my thoughts, and I couldn't divert them from the wild direction they took.

At first it was just your standard wet dream, a girl lusting over the older man she nannied for. It was purely pornographic and provided nothing but short-term relief until I saw him in person again, which frustrated me.

I almost thought about quitting, or saying I was looking into schooling so I could cut down on my hours, but...

That wasn't fair to Benny. He and I had actually formed a pretty stellar routine, if I do say so myself.

And every time I thought about leaving, I couldn't help but think about what I would tell him. Would I even tell him anything at all, or would Spencer just omit me from his life completely and give him an explanation in my place? Who would watch over him after I left? Someone old and mean who made him eat vegetables instead of Cheeto Puffs, and demanded he read to them about dinosaurs instead of airplanes, not giving him the option to develop his curiosity in whatever way he chose? Who would tuck him into bed on the nights his father was late or out of town, and would they sleep on the couch soundly and happily like I did?

I hated even thinking about it.

And then there was the first paycheck.

Truth be told, I hadn't even thought about the money, not after I met the boys and introduced them into my daily routine. I remembered Spencer telling me after my first day alone with Benny that he wouldn't get a paycheck to me until the start of the next month, and I was okay with it. Really, I was just focusing on trying not to drool for the entire conversation, but I digress.

Payment completely slipped my mind.

And then I showed up to do my job, and Benny was nowhere in sight.

"Where's the little guy?" I inquired, looking around and hearing nothing either. "He's usually waiting at the door for me like a dog."

Spencer laughed and concealed something behind his back. "He does really enjoy his nights with you... He's actually staying with JJ and her kids tonight, though. Our schedules opened up and she offered to take him for the night. I was going to call and tell you, but I wanted to give you this, anyway."

He handed me an envelope, folded over but not sealed. I took it with an, "Oh," unsure of what it was until I saw the corner of the check. It felt rude somehow to open it in front of him, but his presence was so overwhelming anyway, especially being alone with him, that I needed something to occupy my hands and my thoughts and just about everything else I had in my possession.

At first, I thought it was a joke. A prank. It was too good to be true; He was just messing with me and would hand me a fifty-dollar bill on my way out for my trouble. Surely, if not that, then it was a mistake.

I didn't know how long I'd stood there, staring at the paper with whatever expression was all over my face, but it must have been too long and too concerning because Spencer sounded worried when he asked, "Is there something wrong?"

I blinked for a moment, then finally had the courage to look him in the eye, my mouth completely dry. "You are not giving me five-thousand dollars right now."

"Well... No, technically, I'm giving you a check for five-thousand dollars. What you do with it and when is completely up to you, but... You deserve it. Y/N, you've been a Godsend, and Benny and I are lucky to have you around. Thank you. Very much."

I didn't even think about it. It was an insanely kind gesture, and I was in such a state of shock and gratitude and mind-numbing attraction to him in that moment that I leapt forward and flung my arms around his neck, tears stinging my eyes.

He hugged me back tightly and laughed, allowing me to cry my thanks into his shoulder as we nearly tumbled into the coffee table.

ACT II: If I Was A Lady...

The months flew by, and before I knew it, it was Benny's fourth birthday.

Spencer and his friends heavily involved me in the planning process, a gesture that surprised me, but that I obviously would never be thankful enough for. It's not like I hadn't ever known a loving family or anything, but they were all so warm and welcoming; it was like I'd been friends with them my whole life. My chest bloomed brightly with every laugh and every hug, and I don't think I could have been any happier. I felt like I belonged there.

It was a day, and night, I would never forget.

Everyone had left, and Benny was fast asleep in his bed. Spencer and I looked down at him with smiles so bright, if they'd actually radiated any light the poor boy would have woken up.

"Ah, the cake coma," I laughed quietly, Spencer guiding me out of the bedroom. I couldn't stop giggling even as we walked—Admittedly, I was a little buzzed on champagne. Still, Spencer laughed with me, and we sat down on the couch. I could tell he was exhausted, but happy.

"I still have to clean all of this up..." It was more of an amused I'll-do-it-tomorrow statement, but I had this drunken simmering need to please him so badly that I shook my head and hit his arm.

"No. That's my job. I'll take care of it, you just take your beautiful ass right to bed, you hear me?"

He raised an eyebrow but laughed at me anyway, clearly amused by my banter. "Maybe I shouldn't have allowed the underage drinking after all..."

"Oh, please. I'm not even drunk, just a little loose. Besides, I'll be twenty-one in a couple of months anyway."

"Mmmm."

I hadn't realized how much closer we'd gotten until just then, when he hummed and looked me over. I could feel his breath on my face, and our limbs were just barely touching. Suddenly it was like my entire body was numb, sizzling everywhere we touched, and the champagne had become a part of my bloodstream. The fizz was all I knew, all I was.

Spencer's eyes found mine, and they didn't look away. They pulled me in slowly. I was powerless to stop it, not that I'd ever want to...

In fact, I very eagerly melted into him the second our lips found each other. My head swam, my fingers started tingling, and I was very aware of every movement we made. I straddled his lap, and he welcomed me with open arms, pulling me flush against him as his tongue darted out swiftly to taste mine.

I couldn't believe it was actually happening. Every few seconds I kept thinking to myself, this feels like a dream... It has to be a dream... Between the pent-up attraction I'd been accumulating for him over the last few months and the alcohol that loosened me up and dissolved any ounce of common sense I possessed, I felt like I was in a different world entirely.

He hardened underneath me and my nerves went nuclear, instinctively forcing my body to roll over his. I ground my hips, aching to feel that sweet friction that I'd only felt once before with another man— so long ago and so unbelievably dull in comparison to the sensations I was feeling in Spencer's lap. I was only barely experienced with sex, but I was experienced enough to know that I didn't have anything to be nervous about; This man would take good care of me. I felt it in my bones.

The thought alone sent my body into overdrive. I whined and rolled my hips relentlessly, wishing I was completely bare and feeling him so deep inside me that his absence would leave me haunted. I wanted to feel him forever. I wanted him to ruin my life and claim me as his own, until there was absolutely nothing left of me.

His hands cradled my head reverently as he continued to kiss me deep and slow, raising his hips up to meet mine and aid in getting me off. The gentle tugs of his fingers through my hair and the warm hums of encouragement he offered to my mouth as I climbed higher and higher towards that precipice of pleasure made me weak. I felt so fragile in his arms, like I was meant to be right there, allowing him to guide me wherever. I would have done anything for him, anything so long as he kept holding me and making me sigh—making me glow.

"Fuck—I'm gonna come," I exclaimed in a broken whisper, breaking apart from his mouth to bury my face in his hair. He brought his hands down to my hips then, groaning as quietly as he could into my neck as he helped me rock back and forth across his lap.

It wasn't an earth-shattering intense orgasm by any means; there wasn't nearly enough stimulation for that. But I was so wet and aroused that even the low, quick and burning pleasure that shot through my core for a few seconds was enough to satisfy me. I wasn't in any position to complain.

That was, of course, until I reached down to touch Spencer's belt, and he pushed me away. Not aggressively, but his hands—which had been so gentle and welcoming just moments before—had gone rigid. Frozen and firm, like he'd just been scared half to death.

He scrambled out from my reach and put so much distance between us that I went cold. My name tumbled from his lips in a regretful sigh, and it stung.

"We can't ever do that again."

"Okay," was all I could manage to say. I was still tingling all over, like my whole body had fallen numb and was now just warming up to the idea of having senses again.

"That was irresponsible. And I'm too old for you."

"M-hm," I agreed absentmindedly.

"You should go home."

"Okay."

"I'll call you a cab."

"Thank you."

I went home that night with a deep twist in my gut that wouldn't go away. The rejection hurt. It scared me, too, wondering if I'd still have a job when I woke up in the morning. Was that the last time I would ever see Spencer? And Benny? Had I really just screwed up the best thing that ever happened to me?

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I was back on Spencer's couch, getting myself off in his lap and reveling in his embrace. I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, hating myself for being so reckless, and even more so for not regretting it a single bit.

After I was finally able to get a solid couple of hours of sleep, I had a text message from Spencer waiting for me when I woke up.

I sincerely apologize for last night. The job is still yours, but I also understand if you don't want it anymore. Take a few days, whatever time you need, and let me know.

I was relieved, of course, but also deeply curious to know how we would keep things professional after something like that. I guess I was just mostly surprised that he was willing to, considering he seemed pretty rattled by it.

Still, If he was willing to try, then so was I.

I'm sorry, too. I wouldn't give up you and Benjamin for the world. All is well?

He texted back almost immediately; All is well.

It only clicked into place a few months later, once the initial shock of our "escapade" had faded away and we could return to business as normal. Because, really, the truth was we couldn't return to business as normal. We tried, but he never looked me in the eye for longer than a second at a time, he refused to touch me in any way, careful not to even brush my hand as he handed me my monthly check, and his small talk was even more painful than it had been previously.

Still, I continued to be Benny's nanny—and best friend, according to Auntie Penelope, much to her dismay. I still loved that kid more than anything in the world, and I still, unfortunately, wanted his father to kiss me again.

I was willing to let it all go, though, to admit that it was a silly stupid crush that could never come to anything and just deal with it like an adult, and then I had to overhear the motherfucker when he came home one night. I was resting on the couch, about to open my eyes when I heard the door open, but then I heard a voice that wasn't Spencer's. It was his friend, Luke.

Spencer cut him off then. "Quiet, please."

There was shuffling, keys being set down, and then a small laugh as they got closer to me. I didn't move a muscle, focusing only on my breathing. "Right. Don't wake the hot nanny, got it."

"She's right there," Spencer hissed, and I tried not to laugh. My insides flared to life as he added, "And I asked you not to bring that up..."

"Oh, come on, Reid. You have the hots for her; big deal. It's normal."

"So? I'm... I'm technically her boss, and she's far too young for me. It's not right, and you know that."

"Whatever. You do what you think is right, man, but I'm telling you; Ignoring it is only going to make you more stressed."

Spencer mumbled something incoherent, and the two shuffled off into the kitchen for God-knows-what. All I could think about was that he wanted me. It was probably killing him just as badly as it was killing me not to give into each other again. My mind was racing, my heart beat violently in my chest, and I knew then that I had to pretend to wake up or else I'd sit there and burst into flames.

I had to leave. I had to do something; What, I didn't know, but this revelation had me reeling and feeling a myriad of things, and I needed to sit with them, preferably alone so I wasn't tempted to just jump him on the spot.

"Did we wake you? I'm sorry." Spencer's kind voice warmed me from the inside out as I shuffled into the kitchen to say goodbye.

I quickly gathered my things and avoided his gaze. "Oh. No, you didn't. If you're back for the night though, I'm gonna go home. I'm exhausted."

"Little guy was that rambunctious, huh?" Luke joked.

I smiled and gave him a wink. "Oh, no. He was an absolute angel, as always. His daddy raised him well. Goodnight. See you tomorrow, Doctor Reid?"

He cleared his throat, rasping out, "Yes, tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Night."

I tried not to run mischievously out the door, willing my legs to be normal. But the second there was a tangible barrier between us, I bolted to my car, high on adrenaline and unable to wipe the smile from my face; I was wide awake.

Eventually, though, I realized it would be absolutely stupid to do anything about it. Did it boost my ego and my mood? Absolutely. It also softened the blow of his avoidance and his initial rejection that night; All of his behavior made much more sense. Sure, I was a little disappointed that he wouldn't entertain our mutual desire, but as long as it was there... It couldn't be that bad, right?

Wrong.

I'd gotten a text from him earlier in the day, asking if I could come over last minute to watch Benny. I wasn't going to say no, obviously, but when I got there to see him dressed up, I shot up an eyebrow.

"A little fancy for work, yeah?" I told him, hanging my keys up and listening for Benny.

"Oh, I'm... not going to work, actually. I, uh... I have a date."

I froze. I panicked. I didn't know what to do, what to think, or how to react. Naturally my thoughts immediately jumped to the worst-case scenario—visions of Spencer sleeping with another woman, someone older and not a nanny. Someone who was distinguished and well-read and smart, someone like himself. Someone who was more inherently right for him. It... made me sad.

Admittedly, I felt stupid even thinking that way. It wasn't my right to dictate his dating life, no matter how badly I wanted him; I knew what he tasted like, knew how it felt to come undone in his embrace, and yet I wasn't entitled to him solely based on that.

Still. It doesn't mean I had to like it.

"Oh... Um... Good for you," I told him, nodding and turning away in case he tried to profile me. "Have fun."

He said goodbye to Benny a few minutes later, and then gave me a polite, transactional wave on his way out the door. It shut, and it felt like my chest was collapsing.

But I was only able to wallow for a few seconds. Benny tugged on my sleeve and looked up at me quizzically.

"Auntie Y/N, are you sad?"

His sweet face lifted my spirits like it always did, and I didn't have the energy to think about the other emotions that were swimming around in my chest anyway. So I smiled at him and picked him up, shaking my head. "Not anymore, kiddo; I get to hang out with my favorite person!"

We spent all night munching on Cheeto Puffs and building Lego sets, and it was unsurprising to me that by the time I'd finished one, Benny had finished three. Still, our sets combined to make a larger one, and then we were able to give the people names and backstories and adventures.

Either time passed very quickly, or Spencer didn't last very long on his date, because the front door opened and I was surprised he was home before I could put Benny to bed.

"Daddy!" he exclaimed, running and dropping his half-eaten Cheeto Puff in my lap. I laughed and tossed it in the trash can on my way to the door, greeting Spencer, who was hugging his son tightly and making him giggle profusely.

"You're home early," I observed as he set him down.

"Had to make it home before curfew, of course." A joke. He was deflecting. I kind of hated that I felt relief at the insinuation.

"Of course," I agreed.

"So, what did you guys do while I was gone?"

Benny jumped and grabbed his father's hand. "Auntie Y/N and I made a whole Lego village! It has a library!"

"It does?" Spencer asked bending down to his level and positively beaming. The sight made my chest tighten.

"It really does! Do you want to come see?"

"Oh, absolutely. I just have to talk to Auntie Y/N first, and I'll be right in, is that okay?" He nodded and Spencer ruffled his hair. "Okay. Say goodnight."

Benny turned and ran to me then, and I squatted down to hug him. "Goodnight, Auntie Y/N. Thank you for building with me."

"Oh, you're welcome, kiddo. You're an excellent building partner; The best in the business."

He laughed and scampered off to his bedroom, and as I stood up, I felt Spencer's eyes on me. I couldn't decipher what the feeling was on his end, but regardless, it burned a hole through me and made my heart pound in my ears.

"How'd it go?" I asked casually, dusting Cheeto off my jeans. Did you do it just to forget about how much you want me? Did it work?

He shrugged and leaned against the counter with a lazy smile. He almost looked exhausted. "I'd have much rather liked to be at home with my boy and his best friend to tell you the truth."

My heart was racing, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was getting at. Was he fucking with me? Or was he simply telling the honest, innocent truth, while I was letting my lust take the drivers' seat and go searching for some insane imaginary intention to help along my hot-single-father/nanny fantasy?

Suddenly, I was the one who felt exhausted, and Spencer could tell. He shifted and continued talking. "Thank you again for staying with him on such short notice."

"Oh, anytime. It's what I'm here for. In fact, feel free to go on all the bad dates you want."

I don't know why it came out of my mouth, but I was glad that Spencer laughed. Still, I scrambled to get my keys and walked past him to leave, kind of embarrassed by the verbalized impulsive thought regardless.

His hand grabbed my arm gently before I could leave, and my heart caught in my throat. I dared to look up at him and immediately felt that familiar heat return to my core, suddenly very fragile under the weight of his gaze.

He studied me for a moment before he let go of my arm and cleared his throat. "Goodnight."

I couldn't help the feeling that he wanted to tell me something else. He did say he wanted to talk to me before putting Benny to bed, after all... So, what? That was it?

It was stupid, and I should have just told him, "Goodnight," back, but those damned impulsive thoughts kept dancing on my tongue with reckless abandon, and I couldn't stop them from escaping. So, without another thought, I tilted my head and asked him instead, "Was she my age?"

Spencer stared at me, something darkening in his eyes when he responded, "No."

I threw back one of his considering hums, glancing down at his lips before looking him directly in the eye and giving him a firm, "Oh." There were plenty more things I could have told him, none of them appropriate. But I figured I'd already had enough pushing my luck for the night, and reached for the doorknob instead of dragging it out. The night would end like it always did, with a formal, professional farewell.

I was about to finally tell him, "Goodnight," but his hand came down very gently over mine and rendered me silent. Our eyes met once more, and a shiver ran down my spine.

"Even if she had been, she wouldn't have been you."

And then he opened the door for me, and I walked out without another word, my head spinning and my heart threatening to give out on me. He hadn't even kissed me, but he might as well have; I was just as breathless.

ACT III: He Is Nice, But He Looks So Mean.

I was actually littered with nerves walking in the door the next time I came over to watch Benny.

