#plus it's part of his story and my gif series

[that-one-girl2020]

HEY!!! loved the story series!!! And the mini ones!

I have an idea after reading “confrontation”

What if while searching through the archive Saja boys and Zoey and Mira find an old box that was sealed tight and when they open it they find it filled with pictures of Rumi and (Y/n)’s baby photos maybe even a note book that their parents documented them growing up in the short time they had with them.

And in those photos they see part of the reason of why Celine hated (Y/n) so much and it’s because she looked more demon while Rumi only had the smallest or patterns, maybe like glowy eyes and baby claws, which maybe explains why she wasn’t able to connect with the Honmoon?

Honestly, it mostly after the releases of the original storyboard where we could have seen Rumi’s parents and the release of the official art of her father and mother.

Baby Photos

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: This concept was originally requested by @lazyemmy so that’s why there’s two versions of them finding baby photos. The first half of this is more light hearted while the second is a little more solemn and is based on the official art of Rumi’s parents. You don’t need to have read my short series to have this make sense but I still recommend it!

Synopsis: After kicking Celine to the curb, the nine of you begin your search through the household for answers. But you are waylaid by certain photos being found.

TW: Hints of Celine’s toxic parenting

Word Count: 2,544

Master List

(Reminder: Baby = Jum, Romance = Chungae, Mystery = Hyeon, Abby = Kwan)

The Hunters’ training grounds had been taken over by five demons, two half demons, and two humans. Plus a blue tiger and a three eyed magpie.

Celine had been kicked to some place far away yesterday and the nine of you had taken the rest of the day to emotionally recover. It ended up in a puppy pile sleep over in the den.

This morning, you had all stirred slowly. Jinu or Rumi might have been the first ones to wake up—you’re not sure but they’re the ones that were making breakfast when you woke. You didn’t want to get up, surrounded by the cozy warmth of several bodies around you. But you all had work to do.

After breakfast, the nine of you had split up throughout the house. You, Hyeon, and Kwan were in the basement storage, going through different chests which held different scrolls, tapestries, and other antiques.

“I think I remember this from my time…” Kwan mused, pulling out an old wooden mask. He held it up to his face.

“Please don’t break it…” You smiled fondly at his antics.

You all turned when you heard pounding footsteps and the female maknae’s voice, “Guys! Guys! Guys!” Zoey peeked her head down as soon as she was far enough down the stairs. “We found Rumi and (Y/n)’s baby pictures!”

You blinked as you struggled to process what she had just said.

Zoey was already running back up the stairs. Kwan and Hyeon also took a moment before Kwan shouted after her, “Wait, what?! Really?!” With a grin, the man ran after her, rushing up the stairs with a grin.

You called after him, “Wait, Kwan!” You turned when you noticed movement out of the corner of your eye. Hyeon was jogging after them. “Hyeon!”

“Sorry, not sorry, princess.”

You sighed, following after them as well.

The group had gathered back in the den, surrounding two boxes—one was a lot dustier than the other. Celine definitely had her preferences.

“Ohhh, little baby Rumi and (Y/n) in hanboks!~” Zoey was already cooing over a photo in her hand.

“Little (Y/n) and Rumi with the cherry blossoms,” Mira couldn’t help but join in, going through a stack of photos in her hand.

“So you guys were homeschooled?” Chungae noted as he looked at a picture of the two of you studying in one of the libraries.

“I didn’t think your aunt was the sentimental type to take all these photos…” Jinu said curiously, a photo of Rumi and you running around with sparklers in his hand.

Rumi—who was going through the photos curiously—answered mindlessly as you joined them, sitting by the dusty box of your photos. “She wasn’t. Aunt Maggie was the one who took the photos.”

The boys and Mira and Zoey blinked. “‘Aunt Maggie’?”

You and Rumi looked at each other. ‘Had neither of you really ever mentioned Aunt Maggie for that long…?’

“Yeah. Aunt Maggie was the third Sunlight Sister with our mother and Celine. She helped raise us for a while even though she and Celine fought a lot. They eventually had a really bad falling out and she left to one of the other Hunter properties,” You explained, digging through all the photos to the very bottom, where some of the few photos of you, Rumi, and Aunt Maggie were.

“Woah,” The girls gathered around you to look at the photos, the boys following. Rumi smiled fondly over your shoulder, looking down at the photo of Maggie sitting in a field of flowers with baby you and her in matching dresses in her arms.

“You were so cute~” Jinu cooed teasingly, pinching your cheek and tugging on Rumi’s braid.

You swatted his hand, “You boys are just lucky that your baby things are long gone.”

“I say we take these with us when we go,” Jum chimed, curiously going through the photos. His eyes were slightly wide—he likely has only seen children or babies a handful of times before coming to the human world with the other boys. So seeing the young photos of you must be strange to him.

Chungae lit up, “We can make a photo album then!” You could see Chungae’s mind racing with ideas. While you wanted to protest, embarrassed by everyone cooing over pictures of young you and Rumi, Chungae was too excited for you to shoot him down.

Zoey also lit up, “Yeah! That would be so cute!~”

Rumi groaned, “Do you guys have to?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Definitely.”

“Mhm.”

“Obviously.”

“Already filling up my Amazon cart!”

You and Rumi had no say. They were all going through the boxes of photos, calling out descriptions of the pictures to each other so they could shove it in each other’s faces to share. You think you saw a few of the boys tuck photos into their pockets. Mira and Zoey might have done the same.

Rumi was ruffled over all the cooing and awing, her cheeks red, but she was going through the photos too, enjoying the memories that she couldn’t remember well.

Mira found a photo of you and Rumi first starting to learn to dance not long after you both learned to walk.

Hyeon pulled out a photo of you nursing an injured baby fawn back to health.

Jinu tucked a photo of you pouting over a kid sized acoustic guitar into his pocket. He made a note to ask if you wanted him to teach you.

Zoey laughed over a picture of Rumi covered in flour on the floor of the kitchen, her eyes teary as she sulked.

Kwan chuckled as he held a photo of baby you splashing in a little kiddie pool while Rumi pouted at the splash you had soaked her with.

Chungae was aweing over a picture of you doing some kind of arts and crafts, your little hands covered in glitter and paint smeared on your chubby cheeks.

Jum smirked at the photo of little baby you in a raincoat and boots, sitting in a puddle with wide eyes, as if you were shocked by your own fall.

