#peal&co

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

Join my taglist HERE

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[ghoulphile]

janey's dad | c.h./the ghoul | teaser

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 465 for the teaser, overall wordcount tbd ➥ overall warning(s) | 🔞 smut; age gap (i hc reader to be late 20s but i tried to leave it vague enough), cowgirl position, biting, hair pulling, choking, squirting, teasing, pining, lipstick kink, breast/nipple play, masturbation (m), porn w/ feelings, porn w/ plot, mild angst w/ happy ending, coop's pov to start - rest of the fic will be in reader's, divorced!coop, babysitter!reader, pre-war/bomb ➥ summary | "We really s-shouldn't - oh fuck - be doing this." ➥ notes | here's a teaser for the fic i took a poll on, some people wanted more info 😊 coop is a big dick dilf fite me. feedback is always appreciated ❤️ lmk if you want to be tagged feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | masterlist

Divorce is hard, but being a divorcé is downright hellish.

Ugliest thing in the world, if Cooper Howard has any say.

It's not like being a Marine with a gun in hand, being told where to point and shoot, or an actor reading off a script. There's no guidebook, no crash course. These people aren't nameless threats coasts away or co-workers following a cue.

In fact, his 'enemies' aren't enemies at all.

They have names: Barb, so smart it hurts, and sweet little Janey, his very own North star. Sometimes looking at them rips open a hole in his chest that'll never close, edges jagged and sore. The phantoms of family, of happier times, found in the glint of a smile or a peal of laughter.

See, war's something he understands. Something he's good at.

But these domestic battlefields where he's gotta look his ex-wife in the face, and struggle to meet his daughter's eye? Barter this weekend and that holiday? To pay for the privilege of his child's presence (he does, he will, she's worth every goddamn cent he's ever made)?

To look down the barrel of a smoking gun only to find the woman he loves staring back; he doesn't, can't, comprehend that. Because once upon a time, he was happy (with her) and life was sweeter than pie.

Now he's nothing but a washed up actor who struggles to land a call back let alone make his monthly alimonies. His marriage has failed, his reputation is in shambles, and his bank account is dryer than the Mojave.

Barb gets the house. He gets the dog.

And caught in the middle of it all is his little girl; the only thing he’s got left worth while. He wants to protect her, provide for her the way she deserves — only he seems to fall short every goddamn time.

The mistakes and missteps keep stacking up against him; such is his new life in all its raw, unglamorous glory.

Look how far the mighty fall.

Lucky for him — the first bright thing that's come his way in a long, long while — a sweet, young woman moves into the apartment next door. Of course, it isn't long before Janey takes a shine, always so friendly.

Thankfully, you're just as good with her.

It only makes sense you'd watch her when a gig runs late. Rustle up some grub and put her to bed whenever he slinks in through the door, stripped to the bone.

And if he takes himself in hand late at night, stroking his cock to the thought of you down on your knees in that pretty little sundress? Imagines the wide stretch of your lush mouth as you peer up at him from between his thighs when he cums hard?

Well, what you don't know won't hurt you.

After all, he promises to keep his hands to himself.

part 01 of full fic

[crushribbons]

Totally adore your work. Birdie was too good. I have to request anything jealous, pining seb in your style 🥹 pretty, pretty pls, gah

omg please don't enable me like thiiiisss (always enable me like this ily xx) NSFW (18+ onlyyyy)

--

"Prewett. Who is that witch over there, at the Minister's table?"

Prewett turned his head over his shoulder. "The one on his left?"

"Don't look right at her," Sebastian grumbled, reaching across the expanse of white linen between Leander and him and pulling his co-worker back to face him by the jacket. The witch glanced up and caught sight of the commotion at the table in front of hers. Her brow furrowed. "Fuck, she's beautiful."

A middle-aged witch seated to his right gave a disapproving "tsk!" and Sebastian rolled his eyes. He couldn't countenance the Ministry holding these infernal luncheons in the poshest London restaurants at all, let alone being forced to attend them and sit amongst people he avoided like the plague in the hallways. His stiff collar, that Anne had insisted on starching for the occasion, dug into the bottom of his chin. Prewett suppressed a chuckle at Sebastian's rudeness.

"That's his daughter, Sallow, didn't you know? There's a fun Sunday evening dinner for you." A shudder passed through Sebastian at the thought of making niceties with the oaf he technically worked for, as the Minister rarely deigned to dirty his fingernails down in the R.C.M.C. and thought its employees less-deserving of Ministry resources than the stiff-necked desk jockies of other departments. But for her...For her, he thought, he could choke down a dry pot roast and smile whenever he needed to. She had resumed her conversation with the woman across from her, and her laughter was sweeter than the perfumed air wafting through the restaurant.

Images of what he'd like to do to her, preferably on top of her father's ostentatious desk, flashed through his mind and he smirked despite himself. He could almost hear her moans, greedy, and feel her claw into his neck. The impropriety of his thoughts sent a guilty flush through him when he stared at the picture-perfect socialite with a smile on her face and a...

Goddamned diamond on her finger.

When she lifted her left hand to fan herself after a particularly joyous peal of laughter, Sebastian's knuckles whitened around his knife. That jealous streak, that'll be the death of you one day, his sister's voice echoed in his head. Pain shot up his temple as he ground his teeth together. She was spoken for? Taken from him as soon as he'd found her?

The man on the other side of her then put his arm around the back of her chair and leaned too close to her, sullying her with his proximity, and whispered something in her ear that made her giggle behind the hand that covered her mouth. The diamond sparkled when the sunlight hit it. Sebastian wasn't listening to a word that Prewett prattled at him. She should be blushing pink like that for him, for him alone, crying out his name as he brought her to the brink of tears as many times as he could with just his tongue.

That should be his diamond on her finger, his thumb running across the back of her hand, his mouth planting deliberate pecks of affection across her cherubic cheeks. He imagined asking her to be his while he fucked her, and she responded with much more enthusiasm than the demure ascent she'd no doubt given to the sap draped over her: Yes, yes, yes!

Her eyes fell on him, and he straightened immediately. He wanted her to find him acceptable, attractive, anything for her to toss a careless smile in his direction. She lingered, just for a moment, regarding him over the top of her glass. Sebastian couldn't have pulled himself away from her gaze if he had tried.

It was probably his imagination; it was growing more and more treacherous by the second, but he could have sworn that he saw her glance to either side to ensure no one was looking then mouth to him,

"Cloakroom. Now."

The words "Excuse me" weren't even out of Sebastian's mouth before he had risen to his feet with a clatter of silver and porcelain and begun making his way towards the mercifully unattended cloakroom.