I hadn't heard anything from Spencer for a week, until he called and asked me to come over for the night to watch him while he went to work. I was going to do it with no questions asked, obviously, but because that insane confession was echoing in my mind on a continuous loop since it happened, I couldn't even bring myself to think about seeing him again and knowing... I had no idea what reaction my body was going to have to being in his presence again.

It scared me, but also deeply excited me.

Once my body had enough courage to step through the doorway, my heart rate sped up exponentially, and then upon seeing what was in front of me, it stuttered with a terrifying halt.

Warmth flooded my veins and brought a smile to my face when the four-year-old boy I nannied for and loved more than anything threw his hands in the air and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"Happy Birthday!"

He ran up to me and nearly toppled me to the ground, and on instinct, my arms reached out to pick him up as he hugged my neck and listed off the things he did to celebrate.

"Daddy said your birthday was yesterday, but we wanted to give you a party just like you did for my birthday! So we went to the store and got you ingredients for your cake, and we made it just for you!"

"You did?" I exclaimed, setting him down and letting him lead me to the kitchen where the cake was sitting out on the table, clearly homemade by two boys who didn't know the first thing about baking or decorating anything. Spencer was standing across the kitchen table with a proud, albeit I-know-it's-not-much-to-look-at smile, but I barely had time to thank him before Benny told me about the process, step-by-step.

As he went on, I nodded and admired the cake, complimenting the purple and green swirls of frosting (his favorite color and mine, he explained), and the trail of assorted candies in the shape of a stegosaurus in the middle (my favorite dinosaur).

"Do you love it, Auntie Y/N?"

I hugged him again with tears in my eyes. I tried not to actually cry, but the tugging at the back of my throat and the blurring of my eyes was extremely difficult to push away. I realized then, as Spencer watched me with his son and looked like he might have been ready to cry himself, that it wasn't worth trying to hide. I was extremely moved and even happier in that moment than I think I'd ever been. I loved that man and his child more than anything I'd ever known.

So, I blinked hard and let the tears silently descend down my cheeks, kissing the side of Benny's head as I told him, "I love it so much. And I love you so much. Thank you."

I looked up at Spencer and said it again. "Thank you."

He nodded, reaching for the star-shaped candle next to the cake. "You're very welcome. Benny, do you want to help Auntie Y/N light the birthday candle?"

The boy squirmed in my arms and I let him down with a laugh as he excitedly reminded us, "That's my favorite part of birthdays!"

"I apologize if you find an eggshell," Spencer warned a few minutes later, slicing the cake after the song had been sung and the candle had been blown out. He slid my plate over and handed me a fork. "Benny and I did our best to fish them all out, but it's... surprisingly harder than it looks."

As Benny nodded in agreement, I looked down at him and took a forkful of cake. "Oh, I don't have anything to worry about. I'm sure you two are excellent eggshell fishermen."

The four-year-old giggled, but his father sighed as if to say, Don't say I didn't warn you...

To no one's surprise but Spencer's, the cake was delicious. I may have played it up for dramatic effect, putting on a whole show as I chewed and considered every bite, playing as if I was unsure and really critiquing the dessert. I set my fork down and looked at Spencer with squinted eyes, then slowly to his son. The suspense was obviously killing him, his small limbs bouncing with anticipation and a smile that suggested he was going to urge the verdict out of me if I didn't announce it very soon.

I decided to spare him the wait.

"Benjamin Reid... That might just be the best cake I've ever had."

"Really? No eggshells?"

I laughed, reaching to give him a high-five as he beamed up at me with sparkling eyes and a wide-open smile. "Not a single one. You should be very proud of yourself. You and your dad, both."

Benny hugged me again, and I glanced over to Spencer, who was slicing another piece of cake and staring at me with that intense look in his eyes, a satisfied half-smile adorning his face. A rush of heat came surging through my bloodstream like a tidal wave, and I had to look away from him or I was afraid I'd collapse on the spot.

Benny didn't know it, but he was saving my life in that very moment, as the three of us ate cake together. I refused to look at his father. I needed literally anything else to keep me from even glancing his way, and my four-year-old best friend's rambling habits were the perfect focus.

He told me more about his process for decorating the cake, and while I was genuinely a little surprised at how much thought there really could have been with the task, with an ever-moving mind like Benny's, it was actually quite clear by the end of it. It charmed me to no end and filled me with pride to know that I'd had enough of an impact on him to trigger this level of detail and consideration. Again, it's not like I'd never had people who cared about me before, but when it came to the Reids, my heart sang a tune I'd never heard, and it was the most beautiful, brightly vivid sound I'd ever had the pleasure to hear—to feel.

I was thinking too much about it, letting the song swallow me whole as tears stung in the back of my eyes and threatened to fall again, when Spencer's phone buzzed on the table. The sound grounded and intrigued me, even more so when he glanced up at me for a moment, right before directing his words to his son.

"Benny, Uncle Will is outside. Is your bag ready?"

He jumped from his seat and nodded. "In my room."

"Okay. Before you grab it, say goodnight to Auntie Y/N."

I felt the toddler's arms hugging my legs, and turned all my attention to him, refusing once again to look at the man whose eyes I could feel burning me alive with something deeply ravenous, begging to be unfettered. I had a feeling, creeping over my senses like a thick blanket of ivy, that I wasn't making it up and letting my desire for him take the wheel, either; Just as the loving, family-friendly song in my heart had been—bright and vivid—this feeling was just as much the same in its intensity, only echoed with a sound that felt very much like those dark, low hums Spencer always emitted alone in my presence. I felt it all around me and hoped to God that I wasn't about to leave this place feeling like a hopeful, stupid idiot.

"Goodnight, Auntie Y/N. Did you like your birthday?"

"I did, Benny," I answered in earnest, ruffling his hair. "You're very thoughtful and kind. Thank you so much."

"I love you, Auntie Y/N."

I squeezed him tight and made sure he understood every word as truth when I told him, "I love you, too."

ACT IV: When I Grow Up, I Wanna Be Your Girl.

The apartment was quiet when Spencer took Benny outside to meet with Will. I did my best to keep myself busy, cleaning up forks and plates, and wiping down the counter tops while simultaneously ignoring the hammering of my heart against my chest. The organ wouldn't calm down, even as I hummed to myself. It's like those nerves that I had walking through the front door that night never actually went away— only subsided for a little while in favor of wholesome celebration.

Part of me wanted to flee, but I knew it wasn't an option. Not really. I had to at least talk to Spencer and thank him for the effort. Perhaps I was good enough of an actress that I could pretend to have been ignorant of his glances all night, or at least that they didn't affect me like he maybe wanted them to.

Catching myself in the act of overthinking again, I grunted and slammed a glass of water, willing the fresh liquid to wash away any insanity. There was no use going through all the possible scenarios in my head, not when there wasn't much time before Spencer returned. No matter what happened, I wasn't going to be prepared for it.

I certainly wasn't prepared for the way my heart practically leapt out of my chest when he returned, softly opening and closing the door. It took everything I had not to turn around and allow him to see how nervous I was. I kept my back turned, hoping and praying I wasn't visibly shaking as heavily as I felt. I was warm all over.

His presence behind me was dense and ever-present― almost suffocating. I took my time drying off the plates and forks I'd washed while he was away, hearing him rustle around without a word or acknowledgement of me, and then he finally spoke. I almost dropped a fork.

"Why are you doing my dishes, Birthday Girl?"

"My birthday was yesterday..."

He laughed and came up behind me, a gentle hand on my lower back as the other reached around and took the silverware from my grip. I relented, feeling myself numb at his touch and trying to steady my breathing.

"Yes, but we're celebrating today. In my household at least, that means you're not allowed to do any work."

I turned around to face him as he set the fork down on the counter, his other hand still hovering over my back. It returned to his side, disappearing into the pocket of his pants as I crossed my arms and looked up at him. Thankfully, despite the constant whirring of nerves and desire coursing through my entire being, I was able to hold a conversation without hesitation.

"You're not my dad."

Another amused grin. "No, I'm not. But I am your boss. And as your boss, I'm asking you to take the night off and enjoy yourself."

The way he was staring down at me seemingly punctuated his words with a gentle seduction that made me ache with need. I was getting stronger and bolder by the second, leaning forward just enough to be toe-to-toe with him.

"Okay, then, Boss... Tell me, are there any restrictions to enjoying myself in your household? Because..."

The second I heard that familiar hum rumble from his chest, I knew I was in danger― glorious, beautiful danger. His eyes glanced down at my mouth for a second before returning to my own, his body leaning into mine and his free hand reaching out to trap me against the counter.

I tilted my head and brought my fingers up to toy with the tie hanging from his neck. "I am all grown up now, after all..."

"And I suppose you know exactly what you want..."

"Mm-hmm," I drawled, pulling him in closer by the tie. Our lips were barely touching by that point, and I felt my head start to pulse with anticipation as he urged me to go on.

"Well?"

"I want to be yours."

He hummed again, pushing his body to mine and bringing the pocketed hand up to hold the side of my head. "Mmm, Darling, you always have been."

And then he kissed me.

He tasted like sugar, but his intentions were anything but sweet. His mouth devoured mine with a fire that threatened to turn me to ash. Every sense I had was alight, engulfing me in a heat so intense that it was all I was sure to know for the rest of my life. It's all I wanted and all I needed.

I met his intensity with eager hands, exploring the planes of his body as his tongue did wicked things to my own. This time I didn't even need the champagne; I was dizzy on Spencer alone. The fizz boiled me from the inside out and urged my limbs to cling to him like it was my life's purpose. Hell, for all I knew, it was my life's purpose― to burn for him and let him consume me. To revel in his dancing flame and allow it to become my life force. I wanted it more than I'd ever wanted anything.

And I was sure to let him know that, too, refusing to hold back the string of whines and moans that escaped me every now and again. The hand that had been resting on the counter behind me came down to grip and hike up my thigh, our hips colliding just as beautifully this time as they had the last. The memory caused another wanton sound to tumble from my mouth, and Spencer caught it greedily, pulling back for air long enough to squeeze my thigh and sing me a praise of his own.

"God, I love the sounds you make..."

His lips were on mine again before I could respond, but I didn't even need to. Not verbally, anyway; I guided his hand down the side of my face and over my chest, pushing my body into him and feeling his fingers tighten. His kisses grew hungrier, and suddenly I was starving.

I was finally able to break away from his mouth in favor of tasting the skin and stubble along his jaw. Then, I buried my face in his neck and reached for his belt, praying he wouldn't jump away like last time.

Thankfully, he didn't. His grip on both my breast and my thigh tightened again, but he didn't pull away from me. His breath didn't even hitch.

I took that as a good sign and slowly undid his belt. The sound alone was enough to send a jolt of excitement between my thighs, though the visions dancing behind my eyelids of what I planned to do in just a few moments helped my pleasure immensely. I dragged my tongue softly along Spencer's neck before freeing the belt and sinking to the ground alongside it. His hands fell away from my body and chose to root in my hair instead. The gentle tugging at my scalp admittedly made me stumble, but not out of discomfort; I was actually quite surprised at how much I liked the feeling.

Spencer noticed, humming again with amusement as I went back to tugging down his pants. Still, he said nothing, instead watching me intently as I continued my journey.

I didn't hide the desire I felt as I palmed the length of him through his underwear. In fact, I couldn't decide if I wanted to keep my sight leveled or to angle it up at him, because it was a damn good sight either way; The sensual nature of my fingers gently caressing him, knowing what was resting beyond that thin layer of fabric and imagining how it probably felt to him, or the thick and domineering air between his face and mine, his gaze committing every movement I made to wicked memory...

With a sigh, I opted to lean forward, ignoring the sharp bruising on my knees and putting all my focus into the task at large.

Spencer seemed to tell I was thinking too much, gently massaging my scalp and cooing, "Have you ever done this before?"

Yes, but... "Not with anyone I've actually wanted this badly..."

"Mmm, that does make a difference..." he observed. "Whatever it is that you need to be comfortable, Y/N― tell me. Okay? Promise me you won't hurt yourself in any way just to please me."

A surge of heat exploded through me at the intensity of it all. He was sincere, and by the sound of things, sympathetic to my overthinking. It was another show of just how much I wanted him to guide me, to hold me in his comforting, knowing embrace and show me exactly how life should be lived. Every life experience there was to know, I wanted to know it with him.

"I promise," I told him firmly, not breaking eye contact as I tugged at the cotton between us.

His eyes struggled to stay open when I finally gripped his cock, feeling the weight of it in my hand and bringing it to my mouth. I glanced down then, taking in every ridge as it disappeared slowly down the length of my tongue. I reveled in the taste, in the fullness I felt the deeper it went, and once it hit the back of my throat and caused me to choke and pull back, I angled my eyes back up at his face to find the most heavenly sight I'd ever seen.

Spencer watched me all the time. I was no stranger to his intense gazes. But when I looked up at him that time, his mouth open and eyes so deeply darkened with need that they could have drowned me, I truly thought I might have died and entered the afterlife. Perhaps that was dramatic, but there was no other possible way for me to describe the feeling that coursed through me in that moment. Suddenly I was chasing it, longing to be in that state of euphoria forever, and my mouth eagerly went to work in pursuit of it.

I took my time, exploring the ways he could fit in my mouth and the ways my tongue could cover the length of him. I went in search of any pleasure point I could find, occasionally looking up to gauge his reaction and finding nothing but those beautiful, salacious pools of liquid gold.

Eventually, I was brave enough to take him to the back of the throat again, holding him there and seeing how long it would take before I felt the air leave my lungs. I repeated the process a few times, stroking him with my hand in between gasps of air and shivering at the way he tugged my hair. My vision was starting to blur, but I persisted, aching to know what he tasted like as he came undone.

Unfortunately, it wasn't in the cards for me to find out that night.

I whined as he held my head away from him, praying he wasn't backing out.

"Stand up, please," he asked softly. It sounded like he'd been breathless, and maybe he had. The thought that I had that effect on him calmed my nerves and made me dizzy as I stood, and his hands cradled my head once again.

"You are so good," he whispered, kissing me deeply. I melted into him, only for him to pull back and continue his praises. "So beautiful..." Another toe-curling kiss, and then, "So perfect."

My eyes fluttered shut as his mouth moved over my jaw and to my pulse-point. "My good, sweet girl," he murmured, and the words caused me to clench around nothing.

"Please."

The word fell out of me with a whimper and at its urgency, Spencer's mouth attacked my neck with a gentle, hungry bite that sent a shiver down my spine.

"Follow me."

And I did. I always would.

As much as I would have loved the opportunity to look around his bedroom and make banter about what I discovered on any normal day, my brain was so overwhelmed and numb with desire that the thought hadn't even crossed my mind.

Not that I would have had the time to think about it anyway; He was on me the moment my legs touched the edge of the bed, devouring my mouth once more and pulling me into his atmosphere with fervor. Willing myself to get even closer to him, I brought my fingers up to thread through his hair and was rewarded with another gentle tug of my own.

Suddenly I was extremely hot, squirmy and anxious to break free from the confines of clothing, and Spencer could tell.

He broke apart with a laugh, bringing a hand down to trace the collar of my shirt. "Have you no patience?"

"You're the one sucking my face like it's the end of the fucking world," I breathed when he shifted the collar and exposed more of my skin to the air, earning me another low grumble of a laugh.

"You're not complaining are you?"

"God, no."

"Mmm, good," he hummed into my cheek, reaching down and tugging my shirt over my head. The fabric caught on his nose for a second, bringing a laugh to the surface of my tongue before he swallowed it with another kiss and tossed the shirt to the ground.

Warm, nimble fingers spanned my bare stomach and thoroughly explored the surface area of me, up and up until they slipped under the backside of my bra.

"Is this okay?"

I pushed myself into him and nipped at his bottom lip. "Yes, Doctor."

Goosebumps littered my arms as he deftly unhooked the bra and slid it off my body, and I barely had time to take a breath before he was kissing me again, pawing at my chest and slipping me his eager tongue. My senses were on overload, that hot pang of need pulsating between my legs as I then fell backwards, letting him lay me down and settle himself between them. His kisses traveled lower, tongue darting out to flick over my peaked nipple, and I involuntarily arched up into him.

No one had ever paid this much careful attention to my body before—It was always a quick pleasantry to get out of the way before the main course. But the way Spencer held and touched and tasted me felt like a crash course in intimacy. He was still hungry for me, obviously, but he made it feel like it wasn't just about the destination. He savored each and every second of the moment in all its pent-up, beautiful glory.

Which is why, when he finally slipped a hand down the front of my pants, he seemed delighted to find that I was practically soaked through my panties already.

His middle finger pressed firmly at my clothed heat, and I sighed into his mouth.

"Look at what I've done to you... Poor thing. You're just aching to be filled, aren't you?"

My head had no choice but to arch backwards as I moaned into the open air at his words, my legs clamping around his hand. "God, Spencer, please..."

"So I'm not wrong, then?" he mused, teasing me some more and just barely pushing the fabric aside. I squirmed and lifted my hips, trying to guide him in the right place, but he pulled away from me then, leaving me cold.