You decided to ignore the cooing and just go through your own lost memories.

~~~

Alternatively:

You, Hyeon and Kwan were in the basement storage of the household. It was vast, filled with chests and crates that held scrolls, tapestries, paintings, and antiques from times long past. The others were upstairs, spread out throughout the household.

“What’s this one…?” Kwan mused quietly. Tucked between two old chests was a much newer wooden crate underneath an old tapestry, hidden. He lifted it easily, it was relatively small and not heavy. He took it over to the table the three of you had taken down here to make it easier to go through things. He used the crowbar, easily prying it open and blinked at the contents of the box.

“(Y/n), you’ll want to see this.”

You looked up at the serious tone of Kwan’s voice. You set down the painting you were looking over, making your way over to the table, “What is it?”

Kwan merely pushed the open box over to you silently, Hyeon coming over to join curiously. You were unsettled by the serious look on Kwan’s face, the solemn look in his eyes with a glint of awe.

You looked to see what the contents of the box were and froze, your eyes widening. Immediately, you scooped the box up in your arms and ran up the stairs, calling for your sister, “Rumi! Rumi!”

You rushed into the den, bouncing on your feet as you waited for your sister to join you from wherever she was. Within seconds, she had ran into the room, panicked and a little on edge as she looked around for a threat, “What!? What is it?! Are you hurt?!”

You shook your head, “I’m fine, come here!” You said before grabbing her wrist to pull her to the middle of the den where your blankets, cushions, and pillows were still laid out. You pulled her down to sit with you before placing the box carefully between the two of you. You reached in and pulled out the picture that had been the first thing you saw earlier. Rumi gasped, her eyes beginning to water as she took the photo with a trembling hand. Your own eyes began to water as you leaned close to her so you could both look at it.

A man and a woman with two babies. The woman had long black hair pulled back in an elegant braid, her eyes soft as she held a finger out to the two babies in the man’s arms. The man had a fond smile on his lips, his amber eyes on the woman as he cradled the two babies carefully in his purple tinted arms, patterns covering his skin. One baby had purple hair and happy brown eyes, a hand around the ribbon of the man’s hat and little patterns on her arms. The other baby had (h/c) hair and glowing amber eyes like the man, patterns across her arms and little fangs in her grin as her little claws reached for the woman’s finger.

“It’s our mom and dad,” Rumi gasped, smiling. Because it was. Instead of the vague figures the two of you called your mother and father, suddenly they were mom and dad.

You couldn’t help but sniffle and laugh tearfully, “You really do look like mom.”

Rumi laughed just as wetly, “Yeah. And you look like dad.”

And it wasn’t something to be disappointed by. Instead of the labels that Celine had shoved onto the two of you, it was a pride. Your parents, who had defied logic and reason by falling in love with each other.

You didn’t notice the rest quickly joining the two of you until they were sitting around you, offering comfort with hugs and arms around the shoulders as they looked curiously. “Genetics are funny…”

Reaching in, you pulled out the next item of its contents, a leather journal. Opening it, it had both your parent’s names in it—they seemed to take turns writing in it as they documented their time with you and Rumi.

They knew from the beginning that the two of you had taken more after one parent than the other. Sometimes, when Rumi giggled or cooed, the Honmoon would flare around her. And your demonic features would surface more often in times of intense emotions like happiness, joy, sadness, anger, etc. It would be some time until your body naturally learned to blend in with humans.

Your parents hypothesized that due to this difference between you and Rumi, you would never be able to connect to the Honmoon and Rumi would never have full access to her demon side—flying, glamouring, enhanced physicality, the heightened senses, all of this would probably always be out of Rumi’s reach. But they said it would make you all the more fearsome when the two of you fought at each other’s sides.

“Our darling girls are two halves of the same coin. They will do amazing things one day and I am sure of that. Together, they are a storm that will change the world.”

“I never thought I would have children, not after all of my mistakes. But Rumi and (Y/n) are the pieces of my heart that I didn’t know I was missing until I held them in my arms for the first time. The bond between a father and his daughters was something I couldn’t have fathomed until now.”

You and Rumi couldn’t help but laugh and cry as you read the journal, lingering on the handwriting of your mom and dad as you flipped through the pages. The others were quiet around you, knowing this was a moment for you and Rumi but they remained as silent comfort and support for both of you.

There were more photos too. Newborn Rumi and you in your exhausted mom’s arms. A family photo of the four of you in formal hanboks, Rumi in your mom’s arms while you were in your dad’s. Your dad struggling to bathe you and Rumi while the two of you splashed him and each other with giddy joy. Your mom walking around a garden, the sun shining on her as she walked with two babies swaddled across her chest. You and Rumi asleep on your sleeping dad’s chest, his mouth open in a snore. A pout on your mom’s lips that matched the one on yours and Rumi’s as you both refused the spoon she held out to you.

All these moments you didn’t remember but couldn’t help but treasure.

You and Rumi leaned against each other. This weekend really had left them emotionally drained, but this time it was nice. Your heart ached with the loss of what could have been.

‘What would have been different if they were still alive? What would they think of the women you and Rumi had become? Of Mira, Zoey, and your boys? Would dad have grilled them before they let them date the both of you? Would mom have helped the two of you with your dreams, guiding the two of you with a smile?’ You would never know the answers to these questions.

For now, you would be okay with these fragments of moments.

“Ohh, you and (Y/n) were so cute when you were babies,” Zoey cooed softly, leaning her head against Rumi’s shoulder.

Jinu chuckled, “Yeah, I can’t believe how cute your little claws were.” He held up a photo of you looking at the camera with teary eyes, your mouth open in a cry as you reached towards whoever was behind the camera.

“Little fangs,” Hyeon agreed, looking at a photo of you and Rumi asleep in your shared crib. Your mouth was open sleepily, showing off the little fangs as you and Rumi slept comfortably curled into each other.

“It’s so sickeningly adorable,” Mira smirked but her tone was soft and fond as she looked through the photos. She held one of their mom pulling Rumi’s little wispy hairs up into pigtails.

Chungae chuckled at the photo he had found, showing it to Jum who smirked. It was of a little baby you sitting in your dad’s arms, marker in hand as you scribbled on his arms, following the lines of his patterns. They mentally noted to themselves to ask if they could draw on your patterns.

“I’m not getting baby fever…” You heard Kwan murmur to himself under his breath and you looked over to see he had a silly grin on his face that matched the other boys. He had a photo of the four of you having a picnic in a bamboo forest, Rumi in your dad’s lap while you were in your mom’s.

You shook your head at your boyfriends.

You and Rumi would take the box with you when you went back to the city. You would make copies of every. Single. Photo. And scan the journal so there wasn’t ever a risk of you losing anything that had been left behind by your parents. Chungae would help you make a photo album and Zoey would do the same with Rumi so that you could carry the moments with you wherever the two of you went.

A/N: I swear I’m working on the smut, I’ve just never written a smut before and it’s hard to work out the mechanics with five partners. I’ll let you all know in an author’s note if I decide not to post it but for now I’m working on it.

Outtakes:

You: *Trying to learn how to teleport but keep hiccuping and teleporting into furniture*

Saja Boys: *cooing and aweing* “It’s like watching a baby fawn learn how to walk~”

You: “Just help me you assho-!“ *Hiccup*

…

Rumi: “So, where did Celine end up…?”

Mira and Zoey: “Don’t worry about it.”

Celine: *Freezing*

…

Zoey: “Soo…does this make you a monsterf***er?”

You: “…”

You: “Yes and no.”

Zoey: “???”

You: “Technically, the boys are also monsterf***ers. So are you and Mira, technically.”

Zoey: *shrugs* “True.”

Rumi and Mira: *Looking at the two of you with wide eyes*

Zoey and You: *Casually drinking your drinks*

…

Hater: “How am I single, and yet this girl has five hot idol boyfriends?!” *Waving their arms at you*

The Poly Pride: *Flipping them off*

…

Tag List: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374 @esposamultifandom

[444eggnog]

The Unexpected Plus One

✍︎: here’s part 2 to “A Sin With My Name On It”. i remember writing this and thinking of turning it into a full-on series. maybe i will if i ever have the time and patience, but for now this is where i’m leaving their love story hehe, sorry for the cliffhanger! i still hope you enjoy this short reunion. ♡ one more and my drafts will be swept clean!

masterlist ! ☻

content: flirty banter, tension, humor, and Lando sulking late at night

pairing: dj!lando x reader

wc: 3.8k

When destiny itself pulls you back together, you’re forced to just say “fuck it.”

Breakups were supposed to feel like freedom.

But all she felt was stupid.

Stupid for staying so long. For ignoring every red flag until they bled together like watercolors left out in the rain.

She didn't want to admit she was hurting, but she was.

So when her friend group staged an intervention, code for get dressed, we’re going out and you don’t get a say, she didn’t fight it.

She needed to get out of her head.

Max said he had a friend tagging along. The more the merrier, he insisted.

She didn’t expect it to be him.

Lando fucking Norris.

The same Lando who a few weeks ago had her pressed up against the steering wheel of his car, her dress hitched up, their breathing ragged, frantic hands everywhere.

No numbers exchanged. No goodbyes. Just a mess of heat and mistakes.

And they’d never seen each other again.

Until now.

She froze halfway through ordering her drink when she saw him appear beside Max.

Oh. Shit.

He saw her, too. Instant recognition lit in his eyes, followed by the barest flicker of surprise before he schooled his expression into something cool.

“Hey! This is my mate Lando,” Max announced, clueless. “Lando, Y/N.”

Lando’s gaze met hers, unreadable.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, voice annoyingly even.

She forced a smile that felt too tight.

“Yeah. Nice to meet you.”

She took his hand, shook it. Ignored the prickle of memory, the ghost of his fingers bruising her thighs.

He let go first, clearing his throat as Max turned to order drinks.

“Come on!” Max said, waving the bartender over. “Tonight’s on me. We’re celebrating Y/N being single again!”

Lando blinked.

Single?

He hadn’t known.

Lando’s brain short-circuited for half a second.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He knew the old boyfriend was trash. Had seen it with his own eyes, that night she’d been outside the club yelling at the asshole before storming off with him instead.

But hearing it confirmed?

That did something to him.

He’d tried so hard to be casual. Act like he hadn’t spent the last two weeks wondering where she was. Whether she’d gone back to him. Whether he was the asshole who’d broken up a relationship or the one who just gave her an excuse to finally walk away.

Now he had his answer.

She was single.

His fingers drummed against his glass, trying to look bored while his pulse thrummed in his ears.

Careful.

Don’t get stupid about this.

He wasn’t the type to get stupid over a girl.

But then again, he also wasn’t the type to scroll her ancient Instagram photos like a pathetic creep.

He risked a glance at her.

She was turned toward Max, pretending to laugh at something he said, but she didn’t look relaxed. Her spine was too straight. Fingers too tight around her glass.

Yeah. She heard it, too.

He swallowed and forced a smirk when she flicked her eyes his way.

Single.

Okay.

The night went on.

Shots lined up. Beers drained. The group relaxed, loosened up, forgot the reason they’d dragged her out in the first place.

He didn’t forget.

He watched her try. Watched her plaster on that effortless smile, the one that hid the tired behind her eyes.

And then her friend slid up next to him.

Meg? Meggy? Magui?

Lando forgot which one she introduced herself as because he was too busy clocking the way she pressed her arm to his.

“So. Lando, right? Max says you’re a DJ? That’s hot.”

He snorted. “It’s… loud.”

She laughed too hard.

He glanced over her head. Caught Y/N watching.

She blinked once, expression flat, before deliberately looking away.

He had to bite back a grin.

Interesting.

“Seriously though,” Magui whispered, “you’re really cute. And I bet you’re, like, so fun.”

He shifted, uncomfortable. Not my type.

Not tonight.

Not when the only girl he wanted to be pressed against was currently pretending she hadn’t seen any of that.

He extricated himself politely.

“Sorry, gonna go get another drink.”

He left Magui pouting at the table.

When he reached the bar, he let out a slow breath.

Fuck.

He was being obvious.

He didn’t care.

He ordered himself another beer.

And when he turned back, he scanned the table.

There was an empty space beside Y/N now.

There was a bigger, open spot on the other side, right beside Magui, who gave him a little wave.

But he ignored it.

He walked straight over and dropped into the empty seat next to Y/N.

Didn’t even try to hide it.

And when he caught the group of guys at the next table eyeing her like she was dessert, he casually stretched his arm along the back of the booth behind her.

Possessive as fuck.

Didn’t say anything about it.

Didn’t need to.

He just leaned back, sipped his beer, and pretended not to notice the way she stiffened and tried not to smile.

─── 🏁

She refused to look at him when he returned from the bar.

But then she felt it.

Movement beside her.

She blinked.

The empty seat was suddenly filled.

Him.

Right there.

Sitting so close their arms brushed.

She didn’t dare turn her head.

But her fingers curled tighter around her glass.

And then she felt it.

His arm.

Sliding casually along the back of the booth.

Behind her.

She went stiff.

Heat prickled at the back of her neck.

What the fuck are you doing?

She tried so hard not to react.

Not to let her stupid mouth curl into a smile.

Because she’d seen the table of guys watching her, too.

Seen Lando clock them and then stake his claim without saying a single word.

Possessive asshole.

But god.

It worked.

Her shoulders dropped a fraction.

She didn’t lean into him.

But she didn’t move away either.

“Hey.”

Lando leaned a little closer, like it was just casual. Like his arm wasn’t resting comfortably behind her, like he wasn’t holding back a smirk every time she shifted in her seat.

She glanced at him. “Hey,” she said, with a half-smile.

He kept his voice low. “So… how’ve you been?”

She gave him a slow blink, amused. “You’re not seriously asking me that.”

“Well, I mean…” he scratched the side of his neck, shrugged. “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

She hummed, turning her glass in her hand. “Wasn’t about you.”

He nodded, then hesitated. “Did you guys break up because… of…”

She snorted. “Oh, God. No.”

He looked surprised. She gave him a tired smile.

“I just couldn’t take him anymore. You open a man’s phone expecting Spotify and find a full folder of tits. Nudes. Women from all over. One of them even included her foot in the photo like it was dessert.”

“Damn.”

She laughed. “Yeah. Damn.”

As if they hadn’t practically done the same thing. In person. In his fucking car.

Lando cleared his throat and looked away, lips pressed together in a thin line.

Across the table, Max watched them.

The way her body leaned ever so slightly in his direction. The way Lando’s arm was slung across the booth like it had been there a million times before.

The way they spoke, not like strangers. Not like friends.

Like people with history.

Wait.

It clicked.

Last week.

Lando asking him randomly, “What does it mean if you hook up with someone once but you can’t stop thinking about them?”

Max, laughing, calling it a one-night stand. Lando groaning, “No, mate, forget it. You’re no help.”

And the other day. Lando lying on his couch, scrolling on some girl’s Instagram, brows furrowed, totally zoned out.

Max hadn’t thought much of it. Because Lando was… well. Lando. A DJ. A serial flirt.

But now?

Now he couldn’t remember the last time his mate actually talked about hooking up with someone new.

It had been weeks. Maybe more.

Max was so deep in his mental spiral that he barely registered Pietra sliding into the booth beside him.

She nudged his arm. “Do you think Magui should go for Lando?” she asked, half-whispered, teasing.

Max, without thinking, muttered, “Yeah, sure.”

He didn’t even process the words.

He was still watching Lando.

Still trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

He kept watching them.

He didn’t even try to be subtle about it anymore.

Lando leaning in close, head ducked so he could say something only she could hear.

Her face softened. She nodded.

Max’s eyes narrowed.

What the fuck is he saying to her?

He tried to read Lando’s lips.

Was that…

“I’ll fuck you later”?

Max’s eyes went comically wide.

Jesus Christ.

Are they for real?

He blinked, shook his head.

Lando slipped out of the booth, standing up straight and stretching his arms like nothing was happening.

He gave her one last glance, smirked, then walked toward the bar.

Max glanced back at her.

She was watching Lando go, chin resting in her hand.

Max clenched his jaw.

Unbelievable.

He muttered something under his breath and shoved himself out of the booth, following Lando to the bar.

─── 🏁 What actually happened

Lando leaned in, his voice pitched low so only she could hear.

“Hey.”

She turned to look at him, eyebrow raised.

“Want another drink?”

She blinked. Smiled a little, surprised.

“Oh.” She glanced at her empty glass. “Yeah. Sure.”

He nodded, still too close.

“I’ll be back, okay?”

She gave a tiny nod.