[angelltheninth]

Patching Up a Wounded Leon S. Kennedy

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, angst, established relationship, co-workers, blood and injury, comfort, protective!Reader

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: Leon could use some pampering every now and then.

He flinches as you peal his bloody shirt off his body, the wound at his side still heavily bleeding. "You said it wasn't as bad as it looked. This is worse than it looked." You would have hit him for lying if he wasn't already hurting.

"Nothing I can't heal from. Just a cut. I've had millions of those." Leon doesn't treat it as a big deal at all, apart from a few hisses he doesn't show that he's hurting at all. "I could fall sleep with your pretty hands on me."

"Quit flirting. I'm not gonna go easy on you." The wound needs to sowed up carefuly, or else it would leave another scar on his already scared body. You didn't hold back as you applied rubbing alcohol on the long cut, making sure to get every inch of it. Forget just his shirt, your whole hands were covered in blood by the time you finished. As soon as you picked up the thread and needle you saw him clench his teeth. So he was hurt, more than he lead on.

Still, he was your boyfriend and no matter how stubborn he was when it came to injuries you always made sure he was fine at the end of the day.

"What do you want to say to me?" You looked up at him. "You have that look on your face." He pointed at you and reached over to press his finger against the corner of your mouth. "Frowning."

"I want you to tell me when you're hurt. We're partners Leon, I can't watch your back if you won't let me." You scold as you finish the last loop and rip the thread off. "Hold on, I still need to put something over it."

Leon waits for you in silence. You return with a fresh gauze but before you can start wrapping it around him he kisses your cheek. "Risk is always part of the job. I know I can afford to take more of them because I have a badass girlfriend to watch over when if things go wrong."

"Hopefully you realize this means no funny business until this closes." You ran your finger along the stitched up wound, watching as his face fell at your words.

[wuwaworld]

Mortefi x Reader (One-Shot)

— wishing to be in the front lines against the evil forces, you applied for submission to be a soldier. by some luck, you passed the test. now, how will you tell this to your co-worker.. whom you've found endearing despite the everyday banter? can you really leave the safety net of the Academy?

tw: Mortefi as a menace, idiots in love, prob ooc Mortefi, vague spoilers(?) (for those players who aren't that far into the quest/knowledge on wuwa yet, like me lol)

chaotically rewritten.

forgive the man's bluntness, but Mortefi doesn't really understand how you're fretting over something quite simple.

it started with fleeting glances throughout the whole Academy. Mortefi notices how you hold a thick envelope, flapping its seal but never actually pulling out what's inside.

“what are you doing?” Mortefi approaches you on a random afternoon, the Academy's activities were a bit mellow today. so he guesses he could take his free time to chat with you instead.

“ah-!” you fumbled with the envelope in your hands in a panic, “you can't just surprise me like that!”

“well,” Mortefi chuckles wryly, “someone is quite in a foul mood these days.”

“whatever.” you huffed, attempting to hide the envelope away from his prying eyes. your hands discreetly placing it beneath the stacks of paperwork–

but of course, it was the reason Mortefi approached you, wasn't it?

shamelessly, he picks up the envelope from your hands, flipping the smooth material around as he checks for something relevant on its cover. Mortefi swiftly leans away when you try to pry it away. his taller stature easily raising his hand out of your reach.

“hey! give that back-” you felt quite anxious as Mortefi continued to hold the envelope. “don't you have some manners?”

“weren't you the one who said I should drop the formalities, hm?” Mortefi retorts as he leans down to your height, the envelope in his hands still out of your reach.

“now, will you tell me what this is?”

“an.. application.” you sighed, attempting to cover it up as you reach out for the envelope once more.

“about what? you're oddly being secretive.” Mortefi prods, merely raising his arms out of your reach once more.

“if you give it to me, I'll tell you.” you bargained, crossing your arms as getting the envelope back seemed futile.

“I've seen children conjour a lie better than yours.”

“ugh, you-”

Mortefi merely chuckles, his fingers playing with the paper flap. an almost unnoticable teasing smile on his lips as he taunts further.

“fine,” you huffed, “it's a test result.”

Mortefi blinks once, processing the information.

as far as he knew, you didn't had any major work this past few days. the only things you had done were signing papers and fixing broken weapons that were dropped in the Academy's door.

besides, he's the one who gives you work. so this envelope must be something personal. something a mere co-worker shouldn't pry.

“it seems I've crossed the line,” Mortefi sighs, placing the envelope back in your hands, “I apologize if I came out rude-”

before he could finish his oddly sappy apology, you covered your mouth— laughing at his somewhat sheepish expression.

“you-” you laughed, looking at him as he stood confused, “you're taking it too seriously-”

Mortefi then deadpans, crossing his arms across his chest, “ha.. you're so eccentric.” he mutters. his eyes now looking at the way your lashes flutter as your eyes closed, or how your tense body seem to ease a bit as you laughed because of him. it was him, Mortefi, who had made you this happy—

but.. you didn't have to know that.

you didn't have to know the way he hids his expression as soon as you look up to him; the endearing look he once had replaced with nonchalance. he patiently waits for you to calm down from your peals of laughter, uncaring of the odd stares around the office.

“Mortefi?” he saw the way you tilted your head, a few strands of hair framing your face as you waved your hand in front of him. how rude, he thinks.

“I can feel you heating up.. even when I'm just in front of you. are you that embarrassed?” you asked curiously, a mix of concern and teasing on your tone.

“I'm upset that you seem to shrug of my genuine concern.” Mortefi scoffs, trying to quell his raging heart beat. he crosses his arms more tightly against him as an act of defiance. but really, he was trying to hide the way his chest rapidly falls up and down, his breath quickening on the way he feels at that moment. it almost felt as if the Tacet Mark on his chest was waving along to the frequencies of his heart.

he knows what he's been feeling for you the past weeks.. but a little more denial and study on his feelings wouldn't.. hurt.. right?

“ah, my bad.” you apologized, but Mortefi knew it was merely half-meant, if the way your shoulders just seem to shrug it off.

“now, since we've been in this conversation for a while,” he starts off as he ignored the flutters in his stomach, pushing up his glasses with his finger, “what really is in that envelope?”

if your laughter was any indication, Mortefi deduces that while it is personal, it wasn't something that truly concerns you to the point you'll shut people out. he began to scrutinize the way you bit your lip in nervousness, or the fact that you seem to hold the envelope even closer to your chest. (which he hadn't noticed that you already grabbed subtly when he places his arm down.)

“well?” Mortefi tilts his head, waiting for a reply.