Only a second later did the heat return; Spencer stood at the foot of the bed and gently helped me scoot to the edge. He removed the rest of my clothes and stared down at my bare figure as he unbuttoned his shirt, debauchery settling in his eyes as they raked over me. With careful consideration, once his shirt was on the floor with the rest of my clothes, he came down and caressed my inner thigh, slowly spreading my legs apart.

"You're so wet and needy, I'm willing to bet you don't even need me to prep you..."

All it took was one lithe finger to prove his theory correct. It slid into me with ease, and I whined out at the contact. One finger swiftly became two, and after a few slow pumps with no resistance, he seemed satisfied. "Mmm, that's what I thought... You've been ready for me for a long time, haven't you?"

"Uh-huh," was all I could manage under the circumstances. Every word and every touch was rendering me incapable of anything more complex.

He removed his fingers from me then, and leaned down to nudge my nose with his own. "How are you feeling?" he asked me in a whisper, fluttering a gentle kiss over my lips as his cock barely teased my entrance. It was such a simple question, but it only deepened the desire I felt for him— It was gentle and attentive and intimate...

"Never better," I responded earnestly.

"Yeah?" he cooed. He pushed into me slowly then, and I gasped at the pressure. "Are you ready to take it?"

"Uh-huh," I stuttered once more, crying out silently when he finally bottomed out and ground his hips in a slow circle against my own.

"Tell me what you want, little girl," he begged sweetly against my lips. "Please, I need to hear you say it."

I gripped his shoulders and pulled back a little to hold his gaze, almost gasping out again at the way his hips pinned me down. It was difficult to form the perfect sentence, but I figured I didn't really need to say much at all― only the whimper-y, pathetic truth, which was, "I want you so bad..."

"As you wish."

The words barely left his lips before he began to move, hooking my legs around his forearms and spreading me apart further. He fucked me deeply, and with a steady pace that knocked the wind from my lungs and already had me seeing stars. That had never happened before.

Spencer could tell, a grin forming on his face as he freed one of his hands and softly traced my jaw. "Better than you thought?"

Absolutely. But there was something about that cocky grin on his face and the lilt in his voice that made me want to be difficult. I struggled to talk through heavy breathing, but I managed to choke out, "Don't... flatter yourself."

I don't quite know what I expected, but it was a bit of a shock to me when he hooked his thumb into my mouth and pressed down gently on my tongue, quickening his pace inside me and making me gasp out again.

"Aw... Are you not enjoying yourself?" he pouted without a single hint of sincerity; He knew I was.

I cried out and involuntarily closed my mouth around his thumb, my insides burning alive at all the sensations coursing through me. My cunt clenched around him, and he cried out himself, laughing softly as he did so. "That's what I thought..."

I wanted to watch him the way he watched me, to study his features and his movements and take it all in with reverence, but he was too fucking good at this. He was so skilled in the art of rendering me senseless, all I could do was lay there and take it. He gave himself to me in the most intimate, soul-crushing way, and I wanted to bask in it forever.

His other hand snaked along the inside of my thigh and held me open for him as he looked down, watching himself fuck me. I barely caught glimpses of his wandering gaze, wondering how he could be so focused when it was taking everything I had to stay cognizant. I blamed it on my lack of experience with good sex, and silently vowed to myself that one day I would return the favor.

Until then, I would lay at Spencer's mercy and take pleasure in the simple fact that he was willing to give me this― to give me a piece of himself that would no doubt ruin any other partner. He was setting the standard and exceeding it simultaneously. He was kind and caring and considerate. He was thorough and thoughtful.

And he was making me come. Hard.

The orgasm hit me out of nowhere, my body stuttering in quick, pulsing flashes of pleasure that got stronger and stronger each second. Spencer fucked me through it with ease, never missing a beat. His thumb slid out from my mouth and down my chin, allowing me to cry out for him all I wanted, which, seemingly was his goal.

"That's my good girl," he breathed, his voice tight. Perhaps he wasn't as put together as I thought. "Let it all out for me... Please..."

Please... God, that word sounded so good falling from his lips. It echoed in my mind as I gave him what he wanted, though not from choice. It was like his movements and his words were designed specifically to draw the sounds from my body. I would have given them to him anyway, but I didn't have to try, and that was the magic of it all. He knew exactly what would keep me mewling through the most intense pleasure of my life, and I was more than happy to allow him the pleasantry.

His orgasm came at the tail-end of mine, and though I was steadily growing tired at the exertion, I found the strength to clench around him again, recalling how he'd reacted before. I reached for his hand and allowed him to lace our fingers together as he came with a loud shuddering sigh.

Finally, I was able to focus, another chill running its course through my nervous system as Spencer pulsated inside me. His movements faltered as he spilled over, filling me so deep that I had no choice but to gasp again. My name sounded heavenly on his tongue as it danced in the air behind curses and sighs, and suddenly I understood why he enjoyed hearing my sounds so much. The warmth that bloomed in my chest as I watched and felt and heard him come undone above me delivered me to the most prideful of feelings.

I watched as his face relaxed, felt as his body eased and fell away from mine, and before I had time to even think of what to say, he was moving, kneeling at the end of the bed and spreading my legs again.

Oh, my God...

I couldn't even tell if I said the expression out loud, but I certainly felt its gravity in my bones, low and reverberating as Spencer inspected his work.

His fingers barely caught what had leaked out, and then his tongue followed suit, licking a gentle hot stripe up the seam of me. My fingers clutched at the comforter underneath me, searching for any sign of stability as my senses started to lose control once more.

"Darling," he praised, kissing the inside of my thigh, "you took me so well..."

I was halfway through telling him, "Thank you," when he started licking at my clit, making me stutter. He took his time, tasting me thoroughly while filling me with his fingers. Between drowning in the residual pleasure of my previous orgasm and also in the sounds he was making below me, it wasn't long before another one approached. It was sharp and quick, making my back arch up off the mattress as Spencer sucked my clit into oblivion.

Rather than incoherent cries of pleasure, the only thing that dared to leave my mouth at the sensation was a very loud, very appropriate, "Fuck!" to the evening air.

The curse tumbled out over and over again as the orgasm rocked through me, and he pulled himself away from me at the end of it with a shit-eating grin. "Such a dirty mouth..."

It took me a few seconds to catch my breath, shivering as he climbed back up on the bed and laid beside me. "You're one to talk, Doctor."

"I guess I'm a poor influence. Sorry."

It was mostly a joke, but I could tell that he believed there was some truth to his words. I did my best to reassure him, not only because he was my boss and I needed to reinstate the idea that we both made the decision to sleep together, not just him, but also because I secretly hoped he wouldn't regret the decision at all— regret me. Selfishly, I wanted to know if he'd consider keeping me around as more than just a nanny. I wanted to know if there was even a slight chance that this wouldn't end in total emotional disaster.

"You have nothing to be sorry for... Nothing..."

Spencer studied me for a moment, something settling in his eyes that I couldn't quite place, but it felt... warm. It was a different warmth than the searing heat that his gazes had radiated before. Perhaps it was wishful, foolish thinking, but I almost imagined it feeling akin to the realization that you were falling in love— the type of warmth that terrified yet excited you all the same, that triggered your nerves and also gave you hope.

It reminded me of that dangerous, beautiful hope that lingered in his smile every time he'd come home from a long day at work to see me and Benny safe and sound in the comfort of his home.

His hand gently brushed mine, I laced our fingers together, and that's when he finally responded.

"Neither do you, you know... I meant what I said. Every word." His fingers tightened in mine, and I felt myself become breathless again. "You're perfect. And I'm lucky to have you."

"You're just saying that because it's my birthday," I joked, trying to keep myself from crying in front of him. I didn't know why that was so important to me, especially considering just a few hours ago I'd decided not to hide the truth from him, no matter how emotional and teary of a truth it was.

Spencer pressed his forehead to mine, sighing my name through a smile. "You are... the best thing that has happened to me since Benny. I was afraid to admit it at the start, but... You're so good to him, and so good to me... I genuinely don't ever want to know what life would be like without you."

I couldn't help it then. My vision was suddenly obscured by tears, and I was blinking them away, letting him capture my lips in a tender kiss that rivaled any other.

I prayed in that very moment that there would be more like them in the future.

CODA: All My Rings Will Be Made of Gold.

Turns out, there had been plenty more, and then some.

It's hard to choose a favorite, though obviously I'm quite biased when it comes to my boys. So, I suppose it's easy for me to recall the night I got engaged as my favorite.

I wasn't nannying for Benny anymore; He was in school during the day (Kindergarten! I cried dropping him off on his first day, and Spencer had to console me with kisses and ice cream), and by that point I'd been moved into the apartment for almost a year.

I was out grocery shopping, and when I came home, there were flowers all over the floor, bright colors scattered in an obvious trail that led to the bedrooms. I didn't quite understand what was happening, but my heart still hammered in my chest, unable to shake that feeling of warmth and hope.

"Boys? What are you up to?" I called, dropping the bags off in the kitchen and following the flowers.

They were both kneeling on the floor of Benny's bedroom, Spencer with an open ring box in his hand, and Benny with a piece of paper in his.

"Will you be my mom?"

Really, how could I have said no? There isn't a world in which I ever would have, but even still. Benny was unable to sit still, waiting for me to answer him, and I remembered the night they presented me with that first birthday cake of many for years to come. He was the same way then, happier than ever to surprise me, and meanwhile all I wanted to do was burst into tears over how much love I was feeling.

Unlike that night, however, I was simply unable to tease him with the anticipation of an answer. I couldn't even pretend to consider it, not for a moment. It was the easiest answer I'd ever given. To this day, it still is.

Benny ran up and hugged me the tightest he ever had before, and Spencer got up from the ground to meet us, slipping a thin gold band on my finger as I repeated the word to him through the tenderest of kisses.

"Yes."

THE END.

[localcryptidsteg]

Imma be so real for a minute

I have so much beef with how this was done

He stopped a meeting on saving these kids' Mother and his friend because having him clock Nightshade was apparently more important.

Sir? SIR. Just default to using their name, you can ask pronouns when their family aint at risk.

And that's not even TOUCHING line delivery. It's done in SUCH a clunky, unnatural manner. Especially when Optimus doesn't ever actually ask a question? He actually just pauses, and Mo immediately jumps to "Oh, he doesn't know their pronouns!" Instead of the much more reasonable "oh they met like one scene ago, he probably forgot their name"

Also... having Mo answer for them doesn't sit well. Theres the whole mindshare fuckery going on which, cool, fine ok? Do it LITERALLY any other time, AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD LET THE NONBINARY KID ANSWER FOR THEMSELF??? This is a fairly personal question, why is Mo answering for Nightshade here? Especially when, again, ONE SCENE earlier, Nightshade has ZERO problem answering for themself during introductions.

I LOVE that Nightshade is nonbinary but there are so many better points at which this could have been brought up, in FAR more organic ways, and in a way that gives Nightshade full autonomy over the situation.

Maybe it's because Im an older queer and I remember when outing other people was actively and widely seen as being dangerous (it still is by the way, don't do this to others) and there was no real overt media representation for the nonbinary community, idk, but how it gets handled in the show leaves me with a baaaaaad taste in my mouth. Maybe Im just too picky, I've never really seen anyone else bring it up, but there it is.

The way Nightshade is confirmed to use they/them and Optimus apologized and moved on properly is so nice

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 9: The One Where You Choose Your Own Brazilian Adventure

My planned post – the “In Dedication of JVN” one where I fangirl over Jonathan Van Ness and what a fun and interesting piece of the Lukola puzzle he is – was derailed today because I was once again asked about Brazil. Well, more specifically, I was asked about whether I thought we were ever going to get those steamy, hopefully X-rated pictures, from Brazil. There’s pictures?!

In truth, I thought we’d collectively squeezed that grapefruit dry and left the rind somewhere between Italy and the Glamour Awards.

Alas, here I am writing about Brazil.

It’s funny because I’ve never thought much about Brazil. I know, I know! How could I possibly type those words without my nose growing six inches in front of my face? Well, it’s because it was always Australia that intrigued me. More on that later…

So why exactly do we believe there are pictures from Brazil? And, why do we think they are going to prove some kind of hot affair between Luke and Nicola? This theory is likely fueled by rumor; rumor born from how Luke and Nicola behaved towards each other while they were in Brazil.

I thought it would be fun to play a little game of “Choose Your Own Adventure” to determine if we’re ever going to see these alleged pictures. And, yes, I will be a very sarcastic bitch when doing this.

Before I start, though, I want to give a quick shout out to my dear friend, whom I shall call The-One-Who-Drops-Random-Pics-Into-Our-Group-Chat-and-Lets-Us-Sweat-Over-Them-for-Atleast-Three-Minutes-Before-Finally-Explaining-Them. She was a wealth of information about Brazil and even had a nice mother-daughter chat with me about the significance of a clean-shaven face (pardon me for never having dated a bearded man, which is odd because I find facial hair quite attractive).

Now, gather ‘round and I shall give you a little prologue to our adventure!

I’m sure most of you already know all about Brazil. In fact, many of you are probably self-described experts at this point. But, for those who are new here, let me go ahead and light the candles and set the ambiance for you. 

On May 19, Luke and Nicola were shuttled off to do their beach photoshoot in Brazil. You know, the one where Nicola was walking the dogs; Luke was strumming the guitar; Nicola was being all girlfriend-like fixing Luke’s jacket; Luke was gazing up at Nicola at the pub while she was touching his neck; and then there was that moment when we all thought they might kiss. Yeah, all that plus Luke’s scruffy face from the week prior suddenly appeared clean-shaven. Apparently, you can never be too “Casual” when you’re headed down south (pun intended – as was that Chappell Roan reference). And, about now is where I’ll “insert disclaimer that this is speculation only.”

The following day, we had the actual premiere. I’m not sure what those two were up to before the premiere but both were un-fucking-hinged by the time they made it to the red carpet. We had angel-face Nicola looking up at Luke like he had created the universe and Luke answering Nicola’s Little Red Riding Hood vibe with one sexy ass Big Bad Wolf persona. I mean, the bits and bobs that came out of Luke’s mouth that day! “There’s a carriage downstairs.” “I mean, in this heat, all I’m thinking about is when we didn’t have to wear clothes ‘cos that would be quite nice right now.” “I mean the show is proof that it is [okay to kiss your friends].” With Nicola whispering back, “This is true.” Then there was Luke taking that mic without taking his eyes off Nicola. We had Luke helping Nicola put on her bracelets because – God forbid! – she let go of him for 30 seconds to do it her fucking self. And, let’s not forget about the two of them holding on to each other behind that woman’s back (I’m sorry, I don’t recall her name and I’m too lazy to look it up – mainly, because I’m certain most of you don’t really care about that other woman).

We were also given snippets of Luke and Nicola at the premiere afterparty, looking like two people who, at a minimum, enjoyed each other’s company. They greeted fans outside the venue and, as they walked away together, Nicola seemingly put her hand on Luke’s lower back as if to guide him in the right direction (go ahead – let your imagination run wild – it’s a great opening for a FanFic).

Then, throw in the beach walk with the giant security guard; the interview where Nicola was wearing the fluffy pink skirt and the two of them talked about Chappell Roan’s “Kaleidoscope” (seriously, those two were listening to that song together?); Nicola couldn’t stop giggling about the “meat” of the Carriage Scene; and Luke appeared perhaps a smidge too interested in Nicola’s answer about what she looks for in a man (which fit perfectly into Luke’s “Like, how nice is it when someone notices, like, your kindness or your sense of humor?”). And, we can’t ignore them seemingly sharing a tea cup and Luke reaching for Nicola’s spoon after she’d sampled a dish. Don’t even get me started on over-analyzing Luke’s “manspread” that day.

Let’s also not forget about the rumor portion of this Brazilian escapade – because that is what fuels the sexy hot pictures theory and the central plot of our storied adventure.

Rumor has it Luke and Nicola spent a lot of time with each in Brazil.

By themselves.

In one or the other’s room.

On the beach.

By the pool.

There were also rumors of them making out in the hotel hallway.

The only evidence we have of any “alone time” are some pictures that were dumped on X of them dining together alone, without any other members of their team.

Now that the backdrop has been set, let’s go on my little adventure.

During the summer between my 7th and 8th grade years, I was bored out of my mind. I grew up in the countryside. No neighbors. No sidewalks. No cable! Just fields, wooded areas, and my two sisters, both of whom had no interest in entertaining me that summer. My mother suggested I read. After boredom had dug itself so far into my being that I was left with no choice but to read, I finally ventured over to the bookshelf and grabbed the thinnest book I could find. It was a “Choose Your Own Adventure.”

If you don’t know what a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book is, then you (and your children) are missing out. Basically, you play the role of the protagonist and make choices to determine the outcome of your story. Sometimes you make the right choice and survive; other times you make the wrong choice and get turned into a little mouse that may or may not be eaten by a cat.

Here we go.

As the protagonist of our story, you are:

THE EMPLOYEE

You’re an employee of the hotel Nicola and Luke stayed at while in Brazil. You have sworn to maintain the privacy of hotel guests; you’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement of sorts to protect the privacy of guests, especially since you have access to VIP areas. You can be a housekeeper, a watchman, a concierge, a seven-foot-tall security guard, whatever tickles your fancy. Doesn’t matter – you’re all bound by the same provisions to protect the privacy of the hotel’s guests. But, in this story, let’s say you’re the housekeeper because – what’s that old saying – the only person who knows everything going on in the house is the maid?