“Okay.”

He didn’t move for a second.

Just watched her eyes.

Then finally straightened, giving her that infuriating smirk before sliding out of the booth.

She watched him go, fingers absently tracing the rim of her glass.

Her heart thumped harder than she wanted to admit.

─── 🏁

Max stomped after Lando, muttering under his breath the whole way.

I’ll fuck you later?

Jesus Christ.

In the middle of the booth, at a table with all our friends? This guy’s got the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

He watched Lando lean casually against the bar, chatting up the bartender about drink specials like he didn’t just whisper something absolutely obscene two seconds ago.

Max squinted.

Look at him.

Picture of innocence.

Fucking liar.

He sidled up next to Lando, arms crossed.

“You good?” he asked, way too pointedly.

Lando glanced over, eyebrows up.

“Yeah?”

Max lowered his voice, conspiratorial.

“Mate. I know what you said back there.”

Lando blinked at him, puzzled.

“…What?”

Max’s eyes narrowed further.

Don’t play dumb.

“I saw you. Leaning in all close. Whispering your dirty little secrets.”

Lando barked out a laugh, genuine confusion written all over his face.

“Dirty secrets? The fuck are you on about?”

Max leaned even closer, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper.

“I’ll fuck you later,” he mimicked with ridiculous dramatic emphasis, complete with finger quotes.

Lando’s jaw dropped.

“What the—”

He slapped the bar in disbelief.

“Bro. I literally asked if she wanted another drink.”

Max paused.

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

“…Oh.”

Lando shook his head, laughing under his breath.

“You’re fucking insane.”

Max rubbed a hand over his face.

“My bad. I just—”

He glanced back over his shoulder at her in the booth.

She was watching them, chin propped on her hand, looking way too comfortable for Max’s liking.

He sighed.

Goddamn it. This is a mess.

He side-eyed Lando again, grumbling.

“Still suspicious though.”

Lando raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Max huffed.

“Because she smiled. That’s why.”

Lando just smirked, signaling the bartender for two more drinks.

“Yeah. She did, didn’t she.”

Max threw his hands in the air.

“Unbelievable.”

─── 🏁

He set the drink down in front of her with a flourish, the condensation already beading on the glass.

“Told you I’d be back.”

She picked it up, swirling the ice before taking a sip. “How generous. Who do I thank for this? You or Max for paying you to babysit me?”

He snorted, leaning in closer until his voice dropped just enough that Max would have to strain to hear.

“Speaking of Max,” he murmured, amusement flickering in those annoyingly pretty green eyes. “You know what he told me at the bar?”

She lifted a brow, playing it cool even as she tilted her head toward him. 

“He thinks I’m gonna fuck you later.”

She choked a laugh into her glass, setting it down with a clink. “Oh my God. He said that?”

Lando’s grin widened. “Not in so many words. But he’s convinced. Kept eyeing me like I was about to drag you to the back alley.”

She flicked her eyes toward Max, who was already watching them like a hawk, suspicion painted all over his face.

“Poor guy’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched for a beat.

Then she shifted, leaning just enough into Lando’s space that Max’s gaze visibly sharpened. She dropped her voice to match his, sugar-sweet and saccharine.

“Well. Should we give him a show?”

Lando didn’t miss a beat. He draped his arm along the back of the booth, fingers brushing her shoulder lightly. “Might as well. Wouldn’t want him to feel left out.”

She tried to keep her face straight but failed, biting back a smirk as she pressed closer, all performative innocence. “He’s totally buying this.”

“Oh, one hundred percent.”

They both chanced a look at Max, who was looking absolutely scandalized.

She turned back to Lando, eyes dancing. “We’re terrible.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said, letting his fingers play with the ends of her hair, “I’m having a blast.”

Her lips twitched as she fought not to grin. “You’re impossible.”

He was still playing with her hair, smirking at Max’s increasingly horrified expression.

“You love it,” he teased again, voice dropping low enough that only she could hear.

She rolled her eyes, but her voice was softer now. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He shifted closer, his knee brushing hers beneath the table. “Oh, I’m not. I’m just very… observant.”

“Observant, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“So what are you observing now?”

His gaze flicked to her mouth, lingering there for half a second too long. “That you’re about two seconds away from kissing me.”

She inhaled sharply, eyes narrowing even as her lips curved in challenge. “Bold of you.”

“True though,” he murmured, leaning in.

She didn’t move back. Not even a little. Her eyes flickered from his lips to his eyes and back again, and god, there was heat there.

They were so close they were breathing the same air. His hand had dropped from the back of the booth to rest lightly on her waist.

He tilted his head. She parted her lips.

Almost.

So close.

Then—

“AHA!”

Max’s voice practically cracked across the table.

They both jumped like they’d been caught making out behind the school shed.

Lando’s hand flew off her waist so fast he almost elbowed the guy next to him.

She jerked back, eyes wide, cheeks burning red.

Max was pointing at them triumphantly. “I FUCKING KNEW IT. I KNEW SOMETHING WAS GOING ON.”

Lando sputtered. “Mate, what? No. Chill.”

She covered her face with one hand. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t you ‘oh my god’ me!” Max was half-laughing, half-accusing. “I saw it. I saw everything!”

Lando tried to recover, running a hand through his hair. “Max, seriously. We were just—”

“Just about to swallow each other’s faces? Yeah, I bet.”

She let out a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

Max was way too proud of himself. He was leaning back in the booth, arms crossed, with this shit-eating grin on his face.

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he said, voice low but taunting. “I saw you two. Practically nose to nose.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t like that.”

Max scoffed. “Oh, please. You leaned in like you were about to read her fucking soul.”

She felt her cheeks warm. “Max. Shut up.”

“No, no, let’s talk about it.” Max’s grin widened. 

Lando sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ, man.”

“You,” Max turned to her. “Don’t act innocent. You weren’t exactly pulling away.”

She wanted to melt under the table. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He mimicked them both dramatically, leaning forward across the booth. “ ‘Oh hi. Yeah. Let’s share a secret. Let’s—’ ”

“Max.” Lando’s voice was a low warning.

“It wasn’t anything.” 

“Yeah right.” Max snorted. “Look at you two. You’re basically spooning from across the table.”

That made her snort unexpectedly, and she had to hide her grin behind her glass.

But Max wasn’t done. He got a little too excited, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis.

That was apparently the last straw. A bouncer walked over, eyeing them carefully. “Is everything okay here?”

Max blinked at the giant looming over them. “What?”

“Sir, you need to keep it down.”

Lando sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “We’re good. He’s just,” He gestured vaguely at Max. “like this.”

Pietra showed up out of nowhere, clearly dragged over by the commotion. “Max,” she said sharply, giving him the look. “Stop it. You’re scaring the bouncer.”

“You look like you’re about to get thrown out,” Pietra muttered, grabbing his arm.

Max squawked. “What? I’m fine.”

“Let’s just calm down,” the bouncer said, sounding very done with all of them.

The bouncer looked at Max one more time, shook his head, and walked off.

Pietra sighed, sinking into the booth next to Max. “You’re a menace.”

Max shrugged smugly. “I’m just observant.” He turned to Lando and her with an unholy gleam in his eye. “Anyway. Where were we? Oh right, are you two gonna make out now or later?”

Lando just groaned, leaning back against the seat in defeat.

He didn’t dare look at her again for a solid minute, because every time he did he remembered how close her mouth had been, how easy it would have been to just close the distance.

And she didn’t look at him either.

Because she was still trying to figure out why the fuck she hadn’t pulled away.

─── 🏁

Magui was watching Lando, he looked like he was doing math in his head, complicated, torturous math.

She nudged him.

“You okay?”

He blinked at her, trying to shake it off. “Yeah. Yeah, all good.”

She clearly didn’t believe him. “Come on. You’re so tense you’re gonna snap in half. Dance with me.”

“I don’t really—”

“Come on.”

Before he could protest, she’d already slid out of the booth and grabbed his hand, tugging him onto the floor.

He cast a desperate glance back over his shoulder.

And there she was. Y/N. Leaning back against the leather seat, watching.

He caught her eye. Gave her the most obvious help me look he could manage.

She just smirked and shrugged. Your fight, man.

He mouthed “Seriously?” at her.

She just raised a brow, leaning forward like she was settling in for the show.

He turned back, resigned, letting Magui pull him in closer on the floor.

Magui was all smiles, all chatter, clearly oblivious to how rigid he was. He half-danced, half-shuffled, trying not to look like a total asshole but refusing to do anything that would suggest he was enjoying it.

Every few seconds he’d glance over at the booth, only to see Y/N still lounging there, drink in hand, pretending to talk to Max but clearly laughing at him.

She thinks this is fucking hilarious.

Great. Awesome. Glad someone’s having fun.

─── 🏁

Later that night.

He didn’t even get a proper goodbye in. She’d left with Max and Pietra while he was still disentangling himself from Magui’s polite thanks and hugs.

By the time he got home, it was nearly 2 a.m.

He kicked his sneakers off so hard they hit the wall. Threw his keys onto the kitchen counter and missed.

Finally he collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, fists balled in the sheets.

Fucking hell.

He turned over, punched his pillow.

Was that even flirting? Is she just playing? Am I fucking imagining all of this?

He groaned.

She literally shrugged at me. Like I was an idiot for needing her help.

He shut his eyes, jaw clenched.

God, she’s so fucking,

He kicked the blanket off.

infuriating.

He lay on his bed like a man defeated.

Pillows thrown. Blanket kicked. Socks half-off. Shirt still clinging to his back with sweat from the dance floor and frustration.

Why didn’t I just ask for her number?

He groaned again, dragging a pillow over his face.

Idiot. Fucking idiot.

He flopped to one side, curling up like he’d just been denied the one thing he wanted most in the world, which, to be fair, wasn’t far from the truth.

It’s not that deep, man. Just a girl. Just a number. You’ve gotten numbers before.

But it didn’t feel like that.

It didn’t feel like just a number.

He turned to his side, staring at the wall like it had betrayed him.

I just… wanted to talk to her. Properly. Not in a booth, not with Max watching, not with Magui trying to salsa three inches from my face.

His mouth twisted into a miserable frown. Actual, physical sulking.

He flipped onto his back again and let out a dramatic sigh.

This is pathetic. You're pathetic. You're literally acting like a four-year-old who dropped his ice cream.

He picked up his phone, stared at the lock screen. Didn’t unlock it. Just stared.

I could've texted her goodnight. Or asked if she got home safe. Or maybe, I don't know. Just said something dumb. But something.

Then came the soft, childlike whimper. Not real crying but close.

“I just wanted her number,” he whined into the silence, face buried into his pillow. “Is that so much to ask?”

He sighed. Rolled again, snatched his phone off the bed. Then because he truly had no dignity left, he opened Spotify.

And hit play.

Bonnie Tyler’s voice filled the room.

"Turn around…"

He didn’t even try to be subtle.

"Every now and then I fall apart…"

He sang. Loudly. Off-key.

"AND I NEED YOU NOW TONIGHT, AND I NEED YOU MORE THAN EVER!"

He flung an arm across his forehead like some tragic Victorian heroine.

"And if you’ll only hold me tight…"

He paused to sniff dramatically, wiping at an imaginary tear.

Fucking hell.

This is ridiculous. You’re literally serenading your bedroom over a girl you haven’t even texted.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About her.

And about the fact that now, instead of sleeping like any normal human being, he was stuck here singing power ballads to no one, wishing she were there to hear it.

But he didn’t stop the song.

Because at least Bonnie Tyler got it.

─── 🏁

part 3 👀

[httpsleclerc]

the story of us - chapter 2

pairings: Max Verstappen x Sister!Reader, Charles Leclerc x Single Mom!Verstappen!Reader, Platonic Kelly Piquet x Verstappen!Reader

summary: Charles and Verstappen!Reader meet for the first time as adults with a little plus one. 

warnings: pregnancy, controlling behaviour from a partner, baby trapping

w/c: 3.4k words

a/n: thank you so much for all of the love on the first part of this series it really means a lot to me! As always, I'm always open to feedback and reblogs! Thank you all for the support again!

my masterlist // series masterlist

The air felt thick and suffocating around you, your shaking hands reaching out to take a hold of the small pink stick which sat on the bathroom counter. You swallowed the lump of fear in your throat, turning the plastic stick around, your breath caught in your throat.

The two pink lines stared back at you glaringly, unwavering and strong.

You were pregnant.

Tears sprung to your eyes, you didn't know whether to be excited or scared - Sure, you were going to have a baby and become a mom, but you were still young, you were only 22 and you knew that your relationship with Lukas was far from healthy and stable.

"What are you doing in there?" You heard him ask through the door, making you jump, yet holding on tightly to the proof of the little life growing inside of you. "Y/N." You pulled yourself together, hoping that he couldn't see the conflict within you.

"Lukas, I'm pregnant," You had gotten your bluntness from your brother, in one sense. You studied his face for any semblance of a reaction, one thing, you had claimed you gained from your abusive childhood, was your emotional intelligence. You watched as his face lit up, slowly racing to gently place his hand on the still flat surface of your stomach.

"Really? That's...that's great, love," He told you, a grin on his face.

He wasn't grinning about the prospect of becoming a father, he was grinning over the fact that he had you in the palm of his hand.  He had been working you up to this, switching out your birth control pills for placebos, timing your cycle perfectly, making sure that he had you trapped. He knew that you had a traumatic childhood and that you would be eager to raise your own family completely differently from how you had been.

"Really? You don't think that it's too soon?" You looked up at him, tears in your eyes. He smiled down at you, swiping the tears away from your face as they slowly fell.

"Not at all, my love, you're ready for this, you're going to be such a good mum," He soothed you, pulling you in tight and holding you to his chest as he rubbed your back. "Our baby's going to be so lucky." You nodded, smiling up at him as you realised that maybe this was Lukas changing, maybe you having his baby was all that he needed to stop being so cruel to you.

Now, you just had to tell your brother. If Lukas let you.

"...Lukas?" You sat across from him on the couch, nervously trying to read his expression as he hummed in response. "Um...when can we tell Max I'm pregnant?" His eyes flicked up to yours, but softened as he saw you rubbing circles on your growing stomach.

"...Whenever you want, when is he back in Monaco, we could make a day of it," He suggested, giving you a soothing smile. He knew this would show your older brother that you were his now, bonded together by the life inside of you. You smiled, getting up from your spot on the sofa to curl up as best as you could beside Lukas, smiling as he placed his hand on your small bump. "She's kicking now?" You giggled as you nodded, feeling the baby, who you had recently had revealed to be a girl, kicked against her father's touch.

"Yeah, I think she knows our voices now," You smiled, placing your hands over his. "I can't believe she's this big already." Lukas smiled, knowing that now he had you exactly where he wanted you - He'd given you a baby, after this you'd have his last name and maybe another baby to keep you trapped.

"Well, she's gonna get bigger," He gently nudged you, making you giggle. "I'll call Max and arrange something, okay?" You nodded and smiled contentedly, Lukas knew that you wouldn't be questioning anything right now, your hormones and baby brain had made you almost dependent on him for everything.

Lukas had arranged to meet with Max at a little restaurant in Monte Carlo, he had taken you to it a couple times for a date, since it appeared that their pizza was the only one made with something that didn't make you throw up.

Max, couldn't wait to see you. It had been months, and he was certain that you were leaving Lukas, saying that you couldn't take how controlling he was anymore - So to hear Lukas calling him and saying that you wanted to see him, Max let his excitement blind him. 

However

As he saw you walk into the restaurant, Lukas following behind you, he couldn't be blind to the small bump on your midsection. He froze, swallowing the lump in his throat while trying to act casual. So this was why you were still with him, he had gotten you pregnant.

"Hi Max," Your grin was wide as you saw your older brother stand on his feet, embracing you tightly, but not too tight as to hurt the baby. "So...surprise, you're gonna be an uncle!" You cheered excitedly, watching as Max grinned and kiss your cheek. You were too excited  for him to tell you how he was really feeling about it, so he played along with you.

"That's great, kleine zusje, I'm so happy for you," Max said, giving Lukas a knowing look as he came up behind you, placing his hand on the small of your back. Lukas pulled a chair out for you to sit across from your brother, but beside him. You always had to be beside him. "So, do you know what you're having?" You smiled and nodded, protectively placing a hand on your stomach.

"A girl, we're gonna name her Romy."