“I..” you sighed, looking at him straight in the eye, “I'm going to the military.”

you notice the way Mortefi merely glances at you with a look of absurdness. it had made you realize that maybe your answer was quite vague.

“I'm leaving the Academy,” you made the announcement clear, and didn't miss the way Mortefi's eyes widens a tad bit, “I applied to be a soldier on the front lines.. I want a different kind of approach in helping Jinzhou.”

“.....”

for a while, you wonder if you had somehow.. broke the ever so suave Mortefi you did. if the way he seems to heat up more..? did he became upset on your sudden announcement of looming departure?

“Sir.. Mortefi..?” you called out unsure. at the end of the day, he was still your superior– no matter how much you banter like friends.

his eyes sharply turns to you, an inquisitive look on his face. “back on formalities again?” if anything, he sounded more and more upset.

“sorry,” you sighed, your hands tentatively pulling out the thick paper from the envelope. showing him the results of your test in applying in the military.

Mortefi looks down on the paper, he glances at the words etched on it. amidst the long words and paragraphs, his eyes zoned in on a sentence.

“we are pleased to have you with us as a fellow Midnight Ranger!”

not knowing his inner building turmoil, you looked down on your feet as you spoke, “I didn't know how to tell you.. the higher-ups already gave me an approval to leave the Academy within a week or two.”

the bustling sounds of the place were the only white noise. you watched as Mortefi stood in front of you, a thoughtful, yet unreadable expression on his face as he stares at the papers. flipping the page every now and then.

“Mortefi...?”

“is that all?” said man merely hums, as if his odd attitude previously was an illusion, “I should probably give you a newly made weapon to help you before you depart.”

“oh.. are you not upset?” you questioned, taking the papers back.

“should I be?” Mortefi smirks, a knowing look on his face, “should I not be proud that you're broadening your minisicule horizons?”

“you-!” you balked, watching as he continues to tease you relentlessly... before cutting him off with a, “gosh, Mortefi. at least take it seriously!”

“what's there to treat in such manner?”

“I.. uh..” you paused, gears slowly aligning in your head.

in a matter of seconds, you felt yourself heat up. a mad blush painting your cheeks as you hid your face behind the envelope. Mortefi was right, why should he treat it so seriously? in fact, he should be somewhat supportive as your co-worker, even amidst the bittersweet departing.

then why is it that you feel.. mad.. or upset.. at his lack of.. elaborative response?

“are you upset?” Mortefi taunts, giving you the taste of your own medicine from earlier as he leans his body to your height.

“nothing,” you tried to shrug off, your feet taking a few steps back as you looked away.

“if this is about your late announcent to me as your superior, then yes.” he teases, as he morphs his expression into a mocking anger.

“in the end of all this though,” Mortefi gestures to the envelope, “I commend your bravery on stepping in this hectic journey.”

“...thank you, Mortefi.” you feel the way your cheeks even grew more a deep red, and as you look up, you were surprised to see a soft look on his face. almost as if..

no, you can't assume something so serious like that.

..yet you can't ignore the tension, the way he continues to check on you at work even when he wasn't required to. the way Mortefi nags the mess on your office that you left previously on a chaotic overtime at work. yet you find your desk a tad bit cleaner than before as you went back after lunch. which he hasn't done with other colleagues, merely staring at another's messy office place in disgust.

you can't and won't ignore the whispers of the people in the Academy on how you two seem too close to be mere co-workers. on how he asks for your opinion regarding a prototype he has made, even if the both of you knew he already had the answer with how genious he is.

there was no movement from both sides. though Mortefi was a straightforward man, he can even hesitate on something as delicate as love.

while there were no clear answers, like a new problem that was put on hold to be solved— the both of you know the way you feel with each other without words. it's only up to time and fate as to when the answer would unravel.

until then, this distance seems enough for now.

“fine, since you've done this much for me,” Mortefi mutters, looking in your eyes with a somewhat fond look, “go ahead, tell me the wildest inventions you can think of, and watch me make them happen for you.”

the man took a step forward, and boldly places a hand on your shoulder. his thumb brushing against the fabric of your clothes leisurely,

“after all, I can't let my co-worker leave the Academy empty handed now, hm?”

[giamee]

🥣 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ animator!welt x apprentice!reader

request ؛ ଓ @gonuclear do you think i could request welt yang with a reader that’s working as his apprentice (whether it’s a modern au or not is up to you! i don’t mind either way :) ) and he ends up starting to fall in love with them? maybe he even confesses 👀 up to you! thank you so much!! 💖

gia's notes ؛ ଓ haii thank u for requesting welt i loved writing for him!! unfortunately no confession because i am a sucker for pining 😔 it's also kinda short sorry

word count ؛ ଓ 0.8k ( + pining, fluff?? no warnings, kinda weird perspective changing cos its kinda from your pov at the start but from his later idk )

WELT'S A GOOD TEACHER. he's good at his craft, well-versed in tips and tricks and adequate enough to not only tell you about them, but ensure that you fully understand him too.

it's a pleasure to watch him work, too- a master at his craft, though he'd shake his head and chuckle in denial if you were to ever say it to his face. his face a perfect picture of concentration, velveteen voice narrating his actions as you watch on in awe as if he makes life itself sprout from the screen before him, as the sequence begins to take cohesive form.

it was that tiny screen that connected the two of you as well, two separate frames now working in tandem, many late nights spent trying to reach a deadline in time drawing the pair of you intangibly closer to each other.

so really, welt should have anticipated his feelings for you transitioning from a mild fondness to... something more profound.

it creeps up on him gradually, of course.

you're quite the talkative type, as opposing to the more reserved nature of welt. you can't help but share little tidbits about yourself, anecdotes about you and your friends, or little facts about yourself that welt surreptitiously makes a mental note of.

he can't help himself, either. he'll find that aspects of you bleed into his life away from work, too. even after he leaves the building so late, bidding you a good night that you cheerfully return, the next morning he'll be brushing his teeth, eyeing his weary reflection in the mirror, shuffling around his modest apartment until he catches something that brings his mind back to you, and he'll stop for a second to wonder just why he's thinking of you, his apprentice.

some point along the way, all the forced proximity with all of those late nights, you had ever so sneakily been promoted in his mind from an apprentice to something else altogether.

your eagerness, your determination- the passion with which you spoke and the way peals of laughter left you are not the first things that should be coming to mind when he thinks of you. the way you're like a breath of fresh air to him, how soft your hair looks, the bright shine in your eyes- no, welt mustn't think about it for too long.

and despite his reluctance to admit the true nature of his feelings- to break apart his forced ambivalence- your conniving self managed to sneak through anyway.