You’re cleaning Nicola’s room and you find lots of signs of a man being in the room. In fact, you find a coat that looks exactly like the one Luke was wearing the night of the premiere. Oh my. As you’re leaving, you see two people making out in the hallway – headed straight towards the room you’re just leaving!  It looks like Nicola and Luke. What do you do?

Choice A: Well, you’re a pervy housekeeper so you pull your phone out and start taking pictures. I mean, those two are so into each other, they don’t even notice. You then run and play show-and-tell with your friends because you can’t keep a damn secret. Unfortunately for you, that gossip spreads faster than lice in a preschool, and hotel management tracks your ass down because, guess what, your friends can’t keep a secret either. So, congratulations on being fired. You’re meeting with the lawyers is first thing in the morning. Oh, we also need your phone and the names of all your friends.

Choice B: You respect the privacy of Nicola and Luke and simply turn and walk the opposite direction. Taking photos of them never even crossed your mind! But, damn, what a good story to tell your bestie when you get home, even if you don’t have “receipts.”

THE VIP GUEST

You’re a random guest staying at the hotel. In fact, you’re a random VIP guest staying on the same floor as Nicola and Luke. When you checked in, you signed a non-disclosure agreement. I mean, you want your privacy protected, too! And, heck, NDAs are thrown out like candy these days. You’ve seen so many at this point, you don’t even bother to read them.

You take the elevator up to your floor and, as you step into the hallway, you’re confronted with – goddammit, there’s two motherfuckers all over each other! The guy is trying to slide his key into the door, but the woman’s dress is so awkwardly large, he can’t seem to find the right slot! You realize the people look a lot like those two stars from Bridgerton, and your best friend, Effie, is a huge fan! What do you do?

Choice A: You can’t believe Effie is missing out on this excitement so, of course, you pull your phone out and start taking pictures!! I mean, that NDA you signed didn’t even cross your mind three minutes later when you were forwarding the pictures to Effie! And, because you can’t control what Effie does, she forwards the pictures to all her Bridgie buddies. The next morning you awaken to find the pictures all over X. Oopsie. You feel slightly guilty, and a bit peeved at Effie – but only until you’ve had your morning coffee.

Choice B: You take people’s privacy very seriously. Well, maybe you don’t take it that seriously, but it would be too difficult to dig your phone out of your handbag to take pictures. And, to be honest, Effie is the huge fan, not you. Plus, it seems the guy finally got that door open and damn, based on the sounds of it, he's unlocked something magical. Oh well. You’ll call Effie in the morning to tell her your story, if you remember it.

THE RANDOM STRANGER

You’re a random stranger taking an evening stroll along the beach. You love the sound of the ocean. It’s so peaceful…the sound of the waves… Ugh, what is that noise?! It sounds like – shit, it is! – two people snogging in a cabana about 10 yards away from you. Wait a minute – is that? Yeah, you think it could be! I mean, you were just at the Bridgerton premiere last night! What do you do? Without hesitation, you pull out your phone!

Choice A: You creep behind an umbrella and zoom in as close as possible with your camera! I mean, shite! You can’t believe this! How long have you been filming?  Probably longer than necessary but who cares? Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you, perhaps a seven-foot-tall presence, and you slowly turn around. Fuck! Who’s this guy?! He takes your phone, drops it to the ground, and stomps on it, shattering its insides.  Asshole.  You bend down to pick up the phone, but the man taps your shoulder and shakes his head, “No.” Well, umm, yeah, I guess you best be leaving.

Choice B: You use your camera to zoom in on the couple. Snap! Snap! Snap! Then you get the FUCK OUT OF THERE! You tell yourself you don’t look suspicious at all, even though you’re practically running and your heart is about to pound its way out of your chest! Oh, thank God, you’ve made it to your car. You start it up and, like I said, YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE! You get home and take a look at the photos! Goldmine! So, should you drop them on X? Maybe be a little see-you-next-Tuesday and try to sell them to Nicola or Luke’s teams? But, hell, you don’t even know where to start with that! Or, should you just pocket them for your own pleasure? You tell me….

The End.

Yes, I am absolutely being a facetious little ass! The above scenarios were for (the most part) my own entertainment. I mean, there are so many situations where these alleged pictures could exist (these playful ones don’t even scratch the surface). But, do the pictures exist?

If we’re being logical here, you would think that, if anyone in the general public were in possession of these alleged sexy-time pictures of Luke and Nicola, or had seen them, it would be all over social media at this point. I mean, ALL OVER. So, what can we deduce from the fact that they aren’t?

That the pictures probably don’t exist. Don’t shoot the messenger! Seriously, watch where you point that thing!

But, let’s say pictures did exist. Who is the most likely person to dump them on, say, X? The hotel employee, the VIP guest, or the random stranger? I would place money on the random stranger, followed by the VIP guest. The hotel employee, who probably has the most access to VIP guests but the strongest legal barriers, would be the least likely to photo dump. What is the likelihood that someone from one of these three groups – for example, a random stranger – (a) had pictures of Luke and Nicola, (b) didn’t drop them on social media, and/or (c) didn’t share them with someone who dropped them on social media?

I’m all for a good conspiracy theory but I find this one to be a hard pill to swallow.

Maybe one person can act as a lockbox for this kind of secret, but when you start including more people, the ability to keep something (like illicit photographs of two celebrities) out of the public eye diminishes rapidly.

Remember what Benjamin Franklin said, “Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”

Unfortunately, this quote is incredibly accurate. The general public cannot keep secrets.

If the pictures exist, they are most likely in the possession of Luke and/or Nicola’s team (of lawyers). So, unless they’re going to sneak them on to X for giggles (I mean, it’s been known to happen), you’re probably never going to see them – and that’s assuming they even exist.

However, if you’re the housekeeper from our first adventure and you happen to have some candid photographs you’re just dying to share, just find yourself a printer – one that cannot easily be linked back to you – and print them out. Then, “accidently” drop them at the feet of someone who knows exactly what they are, and then give them enough time to take their own photos of them and send them to their best friend’s brother’s sister-in-law’s third cousin’s wife’s neighbor, who could drop them on X for us. I mean, you should be golden with seven degrees of separation.

[theorist-fox]

There's no butler in The Usual Suspects

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

18+

Self-indulgent piece because I need some fluff in these hard times

Summary: Simon gets distracted while watching a movie, and then he gets distracted while watching you.

Word count: 2.8k

CW: Kevin Spacey Jumpscare and big fat spoiler for "THE USUAL SUSPECTS". Also, smut in established relationship (Simon is so whipped).

Let me know if you've been cockblocked as well.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

“’S Kobayashi,” he mutters.

You give him a look. “Kobayashi?”

“The—the criminal thing,” Simon gestures vaguely at the TV, legs spread in the spot next to yours on the sofa. “Wha’ was his name.”

He sees you connect the dots slowly, head tilted in question, and then you stifle a laugh when it hits you.

“The criminal thing? You mean Keyser Söze?”

He snaps his fingers at you in recognition. As if you haven’t seen the movie already and only sat down on the living room couch to have him watch it—because that’s a great film, you said. One he can't apparently miss.

“Tha’ one.”

“How can it be Kobayashi.” You deadpan as the TV buzzes with dialogues you’re not paying attention to anymore.

He shrugs. “S’always the butler.”

You chuckle, tucking your legs on the cushions. “Kobayashi’s not a butler.”

“Closest thing.”

“Have you been watching the movie at all?”

Simon gives you a side eye, arms crossed on his chest. Thinks. His gaze falls down your legs inconspicuously before rising up and following the curve of your hips, up until the plump of your breasts outlined by the fabric of your t-shirt. It’s a quick swipe you could’ve missed, but he knows you’ve caught him red-handed.

“Sorta.” He replies, though his voice has a certain hoarseness to it, now.

You give him a knowing smile, echoing the word right after him with so much skepticism he tastes it on his tongue.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning with his fingers, before gently curling them around your forearm to tug you in.

A quick pat on your thigh has you straddling his lap. You take the blanket with you, draped over your shoulders like a soft cape. Simon cups your hips with his palms, thumbs drawing mindless circles at your hipbones.

“The movie, Si.” You say softly, placing your hands on either side of his neck. 

But his eyes are already tracing the fine lines of your face, tiny imperfections he adores because they make you more real and less of a dream. 

“S’the butler, trust me.” He murmurs, and you chuckle under your breath.

“It's not the butler. There’s no bloody butler.”

It makes his lips curl in a smirk, because he knows you like being right—and he’s more than aware that you are, because, as you've told him for the nth time, there is no fucking butler in The Usual Suspects.

But he stopped watching the whole thing thirty minutes in, when he got the gist of the film, instead favoring to focus on you.

Can’t fucking believe he gets to witness this firsthand, eh?

Gets to have a pretty thing like you share her home. Share her meals. Her bed. Her thoughts, her glances, herself. Fuck, how he’d like to show this to his fucking father. Show him that you chose him, no matter how hard that bastard's tried to turn him into the same worthless sack of shit that he was.

So, frankly, sue him if he doesn’t care about this movie when you’re so obviously there—looking divine in your simplicity.

And now he has you exactly where he wants you. Plush thighs sitting atop his, tongue peeking out to wet your lips.

He leans forward and leaves a peck at the corner of your mouth. Then one kiss on your chin, one down your throat, to your collarbones. He's not choosy, kissing wherever his lips land.

He puckers his lips around your nipple, sucking through the cotton of your shirt, and you arch into him, inadvertently grinding your hips against where he’s already hard. You hiss and glower when he sinks his teeth around it, and his shoulders shake with a breathless laugh at how powerless you look, even if you’re trying your best to appear otherwise. 

Before you can chide him, however, he blinks up and gives you the softest of smiles—aware that he rarely offers them. Aware that they melt your resolve easily, like snow under the morning sun. 

So, really, it’s not long before you drop the blanket on the floor, pooling at his feet—his briefs and sweatpants coiled around his ankles. Your own clothes freckle the coffee table, or the armrest of the couch, or the carpet underfoot—he took them off you and tossed them away blindly, uncaring of where they landed.

It’s not long before he’s worked you open with his hand. Not long before he has you fuck yourself on two thick fingers he occasionally scissors inside you, watching you drag your clit across the heel of his hand—your breathless moans somehow louder than the barrage of gunshots blaring from the TV. 

He stuffs those same fingers in your mouth once he's satisfied with how wet you are. Watches how your cheeks sink at the suction. Feels the rough texture of your tongue coat his pads. He takes them out, then. Smears your spit on your lips only to kiss it with his own.

Soft hands are placed on his chest as he holds the base of his cock to help you sink on him. The screen of the TV creates a halo of light around your shoulders and back, and Simon thinks he’s being blessed—he’ll never get used to it, neither the sight of you nor the warmth of your sex.

Within minutes, he has you stretched around him, taking his cock as if you were born to do it. His palm lies flat on your lower belly, thumb rolling circles on your clit. Simon lets you ride him, watching mesmerized all the things you hate about yourself, all the things that make you so real to his eyes. 

He loves to watch you cum, but for selfish reasons. Not only do you feel heavenly clenching around his cock, milking it for all it's worth, but also because, unbeknownst to you, all those details you seem to despise suddenly bloom before his eyes.

The rolls of your stomach, and how they ripple when your orgasm stalks closer.

The lines curling around your mouth, the way they stretch when you stutter your moans, when you whisper his name among them—like a fucking prayer, like you only know how to say his own.

The crow’s feet at the corners of your eyes—you say they came too early, he says they make your eyes smile. 

And fuck if all that doesn’t make you prettier in his eyes, no matter what you think.

You’re entranced. Heavy lashes curtain your eyes, casting shadows on your cheekbones. It’s ethereal to look at you, wonderful thing in his arms, so abandoned in bliss because of him. Nails dig into the muscles of his shoulders, but there's no pain—not when the plump of your rear slaps against his thighs each time you come down to take him to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” He grunts against the tightness of his throat, “You wanna cum, yeah?”

He feels the knot of your clit getting raw under his thumb, so he grabs your jaw and sticks his finger in your mouth. Your lips close around the knuckle, and he watches with heavy eyes how you suck on it, lathering his pad with your spit, before he returns it to your sex. 

He draws his thumb back and forth on your clit, unsheathing it from its hood so that each stroke sends sparks up your spine. You jolt above him when he touches it right, and he drinks in the sight of you trembling when you try and resume the pace.

“You do, don’t you?” He asks again, "Sweet girl."

Your head bobs limply in a nod, and your lips twitch in a smile, because you know he’s going to comply. He'd never take a thing from you—always giving more, and more, and more.

“Fuckin' hell.” He curses under his breath, mouth dry like sandpaper. “I got you, love. I got you—c'mere."

Simon’s arms wrap around your waist to bring you in, allowing you the chance to rest the tireless work of your hips in order to favor his. Your forehead is in the crook of his neck now, and you’re curled into him as he holds you steady and fucks his cock into you from below. 

He whispers nothings in your ear. Calls you beautiful as you come apart piece by piece, unraveling like a spool of thread between his fingers while his calves burn from the strain. Let him be consumed, for all he cares—as long as you're there, sizzling hot and clammy and soft.

He laps at the sweat like dew on your neck, sucking love bites while being careful not to leave any dark spots behind. Though he would love, if anyone were to ask, to mark you up like you’re his property. Symbolic—someone his, and his only.

However, he figures his cock spearing you open is enough of a statement.

The TV drones muted dialogues, drowned in the slap of skin against skin and your soft breaths in his ear. Sweet fucking sounds, he thinks. Would taste like honey, feel like silk.

Liquid warmth wraps around his cock, a cocktail of your arousal and his. It makes something tighten at the apex of his thighs, makes his fingers twitch against the fat of your hips.

He wants to cum inside you. Wants to see it leak out and push it back in only to fuck you again. He wants your face warm and dizzy, your eyes rolled back, and his name on the tip of your tongue.

So, he bucks his hips and fucks his cock into you again, and again, and again. Until you're a shivering mess and your nails are leaving red marks on his back. Until you stumble over your moans and his grunts echo with your own. Curses, praises, whines pitching upwards and—

A bang from the TV.

You jump in his hold, whining something unintelligible over the ringing in his ears.

His mouth twitches in annoyance as he goes and resumes the pace, trying to give you back the orgasm you've clearly lost. One he's fucking lost, too.

But whatever’s happening in the movie must require some build-up of tension, because the volume suddenly skyrockets. 

He tries to pay it no mind. However, you seem to do.

“Turn off the thing,” you mumble through heavy breaths, gesturing blindly to where the remote should be. 

He huffs and looks around for it, using one hand to keep you still as he slows down with his hips. He finds it tucked between the cushions of the sofa and snatches it off before pointing at the TV. 

There, his eyes land on a scene. A close-up of two shoes, walking with a limp at first, and then straightening their step. Cut to a hand lifting a cigarette being brought to a pair of lips. 

“Bloody hell.” 

His voice is so croaky that it has you lift your head in worry, movements coming to a halt. You palm his jaw, your breath puffing against his cheek.

“What? You alright?” You fumble, brows pinching right above your nose. “Did I hurt you?”

“T’was Kint.” He mumbles, frowning in thought. 

The air still smells of sex, but there isn’t an ounce of it left in either of you. You blink, as if the motion could bring you back to earth, as if it could make you forget how painfully tight you’re stretched around him.

“Wh-what?” You pant, confused. Clearly, blood still hasn't made its way back to your head. “Who?”

“Keyser Söze.”

You almost flinch when he says that. Eyes wide and a big, fat question mark floating above your head. Slack-jawed. Befuddled. 

Only when your fucked-out brain connects the dots do you snort.

“K-Keyser So—what the fuck, Simon?” You chuckle under your breath, “Now? Really?”

He blinks. Drops the hand holding the remote next to his thigh with such abandon one might think he’s just received the worst news of his life. Then, he looks up at you, one arm still wrapped around your side, fingers grazing at your tailbone.

“Really fuckin’ thought t'was the butler.” He mumbles in disappointment, but his lips twitch in a smirk.

You burst into a laugh above him, throwing your head back. It ripples through your stomach in waves that rumble against his own, and he realizes that it looks even better when it happens because of this instead of an orgasm. 

It tugs at his heartstrings, and so he tugs you a little closer. 

When you return your eyes to him and bring your hands to cup his cheeks, he nuzzles your palm and presses a kiss against it.

“Told you there was no butler in The Usual Suspects,” you say a little smugly, but with a smile that could brighten up a room.

Simon holds your eyes for a moment longer, and then he wiggles his fingers against your side to steal another laugh out of you. 

“Yeah, alrigh’ smartarse.”

He lifts you up enough to place you on your back on the sofa, tucking his hips between your thighs. He slides his cock inside you again, but you’re so wet that you barely react to it. His hand comes to cup your cheek, while the other one slips between your bodies to brush against your clit.