Max made sure that Lukas would be home when he went to collect yours and Romy's belongings. He needed to make sure that he knew that neither you or your daughter needed anything from him anymore, that even if it meant that the two of you had to live with him until you got on your feet, then that would be it - You and Romy didn't need him anymore. Knocking on the door of your old apartment, Max stood, his jaw and fists clenched.

"What do you want?" Lukas answered the door, freezing upon seeing your older brother standing at the door. "Didn't Y/N tell you what I told her? I don't want her or the baby back, she can get her child payment but that's it. I'm done with her." He harshly told Max. Max scoffed ash he shook his head - The audacity of him to think that Max would ever let you go back to him.

"I know that, I just came to tell you that if I ever, ever  see you around Y/N or Romy again, then I'll personally make sure that you never see again. You never deserved either of them." Max responded, fully meaning his threat - He wasn't known as Mad Max for nothing. Lukas just shook his head in response, laughing at Max.

"You can play the protective big brother role all you want, Max, but I know how dependent Y/N was on me for the past 3 years. I gave her everything she wanted, I gave her that stupid baby, and she threw it all back in my face." Max stormed in, grabbing Lukas by the collar and holding him up against the wall.

"You shut the fuck up. You trapped her because you knew that she was going to leave you, you needed her more than she needed you and you know that. How little of a man are you that you would call your daughter stupid? Like I said, you never deserved either of them." Max shoved him once more before leaving, ready to get all of yours and Romy's stuff and taking it back to his apartment. He meant what he said - And if it meant that if you and your daughter had to stay with him for a while as you got on your feet again, then that would be fine. Max loved Romy, and if it meant that he could spend time with her on the breaks and off season while you worked, then that would be fine.

Romy giggled as you groaned, kicking her feet up at you as you tried to place the pink socks over her little feet. You were already late to meet Max's friend, and your daughter's insistence on not putting her socks on was making you later.

"Romy, my love, if you don't let mama put your socks on then you have to wear your crocs," You spoke mainly to yourself, you didn't think your 7 month old baby would be able to comprehend such a sentence, but she heard the words socks and crocs and immediately felt excitement, already kicking her little legs at the prospect of her favourite shoes. "Oh, so you want to wear your crocs. I wish you could talk already, Romy bear, it would make mama's life so much easier," You spoke, digging around the small bag you had packed to look for her small crocs. Finally, you found them, quickly slipping them over her small feet, grabbing a diaper bag quickly to slip over your shoulder, and picking Romy up, holding her at your hip as you hurriedly left Max's apartment.

You quickly buckled her into her car seat, making sure she was secure before hurriedly making your way to the cafe where Max had told you to meet Charles.  You weren't sure what your older brother was thinking about, was he setting you up with the Monegasque, or was he just trying to get you out to socialise? You weren't sure if you were ready to be in another relationship yet, 3 years with Lukas had taken their toll on you and now you just wanted to spend some time with your baby. The cafe was quiet, tucked away from the busyness of Monte Carlo as not to overwhelm you on what could have been your first time out being social with Romy. You pulled into a parking space, quickly jumping out of your car and lifting your daughter out of her car seat, holding her tight at your hip as you hurriedly made your way inside.

You spotted Charles quickly, smiling at him as he spotted you. He hadn't changed much from what you remembered, but then again, you had blocked out most of your childhood - Those weren't things that you wanted to remember. Then again, you had seen him only 8 months ago, just before you gave birth to Romy; However, it pained you when you realised that the first 6 months of your daughter's life had been a blur, you were simply focused on keeping the two of you alive and away from the harm that her father could cause to either of you.

"Hi," You greeted him, smiling as he stood up to gently embrace you, kissing both of your cheeks. "Sorry that I'm late, someone didn't want to wear socks so we had to go with crocs with her pretty pink dress." You smiled once more, tickling Romy's stomach. Charles smiled at her and then at you - From what he had heard from Max recently, he didn't understand how you could still smile, life had dealt you the cruelest of cards, yet here you were, smiling away with your baby in your arms.

"It's alright, I brought a high chair over for her," He gestured to the seat which sat at the side of the two for you and him, making you smile at his thoughtfulness. "I know it is probably a silly question, but how are you doing?" He asked, watching as you placed Romy in the high chair, strapping her in so she couldn't wiggle out and hurt herself.

"Um...I don't really know, I've just sort of been on autopilot for a bit, I'm just relieved to be gone from him, for both of us," You told him, feeling weight coming off of your shoulders - You had spent the past hours telling Max that you were fine, you didn't want to worry your older brother anymore than you already had for most of your life. "How are you after the breakup?" Charles shrugged but smiled sadly.

"Fine, it had to happen - We weren't good for each other anymore," Charles felt like he was almost rubbing salt in your wound, bragging about how easy it was for him to leave an unhealthy relationship while you were stuck in one for years. "But anyway, would you like a drink? Tea or coffee?" He offered you, standing to head to the counter.

"Just tea please," You smiled, watching as Charles made his way to the counter to order for you and himself. He came back soon enough, with two pastries on the side. "What's this?" You asked him, tilting your head as you poured the milk into your tea. 

"Oh, Max told me that it was your favourite like...forever ago, I didn't know what else to get you, I thought that Romy might like it too," He smiled at you and the Romy, who grinned at Charles and reached for him. "What do you want little one? Tell Cha," He spoke to her so naturally, it made you smile.

"I think that she wants a cuddle, Charles," You smiled at him, watching as he blushed. "You've held a baby before, yes? But you don't have to if you don't want to, no pressure," You said, unstrapping Romy from the high chair and holding you in her arms. She continued to fuss and reach for the Monegasque, whimpering in your arms as she reached out for him. "Shhh, just calm down my little love." You soothed her, looking to Charles to silently ask him whether he wanted to hold your daughter or not.

"Yes, of course, I'll hold her," Charles reached out to hold her in his arms, and you watched in amazement as Romy immediately settled into Charles' arms - She had only ever settled for you, on occasion Max; not even for Lukas, not that he had ever taken anything to do with his daughter. "She's so cute, Y/N. Looks so much like her mama," He whispered the last part, thinking you hadn't heard - The blush on your cheeks proved otherwise.

"I'm just shocked that she settled down for you, she's a little bit fussy with who she likes to hold her," You smiled, Charles was a natural with Romy, holding her on his lap. He smiled back at you, gently bouncing her on his knee, the two of you laughing at she giggled. "She must really like you, Charles." You told him, seeing a gentle blush creep across his face.

"Well, I really like Romy too," He said, both to you and to the baby on his lap.

The two of you chatted together, recounting the more happier memories you had of him from your childhood, and how you had missed seeing him around the paddock but looked forward to seeing him more now you were living with Max.

He told you how he was looking forward to seeing you and Romy around the paddock. "I'd love to spend more time with the two of you" Charles told you, making you stutter over your words. "I'm sorry, that might have been a bit too upfront," He said, looking away from you as he rubbed small circles on Romy's back.

"No, no, it's not that, I um...I'd like to do this again, it's been really nice, Charles." You told him, a grateful smile on your face as you appreciated the company of the Monegasque. "I should probably get going, Max is going to wonder where we are." He nodded, frowning as Romy whimpered at the loss of his contact, but smiling as he saw her contentedly cuddle into you.

"Of course, mon cher. Please let me know when you get home," You nodded and smiled, the two of you leaving the small cafe. Charles came to your car with you, watching as you strapped Romy into her carseat.

"Of course, thank you so much for this Charles, I really enjoyed it," You quietly closed the rear door, hoping not to disturb your daughter.

"Me too, I hope to see the two of you again soon."

Carrying your sleeping daughter in your arms, you made your way into Max and Kelly's apartment, the two of them waiting on the couch to hear about how your day with Charles had gone.

"I'll tell you two how it went after I feed her, I promise, she screamed the entire way home," You told them hurriedly, carrying a sniffling Romy into the room which was slowly resembling something that could look like yours. Max and Kelly had spent the afternoon trying their best to make it as personal for you as possible as a way to try and make you feel like this was a safe place for you and Romy. You got comfy on the bed, taking your shirt off and slipping down your bra, sighing in relief as she latched onto you - You had bottle fed her while out with Charles, you had been too nervous to feed her out in public, especially with Charles there.

It was strange, it felt like a way to decompress - A way to focus on something else other than the thoughts of Charles running through your head. The thoughts of how naturally he held Romy and how he spoke to her, thoughts of how when you were buckling her into the car seat, his hand rested gently on the small of your back. Thoughts of how he looked at you so intently. You switched Romy around, letting her feed until she fell asleep, comfortable against your chest. Gently, you lifted her off of you, clasping your bra and putting your shirt back on, laying her down in her next to me bed. You sighed, running your fingers gently down her face and smiling, watching your daughter sleep peacefully.

You closed the door quietly as you made your way out to the living room, sitting yourself between Kelly and Max, the older woman putting her arm around you - You knew that Kelly had a soft spot for you, and especially for Romy; she was forever telling you how much of a great mother you were, especially now since you were on your own - she knew that feeling all too well.

"So, how did it go?" Max asked you, a grin on his face as he watched you lean against Kelly - He was glad that the two of you had gotten along. You smiled as you recounted your afternoon with Charles.

"It went really well, we just talked for a bit and he held Romy for a bit too because she was getting fussy - He's so good with her," You cited, a smile on your face. Kelly gave Max a knowing look, your experience sounded a lot like how she felt taking Penelope to meet Max for the first time. "I think we're gonna do it again." Max smiled, after everything you'd gone through, socialising would be good for you - Even if it was with known womaniser Charles Leclerc. But Max knew you'd been through worse than Charles, but Max also knew that Charles knew Max would kill him if he broke your heart.

"That's good, kleine zusje, it sounds like it went well for both of you." You nodded and yawned, it felt like you hadn't stopped since last night and it was all catching up with you now. Max pouted as you curled into Kelly, you'd come in with your baby and stolen his girlfriend! Kelly grinned at Max, gently running her fingers through your hair as you fell asleep.

Now, normally, Max would have told you to run as far from Charles Leclerc as possible - But following Charles' breakup with Alex, he was almost certain that Charles would benefit from a more social relationship rather than jumping from disaster relationship from disaster relationship. He knew that you, generally, just needed a social relationship - Outside of him, Kelly, and your sister Victoria, you didn't really have many friends; thanks to the social isolation put upon you by Lukas.

So maybe, just maybe, you and Charles could be good for each other.

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[deansbeer]

birthday boy ・ COWBOY!JENSEN ACKLES. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ library

eighteen plus. minors do NOT interact.

୨୧ synopsis. jensen's birthday turned out perfect, but he wants more—stealing you away from the bonfire to claim you in the barn.

୨୧ warning(s). smut | oral (m!receiving) | unprotected sex (are we even surprised LMAO) | semi-public sex | barn sex | praise | mild dominance | dirty talk | slight roughness | orgasm control | birthday sex.

୨୧ word count. 1.1k

୨୧ kari notes. it felt necessary to do cowboy!jensen for the prettiest birthday boy ever !!!!!!! i miss him dearly and i know i've left him + the christmas series to collect dust (my bad 😔) i promise it was not intentional <3 i hope to get back to it someday and FINALLY wrap the series up. anyway! enjoy this somewhat of a revival of cowboy!jensen and happy birthday to jensen <3 my sugarplum pookie wookie princess butt 🤍 i love him so very much.

the fire crackles, casting a golden glow over the field, laughter ringing out as jensen's friends pass around beers and swap stories. the air smells like burning cedar and summer grass, the heat of the flames licking at the night breeze.

you've spent the entire day making sure his birthday is perfect.

his favorite breakfast in bed, a homemade cake, little surprises scattered throughout the day—things only you would know he'd love. but this? the bonfire, the laughter, the way his friends are all gathered around, celebrating him? this was the part he didn't expect.

and from the way he keeps looking at you—warm, lingering glances, like he can't decide if he wants to say thank you or take you apart—you know he appreciates every second of it.

he looks damn good tonight, too.

the sleeves of his tan flannel are rolled up to his elbows, the fabric unbuttoned revealing the white wife beater clinging to his chest. his old levi jeans sit low on his hips, worn in just right, and his brown cowboy boots are planted firm in the dirt, like he's the only thing keeping the earth steady.

but it's his eyes that get you the most. green, sharp, locked onto you every time you move. like he's waiting. like he's hungry.

so when he finally makes his move, it's not subtle.

a warm palm at the small of your back. a quiet, "come with me, sweetheart."

no one notices when he leads you away, his fingers curling around yours, guiding you past the parked trucks, past the wooden fences, into the barn where the scent of hay and leather lingers thick in the air. "been waitin' all damn night to get you alone," he mutters, voice low, gravelly, sending a shiver straight down your spine. "you spoil me too much, darlin'."

"only 'cause you deserve it," you tease, fingers tracing slow over his chest, feeling the heat of him through the fabric.

his lips twitch, eyes darkening. "yeah? think i deserve somethin' else too."

the way he says it—the weight behind those words—makes your stomach tighten, anticipation thrumming through your veins.

"yeah?" you murmur, letting your hands drift lower, teasing at his belt buckle. "what's that, cowboy?"

his breath hitches, just slightly. his hands flex at your waist.

"get on your knees, baby."

heat floods through you, pooling low in your belly, and you don't hesitate—not when he's looking at you like that.

the dirt is cool beneath your bare knees as you sink down, your hands sliding up his thighs, slow, deliberate.

you undo his belt, pop the button, drag the zipper down with aching precision, just to watch his breath stutter.

"teasin' me now?” he rasps, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your chin up.

"maybe."

but you don't tease for long.

you pull him free from his jeans, his cock already hard, thick and heavy in your palm.

"fuck, look at you, sweetheart," he mutters, thumb brushing over your cheek, voice rough. "prettiest damn thing i've ever seen."

you smirk, pressing a slow kiss to the tip, then licking a teasing stripe along the underside, feeling him twitch in your grasp.

"jesus," he mutters, his head falling back for just a second before his gaze snaps back down to you, dark and demanding. "c'mon, sweetheart. know you can take it."

so you do.

you take him into your mouth, slow at first, letting him feel every inch as your lips stretch around him, your tongue swirling just right.

his groan is deep, raw, his hips jerking slightly as his grip tightens in your hair.

"yeah, that's it, baby," he grits out, watching you, his chest rising and falling faster now. "too damn good f'me."

you hollow your cheeks, take him deeper, until he hits the back of your throat, your hands gripping his thighs for balance.

"love this mouth," he mutters, his voice thick with need. "gonna make me come if you keep that up."

you hum around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath, his hips stuttering forward.

but before he can get too close, he yanks you off him, his breathing ragged, his cock slick with your spit.

"as much as i'd love to finish like that," he says, voice uneven, "need to be inside you, darlin'."

before you can even respond, he hauls you up, spinning you around, pressing you up against one of the thick wooden beams.

his hands are everywhere—pushing up your dress, ripping your panties off, gripping your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"hold onto me," he orders, and you do, arms looping around his shoulders as he lines himself up, teasing you with the head of his cock, watching it drag through your slick folds.

"jensen—" you start, but the words die in your throat as he thrusts into you, stretching you open in one smooth, deep stroke.

"goddamn, baby," he groans, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for a moment, his breath hot against your skin.

"you feel so good."

you whimper, nails digging into his shoulders blades, your body already trembling from how deep he is, how perfectly he fills you.