the realisation hits him one particular late night. it was just the two of you in his dingy office, though it was no deadline that caused the two of you to be the only ones left within the building. instead, it was a rather special occasion.

you had been making fine progress whilst being his apprentice, your own talent for animation beginning to really hone itself- to the point where he was confident in encouraging you to enter a competition.

and when the announcement of the winners rolled around (a date that he definitely had not written in his diary), he had the joy of seeing your beaming fave as you bounded into his office, telling him all about how you had won first place.

and then you had procured two containers of takeout from behind your back- saying how you wanted to say thank him for his guidance and celebrate with him, waving him off as he stammered out some flimsy excuse of not wanting to keep you here later than necessary.

nonsense, you had told him. besides, you liked spending time with him.

that sentiment had him sitting up straighter in his chair, allowing an indulgent smile before he half-heartedly schooled his expression into one of neutrality again. his heart was beating a little faster, he noticed, his silly physical response to you making him feel like a schoolboy with a crush.

but it's not until he opens the takeout box in front of him to see his favourite meal- you had asked himeko what it was to get it right- and your beaming face watching for his reaction, did it truly hit him.

he realised just how much he had fallen for you. how strong the fondness for you has taken root within him, how light his soul feels when he returns your smile with an approving nod of his own.

but for every reason he finds to love you, he can't help but continue to bite his tongue, to remain restrained and merely smile and nod along to what you say instead of offering more of himself to you.

maybe one day, he tells himself. the half-promise leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

but it doesn't change the fact that as of right now, he's more than content just basking in your company, a mere planet orbiting the bright sun that you are, revelling in the brightness and warmth that comes with you.

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... because love can burn like a cigarette

hsr men as your high school crush

alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here! ୨ৎ

[sirhamburrger]

swings (kuroo x f!reader) it's not just the swings that makes you feel like you're flying.

tags: tooth-rotting fluff, sleepy reader and kuroo, childhood friends to lovers, every time they kiss it's like the first time <333

a/n: HBD KUROO MY MAN AUGHHHHHHHHHHHH i should really stop writing birthday things the day of and start planning earlier

one-shot; 714 words (border by @cafekitsune!)

the two of you are giggling uncontrollably as you stumble out of the restaurant. you lean on his shoulder, laughing into the fabric of his suit jacket.

“the waiter told us to enjoy our food, and you-”

“-and i said ‘you too’!” tetsuro wheezes. you both break out into a fresh peal of laughter. he holds the passenger door open for you like he always does. he's still a gentleman, after all, even when slightly tipsy and laughing his butt off.

the streets are empty by now, and tetsuro drives slowly. he keeps his eyes on the road and one hand on the steering wheel. the other is wrapped around yours, calloused thumb gently smoothing over the skin of your palm. 

“tetsu?” you hum.

“yes, sweetheart?”

“can we go to the park?”

it goes without saying that you live for the way his eyes brighten in that moment - hazel irises glimmering in the low light - because why wouldn't he want to go to the park? the park where the two of you first met?

you must have dozed off at some point, because you’re awoken with a warm hand on your shoulder and a tender kiss to the back of your hand. again the door is opened for you, and in your half-sleep stupor you feel warm and fuzzy. the sweet aftertaste of the restaurant's dessert still lingers on your tongue as you lace your fingers with his.

it looks vastly different in the shadow of night, but still the same as from years past. the water fountain, currently shut off. a few fiery red leaves float on the water’s still surface. the metal bench that gets unbearably hot under the summer sun, where the two of you used to burn your running shorts-clad legs in moments of forgetfulness.

and the red swings.

kenma would sit on the nearby bench, glued to his handheld console, refusing to partake in your enjoyment. ladies first, tetsuro would say, then push you as hard as he could until you were screaming from a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline. you’d get him back when you got the chance, with the goal of making him see true fear.

fun times, huh?

but what you loved most was when you’d each take a seat and swing alongside each other. you’d kick off the ground at the same time, screaming and laughing together. if you were swinging even a little faster, he’d adjust his speed to catch up. if you were slower, he’d slow down with you. he’d look over and lock his beautiful eyes with yours, and he’d smile.

you loved it because it made you feel as if it was just you and him in the whole wide world. it made you feel like you were flying alongside the butterflies in your tummy. even on bad days, which consisted of your bad days, and his bad days that were also yours in a way.

eventually you came to realize that it was him all along, and always had been. 

you visit at least once a month, enjoying the park’s view in all four seasons. but tonight feels so much more special. it’s a minute to midnight when you reach the old swing set. your hand is clasped in his when your watch beeps, signaling the start of a new day.

you take his face in your hands, thumbing over his cheekbones.

“happy birthday, my love.”

you kiss him, and it’s like those butterflies never left your stomach at all. you hold each under other starlight for who knows how long, until he yawns slightly, nuzzling his face into your hair.

“we should head home and go to bed,” you point out gently. “you have birthday lunch plans with the boys.”

“would it be acceptable to cancel those plans so i can stay home with you all day?” he murmurs.

“you know kenma will complain about you being whipped.”

“but bokuto will understand!”

“and then oikawa will argue the angle of bros over ho-”

“fine,” he concedes. “but i want to ride the swings with you for a little while. please?”

you sigh, your lips curving upwards. the butterflies are going insane with how he looks at you with those pleading eyes of his.

“okay, but just for a little while.”

haikyuu masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[dramionestills]

Day 16: 12 Fail Safe Ways to Woo a Witch

He could hear giggling and squealing. 

That was unusual coming from the professors’ lounge.

As he entered he could see the Transfiguration mistress, the Divination professor and the flying coach attempting to stifle their laughter, tears of mirth rolling down their faces.

They turned to look at him when they heard him and instantly dissolved into peals of laughter once again.

“What are you three up to?” he drawled, his confusion mounting by the second.

“Nothing.” Hermione responded between bouts of giggles.

“Right.. Why don’t I believe that?”

“Don’t worry about it, Malfoy. You just focus on, what was it again? Ah yes, finding out your desired witch’s favorite activities.” 

And as they doubled over snickering, Draco had a moment of clarity.

“Granger, were you snooping around my room?”

“Oh, darling.” She was wiping away tears. “ I was looking for my Advanced Transfiguration notes and stumbled upon a most curious book on your night stand.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake” He covered his face with his hand, though they could all tell he was blushing, judging from the pink tips of his ears.

“You lot have no leg to stand on teasing me on this, considering it was Potter who gave that to me, and that he got it from Weasley to begin with.” 

Ginny, Lavender and Hermione were now on the floor cracking up and couldn’t seem to catch their breath. 