It throbs under his touch, asking for attention. He gives it, reverently, as he slides in and out of you at the slowest of paces, rolling idle circles that cause the air to lodge in your throat.

You hold him with your arms around his neck, occasionally grazing his scalp with your fingers. Your lips travel from his cheek to his jaw, until you’re softly biting into the meat of his shoulder when he hits something that feels particularly good.

He fucks you languidly this time, as the credits of the film roll like background noise. Simon makes love to you with each lazy kiss down your neck and each slow drag of his cock—deliberate movements that give your orgasm the chance to build up slowly, coiling around your belly up to your throat in a blazing warmth that Simon feels stick to his chest.

It’s not long before you cum around him, huffing heavily from your nose while your teeth sink deeper into his skin. That does it for him, and the knot at the base of his cock finally snaps, causing syrupy hot warmth to travel all the way to the tips of his toes. Simon cums with a muted groan, and his body gives out until his chest falls flush to yours. He spills inside of you and traps your lips in a heavy kiss—because you taste so much better when you’re still shivering underneath him.

Your breath is hot as it hits the damp skin of his neck. Your mouth is warm when you press it to the shell of his ear. And when he comes back to his senses, he props his weight on one arm and looks down at you, basking in the afterglow.

The telly drones silently as it displays the front page of some streaming service you pay for. It’s the only light in the living room, and it bathes you in soft oranges and ruddy shades.

You look lovely like this, he thinks.

He pulls out of you, careful when you wince as his cock drags against your sensitive walls. He watches with rapt attention as his cum leaks out of your hole—it makes his eye twitch and his cock ache once again.

But you seem sated, glassy eyes slow blinking at the ceiling. Chest rising and falling softly.

So, he relents to your wishes and stuffs the thought of having you for a second time in the back of his mind.

And since he knows neither of you can be arsed to clean the sofa in case it stains, he uses his fingers to gently push his cum back inside. You read his mind and cant your hips upward so it won't leak out again.

“Guess perception wasn’t one of the SAS requirements, uh?” You tease him breathlessly, toying with the hair at his nape. A snort escapes you, and you mock his gruff voice. "S'always the butler."

He narrows his eyes and flicks your nose because he knows it'll make you smile. Then, he brings his hand between your faces, watching how his middlemost fingers glisten under the soft light from the telly. 

“How ‘bout you put tha’ mouth of yours to better use, mh?”

You scrunch your nose in a smile. “Like what?”

“Could clean this up, for starters.” He mumbles with a smirk.

You snort. “Charming.”

He gives you a cheeky side eye, but ultimately moves his hand out of the way to kiss your smile. His chuckle is hoarse against your mouth, inviting and warm, as his kisses turn playfully sloppy just to rile you up and have you giggle underneath him.

And you cherish it—like you do every time—by kissing him in kind.

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Eps 30-33 Commentary

No meta, just reactions! I have less to say about some eps so I'm combining several episodes worth. To make up for my head-emptiness and lack of meta, I've included more pictures lmao. Spoilers under the cut!

Ep 30:

"You really are pitiful." Li Lun waking up thinking of ZYC's words oooh they did that opening line for Li Lun/ZYC lovers (me)

What a homoerotic way to give the Truth Eye

ZYC and ZYZ having their first drink(s) together here, ZYZ and Li Lun having one last game of chess here. Gay ppl will go “I know a place” and take you to a damp cave and a little stone table in the Wilderness

Oof. The apparent inherence of winning/losing in their activity of choice compared to the drinks that took place here between ZYC and ZYZ. Even with a draw, it’s competitive by nature. If Li Lun knew about the three (very intense, very intimate) toasts that came before in this very spot, I wonder how aggrieved he’d feel.

Ah well there goes the date spot /:

I’m so happy to see LZY (Bai Jiu’s actor) get to fight! His fight scenes in MTJY were awesome and he continues to impress here as well. It’s so fun to watch!

………..to revisit my question from previous commentary about when the grievances against Ying Lei will end, the answer is never ;-;

Damn…For ZYC to promise to spare Li Lun after all that Li Lun has put him through specifically and personally. ZYC really fucking loves ZYZ doesn’t he.

I’m so fucked up over Ying Lei’s last words jesus christ.

ZYC sobbing and feeling the fleeting warmth of the rock Ying Lei was just leaning against…when will the world stop taking away his family members??? His brothers???

That scene of everyone looking at Bai Jiu after Ying Lei dissipates. The fact that he's right there. And it’s like they traded one life for another. The two babies of the group. Goddammit.

Do NOT hit me with Bai Jiu’s actor singing “Broken-Tailed Bird” right now oh my god

So like…regarding ZYZ losing his demonic power, does he still count as the most evil demon of ZYC’s time? Can someone ring Ying Long and ask?

ZYC crybaby oh no I can’t believe he’s crying over ZYZ being so weakened aw I love him

My god, Bai Jiu running after Ying Lei and into ZYC’s arms has to be one of my favorite sequences in the whole show. So so good. So so painful. Between this scene, all the flashbacks, and ZYC’s reaction when he died, I’m at least glad the show is spending so much screen time and significance on Ying Lei’s send-off, even if I’m heartbroken that he’s gone. We couldn’t even have the whole family reunited for one moment.

Also have you ever seen a man so mother?

No but seriously "Cry if you want...[tears] have to do with our hearts" ZYC my healthy masculinity king!!!

This song fucking hurtssssssssss this cheese (it's buttermilk) hurts everything hurts

I’m glad PSJ gets time and space to react. Her lines about being a mortal and not being needed are so good but also ow!!! And oh WX always knows exactly what to say to her 🥹

I love everything ZYC says to Bai Jiu about each family member (like yeahhh WX is unlucky 😭 and yeaahHH PSJ does need support too) but MAN the way he says ZYZ’s name is so fucking good. The fact that it gets so much emotion across without saying a single word further as he gets interrupted. His voice and his expression both collapsing a little in that moment. Efficiency of acting strikes again.

Is it even possible for ZYC to cherish this little family more?

Yo this dramatic ass lighting on ZYZ and ZYC standing in the doorway. Why y’all need so much drama just to talk? Also oughhhh ZYC’s gaze is a mess looking every which way while discussing WX’s poison. He is such a bad liar (but he looks so good doing it). Is that why they gotta talk about this like ten feet apart so ZYZ can’t see him lying? Lmao

Okay also tho if ZYC's coming around looking like this I am not hearing a single thing he's saying:

They flashed back to the previous time ZYC held his hand out but cut away from ZYZ taking it this time. Is it bc the absolutely unfettered tension between them can’t pass censors anymore? Haha god but that shot of ZYC slowly meeting ZYZ’s eyes from ZYZ’s POV whewwww we don’t got the skinship but their gazes are kind of insane??? TJR in blue contacts is too powerful I'm shaking somebody needs to stop him.

Ep 31:

Trying so hard not to be driven a little crazy by the lapses in continuity in this show (‘: It’s just tonal and costuming stuff that are a little difficult for me to ignore, just the fact that it’s kind of apparent which scenes were filmed in what order based on their costume/styling changes + the sets, and how sometimes the tone from the previous events don’t smoothly carry over because of this. But it's momentary, I just gotta. Power through.

YO the Pei siblings sparring was so cool and for what. They should have had WX spectating instead of staring at nothing in the previous scene (-:

Damn how long has it been since they played the fun music. Also feels kind of wrong without Ying Lei though fml

Awwww Qing Geng I missed her she’s so cute!! I wasn't doing ep commentaries during her arc so I gotta make up for it here. Her actress is so talented and adorable, and her costuming in this show is stunning!! Her lashes!! Her colors!!

THE TREE BRANCHES lmfaooo ZYC what happened to being worried for ZYZ’s weak body?? We really haven't had a moment like this in so long though (':

Well I do like the reason why WZY had a fake out death, that’s pretty clever and narratively sound, but also oh god what in the AOT??? The inner cores hidden in the medicine is some odious fucking work dear lord

I also like that the endgame is coming about from what initially seemed like another small-time case. Of course the evil physician's huge scheme at the end weaponizes plague and poison and medicine.

Ayeee fun that they used the teleporter on WZY instead of as a getaway

Lmfao ZYC just standing there taking a huge hit of the poison smoke. Poor baby doesn’t watch movies and doesn’t know smoke from a bad guy always means some kind of poison

Why does poisoned!ZYC have such an incredible smokey-eye siren look I’m shook

After knowing the poison is about indulging in your greatest wishes, the first moment ZYC woke up and approached ZYZ they sure looked like they were about to indulge in something sorry ignore me

The way this is so similar to ZYZ’s imaginings where he and WX always turn around and look at the camera. The show wants censors to believe they’re looking at ZYZ but we've known all along who the third POV is here

Also why aren’t ZYC’s bro and dad in the wish illusion?

Ohh the eerie instrumental rendition of the OST when ZYC draws his sword is too good. And yesss we were so due for some more crazy dream fuckery like is this real? Is this real??

Ep 32:

The team is spread so thin )-: One man (mountain god) down and a whole town to save and an immortal villain to vanquish.

WZY's eagerness in trying to goad ZYC into killing himself while poisoned is so so sinister goddamn. I love how disturbing it is to slowly realize what he wants without any lines at all

ZYZ shielding ZYC from a huge fucking fireball with just his hand is adorable and sad:

I already normally love Li Lun's whole leaf-swirly entrances and exits but you know I cheered when he deus ex machina-ed his way here!!! With that bgm too!!!

Li Lun came back to accept ZYC into their throuple. He's had some time to think and yeah he's decided ZYC's kinda hot and maybe shouldn't die or else ZYZ will be sad.

):

ZYC's soft and anguished, "Qing Geng" when he realizes she gave him her inner core. That's my bleeding heart hero ;-;

Throuple of the fucking yearrrrrr:

Spoiler for ep 33/34 but—watching Bai Jiu watch the three of them and realize he can't do anything to help here... It would have been dangerous for him to stay, but I wonder if things could have ended differently ):

Ep 33:

Oughhhhh Pei Siheng ))): The cruel fucking poetry of PSJ, the most emotionally closed-off character, having her heart, her brother, made into her armor. And then to lose him once more.

ZYC proving time and again that his heart is entirely boundless and he'll shelter anyone from the rain and he just wants everyone to live:

LI LUN/ZYC LOVERS HOW ARE WE FEELIN'?!?

Did not expect MORE ZYC choking now that they're on the same side but yeah Li Lun is not one to let go of a good thing I get it. I'm screaming but I get it. "I'm giving you half my demonic power" yeah right just admit you like doing this dw Li Lun this is a safe space.

Literally what am I watching and also no don't mind me, keep going. Feral over ZYC dropping his hand and letting it happen.

But lmfao the way Li Lun did not need to be doing all that, like he sends his power out to ZYZ without even making physical contact. He could've just grabbed ZYC by the shoulder.

Can't believe I just keep winning:

ZYC didn't even know what Li Lun was doing putting his arms around him and he just let it happen. That's some next level trust.

Ah goodbye Li Lun, presumably another victim of the "(ex-)villains can't have good endings" brand of censorship

Oof I love that the initial horror after the seeming victory is reserved first for the simple fact that ZYC and ZYZ are separated, that ZYC can't go to him the way he was intending to. Even when it's unclear yet that WZY is still alive, just the wrongness of them being divided this way is so poignant. ZYC has such a helpless look about him when he says ZYZ's name.

Goddammit WZY saw Li Lun choke ZYC and got ideas.

Oh I love the uncertainty of whether the One-Word Spell works on ZYC or not. ZYZ's sudden and intense fear. Also though WZY tries to use ZYC dying as a deterrent for ZYZ blowing up the barrier but he's literally choking the life out of ZYC as we speak

Bai Jiu's completely unrestrained screaming and crying in pain is so brutal to listen to. His scenes go on forever. Also, the choice of having some of his flashbacks be blurred and vague in the background, once again something privately kept for the character

ZYC holding out his hand to ZYZ a third time ;-; The utter relief of being able to reach each other again paralleling that previous horror of separation.

ZYC physically feeling Bai Jiu's death oh god. We do not get a single moment of happiness and victory in this drama everything is bought with pain and returns pain I hate it here.

Also another post-finale thought (spoilers for the end of the drama)—If ZYZ remained in his weakened state, I really am curious if he would have still met the conditions of the prophecy (ZYC being cursed to kill the most evil demon of his time, if the prophecy is indeed conditional like that, of course). If that could have been a technical loophole, did Li Lun giving both of them his power and then ZYC giving ZYZ his as well basically fulfill it again? I mean, logistically speaking, without that extra power, I'm not sure if ZYZ would have been able to trigger the Baize cycle again (or whatever it is he did to save the town). So the show's final tragedy can be traced all the way back to these moments of giving out of love and protection, just as Bai Jiu being in the perfect place for his final sacrifice came about because ZYC, ZYZ, and Li Lun were trying to protect him and get him out of danger. The way love and grief are so helplessly, inevitably intertwined that one begets the other. They were all just trying to save each other.

On that completely painful note, that's 30-33! And it'll be downhill from here for the next one (-:

[satellite-evans]

The Artist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: sometimes, an artist is far more interesting than the art itself.

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: fluff, angst? Anthony not being able to mind his own business, briefly mention of parents passing away

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Lady Danbury’s soirées were the heart of the social season—part chessboard, part battlefield, where every glance and whisper held strategic importance. Benedict Bridgerton, however, approached such gatherings as an observer rather than a player. He found the art on the walls more captivating than the posturing of the ton.

Wandering through Lady Danbury’s grand halls, Benedict stopped before a painting of a turbulent sea, his thoughts briefly drifting to his own half-finished sketches. A voice interrupted him, sharp and vibrant.

“It’s ambitious, but overworked. The sea churns, but the emotion feels... manufactured.”

He turned to see her: a young woman standing a few steps away, her posture poised yet unguarded. She wore her beauty with an effortless confidence, her eyes a vivid storm of intellect and intrigue. She wasn’t like the other women at the ball, fluttering fans and batting lashes. She observed the world with precision, as though she’d already decided it was hers to command.

“An intriguing critique,” Benedict replied, his interest piqued. “Though perhaps the chaos was intentional. Sometimes life demands a lack of restraint.”

Her gaze flicked to him, assessing. “Chaos is compelling, but it must be tempered with truth. This, Mr. Bridgerton, is a performance.”

“You know my name,” he noted, smiling. “You have the advantage over me, Miss...?”

“Y/N,” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “And I find that knowing one’s audience is the first rule of any conversation.”

He inclined his head. “A lesson I’ll remember. Tell me, Miss Y/N, are you always this direct?”

Her lips curved into a subtle smile, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned back to the painting. “Do you sketch? You look at this piece as though you’re searching for something beyond the surface.”

Benedict blinked, surprised by her insight. “I do, though I’ve yet to create anything worth showing. You?”

“I paint,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But my work isn’t for the ton’s galleries. Some things are too personal to display.”

“Now you’ve made me curious,” he said, stepping closer. “What would it take to see one of your pieces?”

She tilted her head, her gaze teasing. “Persistence. But I should warn you—I am not easily impressed.”

Benedict smiled, already intrigued by the challenge. “Good. I prefer earning my victories.”

Before she could respond, Lady Danbury’s voice carried through the hall. “Ah, Benedict, I see you’ve met Miss Y/N. And what do you think of her opinions? Sharp as a rapier, aren’t they?”

Benedict glanced at Y/N, his expression warm. “Quite sharp, indeed. But rapier wit is vastly preferable to dull pleasantries.”

Lady Danbury chuckled. “I agree. Well, don’t let me interrupt. Though, Y/N, your brother Charles is looking for you. Something about the carriage.”

At the mention of her brother, Y/N’s composure shifted slightly. “Thank you, Lady Danbury. I’ll find him shortly.”

As Lady Danbury swept away, Benedict offered Y/N a small bow. “Will you grant me the honor of a dance before you leave?”

“Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes glinting with amusement. “If you’re persistent enough.”

Before Benedict could craft a suitably clever reply, a deep voice broke through the moment. “Y/N, it’s getting late.”

Both turned to see a tall man striding toward them, his posture commanding yet measured. He was dressed impeccably, the weight of responsibility apparent in his expression. His resemblance to Y/N—sharp features and the same striking eyes—was unmistakable.

Charles stopped beside them and inclined his head politely toward Benedict before addressing his sister. “The hour grows late, and I believe Lady Danbury is beginning to hint that the soirée is winding down.”

Y/N offered her brother a cool yet affectionate look. “You always did have an impeccable sense of timing, Charles.”

Benedict, recovering quickly, stepped forward with a polite bow. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Benedict Bridgerton.”

Charles’s gaze sharpened slightly at the name before he returned the bow with measured precision. “Charles Y/L/N, Earl of Whitestone.”

Benedict’s eyebrows lifted in recognition, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Whitestone? I believe my brother, Anthony, has spoken of you. He mentioned you were recently elevated to the title.”

Charles gave a brief nod, his tone guarded but civil. “Anthony and I have known each other for some years. He’s a good man, and an excellent Viscount.”

“As I’m certain you’re an excellent Earl,” Benedict replied smoothly, sensing the protective edge to Charles’s demeanor.