"been watchin' ya' all night," he mutters, his voice rough as he picks up the pace, his grip on you tightening. "watching you in that little dress, smilin' at me like you knew exactly what you were doin'."

he drives into you harder, deeper, the friction sending sparks up your spine. the rough drag of his jeans against your thighs, the way his body presses firm against yours—it's too much, too good, setting your nerves on fire.

"wanted you to want me," you manage to whisper, and his responding growl sends a shiver straight through you.

"always want you," he rasps, his hands gripping tighter, his pace turning relentless, desperate, like he's making sure you feel it, like he's carving himself into you.

"fuck, baby, mm—"

his fingers slip between you, rubbing tight circles over your clit, the pleasure winding sharp and fast in your belly.

"do it f'me, sweetheart," he urges, his breath ragged, "wanna feel you—wanna feel you come all over me."

you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clenching around him, making him curse, his rhythm stuttering.

"mmm, good girl," he groans, burying himself deep one last time before he follows, spilling inside you with a shaky moan, his body tensing before finally relaxing, both of you breathless, clinging to each other.

for a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the distant sounds of the bonfire happening outside.

jensen chuckles, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips.

"best damn birthday ever, sweetheart."

៸៸៸ 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @dollyfiles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @eepwtf @chris444evr @deanswidow @voidsuites @jasvtsc @cowboysandcigarettes @beausling @stereotypicalbarbie @bejeweledinterludes @jensenacklesballsack @h8aaz @sunsbaby @jjmbbg @freeluigihesbae @suckitands33 @ultravioletrayz @unfortunate-brat @a-lil-pr1ncess @notsocoqquete1 @deerlysacred @benscumgluzzer @chevroletdean @deanangel @bluestrd @rubyvhs @ohsc @deansw1fe

[zepskies]

IF I STAY || Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: This two-part mini series is for @redhoodieone, a lovely new member of my Patreon!

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Firefighter!Dean, Firefighter!Benny, lawyer!Sam, (background Saileen), thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, fluff, and hurt/comfort, meet cute, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, mutual pining, and much, much more... ❤️‍🔥

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Chapters:

✦ Part 1: Fools Rush In

✦ Part 2: It's Now or Never

✦ Epilogue: Soul Surrender

⋆˙⟡ Series Complete!

⋆˙⟡ Want to get notified when new stories drop? Follow my fic library blog - @zepskieswrites - with notifications on. ❤️

Join My Patreon 🌟 Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories, send me requests, and more!

Dean Winchester Series List

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @0ccvltism

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@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

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@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @supernotnatural2005

[yourmidnightlover]

the story

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

w/c: 3.5k+

summary: the weeks following bucky ordering that steve be your bodyguard, followed by an insightful night at a gala with your beloved husband.

warnings: mention of the incident with john (groping), slight threats of violence, mention of fear, lip on lip action (the upstairs ones), if i've missed anything please let me know!!

a/n: hiii! the third installment of my forever? series! i didn't even intend for this to be more than one part, but you guys have inspired me to write more for it! my writing schedule is a bit off since i recently started a new job, but i'll try to be a bit consistent with it. i hope you guys enjoy this next part, more to come!

part 2 -> control

the first few weeks with steve as a bodyguard wasn’t too bad. he was actually kinda funny in a grandpa kinda way, and he was an amazing listener. you had bounced a few ideas for your book off of him and he seemed to be very intrigued by some of the plot points you had planned. he even promised to be one of the first customers, right behind bucky (which you may have rolled your eyes at), of course, as long as he was promised a signed copy.

but, at the two month mark you began to miss your independence. of course, the chef bucky had hired was amazing and had years of experience in italian cuisine, but sometimes a girl just wanted some greasy smash burger to chow down on. most nights you ate alone with steve until bucky walked through the front door. 

he always seemed beaten down and tired, as though work was more straining than usual. he would shrug his jacket off, place it on the hook by the door, then his shoes on the rack, and walk upstairs to shower before coming downstairs to eat as you and steve were finishing your plates. you tried your best to start conversation, to be the best company you could but eventually the silence always grew awkward and steve would usher you to go upstairs to your room with a pressed smile. 

after two months of not really needing to show you off i any way, there was an important gala for him to attend. of course, that means that you were to be his beloved arm candy for the night. 

“buck sent me the address for a local boutique that he thinks would be right up your alley,” steve read from his phone as you took a stroll in the garden that was full of beautiful colors. “the appointment is at 3:45, so we have plenty of time to get ready and head there too. oh and he says you should get something in that one shade of green… i’m assuming you know what that is?” his brows raise in confusion, as your mirror his in a stunned expression. 

“surprisingly, i do know what he means for once.” about six weeks before the wedding, you had spent an all nighter with him amidst all of the chaotic planning. 

“accent colors are super important! right now, all we have is an off white color, and while it’s a good color, i don’t want my wedding to wash everyone out that much,” you shoved his side as you sprawled your binders out on the coffee table. 

“i say… green,” he says after pondering for a minute. 

“green… like tree green?” you chuckled at the notion. 

“i mean the green that’s light yet earthy, not too dark but not scream-in-your-face bright. it’s beautiful. plus, i think you’d look stunning in it,” he shrugs casually as if he hadn’t described a mundane color in such an alluring way.

“so a sage green?” 

“maybe more on the jade green side,” he tried to hide a smile as his thumb began to mindly trace nonsense on your thigh. 

there was such elegance in the way he described the simple color, as if saying light green wouldn’t have sufficed. clearly, there was a significance to the mundane shade that he felt the need to recommend it. 

but you knew not to ask anything further to pry, doubting his readiness to comply so easily so early in your relationship. while it was during the happiest days of your relationship, you still knew he held you at arms length. 

at the appointment, you had found several dresses in the perfect color, but only one stood out to you after trying them on. steve was also a good guide in ensuring you were choosing the right one, although you’re sure he would just say every dress looked good regardless. 

growing up, you’d read about a love that was so encapsulating that one would rather face death than be without their lover. you’d yearned for that kind of love. the kind of love that was consuming and irreversible. the kind of love where your partner wouldn’t love you in spite of your flaws, but because of them. 

and now you were married to a man who didn’t seem to feel an ounce of that towards you. sure, the months leading up to your wedding made it seem otherwise. it made you hopeful that he could maybe grow to love you, as you could grow to love him. 

because truthfully, it was hard to see many flaws in the man, other than those that were rumored in the tabloids. you’d read or heard of his anger issues and his lack of patience but abundance of irritability. yet all you’d observed is his laughter, his diligence and compassion. 

it was definitely confusing to want to believe these two contradicting tales of composure, but ultimately seeing is believing. you’d decided to believe whatever he showed you, what was right in front of his face rather than believe whatever was whispered in your ear. besides, if something was worth believing it should be said with their full chest rather than in such a low tone. 

-

“almost ready?” bucky’s low voice rang through the door as you were doing finishing touches on your hair, making sure you looked as presentable as possible. 

“i just have to put the dress on, and i’ll be ready to go!” you replied, unzipping the bag that the dress came in, even though you suggested that doing so was overkill.

“let me know if you need any help.” you heard a thud from the other side that suggested that he was leaning against the door, waiting to hear if you did happen to need any assistance. 

you replied in silence, just stepping into the dress and lifting the straps over your shoulders. it was such a beautifully made gown, truly. it hugged you in the most flattering places, accentuating just the right amount without flaunting too much. the material felt like a warm hug from a lifelong friend, you almost never wanted to take it off. 

the only downside was the damn zipper. it was a bit rough to pull over your hips alone, but once you reached your mid back it seemed to reach a snagging stop. you twisted your arms every way possible, trying to avoid the totally cliche scene of calling him in to zip you up. 

alas, the universe had other plans for you. although, how much could you complain when that would mean his rough, yet gentle hands would be against your skin…

“...bucky?” your voice meekly called out, trying to interrupt your own thoughts from spiralling down the path you wanted them to so bad. 

“yea?” his voice piped up, seeming to jump an octave or two in the process. maybe you jst startled him. 

“could you maybe help me zip this thing up?” you became quiet before the twisting of your doorknob broke the silence. “my arms can’t quite contort the way they need to in order to zip this all the way…” you refused to meet his eyes as he trailed inside the room. 

the first sign of his presence was his hands grasping your shoulders, lightly tracing down your arms. then he leaned down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, more affectionate than he’d been the entire duration of your marriage without it being prompted. 

“you look beautiful,” he pressed another kiss to your other shoulder before letting his hands fall to a respectable place on your waist, stepping back to seemingly find where the zipper got stuck. “but what’s new, right?”

you chuckled at the compliment. 

“what’ve you been doing recently?” you asked meekly. “i haven’t seen you much at all since steve started his new gig as my babysitter.”

he sighed, stopping his antics to clarify what he felt he needed to. “he’s not a babysitter. he’s my best friend, and the only person i trust to look after the woman that i-the woman that i married, okay?” you felt his deep breathing on your neck before he continued, “i don’t know where john is yet. john is notorious for taking whatever he thinks is his and that night he made it very clear what he believed.” he turned you around to face him, the dress’ zipper be damned. “if anything happens to you… just the thought keeps me up at night. i need you to understand,” his voice was desperate, pleading almost. 

you understood what he was saying. at least, you were pretty sure you did. men in positions of power like bucky typically saw the people around them as pawns. part of you thinks that he’s saying all of this as the controlling, possessive boss man bucky. and that’s the large part of you. but the small part of you, the part of you that still believes in that fairytale love you used to read about, believes that maybe he’s saying all of this because he does feel something for you… something real. 

but that part of you is like… 15 percent. maybe 20…

“i understand,” you nodded, meeting his eyes and seeing desperation, fear. seeing fear radiating from a man that projects a version of himself that’s fearless is a scary thing. 

“good,” he nodded, his eye contact faltering to the dress that clung to your body. “you look indescribable, i’m a lucky man to call you mine.” once again, he grasped your shoulders to turn you around.

this time, he promptly found the zipper, his metal hand tracing nonsensical patterns on your shoulder as he zipped the dress with his flesh one. 

“all done,” he pressed a lingering kiss to your right shoulder. “my beautiful bride.” you wanted to believe him. 

“thank you,” you took a deep breath as you turned to face him. “so, tonight… what should i be expecting?” “well, there are a few people i’ll introduce you to, and a few i have to talk to. but i’ll be with you the whole time,” he pressed his hands into his pockets. “i scheduled a car to take us, and we have about 10 minutes before it should get here.”

“so we’ll be playing the roles of loving wife and doting husband?” you nudged his shoulder before you went to grab your shoes. 

“playing? this is all real, sweetheart,” he took the shoes from your hands, promptly dropping to his knees. 

“what are you-”

“i’m putting your shoes on, my love.” you chuckled before he guided your hand to his shoulder. “gonna want to hold on.” he picked up one of your legs by your calf, grabbing the correct shoe before slowly placing your foot inside and doing the same for your other shoe.

meanwhile, you were stuck staring down at him like a lovesick idiot. this behemoth of a man was beneath you treating you like a princess by putting your heels on for you. what the hell kind of alternate universe have you entered and how can you never leave?

“well, aren’t you a romantic?” you cleared your throat as he remained on his knees, a sight you could get used to. 

“don’t let the news spread around town,” he chuckled as he let your remaining foot hit the ground but not without pressing a kiss to your ankle. “i can’t have others knowing how enamored i am by you, can we?” “enamored?” you chuckled out. “what a word,” you shook your head as you helped him to his feet. 

“the perfect word.” he trailed his hand to a loose strand of hair, twirling it around his flesh fingers before he sighed, “the car should be here soon. we should head downstairs for it.”

it was a 45 minute ride there. you sat in a respectable silence, this time it wasn’t as awkward as it has been in the past. upon arrival, the door was swiftly opened for you, bucky getting out first and then offering his hand to help you step out. the first thirty minutes of the gala went very similarly. he would introduce you to a new face or say ‘hello’ to a familiar one, wrap his arm snugly around your waist before pressing a kiss to your cheek and move on to the next person. 

for a bunch of folks in banking and finance, everything seemed very high stakes. there seemed to be walls up all around you, from each man and woman you said a brief hello to or were meeting for the first time. everyone had decided to adorn a mask for the night, or maybe the mask was a semi-permanent fixture. maybe they’d worn the mask for so long they forgot how to function without one. you hoped you wouldn’t face the same fate.

to be doomed to fake face for so long that you no longer remember what was once real. you wanted something real, even if what you and bucky had was technically fake when you were in public. something about what happened behind closed doors when nobody was around gave you the illusion that part of it was real. 

“have i told you how ravishing you look tonight?” bucky held you close as you swayed to the soft melody. his metal hand was clutching your waist, his flesh hand holding your own.

“i think in different words, yes,” you both began to laugh at his flattery. “you don’t have to keep doing that, y’know? the compliments and everything… i think people get the idea that this is real by now.”

“you don’t get it, do you?” he shook his head before he moved his vibranium hand to your chin, nudging it up for you to meet his eyes. 

“get what?”

“buck,” steve’s voice interrupted your dance, but that didn’t stop bucky from pulling you taut to his side.

steve leaned in to whisper in his ear, but you were able to tell by his stone cold expression that whatever message that was being relayed to him wasn’t as delightful as the desserts from tonight. 

“when?” you barely registered bucky’s low voice over the music. 

steve went back to whispering in his ear and it wasn’t until he pulled back that you wanted to speak up, “what’s going on?”

bucky looked down to you, and when you looked into his eyes, what you saw was very similar to your earlier conversation with him. this time, however, there seemed to be anger buried beneath the stoic traces of fear. that’s when it clicked.

“did they find him?” his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“you told her about-”

“i told her what she deserves to know,” bucky interrupted steve’s accusatory tone. “you don’t get to question me or the decisions i make, especially not when those decisions are in regards to my wife.”

you weren’t sure if bucky was defending you or himself with the way he jumped on steve’s gears. 

“okay, got it,” steve rse his hands in defense before he nodded. 

“what steve was telling me was in regards to him, yes,” bucky clarified. “but it’s nothing important for you to need to know. you don’t have to worry about it, my love,” he let his flesh hand play with that same strand of hair as earlier as he looked down at you like his prized possession. 

oh yea, you almost forgot. that’s what you are to him. his trophy wife, as much as you hate that phrase. 

“when can we go home?” a shiver ran down your spine. what would john even do if he did get his hands on you? was he actually as bad as bucky made him seem, or was he worse? you gripped bucky’s arm tighter as thoughts raced through your brain. 

“hey,” he turned to face you again, his eyes no longer reflecting anger or fear but tenderness. “if you want to leave, we’ll leave. steve can get the car,” he turned briefly to steve who nodded before walking off, “we can talk on the way home. i can tell how many questions are running through that pretty head of yours right now. but i can assure you,” he cupped your face in his hands, and the contrast between the cold metal and the warm flesh was oddly grounding, “as long as your with me, or steve for that matter, you won’t have anything to worry about. i would do anything it takes to keep you safe.”

you nodded, pressing your lips together in a fine line, maybe a bit of doubt running in your head at the lengths he would go to in order to protect you. would he really go to the lengths necessary? would his hand be forced to do that? 