“We know!!” Lavender squealed, “It’s what makes it even funnier”

“How many of these Fail-safe ways did you manage to implement before Hermione agreed to go out with you?”

“None, Red. Potter mistakenly thought I couldn’t seal the deal on my own.” he grumbled.

“Umm, I recall you definitely using the one on chapter 3, love.” Hermione said, giggles threatening to burst out again.

“Oh, yes! Ronald also used that one on me!”

“Is that the one about touching the arm while you look into her eyes? Because Harry also did that one.” Ginny added and they all began laughing again.

The door opened and in came the Defence Against the Dark Arts co-professors. They came to a halt next to the red-faced potions master and looked at their respective partners in confusion.

“Malfoy, what…?”

“What’s up with them?” “They are making fun of us, apparently.” “Oy, what for!?”

“You guys all had to use 12 Fail Safe Ways to Woo a Witch” More giggles.“Yes, Granger, but you seem to be overlooking one very important fact.” “What is that?” “It worked for all three of us.”

[campgender]

from The Preacher’s Wife: The Precarious Power of Evangelical Women Celebrities by Kate Bowler (2019)

transcript under the cut

As mainstream culture pondered questions of women’s liberation, evangelical readers wanted to know whether the most conservative kind of woman—a wife and a preacher’s wife no less—could ever be as happy. “The bras are burning, the flags are waving, and pins and bumper stickers burgeoning to announce the dissatisfaction of women. … The libbers are upon us and we must come to terms with them—and ourselves,” said one pastor’s wife. A whole genre of pastoral spouse literature answered with a well-publicized yes.

Wives of famous pastors were in an ideal position to combat the primary accusations of feminists: that housewives were trapped and unsatisfied. Ruth Peale’s 1971 The Adventure of Being a Wife was penned under the name “Mrs. Norman Vincent Peale,” which summarized much of her message: that her greatest achievements have come from being conformed to the image of her husband. Almost every famous preacher’s wife tried her hand at it. There was His Darling Wife, Evelyn about the wife of Oral Roberts and Woman: Be All You Can Be by Dale Evans Rogers, wife and co-star of singing cowboy Roy Rogers.

Other family members got into the game with books such as They Call Me Mother Graham, a celebration of the significance of Billy Graham’s mother “in a day when the bonds that hold families together are unraveling as never before.” The mother of famous 1970s televangelist Rex Humbard weighed in on the decline of modern faith with Give Me That Old-Time Religion, and the daughter of 1980s televangelist Robert Schuller wrote separate books about both her famous parents.

The appetite for stories of their lives soon translated into books like Living Cameos, featuring famous wives such as Edith Schaeffer, Shirley Dobson, Macel Falwell, Beverly LaHaye, and Rexella Van Impe. Even Rita Bennett, the wife of the Episcopalian priest who had helped kick off the charismatic movement in mainline Protestantism, became a star: I’m Glad You Asked That showed her looking like a beautiful bohemian, wearing a homemade floral dress and ultra-long hair, ready to answer intimate questions about husbands and wives.

Colleen Townsend Evans, whose book A New Joy had sold a quarter of a million copies, published reflections about her marriage and her famous husband—she had abandoned a thriving Hollywood acting career to wed Presbyterian luminary, the Rev. Louis H. Evans Jr. She revealed that he was not only her spiritual guide but also her friend. This was not a shocking revelation, but that was precisely the point: there was remarkable consensus about the importance of a woman’s submission. Each woman had her own brand of submission: Beverly LaHaye’s was political; Anita Bryant’s was bubbly; and Elisabeth Elliot’s was poetic as ever, even in the way she called the sexes “gloriously and radically unequal.”

The three major topics these women addressed were the true meaning of liberation, the acceptance of innate sexual differences, and the spiritual importance of femininity as a marker of the Christian counterculture. In the 1972 memoir One Woman’s Liberation by Shirley Boone, wife of 1950s chart-topper Pat Boone, “liberation” centered on her struggle for a happy marriage to a husband who battled the temptations of Hollywood while she struggled with loneliness and jealousy. The story wanders through the private rooms of their famous lives, giving readers a tantalizing peek at the ordinary dinner conversations and glamorous soirées, but it culminates with her discovery that the age’s “new morality” was a threat to her family and to the divine order of creation.

Pat’s accepting responsibility as the spiritual leader of their family restored Shirley emotionally and spiritually, and so the story ends with frank chastisements of women who will not accept their place. She fretted that “women’s libbers militantly object to the place in society God has ordained for their sex, but by doing so, they lose much precious liberty the Lord intended them to have.” The hard-won ease of their marriage came from a loving husband who “frees his helpmeet … by being head of the house and protecting her” and being a submissive wife who “relieved of a lot of the hard, emotion-taxing decision making.” A wife under her husband’s authority would not resort to nagging or counterproductive independent action. Freedom came from letting herself fall into the deep grooves of God’s divine roadmap for men and women.

Though the rhetoric made much of their inequality, it simultaneously elevated such women to one of the most powerful titles of all, that of wife. This was odd, given that most evangelical and pentecostal women were not only wives and mothers, but had joined the workforce in the 1970s. (African American and Hispanic women simply remained in the workforce, having never experienced a similar golden age of single-earner households.) But when white evangelical and pentecostal women looked for paid employment, they clung to the ideal of wifedom far longer than the American mainstream.

The wider society had already begun to valorize the working woman, and this trend gained cultural recognition by the 1980s in everything from Madonna’s power suits to the rash of Wall Street comedies like Nine to Five and Working Girl, proving women could make it to the corner office. By the 1990s, evangelical women were still critically considering their place in relationship to second-wave feminism and its various causes as a third wave crested in the 1990s. Though difficult to precisely define, third-wave feminism was typically characterized by sex-positivity and heightened awareness of the ways gender intersected with class and race to shape (and limit) women’s agency.

At least on the surface, the stars of the Christian industry seemed entirely undisturbed by the vast economic changes that had turned most women out of the house. They had instead become the greatest public defenders of private domestic life, and would soon do so from church offices with their names on the door.

[v3nusxsky]

Can I get a lady lesso X reader where the teachers are doing a group bonding as part of the unification of the schools (aka getting drunk). This leads to everyone sharing their stories of how they were in school and since most of the teachers are of similar ages they'd discuss shared iconic school moments. However since r is much younger than most of them only being 20ish they didn't attend with any of them so nobody knows how r was. This leads to much suspicion as r has been very silent and was very reluctant to talk about it. They get worn down and it is revealed r was secretly a very rebellious punk never student which is a complete 180 from them being a nerdy ever teacher in the present. Everyone is shocked by this especially lesso who wants to know why r changed so drastically and why they pretended to be an ever so confronts r later on when they are alone. R reveals that they have really strict parents who were both very powerful/well known evers and they ended up disowning r and all the people in their friends from when they were a teen ended up dying or in jail so they really don't have anyone so thought it'd be better to reinvent themselves because they know everyone judged them and their friends based on looks and being a never but anyone who actually knew them would know they were really cool people who just had a really fucked up life that for the most part was their fault. Lesso ends up telling r to be themselves for her if not for r's teen self and r agrees to the next day. Everyone is shocked by the transformation and lesso is just over here trying not to die from how hot r looks.