The corner of Charles’s mouth twitched upward, though he remained composed. “I do what I can, though the title comes with its share of burdens. And you, Mr. Bridgerton, seem to have a knack for engaging my sister in conversation.”

Benedict chuckled lightly, inclining his head toward Y/N. “Your sister is an extraordinary conversationalist, my lord. I find myself quite fortunate to have made her acquaintance tonight.”

Charles’s gaze flicked to Y/N, who appeared unruffled by the exchange but wore a faint smile of amusement. “Fortunate, indeed,” Charles said evenly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe it’s time to depart. Y/N?”

Y/N turned back to Benedict, her expression unreadable but her tone cordial. “Thank you for the discussion, Mr. Bridgerton. Perhaps we’ll meet again, should the occasion allow.”

Benedict bowed, his tone warm. “I certainly hope so, Miss Y/N.”

As Charles and Y/N walked toward their waiting carriage, Benedict watched them leave, his thoughts lingering on the sharp wit and quiet allure of Y/N.

Charles, walking slightly ahead of his sister, cast a glance back toward Benedict, then murmured to her, “He seems taken with you.”

Y/N’s lips curved faintly as she replied, “Let him be. I’m hardly an easy conquest.”

Charles smirked faintly, his tone fond but serious. “Good. Just remember, Y/N, you’re worth far more than simple flattery and fleeting interest.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze forward but her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

The clatter of carriage wheels echoed faintly as Charles and Y/N made their way back to their townhouse. The dim glow of gas lamps illuminated the streets, casting fleeting shadows across Charles’s pensive expression.

“You like him,” Charles remarked, breaking the companionable silence. His voice was even, but his words were laced with a quiet observation.

Y/N glanced at her brother, her expression unreadable. “He’s intriguing. Sharp-witted. But liking someone, Charles, is a luxury I can ill afford.”

Charles leaned back in his seat, watching her carefully. “Luxury or not, you seemed more yourself tonight than I’ve seen in months. There’s no harm in entertaining the idea—provided you remain cautious.”

Y/N’s gaze softened at her brother’s concern. “I appreciate your vigilance, my dear Earl of Whitestone. But let’s not rush to paint him as either hero or villain. Men of his world are not often held to the same scrutiny as women of ours.”

“True,” Charles admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But Anthony Bridgerton isn’t one to speak highly of a man without reason. If his brother is half as principled, I’d consider him worth the risk.”

Y/N’s lips twitched at his words. “Risk, indeed. But enough about Mr. Bridgerton. We’ve our own affairs to manage, and I’m certain our tenants won’t care for my musings about art or charm.”

Charles nodded, though he noted the faint pink flush that crept up her neck as she turned toward the window.

As the Whitestone carriage disappeared into the darkness, Benedict stood at the edge of the Danbury estate, his gaze lingering on the path where Y/N had vanished. The warmth of the evening had cooled, but he hardly noticed the chill. His mind replayed their conversation—the sharp wit in her words, the spark in her eyes when she spoke of art, and the measured grace with which she had danced around his charm.

“Y/N,” he murmured softly, as if testing the sound of her name. It felt as striking as the woman herself, an enigma he couldn’t easily solve.

Lady Danbury’s sharp voice startled him from his reverie. “Well, Mr. Bridgerton, if you plan to stand out there all night, you might as well help me escort the remaining stragglers to their carriages.”

Benedict turned, an easy smile masking his contemplative mood. “I was merely enjoying the view, Lady Danbury. Your soiree is, as always, a triumph.”

Her keen eyes narrowed with amusement. “And yet your gaze was fixed on the road, not my ballroom. That young lady certainly left an impression.”

Benedict didn’t deny it. “She’s remarkable,” he admitted, more to himself than to Lady Danbury.

“Be careful with that one,” the older woman warned, though her tone was fond. “She has depth. And depth demands substance in return.”

Benedict inclined his head, her words sinking in. As much as he relished the challenge, he realized he wanted more than a fleeting encounter.

The ride home was a quiet one. Benedict sat in the carriage, the sounds of horses’ hooves a steady rhythm that gave his thoughts space to wander.

He’d encountered many women in his time—clever debutantes, bold widows, and those who wore charm like armor. But Y/N was different. There was a quiet power in her deflections, a vulnerability hidden behind her sharp observations.

His mind lingered on her smile, fleeting yet warm, and the way her brother, Charles, had watched over her like a hawk. Benedict respected that protectiveness—it spoke of loyalty, of family bonds he deeply valued.

When he finally reached the familiar halls of his family home, the house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood and the soft rustle of wind through the trees outside. He retired to his room, but sleep eluded him.

Instead, he sketched—rough outlines of Y/N’s features, her poised stance, the energy in her eyes as she critiqued the painting at Lady Danbury’s. Each stroke of charcoal carried with it an urgency, an attempt to capture the essence of someone who refused to be defined.

By the time dawn’s light began to filter through his window, Benedict set the sketch aside, his resolve clear.

“I’ll see her again,” he murmured, more determined than he’d been in years.

The following morning, the Bridgerton family gathered around the long dining table, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Despite the sumptuous spread of fruit, fresh-baked pastries, and piping hot tea, all eyes were on Benedict.

“Who was she?” Eloise asked bluntly, buttering her toast with unnecessary vigor. “Lady Whistledown was positively tantalized.”

Benedict sighed, taking a deliberate sip of tea. “Good morning to you too, Eloise.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Daphne chimed in with a knowing smile. “It’s not every day Lady Whistledown dedicates an entire paragraph to your exploits.”

Anthony leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow raised. “Y/N Y/L/N, wasn’t it? I believe her brother, Charles, is the new Earl of Whitestone. Solid reputation, though he keeps to himself since inheriting the title.”

Benedict nodded, setting down his cup. “The very same. I had the pleasure of speaking with her—she’s sharp, insightful, and refreshingly candid.”

“And beautiful?” Colin teased, his grin wide.

“Extremely,” Benedict replied without hesitation, earning a round of laughter.

Anthony’s amusement faded slightly as he regarded his brother with a calculating look. “Charles is an old acquaintance of mine. We crossed paths during the early years of our titles. A good man, but fiercely protective of his family. Tread carefully, Benedict.”

“Always,” Benedict said, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of determination.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass of Whitestone’s modest garden, a sketchpad balanced on her lap. The cool breeze carried with it the faint scent of lavender from the nearby hedgerows, mingling with the crisp aroma of her graphite pencils. The gardens were her sanctuary—a reprieve from society’s endless noise and expectations. Today, her focus was on a half-finished drawing of a willow tree bending gracefully over the garden pond. Yet, as much as she tried to focus, her thoughts drifted back to Benedict Bridgerton.

She had replayed their exchanges from Lady Danbury’s soiree countless times in her mind. His words had been genuine, his curiosity sincere. Yet it was his gaze that lingered in her memory—the way his eyes softened when he listened to her critiques of the art, as though he truly saw her and not just another face in the crowd. Y/N frowned slightly, annoyed at her own vulnerability. He’s intriguing, certainly, but so are countless men who wander into my path. Why should this one matter more?

Her pencil faltered as the sharp rap of a knock echoed from the front of the house. She stilled, curiosity piqued. Guests were rare at Whitestone, and Charles had already mentioned he expected no visitors today. She heard the muffled creak of the door opening and the low rumble of her brother’s voice, but the words were indistinct. Setting her sketchpad aside, Y/N rose and dusted her hands off on her skirts, wandering closer to the house with light steps.

Inside the parlor, Charles extended a firm handshake to Anthony Bridgerton. The Earl of Whitestone and the Viscount Bridgerton cut striking figures in the modest room, both exuding a commanding presence, though Anthony’s was tempered by a composed air of diplomacy.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” Charles greeted, stepping back to motion him inside. “This is an unexpected visit.”

“I thought it past time we caught up,” Anthony replied with a faint smile, his eyes sweeping the room briefly before settling back on Charles. “Though I must confess, my errand isn’t entirely social.”

Charles raised an eyebrow as he led Anthony toward the parlor’s armchairs. “I assume this has something to do with your family’s estates bordering mine?”

“In part.” Anthony seated himself with practiced ease, but there was a guardedness to his tone that Charles didn’t miss. “The other part involves my brother, Benedict.”

Charles stilled briefly, his expression giving nothing away. “Ah, your brother,” he said smoothly, taking his own seat. “I must admit, he did make an impression at Lady Danbury’s soiree.”

Anthony’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “So I’ve heard. I trust my brother behaved himself?”

Charles smirked faintly, folding his hands over his knee. “Mr. Bridgerton was... eager to engage my sister in conversation. Though I’m not sure she was as willing to reciprocate.”

Anthony chuckled, but his tone shifted, his words laced with sincerity. “Benedict speaks highly of your sister. It’s rare for him to show such genuine interest, Charles. He’s not one to court frivolities.”

Charles leaned back, his gaze sharpening. “You understand, Anthony, that Y/N has had her fair share of shallow suitors. She’s cautious, and rightly so. My priority is ensuring her happiness and protecting her from anyone who sees her as a fleeting amusement.”

“Benedict doesn’t play such games,” Anthony replied, meeting Charles’s gaze head-on. “In truth, I’ve never seen him take such an interest in anyone. Your sister seems to have stirred something in him—though, knowing Y/N from your stories, I suspect she hasn’t made it easy for him.”

Charles allowed himself a faint chuckle. “No, she certainly hasn’t. Y/N is not one to be charmed easily. But it’s clear your brother is determined, which could either work in his favor or cause him considerable frustration.”

Anthony inclined his head, his expression softening. “Benedict values substance, as I’m sure Y/N does. They may both surprise you.”

Charles studied him in silence for a moment before offering a measured nod. “We’ll see. For now, I’ll judge him by his actions, not his words.”

Y/N lingered just beyond the doorway, her heart racing at the snippets of conversation she managed to overhear. Charles’s voice, steady and firm, carried faintly through the air. He’s defending me, she realized, a pang of gratitude swelling in her chest. Her brother’s protectiveness had always been her shield against the pressures of society. Yet, there was another voice—smooth and commanding.

The Viscount Bridgerton.

She had never met Anthony before, but his reputation preceded him. To hear him speak so highly of his brother was... surprising. Benedict’s charm had seemed effortless, but perhaps it ran deeper than she had assumed.

Careful not to draw attention, Y/N eased closer to the edge of the doorway, curiosity getting the better of her.

Anthony’s final remark, “They may both surprise you,” was met with a soft clearing of a throat. Both men turned to see Y/N stepping into the room, her expression poised but her gaze quietly assessing.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” she said with a faint smile, addressing Anthony. “You must be Viscount Bridgerton. I apologize for not greeting you sooner.”

Anthony rose immediately, his movements fluid and respectful. “Miss Y/N,” he greeted, his tone warm. “The pleasure is mine. I was just remarking to your brother on your keen sense of discernment. It seems Benedict wasn’t exaggerating.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening. “He spoke of me?”

Anthony’s smile mirrored hers, though he chose his words carefully. “Indeed. Rarely have I seen my brother so animated in recounting a conversation.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Charles, whose stern expression had softened, before settling back on Anthony. “That’s high praise coming from you, my lord,” she said lightly, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. “Perhaps I should be flattered—or cautious.”

Anthony chuckled, gesturing toward the chair opposite. “Flattery or caution—either is warranted. But if I may, Miss Y/N, Benedict is many things, but insincere is not one of them.”

Y/N seated herself gracefully, her expression thoughtful. “Then it would seem your brother and I have much in common,” she replied smoothly, though her mind raced. What exactly has Benedict told him?

As Anthony and Y/N exchanged polite conversation, Charles observed his sister closely. Her tone was cordial, her posture poised, but he knew her well enough to detect the subtle sharpness in her gaze—a warning to anyone attempting to pry too deeply. She wasn’t rattled by Anthony’s words, but she was undoubtedly calculating her next move.

Anthony, for his part, seemed at ease. His diplomacy was well-honed, his remarks layered with subtle reassurances. Yet Charles couldn’t help but feel the quiet tension in the room. Anthony was here not simply to visit a friend, but to ensure Benedict’s intentions were made clear—or perhaps to defend them.

“I find it intriguing,” Y/N said, interrupting Charles’s thoughts, “that you’ve taken the trouble to visit us, my lord, when your brother has already made his interest known. Surely, you trust his judgment?”

Anthony’s brow arched slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do, Miss Y/N, though it would be remiss of me not to learn more about the woman who has managed to hold my brother’s attention.”

“And have you drawn your conclusions already?” she asked, tilting her head.

Anthony leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady but not intrusive. “Not entirely. But I do know this: my brother is a man of passions—art, creation, and the search for something meaningful. He finds those qualities rare. I suspect he believes he’s found them in you.”

Y/N’s composure didn’t falter, though her chest tightened slightly at his words. Her response was deliberate, each word measured. “An interesting theory, my lord. I wonder what he might say if he were here to speak for himself.”

As the conversation unfolded at Whitestone, Benedict Bridgerton was oblivious to his brother’s bold intervention. He sat alone in the Bridgerton family’s drawing room, a half-finished sketch resting on the desk before him. It was an abstract piece—a hazy rendition of the way the light had played across Y/N’s face as she’d described the painting at Lady Danbury’s soiree.

Frustrated, he set the pencil down and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t seen her since the garden farewell days ago, and the memory of her enigmatic smile lingered like a half-finished melody. Every word she had spoken felt deliberate, each glance calculated. Yet, for all her guardedness, he had glimpsed something more—an intensity that matched his own.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the sketch with a mix of irritation and admiration. What is it about her that has me so utterly undone?

The door creaked open, and Colin poked his head inside, his ever-mischievous grin firmly in place. “Still brooding over Lady Y/N?”

Benedict scowled, though there was no real malice behind it. “I’m not brooding.”

Colin stepped inside, uninvited, and plucked the sketch off the desk. “Is that so? Because this,” he said, waving the paper, “tells a rather different story. Don’t tell me you’re losing sleep over one of Anthony’s sermons.”

Benedict frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Colin flopped onto the settee, clearly enjoying himself. “Anthony’s gone to Whitestone, hasn’t he? To visit Y/N and her brother. He practically ordered Newton to saddle the horse this morning.”

Benedict shot to his feet, his voice incredulous. “Anthony went to Whitestone?”

Colin’s smile widened. “Oh, yes. Didn’t he tell you? I’d wager he’s there now, making some long-winded speech about Bridgerton honor and the seriousness of your intentions.”

Benedict’s fists clenched, though it was more out of frustration than anger. “Of course he would meddle,” he muttered, pacing the room. “I don’t need him playing matchmaker.”

“Perhaps not,” Colin replied, his tone light. “But I suspect you’ll thank him in the end. Anthony may be insufferable, but he has a way of clearing obstacles—even those you’re too stubborn to see.”

Benedict ignored him, walking around in the room furiously waiting for his brother to come home. He did not need Anthony meddling with his business when even he didn't have the chance to visit you or buy you flowers. He prayed that his brother didn't scare or intimidate Y/N in any shape or form.

Back at Whitestone, Y/N’s mind churned as Anthony’s words settled. The sincerity behind them was disarming, but it also raised questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

She glanced at Charles, who was watching the exchange with his usual stoicism. Her brother was protective, and she valued his judgment, but she also resented feeling like a piece on a chessboard. Why should my life’s direction hinge on the machinations of two Bridgertons?

Y/N straightened, her voice breaking the charged silence. “You speak highly of your brother, my lord. But I can’t help but wonder if his interest is shared equally by the rest of your family. Surely a marriage, that you keep mentioning I might add, between a Bridgerton and an earl’s sister comes with certain expectations.”

Anthony’s expression didn’t falter, though his gaze turned contemplative. “You’re right, Miss Y/N. Family expectations can be... formidable. But we Bridgertons tend to weigh them against the matters of the heart. My brother is pursuing you not for duty, but for something far greater. That is why I came—to assure you that his pursuit is no fleeting fancy.”

Her breath caught for the briefest moment before she composed herself. “And yet you speak for him instead of letting him speak for himself. Tell me, viscount Bridgerton, is it a tradition of your family that the elder brother visit first before the man himself came here to court me or are you just more excited than Benedict?"

Anthony’s smile turned faintly amused. “Perhaps. But as the head of the family, it is not a tradition, but my duty to do so."

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the Bridgerton drawing room, where Violet sipped her tea, listening to Eloise debate some pamphlet on societal reform. Colin, seated nearby, was making a show of writing letters while sneakily trying to eavesdrop.

Suddenly, the front door opened with a sharp creak, followed by the heavy sound of deliberate footfalls. The atmosphere in the house shifted.

“Anthony,” Violet remarked, looking up from her teacup as her eldest son entered. His expression was stony, his movements clipped.

“Anthony, you look—”

Anthony!" Benedict’s voice roared through the house, heavy with fury.

"Benedict," Anthony greeted cautiously, straightening. "What’s the meaning of this outburst?"

"The meaning?" Benedict spat, his voice echoing through the room. "You went to the Whitestone estate without even telling me. You had no right!"

Violet, startled by the commotion, stood. "What’s going on here?"