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i was scared right now?” you couldn’t meet his eyes as you admitted it. 

“it’s not bad at all. in fact, i understand. i just hope that you know that this is why steve is watching out for you now,” he dropped his hands to your shoulders, down your arms to hold your hands. 

“will you-would you be up for staying with me tonight?” you popped the question, almost scared of his answer. “like… like you did that night? i don’t really want to be alone tonight.”

“you don’t have to explain,” he smiled. “of course i’ll stay with you.”

the ride home was similar to the ride there, but this time with your head rested on his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you. you’re sure he thought you were asleep when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. it also wasn’t beneath you to say you liked when he did it…

so much so that you apparently did fall sleep. when you woke up, it was wrapped in strong arms. you strained your neck to look at the clock beside your bed, the one that read 2:35 am. turning in bed to look at bucky, you realized you’d never seen him so peaceful. his hair had grown out a bit long, evident by the way it laid across his forehead. 

when you moved the few locks of hair from his forehead, he began to stir awake. 

“shhh,” you hummed softly. “it’s just me. sorry i woke you.”

“don’t be sorry,” his raspy voice was alluring this early in the morning, or was it late? “i don’t think i’ve slept this good since… well, since that night.”

“are you a secret cuddler, mr. barnes?” you smiled as he pulled you in a smidge tighter as he replied. 

“and what if i am?” “there are no complaints coming from me,” he pressed yet another kiss to yourforehead, then your cheek, your other cheek, and then you pulled back to look in his eyes again. 

the only light that was peaking through was from the hallway underneath the door, but that didn’t stop you from being able to see the bright smile decorating his face, a rare sight to see. 

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i really wanted to kiss you right now?” his thumb trailed across your bottom lip, gently pulling it down and watching it bounce back into place.

“it’s not bad at all,” you let your eyes find his lips before looking into his eyes once more. 

he made the first move, taking his flesh hand and cupping your face before he softly met your lips with his. every other kiss you’d had with him had been for show, cameras or people around to witness and aww at the romantic antics of the newlyweds. this one wasn’t for show. this was purely authentic. gentle, soft, delicate. for a man like bucky, you figured he wasn’t like this very often. this was a side of him not many other people got the privilege of witnessing. 

he was precise in his movements, every swipe of his tongue and every placement his hand made was deliberate, yet he was so tender. the soft grasp of your hair, the easy glide of his hand that began to hold your waist. it was all so consuming, in the best way possible. in the way that you wanted to drown in his presence. 

when you sweeped one of your legs over his, now perched on his lap, you felt him smile against your lips. 

“you’re astounding,” he breathed into you. “breathtaking,” he rearranged his hips, accidentally brushing his hardon against your center. “shit.”

“sorry,” you smiled against him as you pulled back, resting your forehead against his. 

“nothin’ to apologize for,” he shook his head with a laugh. “i mean, you are my wife an’ all.”

“i know, but,” taking a deep breath, you tried to figure out how to word what you wanted to say to him. you came up with nothing. “i don’ know. it’s different. we haven’t necessarily been the most affectionate since our wedding.”

“i didn’t think you wanted anything more,” his face shone with disbelief. “i didn’t want you to think you were forced to be ‘affectionate’ with me. you didn’t really want to marry me in the first place. i realize that.”

were you not this puppet in his master show? some play thing for him to own and display whenever he pleased? had every story you’d heard about him been nothing but that… just stories? could this story of you and him have a happy ending?

tags:

@blackbirdwitch22

@onceithough

@learisa

@mrsnikstan

@cjand10

@mrs-bucky-barnes-73

@armystay89

@adesum

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@loki-laufeyson68

if you'd like to be added to the tag list, please just leave a comment or message me!

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter four )

18+ 5.2k homelander x plus size f!reader. office romance, stalking, voyeurism, office sex, cunnilingus, cream pie, breast play, flight sex, lite overstim, riding. nebulously takes place post s1. part 4/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander takes what's his, and you get what's yours.

welcome to the final chapter! thanks so much for reading. i really enjoyed the dynamic between these two, and i hope you do, too. 🖤

Homelander doesn’t hold it against you that you take him up on his suggestion to be absent the following day. He leaves a little peace offering in your office to say as much: a mug for your collection that reads simply, You’ve Been Mugged. He adjusts it seven times on your desk before he finally leaves it alone, surveying your office a while before letting himself out.

The thugs he lasered down in the alley don’t garner much attention, but it’s enough to warrant a statement on the truth of what happened. With them dead, the truth becomes whatever he makes of it, and his truth is that two vagabonds were assaulting a cherished Vought employee before he put a stop to it.

It’s precisely the kind of hero story the public loves.

“I acted on instinct,” he tells the newscaster. He relives the moment as he tells it, recalls only to himself how fierce you had been. How determined you were that if you were going to die, you would die fighting. “They were going to hurt her. I like to believe any good citizen in my position would have done the same.”

Madelyn taught him that conviction without contrition would always read as arrogance, so he speaks firmly but with a furrow to his brow, and he closes his eyes when he inclines his head to accept praise. No matter how dead she is, her voice remains an echo in his mind: follow the script, and you’ll be fine.

They use his words to segue into a discussion of gun control, and Homelander’s mind drifts somewhere distant, hearing without listening to the petty squabbles of humans crying about their little toys and laws. He supposes this is how God feels when humans pray to Him over every minor inconvenience. Bored and painfully above it.

While it’s easy enough to keep himself distracted during business hours, Homelander’s life comes to an abrupt halt alongside the end of the working day. Like the equipment that broadcasts him, there’s little use for him once the cast and crew goes home. All around him the employees commiserate at the end of their work day and pass around invitations to the bar. 

He receives none. 

Not that he would accept them if he did.

Seeking both council and companionship, Homelander finds himself in Noir’s apartment, seated in the chair Noir keeps for him. It’s the only one the hero owns, what with his interior design being deeply steeped in westernized ninja nonsense. The place is half dojo, half living quarters.

He laments his situation to Noir, explaining his patience in courting you, the lengths he’s gone to endear himself to you on a personal level, and the bitter sting of your rejection.

“See her,” Noir writes in his sketchpad, sitting on the floor on the other side of the low table. “If glad to see her, good. If not–”

Homelander snorts at the series of knife sketches that follow. He has no doubt Noir would put an end to anyone for any reason Homelander gave. Simplicity has allowed Noir an unwavering loyalty to Vought, and as an extension, Homelander himself. Luckily for you, he has no interest in that happening. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Noir,” he muses, clapping his hands on his thighs before he stands up. “You’re right. I’ll go see her. Thanks, buddy.”

Noir offers two thumbs up. A true uproar of approval.

Under the cover of darkness, Homelander returns to your house, the flight path a familiar one now. He lands silently on your roof this time, cocking his head. He’s not confident he’ll be able to resist your siren pull if he approaches now. He folds his hands behind his back and peers through each layer between him and your bedroom, stopping when he can see you.

You’re nestled deep in the splay of your blankets, lips parted around shallow breaths. He bites his own bottom lip, remembering how badly he’d wanted to feel them. Taste them. He’s certain now that if he allowed himself to be close enough, he would. Denial, for as much as it stung in that moment, has only made him hungrier for you. Fuck, the way he’s craved you from the moment you first brushed him aside.

He watches you shift in your sleep and his eyes narrow, honing in on a familiar flash. His stomach flips–it’s his cape, the fabric pinned between your blanket and your body. You really are sleeping with it, the star spangled blue fabric tucked up under your chin. Do you smell him on it? Homelander groans softly. Like your underwear in his bedside drawer, you sleep with a trophy of your own.

“Fuck,” he says, aching. His heart, his mind, his cock–all of it at once a cacophony of vicious yearning and impatience. The urge to peel the roof like a sardine can and carve his way straight to you nearly knocks the wind out of him, has him preemptively reaching for the shingled surface.

Only the lingering wound to his ego gives him pause. He’s been bitten once, leaving him shy to instigate, but this revelation feels like progress. You’re aching for him as much as he is for you. He’s sure of that now. It’s time that he made you feel that ache. Feel his absence. Then you’ll realize the foolishness of your coy game.

Clenching his jaw defiantly, Homelander lifts up into the sky.

He’ll be benevolent when you come to your senses.

The next day, Homelander keeps himself scarce, preoccupied. Ashley is perkier than usual, thrilled–if not suspicious–with his easy participation in whatever inane business she brings to him. It helps distract him from the endless feeling of waiting that he’s enduring.

He sticks stubbornly to his schedule, fantasizing about the torment his avoidance has surely wrought. He’s tempted a time or two to break, but each time he remembers the mortified Oh! you uttered before he kissed you, he refocuses himself.

You’ll come.

Not before lunch, but that is the perfect opportunity for it. He makes himself more available then, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair. 

No sign of you.

He gives you the benefit of the doubt. A meal to embolden you.

Then you’ll come.

He waits.

Lunch long since over.

He waits.

The day is winding down.

He’s fucking tired of waiting.

Where the hell are you? He’s given you the entirety of the day to seek him out, ample opportunity to come thank him for his gift, to address the aching thing ruminating between you. You’d be a fucking liar to say you don’t feel it, too. By midday, he’s seething with impatience and hurt. There’s no chance he’s going to let you stand him up.

It’s precisely the wrong time for Ashley to rear her head back up. “Okay! That’s that, now regarding the amnesty for–”

“Ashley!” He snaps, a harsh and throaty sound. “Would you shut the fuck up?”

She stops in her tracks, staring wide-eyed. Of course it was too good to be true.

Homelander all but leaps to his feet, pushing out of his chair so hard that it flips backwards and into the wall in a heavy clatter. She clutches her vPad to her chest and quickly back steps out of his way, watching in frightened bewilderment as he storms from the room, making a beeline towards your office.

He doesn’t bother knocking this time. Still, his restraint is undeniable when he pushes your door open. He barely catches himself from pushing the damn thing clean off the hinges.

Your head snaps up from your computer, eyes wide. He hears your heart jump and he savors the alarm that shoots through you. Payback for the awful misery you forced him to endure in the hours since he last saw you. Still, the sight of you disarms him. For all his seething anger, there is something small in him that retreats it when your eyes are on him.

There’s a heaviness to your gaze that his strength can do nothing to alleviate. No incredible feat of his can wrench away what it is he wants from you. What he needs. It’s something you have to give him willingly, and that alone is enough to temper his rage. The familiar fear that you won’t.

He marches to the front of your desk and levels an accusatory finger on you.

“You like me,” he hisses, bending to brace his opposite hand on your desk.

You blink owlishly, lips parted. That clearly wasn’t what you expected him to say. He’s not sure it’s what he meant to say. “Homelander–”

“No,” he says, voice pitched low, a warning. “No, no. No games, no workarounds. You like me. You do. And I like you. So,” he abandons his point to make a vague encompassing gesture, but he doesn’t know what to say next. He didn’t think this far ahead. All day he had practiced the calm benevolence he would show when you approached him, chastised and yearning. He has nothing to back up this frenzied play for.

You stand. Homelander rises to his full height with you, jutting his chin out. He watches you with all the wariness of a wounded predator as you circle around your desk, your hand gliding along the wood like you would flank a horse so as not to spook it.

He can’t determine the intent behind your gaze. He angles his body towards you, facing you head on. You look like yourself again, in your element and free from the fawn fear of the alley. He can’t entirely decide which way he prefers you. When you were in his arms, he was your hero. In your office, his position feels more precarious.

The silence stretches on for hours–or seconds, it’s impossible to say–before he can no longer stand it. Sucking in a breath, he–

You kiss him.

Homelander goes shock still, hyper aware of your lips pressed feather light to his, your breasts against his chest, your hand on his forearm. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes, but he senses when you begin to pull away. 

In a flash he cups your face in his hands and pulls you in deep, inhaling sharply, like  he’s only just remembered how to breathe. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you as if he can trap you in the cycle of it. You don’t resist, you don’t tense. Instead, you sigh an angel’s breath against his lips. Only then does he break to look at you.

“I don’t understand,” he says, bewildered, flushed.

“I do like you,” you say, eyes glassy.

His brows pinch. “But… That night–”

“Wasn’t right,” you interrupt. “I wanted to kiss you, but not like that. Not then. Not because you saved me, not because I was in shock, not because of…” you rock your head side to side. “Whatever other bullshit… You let me down that night.”

“Let you down?” Homelander echoes, taken aback. “By saving your life?” He asks, his temper a perpetual simmer ready to flare. He’s immediately tempered by your hands taking his wrists, squeezing. You hold his gaze and your expression is gentle, but there is a firmness in your stare that he finds intoxicating. Not an ounce of fear, even when his anger emerges.

Good. You shouldn’t be afraid of him. He saved you.

“I was shaken. Badly. My date was an entitled asshole, those men, they tried to…” You shake your head, holding his hands to your face. “I didn’t need you to be a man. I needed you to be a hero. I wasn’t ready.”

A light in Homelander’s eyes flicks on. You just weren’t ready. He’d been right after all. He fixates on that, choosing to forgive you for that, at least.

“Well, why didn’t… You could have said something,” he says, feeling like a deflated hot air balloon, all slack expansion and heat with no purpose.

“I would have,” you say, your cheeks soft and round in his hands, lips slightly puckered from his hold on your face. “But you ran away.”

“What? I–” He laughs incredulously. “I did not run away.”

“Flew away,” you say, pushing in to kiss him again. He screws his eyes shut. Fuck, fuck. Oh fuck. He’s been dreaming of this, aching for it. To feel you against him, wanting him as much as he wants you. “Pretty fast, too. Looked like you shot straight up to the moon,” you say, breath hot and sweet on his lips.

“I…” He swallows, hands slipping down to either side of your neck, thumbs tilting your chin up. “I’m sorry. I wanted you,” he says, trailing his parted lips along your jaw, kissing and breathing you in the way he’s craved to. He can feel your skin growing hot against his lips, hear the uptick of your pulse as your heart begins to race.

“Do you still want me?” You ask, voice lower now. It sends a delicious hot pang all the way through him.

“You have no fucking idea,” he murmurs, nipping at the lobe of your ear, desperate to test the give of you under his teeth, the feel of your soft and yielding flesh branded into his memory the moment his lips touched your skin.

A knock snaps his attention away from you, but it isn’t at the door. He looks down and sees that it’s you knocking on your desk. “So take me,” you say, voice laced with heat. His lips split into a wicked grin. He snatches the edge of your heavy wooden desk and effortlessly tips it backwards until everything slides off of it, clattering to the floor. He lifts you up, relishing your delighted little yelp, and places you down on the cleared surface like a doll, stepping in between your legs. 

He kisses you again. Let me in, demands the press of his tongue. You yield to him, but it’s far from a surrender. Your tongue meets his eagerly, tasting him as much as he does you. Tasting you. That’s what he wants. He wants to map every inch of you with his tongue.

Homelander slips his hand between your legs, pushing your skirt up out of the way. He presses his fingers to the heat between your thighs, rubbing through the thin fabric of your panties. You sigh that same seraphic sound against his lips, slipping your hands up into his hair, already taking a handful of it to tug gently.

He breaks the kiss and takes his fingers from you after the barest tease of pleasure. The impatient sound you make goes straight to his cock, as does your flustered expression. He brings his fingers to his lips and drags his tongue over the leather of them, sliding them past his lips to give a quick suck. It’s not enough, too slight a hint of you. He needs more. You watch him with rapt attention, giving his hair a demanding little tug.