Who you truly are|NSFW

*Authors note ~ okay so this is an amazing prompt and so detailed. I am going to bace reader off one of my oc so it's going to link to queen Regina from ouat ever so slightly. I hope that's okay.*

Trigger warnings~ praise overstim kink mistress kink jealousy sex insecurities unable to be themselves alcohol usage

Prompt~see ask^^^^^

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Ever since the schools have merged, there's been tension on both sides. Learning to co exist in ways they hadn't had to before was hard. Some unwilling to try others not knowing what to say or do. That is why a new rule was passed for all professors. The Unification rule was probably one of the best parts of the merger. Strictly adults only and a lot of alcohol. You could quite easily see it becoming your favourite part of the month. Once a month you got to see everyone interact without the usual rivalry.

You were completely tipsy, half way there to that happy drunk state. Pretty much everyone was either drunk of tipsy by now, the conversations flowing effortlessly as you all chattered nonsense really. Clarissa decided you should all share memories of your time at school. The other teachers were a fair few years older than you so the versions they described were quite old fashioned. It was interesting to think of them with back combed hair and drastic makeup. The images your mind was conjuring up was making you giggle hysterically. That seemed to have drawn attention to you. They immediately asked what you looked like, how you acted, if you were always the nerdy Ever that preferred to be buried into a book.

You visibly pealed and tried to bluff your way through and of course Leonora called you out on your lie. Their suspicions looks told you that it wasn't only Leonora that didn't quite buy your tale. You then had to completely tell the truth. Truthfully, you were quite the memorable student in your school days, but not for the right reasons. The gasps of shock and questions seemed to poor from the others. Leonora smirked at your description of yourself and the glint in her eyes told you that she wouldn't be dropping it that easy.

The night trickled on and you were downing alcohol like it was tap water. Truthfully you were two sheets to the wind by the end of the night, slurring absolute nonsense. There was this one Never teacher, she called herself Isadora if you remember correctly, and she was flirting with Lady Lesso. The rage you felt at the sight was overpowered by the instant insecurities you felt. Suddenly everything that was you seemed average. The attributes you usually loved seemed to be nothing in comparison to Isadora. And the way she makes Lady Lesso laugh like no other, yeah you were definitely jealous. You didn't realise just how badly until Leonora placed her hand on Isadoras shoulder and leaned over into whisper in her ear, you were glaring daggers into Isadoras head. If looks could kill she would be dead. And that most certainly didn't go unnoticed by the dean of evil, she quickly dismissed the unaware teacher and made her way over to you watching as you rapidly blinked trying to disguise your jealousy.

"Come pet, you're absolutely out of this world" she purred leading you away from everyone else and back to her chambers. If you were sober you would've noticed however, you were absolutely out of your mind so you followed willingly. And that was how you found yourself tucked up next to her where you passed out instantly. She couldn't help but chuckle and follow suit after making sure there was some water at your bedside for the morning.

☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾☾

The sunlight seeped into the room through the gap in her curtains, stirring you awake with a groan. God your head was pounding, and the sheets too damn comfortable. Wait. Your head was resting on someone? With a small peak from under your eyelashes you saw the one and only Leonora. A blush rose over your cheeks at the fact you were in her bed, the fact you remained in last nights clothes meant nothing other than sleep had occurred. A chuckle next to you roused you from your thoughts. "Awake now are we pet?" God her morning voice. You'd imagined it of course but nothing could compare.

As if she read your mind she reassured you, "nothing happened love, and I know just how badly you wanted it to. But i would never take advantage of such a pretty play thing. However, now you're more or less back to normal all you have to do is ask." You lay there in shock. No way was she offering what you thought she was. Right? "But what about Isadora" you whimpered, your insecurities showing. Her laugh was everything, "Isadora isn't my type darling. I don't want her I want you if you'll let me have you" was all it took for you murmur a simple plead.

"Mistress darling, say it. Say please mistress like a good girl" she taunted you loving how eager to please her you were. "Mistress please I want you" you whined. That was all it took for her to straddle your hips and capture your lips in a possessive kiss. She was claiming you as hers and truthfully you'd never been happier than here and now.

Leonora was a diligent lover, she placed kisses all over your skin as she exposed it, paying almost worship like attention to every part of you. She murmured praises and reminded you just how perfect she saw you to be. The sweet one had to be when she placed her lips directly above your heart and whispered, "this is my most prized possession of you'll allow me to have it pet."

After all her worship like attention everywhere but where you were aching for her, she started to please you in ways you'd never been pleased before. Leonora made your past lovers seem like fools, you were use to one climax and done, but this women brought you over that edge time and time again. Not even stopping to ask for anything in return. Praises were constantly thrown at you as you violently fell over the edge for her. "Mistress! Please can't' no more!! Hurts so good please" you all but whined. You were a complete mess, and she was loving every moment of it. "One more pet, just one more like the pretty girl you are. So good for your mistress" she murmured before bringing her lips back to your clit. It was the feeling of her younger flattening against you that had you coming with a strangled cry. She fucked you through it before moving to clean you up. There you lay with half lidded eyes and completely fucked dumb for the very talented Dean of evil.

Word count ~ 1451

[eridanidreams]

Snippet Sunday

Tagging the usual suspects! Post if you got it, enjoy if you don't!

@bearlytolerant, @silurisanguine, @aro-pancake, @fangbangerghoul, @atonalginger, @aislingdmdt, @fshenkoescape, @ninjaofnaps, @lisa-and-shadow, @a-cosmic-elf, @thatsgoodsquishy0, @hockeydemon42, @fomagranfalloon, @violenceandviolets, @therealgchu, @staticpallour and @artemis-crimson

from stars through my fingers like grains of sand, wip chapter

Cait let out a soft sigh. "I try not to look that deeply. It's… intrusive. And even surface feelings can be hard to deal with if there's a lot of people around. Or if they're particularly strong personalities." Abruptly, she shoved herself out of the pilot's chair to stand below one of the massive windows. It really was a fantastic view. "Like pretty much everyone in Constellation."