"Ask your eldest son," Benedict said bitterly. "Apparently, he’s taken it upon himself to play matchmaker or, worse, guardian of my personal affairs."

Anthony’s jaw tightened, though he remained outwardly calm. "Benedict, I was only acting in your best—"

"No!" Benedict interrupted, his voice rising. "You were acting in your best interest, Anthony. Or, at the very least, what you think is best. You didn’t consult me, didn’t even think to ask what I wanted!"

By now, the household was gathering in the hallway, drawn by the shouting. Eloise whispered to Colin, "This is far better than the last novel I read."

Anthony’s patience began to fray as he stood taller, his tone hardening. "I went because I thought you might care for her, Benedict! And if you do, it’s only natural to ensure the family is suitable."

"How dare you presume to know what I care for!" Benedict snapped. "And what of her? Did you think she’d appreciate you barging in, uninvited, to assess her worth like livestock? I don’t even know if I care for her, but now I may never have the chance to decide for myself because of you!"

Anthony’s face fell briefly into guilt before he rallied. "I wasn’t trying to ruin anything. I was trying to protect you—"

"Protect me from what, Anthony? From a young woman with a talent for art and a brother navigating his new title? Or perhaps from the whispers you always seem so terrified of?"

"You don’t understand," Anthony said sharply. "These things matter. Reputation matters. If you pursue her—"

"Stop!" Benedict’s voice was loud enough to make the rest of the family wince. "You don’t get to make this about reputation or family honor. You didn’t even think to come to me first, and for that alone, you’ve overstepped!"

Violet interjected, her voice firm. "Both of you, enough. This shouting is unbecoming."

"Unbecoming?" Benedict scoffed, his anger undiminished. "What’s truly unbecoming is my brother meddling in affairs that are none of his business!"

Anthony took a deep breath, his voice dropping but still heated. "I went because I thought it was for the best, Benedict. If I was wrong, then I apologize. But don’t act as if I’ve committed some great crime for trying to protect my family."

Benedict shook his head, his jaw tightening. "If you wanted to protect me, Anthony, you should have come to me first. You should have trusted me to handle my own life."

Without waiting for a response, Benedict turned and stormed out of the room, the sound of the door slamming behind him reverberating through the house.

Benedict rode hard, the crisp autumn air stinging his face as he left Mayfair behind. The rhythmic pounding of his horse's hooves against the packed dirt offered little solace, the anger from his fight with Anthony still churning in his chest. The thought of his brother making decisions about his life—his relationships—without so much as a conversation left him fuming.

The horse slowed as they approached Hyde Park. Benedict hadn’t meant to end up here, but the vastness of the greenery and the relative quiet of the park seemed preferable to the confinement of Bridgerton House. He dismounted near a cluster of trees, tying his horse to a low branch.

Wandering through the park, Benedict eventually spotted a familiar figure seated beneath a sprawling oak tree. Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass, a sketchbook balanced on her knee, her brow furrowed in concentration as her hand moved deftly across the page. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice his approach.

For a moment, Benedict simply observed her. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on her face. There was a peacefulness about her that pulled at something deep within him, a stark contrast to the chaos of the morning.

He cleared his throat softly.

Y/N jumped, her pencil jerking across the page. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide before recognition dawned. “Mr. Bridgerton!” she exclaimed, a hand flying to her chest. “You startled me.”

“I apologize,” Benedict said quickly, stepping closer. “Startling you was not my intention. I... Well, I didn’t expect to find anyone here, let alone you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, though there was a trace of humor in her gaze. “Hyde Park isn’t precisely secluded, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Touché,” Benedict conceded with a small smile. “Still, I seem to have a habit of interrupting you.” He gestured to the sketchbook in her lap. “May I?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edges of the paper. Then, with a resigned sigh, she handed it over. “It’s not finished,” she said quickly.

Benedict took the sketchbook, his eyes scanning the page. It was a study of a fountain in the park, the water captured mid-flow, the surrounding trees sketched with delicate precision. “This is remarkable,” he said sincerely. “The way you’ve captured the movement of the water—it feels alive.”

Y/N flushed at the compliment, though she tried to mask it with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing special. Just practice.”

“Your modesty does you no justice,” Benedict said, handing the sketchbook back to her. “This is more than practice. It’s art.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile, but she said nothing, her eyes dropping to the sketch.

They sat in silence for a moment before Benedict spoke again. “I owe you an apology, Miss Y/N.”

“For startling me?” she teased, though her tone was light.

“For that and...for my brother’s intrusion at your home earlier today,” he said, his voice more serious now.

Y/N looked up sharply, her expression unreadable. “You knew?”

“I only found out after the fact,” Benedict admitted, frustration seeping into his tone. “Believe me, if I had known what Anthony was planning, I would have stopped him.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I won’t pretend it wasn’t unsettling to have the Viscount Bridgerton show up unannounced, but your brother was respectful.”

“That doesn’t excuse him,” Benedict said firmly. “He had no right to involve himself. Whatever this is,” he gestured between them, “it’s our business, not his.”

A flicker of something passed through Y/N’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or even approval—but it was gone before Benedict could decipher it.

“Your brother’s actions are understandable, though,” she said finally. “Family often feels entitled to protect us, even when we don’t need their protection.”

“‘Entitled’ is the word,” Benedict muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

Y/N tilted her head, a trace of amusement creeping into her expression. “You sound angry.”

“I am angry,” Benedict admitted, though his voice softened as he continued. “Not just because Anthony went behind my back, but because I... I don’t want anyone to think I need someone else to make my decisions for me. Least of all you.”

Her brows lifted at his candor, and a small smile played on her lips. “I think I can decide what to think of you, Mr. Bridgerton, regardless of your brother’s interference.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. There was an openness in Y/N’s gaze that felt like an invitation, though to what, Benedict wasn’t entirely sure.

“May I sit?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N gestured to the patch of grass beside her. “Be my guest.”

Benedict settled himself beside her, leaning back against the tree trunk. The tension that had coiled in his chest all day seemed to ease in her presence.

“Do you often come here to draw?” he asked after a moment.

“Whenever I can,” Y/N said, glancing at the fountain in the distance. “It’s one of the few places in London that feels...free.”

“I can see the appeal,” Benedict said. “There’s a tranquility here. A sense of space.”

“And yet you seem restless,” Y/N observed, her eyes studying him intently.

Benedict chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “I suppose I am. My family has a way of...complicating things.”

“Families tend to do that,” Y/N said lightly.

He turned to look at her, a question forming on his lips, but he hesitated. “Do you...” he began, then stopped.

“Do I what?” she prompted.

“Do you find it hard?” he asked finally. “Being the person others look to? Shouldering the weight of their expectations?”

Y/N’s gaze grew distant, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her sketchbook. “I think we all bear expectations, whether we like it or not. The trick is deciding which ones matter and which ones don’t.”

Benedict nodded, her words striking a chord. “And have you decided?”

Her lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “I’m still working on it.”

They fell into a companionable silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the faint splash of the fountain. For the first time that day, Benedict felt a sense of calm.

Perhaps, he thought, this wasn’t such a terrible day after all.

( part 2 anyone?)

[hailtothepumpkinqueen]

Headcanons for the Shane Stardew Valley that lives in my Switch because I wanted to put them down somewhere lol 💙🐔

•He's 35 years old. When Farmer tells him that's not old he replies "Old for a gridball player" and shrugs. (basing this on mid-30's apparently being old for a lot of sports lol)

•Definitely not as "weak" as he thinks he is either. The man helps Marnie around the farm, including hucking around heavy bags of animal feed and hay. And probably hauling heavy boxes around JojaMart. So great upper body strength, just gets tired and out of breath more easily than he used to.

•Strong arms and soft tummy 👍

•5'7" but wishes he was at least 6'1". A little insecure about it, especially since Farmer is taller than him.(she's 5'10")

•Favorite color is blue 💙

•His last name is Cooper. (Purely because I find it funny for him to have "coop" in his name. Like chicken coop lmao)

•Ears are pierced. I imagine 10mm gauges and two other piercings. Doesn't wear them super often, but enough so the holes don't close up.

•I think he'd be a Taurus. Stubborn but also down to earth.

•Started showing signs of depression as a teenager, but got dismissed as being "moody" and "lazy".

•Both parents had issues with alcohol and were distant/absent. His dad physically distant, as he was gone a lot and often came home drunk. His mom emotionally distant due to untreated depression.

•Leaving Shane to care for himself a majority of the time. So lots of microwaved pizza rolls and frozen dinners.

•Started drinking before the legal age because there was always alcohol in the house.

•Has not spoken to either parent since he moved out.

•Gridball was initially a good distraction for all the shit going on in his life and a way to get out of the house. Discovered he had a genuine love for the game and was really good at it. Good enough to play for the varsity team in college.

•Definitely a bit of a hot shot in college. Pretty popular for his goofy and easygoing personality and had a lot of friends(including Jas's parents). A few flings and serious relationships too.

•Ended up tearing his ACL, which put an end to his dream of going pro with his gridball career.

•Which exacerbated his depression and worsened his dependency on alcohol as a coping mechanism...which lead to a pretty bad breakup with his partner at the time. (This literally came to me in a dream lol)

•Light sleeper, particularly sensitive to noise. On top of having trouble sleeping a lot of nights because his brain won't shut off. Hence why he'll have a beer or two before bed, it helps him sleep.

•When that doesn't work he goes on walks. Nighttime is a preferable time to walk anyway because less chance to run into someone and have to make annoying small talk.

•Has dark circles under his eyes pretty much all the time due to lack of good sleep.

•Runs hot, basically a walking space heater. Which is great in the winter but MISERABLE in the summer.

•Was the best man at Jas's parents' wedding.

•And one of the first people to hold Jas after she was born. He was afraid he'd drop her or something and in awe of how tiny she was.

•Loves that little girl SO much, but when her parents died...he was in no position to be taking care of her. Not with his worsening depression and even worse alcohol dependency. So he signed over custody of her to Marnie, who was more of a mother figure to him than his own mom ever was(In my head, Marnie is Shane's mom's older sister).

•Used to spend summers on Marnie's farm as a kid. It was a nice break from his home life and gave him things to do.

•Was living with Marnie and Jas for about 6 months when Farmer moved to Pelican Town.

•It was his idea to pay rent, because he'd rather eat his shoe than feel like more of a burden than he already does.

•Listens to predominantly rock, but secretly knows the words to a lot of pop songs thanks to Jas.

•Lets Jas paint his nails or put makeup on him. Will wear the nail polish until it flakes off, no matter the color or glitter content.

•Has an armband tattoo of fairy roses around his bicep. For Jas, obviously.

•Definitely friends with Emily (they swap bird facts and just vibe) and and considers Sam a work friend(absolutely talk shit about Morris when not talking about music). He just seems to attract bright, friendly people lol

•Not a people pleaser by any stretch of the imagination (there's a reason he stocks shelves instead of being behind the counter at JojaMart), but loves making the people he cares about happy.

•Him being standoffish and prickly is definitely a defense mechanism. Can't get hurt again by losing someone if you never get close to them in the first place, right?

•Can tell when it's gonna rain because his bad knee starts hurting. When Emily teasingly calls him clairvoyant, he goes into a spiel about the scientific evidence that the drop in barometric pressure affects joints and it's not magic. It's basically an inside joke between them.

•Swears like a sailor but tries to censor himself around the children. So "sugar" and "fudge" and "son of a biscuit". Lot of food words lol

•Walks quietly. Accidentally scares people all the time because he just "appears out of nowhere".

[beebee18]

Maybe?

Lee Know x Reader

Characters: Lee Know, Reader - Felix, Seungmin and Chan (brief)

Genre: Fluff, slight angst.

Warnings; Drunk stranger, grabbing.

Summary: This is the first time you and Minho have had a civil conversation with each other, unfortunately it occurred due to a pushy drunk stranger.

(Apologies, half of the end is just texts 😭)

Main Masterlist Skz Masterlist

"Hey, hello."

"Hello?"

"I'm (name), I saw you in the cafe, wanted to talk."

"Ah, I would but it's late, I have to go home."

"Let me walk you?"

"No thanks, I'm good."

"Come on, don't be such a bore, it's the weekend." He says coming closer making you step back.

"No. I really have to go, bye." You start walking away calling Felix to see if he could stay on call for some time but he did not answer. Maybe someone else? Apparently everyone's busy tonight.

"Hey come back, let's go somewhere. I'm handsome, you're average when are you gonna get a chance like this again huh?" He slurs a little alarming you.

Honestly you were too scared to feel insecure in that moment. When you don't reply and continue walking, a strong hand grabs your upper right arm and spins you around pinning you close to the tipsy stranger. His other hand goes around your back, feeling you up.

"I think you should let me go..."

"And I think you should come home with me..." Him closing his eyes and leaning closer at then end of his sentence gave you enough time to push him to the ground with full force and run.

Where to run?

The jype building is right there, the staff knows you, they would let you in.

Bursting into the skz dance practice room to see no one but Minho dancing blindfolded knocking some air out of you.

Do they all practice blindfolded? Or is it just a Minho thing?

He must've sensed your arrival as he peeked from underneath the black bandana around his eyes, locking eyes with you and removing the cloth completely. He's staring with a questioning look, as if he can sense your unease and fright.

"Do you know where Felix is? He's not answering his phone..." You say looking at him walking towards the table to switch off the music.

Then he walks to you, standing in the doorway and gently pulls you in by your wrist. "I'm not not a gentleman you know?" He says, leaving your wrist.

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed" You say rolling your eyes at him, him doing so back at you.

But he can sense your malencholy state, his face softens when he notices you fidget with your hands and look around the room.

"Felix and Chan are shooting some show today, babysitting or something, his phone's probably off." Says Minho, looking at your saddening features.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asks, he may not show it but he cares, how could he not? His instincts to comfort you shoot through him when he hears you choke back a sob, he can't help but pull you into a hug, gentle brushing your hair.

This has absolutely nothing to do with the fat ass crush he harbours.

Minho manuvours you both so you're sitting on the sofa in the corner. He strokes your back, trying to calming you down, after a few minutes, you do.

Moving back and looking at him not knowing what to say. This was uncharted territory. He looked concerned, understandably so.

Narrating what had happened earlier to him made you feel at ease. You were never one to coil within yourself, and when he looks at you with those eyes, you just want to melt and let him protect you forever.

"Do you want me to stab him?" He asks making you laugh and him smile.

"That would be one hell of a way to ruin your idol image." You say giggling.

"People would remember me." He says, giggling a little.

"Who says they won't remember you as you are now?"

"I don't know, I guess we're in an industry where if you lag behind one day you become a part of the past. Kinda scary..." Replies Minho, soft face staring at the mirror opposite him, deep in thought.

"I don't think people will forget you, especially stays. Of course when new fans join the industry and you become the 'old gen' then yes, it's likely that they won't know you. But the one's who know you and watch you, will never forget you." You say sort of rambling, with a sincere and soft gaze.

He seems surprised by your words, turning his head to look at you, meeting eyes. His expression a mix of slight shock and understanding. Creased brows, slightly wide eyes, a tiny part between his lips before a smile breaks past.

"It's okay, being remembered forever seems like a hassle anyway, I'd rather commit felonies."

"I'd love to join you, as long as we don't rip each other's throats out." Silence followed after you said that, Minho sitting up to face you, almost as if preparing to speak.

"Do you really think I don't like-" He got cut off when your phone rang.

You quickly apologised and answered seeing as it was important. Rushing to leave but waving goodbye to Minho with a soft smile which makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, but he won't admit it.

Maybe he had a chance, maybe.

///

Texting- (Y/n and Felix)

Felix: Hey, you called? I was shooting.

Y/n: Yeah but I spoke to Minho

Felix: Minho? What happened?

Y/n: I came to the building for some reason and you weren't there but he was practicing and I spoke to him.

Y/n: I'm okay now.

Felix: Oh good, that's good.

Felix: How was he though? I know you guys aren't the greatest of friends.

Y/n: He was great actually, sweet and funny too. I had no idea he could be funny when he's nice.

Felix: Maybe you'll get along now.

Y/n: Hoping for it.

///

Texting- (Felix and Minho)

Felix: Heard you and y/n were alone today.

Felix: I'm not saying anything happened but she did say you were 'really sweet and funny.'

Felix: Just thought I'd let you know since, well you already know.

Minho: Do not tell her anything, I swear

Felix: As if I would ruin this when your freaky single ass finally gets the courage.

Minho: Do you want me to be mean? Huh?

Minho: You want to feel what Seungmin feels?

Felix: Chill, love you though.

Felix: Please don't ruin this, I like, love Y/n too much for any 'boy' tricks you might pull on her.

Minho: I won't and come practice.

.

[legendary-69420]

Billionaire on the Track MOMENTS-3 (Extras ✨)

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME ?) MASTERLIST : RACING HEARTS

The interview was going well—smooth, lighthearted, and full of the usual banter that came with Formula 1 media rounds. Charles leaned back in his seat, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as the reporter posed the next question.