“You can pull as hard as you like,” he tells you with a smile, tilting his head against the grasp you have on his hair. “Tells me I’m doing a good job.”

“I’ll tell you when you’re doing a good job,” you rasp, giving his hair a sharp pull and then a downward push. That sends a shiver down his spine.

Fuck yes.

Homelander sinks down onto his knees, lifting each of your legs up over his shoulders. You give a little gasp when he yanks your ass to the edge of the desk, giddy with the way he manhandles you. He swallows, mouth dry, thirsty for the wet, heady smell of your pussy. He maneuvers his head under your skirt until he’s close enough to drag his tongue up the soft cotton of your panties. Your breath hitches and your grip in his hair tightens while you egg him on with sharp little rolls of your hips.

He closes his eyes, giving a rumbling moan for the taste of you, even through the fabric. He laps until the fabric is soaked, clinging to your skin, and he can feel your clit swollen and stiff on his tongue through your panties. He closes his mouth over it, sucking you through your underwear while you writhe above him, keeping yourself quiet.

That won’t do.

He wants to hear you.

He wants the whole fucking Tower to hear you.

Hooking the crotch of your panties with his finger, it only takes one sharp little tug to tear them, exposing you to him.

“Homelander,” you moan. The sound of it lances a spear of heat through him, leaves his cock throbbing needily in the rigid confines of his cup. He groans into you, rocking his hips against the empty air. The only proper answer is to dive in, to close his lips around your clit and finally suck the rich nectar of your cunt without the filter of fabric between you. You taste even better than you smell, like salt and sex and sweet ripe fruit. It overwhelms his senses immediately, his eyelids flickering. 

The more he laps at you, the silkier your pussy becomes. Between circling your clit, he drives his tongue deep into you, drinking you down noisily and messily, a parched man gulping from an oasis. Your thick thighs are tight on either side of his head, your pulse pounding in his ears. He moans low and wicked for the taste and feel of you.

Your grip on his hair tightens sporadically, sharp little tugs that match the staccato cadence of your breaths. “F-fuck, your tongue feels-feels fucking unreal,” you moan, grinding down against it. The strength of it, the slight thrum of restrained power that courses through him, and the sheer relentlessness of his stamina is driving you wild against his mouth. “Fingers, use your fingers,” you tell him. He loves the rawness of your voice, the authority and desperation in your demand.

Removing one of his gloves, he moves his bare hand to the sweltering wetness of you, teasing his finger just below where his tongue is rubbing your clit. His index finger slips easily into the slick mess, and he savors the quiver of your velvet walls around it. He lets you ride his finger, stays all but still while you greedily bounce your hips, both hands fisted in his hair. You use him for your pleasure, and it makes him delirious with want.

Homelander's gaze flickers up. He peers through the layer of your skirt to catch a look at you, to watch you while you cannot watch him. You’re losing track of yourself, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure, shivering with each flick of his tongue and dive of his finger. Euphoria looks good on you. 

Christ, he has been patient. He would chastise himself for waiting so long to touch you, to taste you, to feel you, but he can’t bring himself to. The wait gifted him with this exquisite hunger, and he proved something important; you both yearn for the other. You crave him. He can see it in your hazy eyes, taste it in the spill of your sweet cunt.

You belong to him. He needs only to take you.

One finger becomes two, and then three. Your heels dig into his shoulders and fuck yourself down on them, moaning recklessly now, not caring who hears you. It’s music to his ears.

“Fuck, Homelander, I-I’m coming, I’m-don’t stop, don’t stop,” you beg prettily. You don’t need to, but he enjoys the song anyway. He laps at your clit in quick upward pulls of his tongue, lips creating a seal around it. His brows furrow tightly, his own neglected arousal pounding through his body like a wardrum, but he doesn’t touch himself, too focused on you.

Your whole body locks up tight when you come, breath caught in your lungs, your clit fluttering delicately. He presses his tongue to it, savoring the taste of your euphoria, how it floods your system and changes the flavor of you. Your pleasure grows his hunger into something monstrous, something demanding, but there is satiation at least in bringing you this, in showing you all the things he will be for you.

You’ll never want for anyone–or anything– else ever again.

Homelander doesn’t stop. You begged him not to. He finger-fucks you through the aftershocks, lapping up every drop of your pleasure, stroking you inside and out while your cunt squeezes his fingers. He doesn’t stop until he feels you pushing him away, your sweet songbird moans sounding more like whimpers, oversensitized. He withdraws his fingers, giving one last noisy slurp before emerging from beneath your skirt. His face is shiny and wet with your slick, his pupils blown black. He's panting, looking every bit like a beast lifting its bloodied head from the belly of its kill.

Crawling up your body, still predator hungry, he rests his knee on the desk between your legs. He cups either side of your face, fingertips digging possessively into the back of your neck. He meets your eyes, pinning you with the intensity of his gaze, wordlessly drilling into your mind that this moment, this feeling, this tingling warmth in your body is him.

I did this to you, his expression reads. You’re on my lips, he says by pressing them to yours, kissing your own taste into your mouth, his body throbbing, desperate for an ounce of that same relief. You’re mine.

To his amazement, your eyes mirror his own savage hunger. You kiss him hard, shamelessly licking into his mouth, huffing shallow breaths from your nose. “Lie down,” you tell him, voice as sweet and coarse as raw sugar. “I’m going to ride you.”

Homelander doesn’t need to be told twice. Exhilarated, he rolls over, flipping you with him and steadying you above him in a fluid motion. The desk isn’t as long as he is tall, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already half suspended in the air with his own excitement, helping you with overly eager hands that fumble alongside yours with his belt, which falls to the ground with a distinct thud. He gives a little jump at the voracity you rip his zipper down with, grinning.

Together, you shuck his pants down to his thighs. You grip him through his red briefs, a fractured moan falling from his lips.

“Cute underwear,” you coo. His cheeks flush to almost the same shade. You flatten your palm over his cock and he bites back a whimper, teeth sinking into his tongue. You give a light squeeze, fingers curling around his cock through the fabric, and he lets out a rough breath. “You feel close,” you tell him, stroking him in a loose fist, your hand warm, the fabric soft.

He nods fervently, the friction and your voice already teetering him towards the edge. He makes a sound of both anguish and relief when you release him, his eyes snapping up to meet yours. You tug his underwear down, his cock bouncing free, engorged and dripping precome.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, bracing one hand on his chest and sliding forward, your other hand moving between your bodies to steady his cock against the rapturously hot press of your soaked cunt. His hands fly to your hips, fingertips biting into the softness of your body. You allow him that, focused entirely on the act of taking him into you. The fat head of his cock it slips inside, evoking a sweet little gasp from you, and Homelander fights not to slam in the rest of the way.

Both of your hands fall to his chest, your eyes meeting his. He holds your gaze, mouth twitching around silent sharp breaths. He watches you sink slowly down the length of him, engulfing him in such sublime rapture it’s a wonder he doesn’t come right then and there for the feel of you alone. His grip on your hips flexes and he gives a sharp little thrust up, forgetting himself to the divine feel of your pussy.

“I said don’t move,” you remind him breathlessly. God, you’re beautiful like this. The fluorescent light behind your head haloes you, giving you the look of a debauched angel he plucked from the heavens to have and keep as his own. He expects you to move, to bounce yourself on his cock like you did his mouth and his fingers. He wants to watch your tits bounce, see your face clearly when you come on his cock, but the only part of you that moves is your hand.

His gaze drops and quickly darkens, watching intently as you stroke your clit. The initial contact alone makes you jerk, makes your pussy spasm and squeeze him so good he almost chokes on it. Your only response is to sigh, tipping your head back and spreading your legs a little wider, taking him deeper. He wants so badly to fuck you, to slam you down and rail you until your desk cracks in half.

“Mmmm, fuck,” you moan, rubbing yourself in circles, the lewd noise of it loud and irresistible to his ears. “Fuck, fuck–ah, god,” you start to pant, head falling forward, brows tightly pinched. You’re so sensitive after the assault of his mouth, the flavor of you still fresh on his tongue. The faster your fingers move, the closer he feels you get, the clench around his cock steadily tightening. He wants to thrash, but you keep him pinned in place with your look of expectation and pleasure. You’re getting off on him as much as you are your own fingers, on the swell and throb of his cock inside you, on the sheer power you hold over a god.

You’re loud when you come, nails clawing into the chest of his suit. Homelander’s eyes roll back, lips parted on a soundless cry of his own. The spasming heat of your release is too much and he loses himself to it, eyes flaring up with crimson light as he comes with you, every shudder of your climax stroking and milking him of his own, flooding you with his own wet mess.

His restraint breaks with the dam and he sits up abruptly, startling a noise from you, which he swallows with a hard kiss, cupping the back of your head. He holds you still and he fucks you, lifting from the desk entirely so that he alone supports your weight, driving you deeper onto his cock. Your legs tighten on either side of him, shaking. 

Out of his mind with pleasure, he tears your blouse open with his teeth, diving in close to lick, suck and bite at your chest. He buries his face between your breasts, holding you tightly as he fucks you both through your respective orgasms, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing obscenely in your office. 

Hitching your legs properly around his waist, he bounces you on his cock until the pleasure borders on pain and a secondary shock rolls through him like another orgasm, stealing his breath. Only then does he finally slow, mouthing languidly at your chest until he sucks your nipple into his mouth. He moans against you, grinding to an eventual halt. You comb your fingers through his hair and goosebumps erupt across his body, which shivers in the euphoric aftermath.

He loses track of how long he stays suspended like that, lost to the overwhelm of sensation. Your legs go slack while his angles slightly upward, his face pressed to your chest, your head resting atop his. He nuzzles at you, bleary eyed and slack with pleasure. He kisses a trail up to your clavicle, your throat, your jaw, smiling in the loose, easy way that only a good fuck can never make him.

“Wow,” he says after a while, voice thoroughly frayed.

You giggle, groggily lifting your head. He adjusts until you can relax against his chest, fold your forearms across it and settling your chin atop them, admiring him. He touches your face with his ungloved hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb, then the curve of your bottom lip. His smile widens when you kiss the pad of his thumb.

“Wow indeed,” you say, swinging your legs lightly. “Can’t say I’ve ever been fucked mid-air.”

“One of the many benefits of dating me,” he purrs, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. He kisses you again, drifting slowly back down, unhurried.

Your brows lift lazily. “Who says we’re dating?” You ask, but your smile keeps his hackles from rising.

“Me,” he says, eyes crinkled at the corners. He lands gently on the desk, helping you to it. “You and I are officially going steady.”

You give a thoughtful hum, carefully untangling your limbs from his. You slide off of the desk while he puts himself back together, your knees trembling faintly. “Fairly sure asking someone out requires a question mark. You know. The asking part. You didn’t even buy me dinner.” You attempt to button up your shirt, but it’s obviously a lost cause.

He exhales a quiet laugh, pulling you back into his arms. “Well, I certainly ate.”

“God,” you laugh, rolling your eyes, but they don’t stray from him for long. There’s a sparkle to your gaze that he wants to capture in his palm and never set loose.

“Will you go out with me?” He asks, lips brushing yours.

“Mmmmmmmm….” You hum once more, drawing it out, feigning a great deliberation. “There’s something you should know first.”

He quirks a brow. “What’s that?”

“My guilty pleasure,” you say, nose bumping his.

Intrigued, he inclines his head to prompt you to continue. Can’t be worse than mine.

“Superheroes,” you say conspiratorially. “Can’t get enough of them. Loved them my whole life. Especially this one in particular…”

He breaks into a frayed, charmed laugh. “Let me guess, name starts with an H?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, lips curved downward in a mock grimace, and nod subtly. “ Total fangirl. Embarrassing, right?”

Homelander shakes his head. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never felt guilty about pleasure. Where’s the harm in it?”

The harm inflicted on those thugs couldn’t count. They had it coming.

“Harm to my pride, my ego, my reputation,” you list, tapping his suit to punctuate each one. “I made a pretty big fuss about not liking you. I had myself convinced that my Homelander only existed in my fantasies, and you were just the guy who plays him.”

My Homelander. The words stir an unexpectedly sentimental surge of emotion that wells up from somewhere deep in his chest. He clears his throat lightly. “What’s the verdict now?”

You sweep him with an appraising gaze. “Still deliberating.”

He clicks his tongue, nodding. “I don’t suppose I could arrange a meeting with the jury?”

“They’re available for dinner tomorrow,” you say, the tilt of your lips sly. 

“It’s a date,” he murmurs, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You kiss him, pressing your smile to his. He doubts he’ll ever tire of the softness of your lips, or the easy way you melt against him. He wraps his arms around you, content to let this moment pass only because he knows there will be more to come. He’s determined to make every one of them better than the last.

All of the pleasure, none of the guilt.

[arminthada]

Peterpan's Interview for iQIYI Exclusive Reset Special Clip 2 - English Translation

(Chinese, Spanish, Korean, Vietnamese subs available on iQIYI) note: this clip isn't the full interview, just a highlight, you can watch the full interview on iQIYI, translation may contain inaccuracies.

On Thada's personality

Khun Thada is a calm, profound, and mature person. On the outside, he seems to appears cold, but when it comes to love, he has something very innocent and adorable about him, with a little bit of warm "oppa" vibes. His expression when he's with others is often like him wears a thick protective armor. But when he's with Armin, Thada appears somewhat smaller [t/n: Pan uses tua lek lek so he's trying to describe how Thada softens up like a cute smol guy when he's with Armin]. Armin is someone who can make him smile more easily, one could even say, more than anyone else in this world.

On his feelings when receiving the role of Thada

Pressured. Really really pressured. Pressured from the moment I knew this series was adapted from the novel Reset: The Star's Rebirth of author Crystaljade. And knowing it had millions of views made the pressure even greater. Actually, credit must also be given to the film crew. Why? Because the crew members knew that Thada and I are really quite different, whether in terms of age, personality, emotions, or lifestyle and everything. From a child who's just over 20, I had to "leap" to become someone nearly 40 years old, with my own company, a CEO, having to run an entire company. Plus, he also has a knot in his heart that he has been through a lot with. I had to do a lot of homework. The reason I said I have to thank the film crew is because they... every time I came to the set, if there was a heavy scene that day, to keep the character, not to break character, they always tried to help me immerse the world of Thada and Armin. I had to adjust my character to be more mature, speak slower, be more confident, when sitting, I had to straighten my chest and shoulders. Because almost 95% of the costumes I wear in this series are suits. Always having to look "smart", always having to be "cool." Therefore, to truly reach the deepest core of the character, from the external appearance to understanding the story behind it, everything is connected. This is something I always have to continuously adjust. Actually, even now, even though filming is done, Thada's personality is still within me. It has partly helped me mature. Thank you, Khun Thada.

On stepping into the role of Thada

Being a fan - someone who loves another person wholeheartedly, I wonder what that person would be like. So I started trying to observe my surroundings, starting with the people around me. Starting with noticing my own lovely fan club, "Tinker Bell House of Peterpan," or even the fanclubs of all the actors in this series. I tried to observe their loveliness, their support. Tried to put myself in that mindset. Another thing that clicked with me very strongly that I myself only realized not long ago. I feel that when I was little, when I loved a cartoon character, for example, I really loved Toy Story. Last year, when I went to Disney[land], when I got to meet the Toy Story characters right in front of me, tears just started falling down my face from emotions that I didn't even realize. Then I felt perhaps this is the feeling of being close to someone, and that person sees me, they acknowledge me, so that makes me feel like I understand what it means to love something with all your heart. I tried to put myself in that place. Using that to adjust, to apply to how Thada supported Armin from the very first day he met this person.