Humor wreathed around Andreja's reply. "Ah. I begin to see why you spend your time out in the starfield." Cait chuckled wryly as Andreja took two steps to stand beside her. "I know that my beliefs are not yours, but if it is wisdom you seek, I shall offer you what I may."

"I… yes?" Cait said, wondering why Andreja seemed so hesitant about offering—and then she realized what the problem might be. "I don't mind you sharing your beliefs with me. I get touchy around Matteo because he won't stop." She let out a frustrated little breath. "I know he means well, but…"

"His enthusiasm can outweigh his consideration," Andreja agreed. "And I shall remember that." Cait kept her gaze on the vista before her, but she was still entirely aware of Andreja's appraising look. "Among my people, one such as you is cherished. 'Let he who hears the hearts of his people be your guide, for he is close to the heart of the Serpent. But ward him well, for only when heart and mind sing in harmony will he hear the truth of the universe.'" She fell silent for a few moments, letting Cait consider what she had said. "I think," she said, a quiet kindness hidden for only Cait to hear, "perhaps your heart and mind are not in such harmony."

Cait let out a long sigh. Harmony was the last word she would use—her mind she used as a wall against outside emotions; her own feelings had been co-opted to undermine her mind. Throw in the Artifacts and Towers, and some days she felt like the fictional martini: shaken and stirred. "Not so much, no."

"And yet, however marred your past, you are here and whole, a valued member of Constellation." Andreja's voice was cool and calm as ever, but an almost shy appreciation peeked between the words. "I have enjoyed the opportunity to travel with you."

"I—" Cait stammered a little, "—ah, likewise." She took a deep breath and turned her head to meet Andreja's eyes again. "Maybe, one day, you'll tell me a little more? Maybe see if you can teach me a little of that harmony."

The ship rang with the sound of the hatch closing. Andreja's eyes warmed almost imperceptibly, though her smile was more sensed than seen. "It would be my pleasure," she said quietly. "But Sam has returned, which undoubtedly means that Vladimir has provided another potential Temple location to investigate."

Cait gave Andreja a mock-scowl at the name. "Et tu, Brute?" Behind her, Sam's feet rang on the deck, Cora's laughter pealing after him.

"Sorry, darlin'," Sam chuckled as he took the stairs two at a time, "you're destined to lose that one." He gave Andreja a friendly smile. "Vlad sends his best, as usual. And if you'll excuse me," he pulled Cait back against him to press a quick kiss against her cheek. "Miss me?"

"You were all of thirty meters and an open hatch away," Cait said tartly. At his lugubrious look, she shook her head and smiled. "Yes, I missed you. Satisfied?"

"For the moment," he grinned. "You two plotting anything interesting up here?"

Cait wasn't quite sure how to answer that one, but Andreja didn't hesitate. "I believe the phrase you would use is… 'girl stuff'."

"Girl stuff," Sam said, eyeing both of them a little skeptically.

"We are 'girls', yes?" Andreja asked logically. "We are doing 'stuff'. Therefore, 'girl stuff'."

"Which, in your case, involves particle beams and edged weapons. Got it." Sam shook his head with another laugh. "All right. So who wants to know where we're going next?"

Cait slid back into the captain's seat. "Lay it on me," she said. Despite all the problems she was struggling with, his presence never failed to lift her spirits.

"Next stop, Altair."

Cait pulled up the starmap, pressing the button to confirm the course… and her breath was punched out by the sudden, absolute dread that seized her.

[dracocheesecake]

Constitution Of A Yak

Warnings: Some mild gross elements regarding sickness, mostly dealing with copious amounts of snot.

Kai didn't get sick- or at least, that was what he always claimed. He seemed to believe that he was either immortal or immune, that sickness couldn't touch him- but Oogway knew better; it was touching him now.

Of course, you couldn't tell his co-general that. Kai had a philosophy surrounding illness that seemed to boil down to 'if I just ignore it, it can't get to me'. He would soldier through and lead their troops, no matter what ailed him.

But Oogway couldn't withstand it anymore. It was obstinance that bordered towards self-destruction, and as his friend, he couldn't sit by and let it happen; also, the coughing and sneezing that broke through the air like peals of thunder during his meditation was starting to drive him insane.

He opened his eyes, watching Kai from his side of their shared tent. His co-general was sitting behind a low desk, eyes glued to a bunch of maps as he attempted to plan their next campaign. Tiny wooden figures representing battalions of their warriors dotted the map, and an abacus was beside him, the beads constantly moving as he made calculations on supplies.

He let out another earth-shaking cough, and all of the items on his desk were knocked freshly askew. Cursing, he reached forward, trying to rearrange all the figures and the abacus the way he had it. Oogway smiled a little.

"So I take it we're either planning for a storm to wreck our regiments, or the gods are going to rain their fury down upon us."

Kai glared at him. There were flaky bits of pale green crust around his nostrils, and his eyes were red and watery. He breathed in a strange, congested way, so that if they had been on a stealth mission, they would have all been dead. His tongue came out occasionally to clean his nose and wet his dry lips. He turned back to his maps and figures.

Oogway tried to smile again as if nothing was wrong, but now his friend's condition was wearing on him.

He cleared his throat. Kai looked at him again. Oogway had to be careful with this, and none too conspicuous.

"...Speaking of the god's wrath- maybe we've displeased them already. I've heard that a cold has been going around the camp," he said. "We might want to be careful. Don't want to catch it."

Kai straightened and glared down at him. "I don't get sick," he said. He had been trying to be intimidating, but the effect was ruined by his constant sniffing; but even if he had been at his peak health, Oogway still wouldn't have been cowed. He dropped all pretense.

"Kai, you're sick."

Kai made a few congested noises. "...No I'm not."

"Why are you breathing like that, then?"

"Mind your own business." He then started coughing.

Oogway watched with an arch look. "Oh, so if I felt your forehead right now, you wouldn't have a fever?"

"No."

"Come here, then," Oogway got up and approached him, hand outstretched. Kai scooted back, glaring at him.

"Take my word for it."

"No."

And with no other warning than that, he lunged straight for him. Kai only had just enough time to let out a cry of surprise and fall to the side. Oogway flipped, landing on his feet, and faced him again, prepared to make another pass.

"Come here!"

Kai snorted stubbornly and crouched down. "No! Leave me alone!"

Then he tossed the table at him and rushed out of the entrance flap. Oogway scoffed and followed.

"Kai! You're being a-"

He paused, eyes wide as Kai lunged at him on all fours. Oogway jumped out of the way and grabbed one of the bull's horns, swinging onto his back. Then he gripped his mane for something to hold onto; he was too close to Kai's head- if he just managed to reach out...