"Charles, being a Ferrari driver comes with some perks, no? Tell us, if you could have any car in the world, what would it be?"

Charles tilted his head, considering the question, then chuckled. "Well, I’m pretty sure that if I ask, ‘I would like to drive this car,’ then Ferrari will make it happen. So yeah, this is obviously very, very special. Whatever car, whichever year, Ferrari can make it happen."

The room erupted in polite laughter, the ease in Charles’ tone and his casual confidence earning a few nods of agreement from the audience.

But then came Mark’s turn.

Sitting beside Charles, Mark Spencer adjusted his watch—a luxury piece that subtly caught the light—and answered with a nonchalant shrug. "Well, I’m pretty sure I’d already own the car I want in my collection."

The room fell silent for a moment, the blunt honesty of Mark’s words catching everyone off guard. Then, scattered laughter and murmurs filled the space.

Charles shot Mark a sideways glance, one eyebrow raised, as if to say, Really? But Mark, as usual, seemed utterly unbothered, leaning back in his chair with an easy smile.

Later, the internet buzzed with reactions to the interview.

"Charles is so spoiled by Ferrari, but Mark is such a spoiled brat…who does he think he is?"

"Wait, how rich is this guy to own every car he wants?"

"I like how he’s crazy rich but never actually mentions it."

"Mark really said 'Oh, I probably already own it' like it's nothing 😭🔥. Must be NICE to be that rich 💸."

"Charles is spoiled by Ferrari, but Mark is on ANOTHER level 😳. Imagine owning every car you dream of 🚗✨. Unreal."

"The AUDACITY of him to say that so casually 😭. I both hate him and want to be him 🥲💀."

"Charles: 'Ferrari will get me anything.' Mark: 'I already have it.' THESE TWO ARE ON COMPLETELY DIFFERENT LEVELS OF SPOILED 😭🔥."

"I swear this man lives in a different dimension 😂. Billionaire + F1 driver + insanely hot?? UNFAIR 💔🔥."

"Mark is out here reminding us all that we’re broke in the most elegant way possible 💀💸😭."

"So Mark’s basically been rich, famous, talented, and handsome his entire life? COOL COOL, I’M FINE, DEFINITELY NOT JEALOUS 🥲🔥."

"He’s so rich, yet so CHILL about it 🤷‍♂️😎. That’s the kind of rich we all aspire to be 💰✨."

Mark’s fans were quick to defend him, though, pointing out that his wealth had little to do with his skills on the track. Still, the intrigue around Mark’s family grew.

At home in Monaco, Charles sat on his couch, scrolling through Twitter on his phone. Every other tweet seemed to mention Mark’s comment or speculate about his background. His curiosity got the better of him.

Arthur, Charles’ younger brother, wandered into the living room, munching on an apple.

"Arthur," Charles said, not looking up from his phone, "do me a favor. Look up Mark Spencer’s family. I want to know who they are."

Arthur gave him a skeptical look. "Why? Feeling nosy ?"

"Just do it," Charles said, exasperated. "He said something in the interview today, and now the whole internet is losing its mind."

Arthur sighed, but he grabbed his laptop and started typing. It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for. A few minutes later, his eyes widened as he read through the search results.

"Okay," Arthur said, glancing at Charles. "This guy is… loaded. Like, top three billionaires in Italy loaded."

Charles’ eyebrows shot up. "Top three? You’re joking."

"I’m not," Arthur said, spinning the laptop around to show Charles the screen. "The Spencers are involved in everything—Coca-Cola, luxury brands like Louis Vuitton and Gucci, you name it. And apparently, they’ve been doing business with Ferrari for, like, 25 years. It’s practically in their blood."

Charles leaned forward, skimming through the details on the screen. The Spencer name carried weight, not just in Italy but globally. Alessandro Spencer, Mark’s father, was listed as one of the most influential businessmen in the world.

"So, he’s not just some rich guy," Charles muttered. "He’s that rich."

Arthur smirked. "Yup. Makes sense why he chose Ferrari, though, doesn’t it? Family history and all that."

Charles frowned. "Do people think that’s why he’s here? Because of his family?"

Arthur shrugged. "Some might. But listen to this—when Alessandro Spencer was asked about it, he said, ‘My son’s professional life is not affected by his family.’ So, basically, Mark got into F1 because of talent, not connections."

Charles leaned back in his seat, processing the information. Mark was an enigma. On one hand, he was the poster child for wealth and privilege, casually mentioning his car collection like it was nothing. On the other hand, he’d worked his way into Formula 1 on merit alone, proving that he wasn’t just coasting on his family name.

"Interesting," Charles murmured, a slight smile tugging at his lips. He was beginning to understand why Mark carried himself the way he did. There was more to the man than met the eye, and Charles couldn’t help but feel a little more intrigued.

---

The next time Charles saw Mark, it was at the track. Mark was leaning against a wall, chatting casually with a few engineers.

"Hey, Spencer," Charles called out, walking over.

Mark turned, his signature smirk already in place. "LecLec. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Charles crossed his arms. "So, how big is this car collection of yours?"

Mark laughed, a deep, genuine sound. "Not Big enough," he said cryptically.

Charles shook his head, a grin breaking through despite himself. "You’re unbelievable."

"I try," Mark said with a wink. Then, as if sensing that Charles had been digging into his background, he added, "You know, you can just ask me next time, instead of sending your little brother on a fact-finding mission."

Charles froze. "How did you—"

Mark simply tapped the side of his head. "I have my ways."

As Mark walked away, Charles couldn’t help but laugh. The guy was impossible to figure out, but one thing was certain—Mark Spencer was full of surprises. (In reality Arthur just mentioned about it when him and Mark were simply texting about casual stuff)

[victoriansnakearts]

So here's something that I realized after Ghostfuckers and it honestly sort of...soured my view on Moxxie and Millie as a couple.

Don't get me wrong, I do like Moxxie and Millie as a couple, they are cute. But that episode just highlighted something for me and that is....why exactly are they together?

Look at past Merc Millie and present day Millie. They are so far opposites in personality, I feel they are completely different characters....the different appearance just does that moreso.

But this just makes me scratch my head as to why Millie and Moxxie are a couple. I mean sure we can speculate and go off and say that Moxxie charmed her, or showed her the things he's into or it's some kinda opposites attract sort of thing. (Though this is just headcanon)

At the same time though....I just don't even see it? With S1 Millie before the flashback sequences in S2, I could see that Millie and Moxxie could become a couple, the ol' rough n tumble farm gal getting with that city boy.

But the Ghostfuckers flashback sequence with Millie? I have a harder time seeing that this version of Millie would find Moxxie interesting(which even Blitz says that she'll hate Moxxie, of course obviously some humor thrown in for a laugh, but still). It seemed more like she would find more appeal with Blitz, which honestly within those sequences...she does!

Which by the way, as per S1...Blitz has been wanting to screw both Moxxie and Millie....right ok. So here's the issue as well with Mox n Millie as a couple...

You're going to tell me, that Blitz WASN'T wanting to have sex with Millie throughout the WHOLE time that they were killing in Hell? That he didn't put on that charm of his, flirt with her, hang out and shoot his shot to bone her?

Gonna tell me that...he waited for them to get married and then...that's when he decided he wanted to screw them?.....What?

That's another thing I'm not getting, because I can see Blitz and Millie as per their Mercenary iterations totally fucking......there's no way Blitz wouldn't want to get into Millie's pants before she got married and honestly I could see Millie wanting to get into his with their interactions.

Which it seems I'm not the only one, because apparently I've seen some people actually ship Militz(the official ship name it seems), just due to the flashback sequences of them together and showing the bond that Blitz n Millie have.

But dialing back a little bit, while I like Moxxie n Millie as a couple...it's cute, but the same time that's....kinda all it is? It's just...cute. Which is fine don't get me wrong, but this episode just.....I dunno....it's confusing to me now. Of course maybe it's again S2 just not meshing well with S1, or maybe it's because this couple is just 'there' to be the 'cute married couple' it's just now left me wondering now WHY?

Sure I get that the episode was a Blitz n Millie focused one, so maybe expecting some sort of Moxxie n Millie stuff was out of the question...but it's just odd, considering that they are married and we don't really get any insight to it.

Yeah overall almost all canon ships in the hellverse have this problem, there just isn’t any chemistry between them. Like for m&m I originally saw the appeal I was actually a fan of them in the pilot more so than the show. (Moxxie was far more grumpy and the straight man which paired well with Millie’s sweet and caring personality)

In season one it was just the honeymoon phase which was fine but by season two it never really expanded beyond that. Then unhappy campers came into the picture and kinda ruined any amount of interest I had in the ship.

For one Millie was destined to be a nothing character and any “development” would just be to put up any male character

As for moxxie I can’t help but feel he’s codependent on Millie in an unhealthy way like he needs her to constantly build his self worth. (At least that’s what it feels like with the same repeat storyline they do with him) like that’s all Millie was made for to boost moxxie.

And now with Millie’s past I cant see why she got with him in the first place. My best guess is that he was a sweet guy and she kinda pitied him but that’s not what I see as an amazing romance lol

Merc Millie x blitz does definitely have more chemistry. In an alternate show I feel like both of them are capable of standing on their own (if Millie had more time to shine) and both of them could build each other up. like blitz sees her strength and knows she deserves more and can achieve goals despite being an imp. Millie can see blitz for what he truly is and knows he’s a good person. I don’t know if I’m making sense but I feel like they could be a good power couple in alt timeline.

I kinda hate how they doubled down on the two being platonic and how Millie is his “first friend he doesn’t want to fuck” (I know fizz was a crush but isn’t he more of a friend to blitz???)

Anyways I’m rambling but now you’ve got me wanting to do au art for this ship lol

I’d also say that Millie x striker and blitz x fizz have way more potential that what we currently have too (why is it always the non canon stuff that’s way better 😔)

[proshipper-plaza]

I’ve finally gathered my thoughts together.

This is my experience with antis.

For starters, I’ve been a huge Pokemon fan ever since I was a child and my first game was Pokemon Blue. I remembered watching the anime back when it was good imo

As the years passed, I completely dropped the anime entirely because the same duo of Ash and Pikachu annoyed me to no end, and I wanted a new protagonist. But the games I loved and played every one up to the ninth generation.

Anyway, when Pokemon Legends Arceus came out, I was enthralled— even though the game’s story has its faults, I still greatly enjoyed the experience over all.

One of the characters that stood out to me was Volo. I love him so much and decided to create my own AU for him as well as roleplay as him.

Now, I have a tendency to ship the MC with a popular character if they’re interesting enough to me, so obviously I was going to ship Akari ( who’s canonically fifteen) with him. I didn’t mind the age gap, because I enjoy the taboo nature of it.

(My first ever mlm ship was Pitch Black/Jack Frost from Rise of the Guardians. Overall, I do in fact ship adult/adult, so I’m not totally obsessed with adult x minor pairings, but I have no issue with them.)

Getting back on track, I decided to friend on Volo once I created the account on the roleplay site and there was this RPer who roleplayed as Koko, a character from one of the Pokemon movies, who’s thirteen years old. They have a habit of portraying young characters in an unsavory light. ( oh noes, the horror, antis amirite.) this was told to me by someone who was formerly from a toxic group. Let’s call her R.

So the breaking point was when it was made public and they were openly discussing dildos and whatnot in character with my version of Volo, so naturally it set off a huge stink bomb.

Koko made a couple friends uncomfortable and it just snowballed from there. At the time, R got fed up and admittedly ripped Koko a new asshole for even trying to integrate that kind of topic on their clearly underaged character. And since Koko said my name...I was ultimately assumed to have been engaging in something nefarious.

I have to put my foot down at someone who’s a writer/Rper being attacked for writing about underaged characters engaging in activities clearly unsuited for that age group. People act as if they have feelings and are alive, for goodness sake. They’re fictional, and it’s really no one’s business what anyone RPs/writes about.

Anyway, Koko got harassed off the site, and I was upset, but of course I didn’t want to say anything because people would look at me funny if I came to their defense.

So then, an Akari RPer shows up and I’m happy because hey, I can ship Volokari now. Our more, ahem, lewd roleplays were in private messages, but we kissed IC publicly and were affectionate with each other. Now this site’s layout is set up where whatever you post can be viewed by everyone, and I made the popular role players in the Pokémon verse uncomfortable, apparently. But I didn’t think anything of it, even when the Akari RPer was scared off.

One day I’m feeling good, and decide to friend a Dialga RP account, and then log off to go watch a movie online. When I return, and I wish I had the screenshots, but my original Discord got hacked, the writer had sent me a nasty message in which she called me a pedophile and all this other stuff as well as a rat.

I remember being stunned, then crying a lot because I didn’t know what I could do.

I tried so hard to defend myself, but my words didn’t have the effect I wanted. I felt hurt and confused and angry.

So after being harassed more by another user who masqueraded as someone normal, only to say they’d “hunt down every account I made in every verse and expose me for the pedo I am”, as well as a reply to my OOC post where I said, “I’m mentally drained”, and this other user said, “Good. Pedos don’t deserve rest.”

I was told I must be a freak in day to day life because I “portrayed an adult x minor ship in a healthy light.”

After removing all the pictures I uploaded and making my profile blank with a long message as to why I was inactive, I left. Couldn’t take it. Second time I tried to come back? I was friended by a Mewtwo who proceeded to greet me with, “I thought we established pedophiles weren’t allowed in this verse.” And I replied with, “I thought we established I wasn’t one?”

They responded that in characters interactions are a sign that I what I desire in roleplay, is what I desire in reality.

I replied with something along the lines of, in character interactions will always be baseless accusations.

Oooh, they didn’t like that at all. They called me a piece of shit for even saying that and how dare I make light of their trauma they went through when they were younger ( news flash, it’s not about YOUR TRAUMA, it’s about the ship dynamics. )

They ended up calling me a disease to humanity and that their opinion of me would never change. They blocked me.

So once again, I deleted, and my third and final attempt to come back unsurprisingly ended in failure.

This clique was warning people new to the verse to block/report me.

I’m not confused.

I’m not mentally ill.

I don’t need professional help.

I’m so sorry you all were lied to, and you believe their words at face value without asking for concrete evidence.

Why should I have to be treated with hostility and disdain simply over what I ship/how I chose to portray a character when there are actual predators who need to be exposed?

In closing

What I do is in fiction is no one’s business and I get it, the overwhelming majority is uncomfortable by underage ships, but the mature things to do are either ignore it, block, and move on.

It’s not reasonable to harass someone over fictional content and it’s very unreasonable to slander and water down the term pedophilia to something that it’s not, to the benefit of actual predators.

Don’t like me? Don’t like what I am? Then move on with your lives and never interact with my content.

So go ahead, waste your time on your little moral holier than art thou moral high grounds, I guess.

Nowadays, I’m in other verses and am keeping to myself just like what I did before. All in all this entire situation sucks and I strongly wish it never occurred in the first place. I wish people would mind their own business and leave me alone.

Thank you for reading. If you want my discord so we can talk more, ask.

[pancake-breakfast]

Finished episode 5 of Life with an Ordinary Guy Who Reincarnated into a Total Fantasy Knockout. In this episode...

Male-presenting girl has to fight off their growing crush on girl-guy

Girl-guy is the first person to notice, upon male-presenting female losing their top, that male-presenting female has certain "assets," thus prompting girl-guy to provide a jacket for modesty...

...thus prompting SAO-guy to try to propose to girl-guy because apparently not wearing a jacket is showing too much skin?? Also, DAO-guy is naked during this proposal....

...thus prompting guy-guy to give girl-guy his jacket for modesty...

...while grappling SAO-guy (who, again, is naked) because this show can't do anything straight

[socialbunny]

 Skip has always found a way to work through his problems and turn them around with relative ease, but the sudden death of his wife, Brandi, has brought his mostly carefreeness towards his children  to a stand-still. With two freshly traumatized children and a newborn under his belt, can Skip juggle turning his shitty ass life around for his family, or will he crumble under the weight of his past mistakes?

Darleen hasn’t been the same since her husband, Darren, died, though she’d be quick to argue with you if you said anything of the sort. She’s FINE! She misses her husband, undoubtedly, but she’s not going to let that very, very, very tiny thing wreck her whole life, and she’s not going to let people give her grief about ANYTHING. Sure, she got fired from her job a few months back and hasn’t made any strides to find a new one, and she’s losing touch with her son as she goes and squanders all her responsibilities by partying and drinking on par with younger years, aaaaaaaaaaaaand the almost obsessive idealistic crush she’s developed on her neighbor is clouding the second half of her judgment, but she’s bounced back from worse and knows everything’s going to come up Darleen :) …………. hopefully

[rotisseries]

chapters 51 and 58 of bloodmarked are absolutely CARRYING bree/nick/selwyn polyamory truthers

[the-real-list-of-ominous-threats]

I'll make ron desantos your governor

[thesunmakesmetired]

I know i might have a weird taste for music but i didn't think it was that bad until i gave a lift to my brother and he kept begging be for a normal song after being forced to listen to nyan cat for not even 30 seconds...

And than two trucks started playing...

I just kept skipping through my playlist the whole ride and this is my fun playlist too :((