But Kai knew it, too. He stood suddenly and then fell, crushing Oogway under his weight; not entirely, thanks to the tortoise's shell, but the impact hurt the ribs and spine embedded into it nonetheless, and Oogway winced.

It seemed the impact had hurt Kai, too. Oogway was shaped like a boulder, and falling on such a thing spine-first wasn't exactly a massage. Kai groaned and rolled off of him, coughing. Oogway rose, rubbing his chest.

"You're fighting more like a lame lamb than a bull, 'Jade Slayer'," Oogway taunted. "You must be even more sick than I thought."

Kai snorted, snot as well as steam shooting out of his nostrils. However, despite the fearsome display he maintained, he swayed on his feet. The illness that had infected him was starting to get to his head, making his movements as thick and heavy as the substance that ran out of his nose. Oogway was not afraid to forgo honor and take advantage of this; it was, after all, only for his own good.

He rushed at him, but Kai was not so slowed that he didn't anticipate the move: he threw his arms up to block Oogway's next blow, but then Oogway grabbed both of his wrists and held them, then pulled Kai down to his level. Kai gritted his teeth.

"You want to feel my forehead so badly? Fine!"

Then Kai's forehead collided with his, and Oogway felt even in that brief instant how warm it was. His brain felt like it was rattling in his skull, but he fought off the dizziness enough to grab Kai's horns and hold him there, their foreheads pressed together. Kai paused suddenly in confusion.

Their eyes met. Oogway tsked. "Burning hot with fever."

There was a move that Kai couldn't process, (probably a sample of that 'kung fu' he was developing), and then Kai was on his back, sending ripples of aches throughout every muscle. Oogway straddled his waist and looked down at him in that same arch manner. Kai didn't struggle anymore. He was tired, too tired, and Oogway felt strangely heavy. Dizziness was starting to drown out his senses. He coughed again.

"Fine! Fine..."

Oogway gave him another arch look. "You yield? You'll see a doctor?"

Kai grumbled something in response. Oogway took it as the acquiesce it was. He reached up to pat Kai's cheek and then slid off of him.

"Alright, then. I'll fetch him- but no running off. I'll find you and drag you straight to the medicine tent myself if I have to."

And both of them knew that it was true. Kai snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, but didn't get up.

"Just go get him before I kick your ass."

"That's something, coming from someone who's ass was just kicked."

Kai snorted in response- with amusement this time. "Just go get him- but Oogway, if I die during treatment..."

Oogway rolled his eyes. "You're not going to die."

Kai sniffed and glared at him in defiance. "...If I die, Oogway..."

Oogway smiled obligingly. Kai narrowed his eyes.

"...Kill the doctor."

Oogway laughed. "Will do, Kai."

[sofiiel]

Jonathan is a kiss you in the rain kind of man, and he'd find a way to make it happen the moment a chance for showers ends up in the weather forecast.

Bringing you something to your job to meet you by the car in the rain, so he could try for that kiss, suggesting a walk in the park or going to the lake. Maybe grocery shopping together and hoping to get caught out in the rain.

And when he kissed you it would a slow and sweet, the kind that make you feel like you have to pop your foot up. The kind where he holds onto the side of your face and coaxes your tongue to enter his mouth.

His hands would leave your face and slowly slip down your body to pull you close by the waist. The heavier the rainfall the deeper the kiss, He'll make you feel like the star of your own romance film.

Trying his best to leave you breathless. After you'd get an adorable smile from him, he's probably trying to blush a little and without a bout if you were at work all your co-workers saw it and are a giggling, giddy, slightly jelly gaggle of chatter.

If not and it was just the two of you having a day out, he'd take you home, dry you off warm you up and snuggle the rest of the day away with you.

A rainy kiss in the dead of night means pealing each other's closes off and finding interesting ways to warm up. It won't be dry, though.

[spotsandsocks]

Oh, Spotty, dearest!!!! what seemed like a good idea at the time has now just made my life so much more complicated and my sister might kill me cos she has to organise a huge party now just so I can chat to this guy a bit more for the WIP summaries???? (Is this by any chance author Buck???)

My dearest hippo yes this is author Buck and his insane plan to get some more time with Eddie 😆😆😆

“This is a nightmare Evan.” His wise, beloved and totally wonderful sister breathes deeply, visibly pulls herself together and rises to the occasion.

“Ok. Ok. I can do that.”

“Of course you can Mads, your the best and I am sorry. But it’s a good idea. Good publicity? Maybe? We can have a raffle or auction for charity or something. I’ll write something new, a short story as a prize and we’ve got that art print of my first book cover. Or or I can take someone out for dinner? What?”

Maddie is giving him an amused look.

“Hmm I wonder who we’d want to win that one huh?”

Horribly aware of his scarlet cheeks he glares at her and ignores her peals of laughter when he says grumpily.

“Shut up.”

Thanks for taking an interest in my wips! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 🐉❤️🦛

[unionjackpillow]

John Finnemore returns with a one-off edition of his Souvenir Programme, joined as ever by his cast of Margaret Cabourn-Smith, Simon Kane, Lawry Lewin and Carrie Quinlan, as well as composer Susannah Pearse at the piano and cellist Sally Stares on the drum.

This forty-five minute special sees a palaeontologist try to not lose his head, a husband try to explain why he’s going to Milan, and the world’s top golfer getting a surprise. We also hear from a member of the silent majority and our regular interviewer hears from someone else. And… well, since you ask him for a story about an amazing journey…

Written and performed by … John Finnemore

Ensemble … Margaret Cabourn-Smith

Ensemble … Simon Kane

Ensemble … Lawry Lewin

Ensemble … Carrie Quinlan

Original music … Susannah Pearse

Piano … Susannah Pearce

Drum … Sally Stares

Recording … Jerry Peal & Jon Calver

Editing … Rich Evans Production

Co-ordinator … Katie Baum

Exec Producer … Richard Morris

Producer … Ed Morrish

Released On: 27 May 2023Available for 29 days

[jinxiswriting]

I wanna scoop my insides out with a ladle and serve myself up in portions for everyone to take a taste and spit out what they don't like and tear apart the parts they do.

I wanna peal my skin off to fix others wounds i wanna gift my blood to my family cos thats all that ties us together

I wanna pick apart the parts of myself that make me feel ill i want to gift my eyes to my friends so they see themselves through my eyes

I wanna tear open again old wounds and feel them too deep to much i wanna crack open my ribcage and let my heart spill out

let my bones splinter and get caught in your skin when you hold me

i wanna tear this body to bits and remodel just to break it all down again