On different personalities in each part of the story

Yes, there are. When I got the role of Thada, his personality was already partly different from mine. When vieweing his exterior, one will see a certain personality of the character Thada. But when it comes to scenes that require a certain cuteness, I also had to find the character's personality in that direction. Here, credit must be given to the director, who always adjusts Thada's character to fit the script, while still adhering to the original identity/spirit of [the character in] the novel. [If you asked] whether it was difficult or challenging, there was a little bit. Because Thada must be calm, mature, but when he meets Armin, who always flirts and teases him, comes knocking on the door of his heart. If you imagine it cutely, it's like a kitten or a puppy rubbing up against you. And how do I react? It's like having to keep myself from a high position like this, "Mr. Thada" of Crown Enterprise and then [his walls are] gradually be broken down little by little. I always have to do my homework for that. That's right.

On the first collaboration with Pond Ponlawit

So, which aspect should I talk about? The first time we met was in acting class. From that moment when I met Pond, I immediately felt that this person had some kind of glow on him (t/n: Pan uses แสง so the direct translation is light but glow or aura feels more apt in this description). He has passion, he has determination in everything that he does in his life. Especially regarding acting, how he develops himself to embody his character. Or even his seriousness towards his everyday life. That made me feel that when I met him like this, it really impressed me from the very first meeting.

On his feelings when acting with Pond, any impression of Pond

Pond is someone who is a very hard-working person. He works hard when working, and plays hard when playing. He has a very good source of energy. On filming set, everyone wants to be near him. He gives off the feeling of a little puppy, which makes me see the professionalism in him even more. One could say he is one of the most prominent actors of this era, like in respective to fellow peer within his age. This is something that impressed me greatly. When we worked together, it motivated me to develop myself even more. This is a person worth following, Khun Pond Ponlawit. You're awesome! Seriously!

On any memorable scenes for him

Oh! That's a difficult question. I can't choose, there are so many. I find every moment meaningful. There are many moments that I want everyone to watch. I want everyone to see the simplicity, the rawness of the characters in this series. The fact that we get to sit and chill chill with someone, I find those moments lovely, even more important than the grand moments in life.

Behind vs On Screen

If everyone watches our behind the scenes, they will see that behind the camera, many people might ask themselves: "Huh, is this the same person as the one in front of the camera?" Because in our series, there might be some very serious scenes. Therefore, the way for both of us to relax after filming that scene is to play around with each other after such scenes.

Anything Pan wants to share about or with Pond

Let me talk a bit about his cuteness. Pond is a person who is very disciplined in everything, even when it comes to his eating. When he doesn't have a filming schedule, he has a disciplined eating habit, which is to "eat wholeheartedly." That's his joy. But when he has to appear in front of the camera, like he knows that there's a scene that week where he has to show his physique, then oh my, he's extremely strict with his diet. But, once that scene is over, he eats deliciously. That's a moment when I saw it, I felt that if you eat and you're happy like that, then I'm happy too. One day, there was chili paste and mackerel, and also fried vegetables. Because he's like a Singaporean boy, like an international school kid, doesn't eat much Thai food, so there are some dishes he's never eaten, like fried vegetables, for example. He tried a bite and said: "Hey, it's pretty good." The bowl that was initially filled to the brim, he was like, "I'll have another bite," and ended up eating the whole bowl. He even took his manager's portion and kept eating. This is his cutesness. He's the type of person who makes eating look delicious. Looks quite adorable.

On Pond as his acting partner

I feel that Pond is a really great partner in this series. No matter what scene we act together, no matter how intimate the scenes are, we always talk to each other, always ask for permission from each other beforehand, and then together give our best in every scene. In the later stages, I felt we almost didn't need to think about what Armin and Thada had to do anymore. We even improvised more, like this is what Armin and Thada would want to convey, for everyone to see the loveliness, the depth in the characters' personalities. Which sometimes is even far different from the novel I have read. That makes me feel that I can keep going. I believe in the skill of Teacher A Natthaphong Wongkaweepairod (the director) and my partner Pond. Pond... my Pond. Oh, ah, Armin of Thada.

[supernotnatural2005]

'Happy Accidents'

Pairing: Dean x Plus!sized Reader

Summary: You haven't seen the Winchester's in over a year, but the case you're working has you scratching your head, and who better to call than some old friends. However, insecurities arise as well as the reprise of a long time crush. Little do you know, it's reciprocated.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: Dry humping! (18+Only), fluff, mutual pinning, Plus!sized Reader, body insecurities, curvy girl appreciation, swearing.

AN: Okay so this is my first time writing for a more specific reader body type, but being a curvy-girl myself it was interesting to implement it into a story. And with Dean being the appreciator? Yes please! 😍 I know this might not cater to all of you, but I'm inclusive to all y'all ❤️ Also taking some inspo from @bejeweledinterludes post for this one and @zepskies Midnight Espresso series, which is honestly one of my favourite series and stories featuring a Plus!sized reader!! I do hope you guys like this one! 💕

Main Masterlist

You hadn’t seen the Winchesters in over a year.

Not since that hunt in Nebraska—the one that went sideways fast. The one that left you with a busted-up ankle and Dean with a fresh scar along his jawline. The one where, after all was said and done, you parted ways with an easy “See you around,” never expecting “around” to take this long to come back.

But when a case cropped up—one that twisted your gut with unease—you hadn’t hesitated. You picked up the phone and called the only people you trusted to have your back. If anyone could help, it was them.

And now, sitting in a dimly lit bar, waiting for them to arrive, your nerves were shot. Maybe it was the case. Or maybe it was the fact that you’d changed since they last saw you—since he last saw you.

That old, ridiculous crush on Dean Winchester hadn’t gone anywhere. That much had become painfully clear the moment he picked up the phone, his voice as deep, gravelly, and cocky as ever. But now, with time apart and the weight of your own insecurities pressing down, the idea of seeing him again made your stomach twist.

You had always been curvier, carrying stubborn weight around your thighs, ass, and middle. But in the last year, you’d softened even more. Life had been quieter, with less running and fewer adrenaline-fuelled hunts. You were still strong, still capable, but you felt different. And you knew the type of women Dean gravitated toward—tall, slim, easy.

You were none of those things, and you never would be. And that was okay. But it was a niggling fact that had always lingered in the back of your mind, that had stung each time the three of you got together and you watched him charm someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.

A warm, unexpected hand on your shoulder brings you out of your darker thoughts, with a slight gasp, startling you a little.

“Easy there, sweetheart.”

You turned, heart stuttering as Dean stood there, grinning down at you like no time had passed at all. And damn it all, he looked the same—scruffy and stupidly handsome in that effortless way of his, jeans snug on his hips, flannel worn open over a snug black tee. Sam stood just behind him, offering you a softer, more knowing smile.

“Hey, boys,” you manage, hoping the warmth creeping up your neck isn’t as obvious as it feels. You slip off the barstool, nerves buzzing, but force yourself to keep it together.

Dean’s eyes flick over you—quick, but thorough. For a split second, something unreadable flashes across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it.

“Missed us that bad, huh?” His smirk is pure Dean, cocky and teasing, slipping back into the easy rhythm of your old banter.

You roll your eyes, but are grateful for it. “Don’t flatter yourself, Winchester.”

But your voice is softer than you mean it to be, and when you turn to Sam, pulling him into a warm hug first, you feel Dean’s gaze linger.

Then you step up to him, hesitation curling in your chest—but before you can overthink it, his arms are around you, solid and warm, pulling you close like no time has passed at all.

That familiar scent—woody, spiced, edged with leather—wraps around you, grounding you, unraveling you. For a second longer than necessary, you let yourself sink into it, just this once.

The three of you settled into a booth once the bartender set down your drinks. Sam took the seat across from you, while Dean slid in next to you, his presence a little too warm, a little too distracting.

“So,” Sam started, taking a sip of his beer. “What are we looking at?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “A few people have gone missing over the last month—no bodies, no traces, just… gone. I’ve ruled out everything I know of. There’s no signs of a struggle, no sulphur, no EMF spikes. It’s like they just vanished into thin air.”

Dean frowned, brows knitting together. “And no patterns? No connection between them?”

“None that I could find.” You shook your head. “That’s why I called you guys. I was hoping fresh eyes might help.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, both equally puzzled but already slipping into hunter mode.

“Well, we’re here now,” Sam said, ever the problem solver. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, feeling some of the weight lift. “We’ll go over everything in more detail tomorrow. Tonight…” You glanced between them, the tension of the case momentarily fading. “It’s just good to see you both.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam agreed warmly, raising his bottle. “To old friends.”

You clinked beers with him, and Dean followed suit, but as your bottles met, his eyes locked onto yours. There was something there—something lingering, unreadable, sending a flicker of warmth through you. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, masked behind an easy sip of his beer. You swallowed, shaking it off as nothing more than a trick of your mind.

The more the beers flowed, the easier it got. You caught up, swapped stories, and fell into familiar rhythms.

Dean was as quick with his smart-ass remarks as ever, and the two of you naturally fell into your usual back-and-forth. Sam, as always, was the long-suffering audience to your antics.

At one point, you and Dean tag-teamed a particularly brutal roast of Sam—this time about the time he’d gotten sick on a case and tried to insist he was totally fine, only to end up passing out face-first into a hotel’s continental breakfast buffet.

“Oh, come on,” Sam groaned, shaking his head as you and Dean laughed. “That was years ago.”

“And yet,” you grinned, “I can still hear the sound of your face hitting that tray of scrambled eggs.”

Dean snorted, nudging his knee against yours under the table. “Dude, you took out the whole table. That poor old lady thought you died.”

Sam huffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed his beer away. “Yeah, and that’s my cue. I’ve had enough of you two for one night.”

You laughed, but before you could say anything, Sam stood, shaking his head. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” He pulled you into a quick, brotherly hug, and you squeezed back.

“Night, Sammy,” you murmured, watching as he strode toward the door, leaving you alone with Dean.

You half-expected him to call it a night too, but instead, Dean didn’t move. If anything, the second Sam walked out, he seemed to settle in more, arm stretching along the back of the booth, fingers barely grazing your shoulder. The casual touch sent a ripple of awareness through you, but you forced yourself to act normal, reaching for your drink instead of acknowledging the way your heart had picked up speed.

“I think I’ll stick around a little longer,” he said casually, surprising you.

Your heart kicked up a notch, but you welcomed the company. “Yeah?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. We got a lot of catching up to do.”

And so you did. The conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter slipping in between shared memories and stories of the road. Some cases were so bizarre they barely seemed real, and a few had you nearly crying with laughter. Time seemed to pass in a blink of an eye, the bar thinning out around you, and you barely noticed.

At some point, Dean just sat back and looked at you. Really looked at you. His expression softened, head tilting slightly as he took you in, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he shook his head and muttered, “Damn, it’s really good to see you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocked the breath from your lungs.

Your lips parted, a response on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out.

Dean huffed a small laugh, eyes still studying you like he was committing you to memory. “You look good, too.”

The words weren’t rushed, weren’t casual or offhanded. They were steady, like a thought he’d been holding onto for a while.

Heat crept up your neck, and you let out a small, nervous chuckle, dropping your gaze to your drink as you toyed with the condensation on the glass. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean shifted, leaning in just a little, enough that the space between you felt smaller, more intimate. “I mean it,” he said, quieter this time, voice dipping low.

All you could think was; what the hell is happening here?

Dean had never been like this with you before. Sure, he flirted—it was second nature to him—but not like this. At least that’s what you’d always believed. Had you just never noticed? Had you missed the way he looked at you before? Or had something changed?

Swallowing, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, only to find his eyes sweeping over you—slow, deliberate. No hesitation. No teasing. Just appreciation.

His gaze flickered to your lips.

The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken, something you weren’t sure you were ready for, but part of you wanted to reach for it anyway.

Then—

“Last call!”

The bartender’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

You exhaled sharply, the moment shattering as you snapped back to reality. A part of you wanted to stay frozen in it, let whatever this was between you and Dean unravel, but instead, you reached for the safest thing to say. "We should head back."

Dean nodded, standing with you, hands shoving into his jacket pockets. But even as you stepped out into the crisp night air, the tension didn’t fade. If anything, it followed you like a shadow.

The walk back to the motel was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the crunch of gravel under your boots. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat still thrumming under your skin. You kept sneaking glances at Dean, only to find him already looking at you, eyes dark, thoughtful, unreadable.

He was close—not touching, but his presence was all-consuming. The scent of leather and whiskey clung to him, mixing with the crisp night air, making your stomach twist with anticipation.

When you finally reached your door, you hesitated.

"Well… this is me," you said, voice coming out lighter than you intended, a small, nervous chuckle slipping past your lips.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile as he looked down at you. "Yeah."

But neither of you moved.

The air shifted again, crackling with something dangerous, something inevitable.

Dean’s gaze flickered lower—tracing the curve of your mouth, watching as you unconsciously pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched and something in his expression darkened.

"Fuck it."

The words barely left his lips before he was on you, crashing into you with a hunger that sent you stumbling back against the door. The force of it stole your breath, his mouth devouring yours, needy, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for years and finally gave in.

A muffled sound of surprise left you, swallowed instantly by his lips, but it only took a second before you melted into him, your fingers fisting the open lapels of his jacket, anchoring yourself against him.

It was hot and messy, all teeth and tongue, the kind of kiss that left you lightheaded and aching. His hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming—sliding over your hips, your back, fingers digging into your flesh like he never wanted to let go.

You fumbled for the door behind you, barely registering how you managed to get it open before tugging him inside.

Dean groaned against your mouth as the door clicked shut, his hands already working your jacket off your shoulders. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this," he murmured against your lips, voice rough, breathless.

Your stomach flipped, your heart fluttering at the implication—the confirmation that this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment lust. This was Dean. Wanting you. For who knew how long.

A moan slipped past your lips in response because forming actual words wasn’t an option—not with his hands gripping you tighter, not with the way he was kissing you like he was starving.

You barely noticed when you reached the little loveseat, your room provided, until the back of his knees hit it. Taking advantage of his momentary imbalance, you shoved him down onto it and climbed into his lap.

Dean groaned, head tipping back slightly as his hands found your hips, gripping tight. Touching you like he’d always wanted to. His fingers dug into the soft curve of your thighs, your ass, holding you like he couldn’t get enough.

You stiffened for half a second. The way his hands moulded to your body, the way he held you there so easily—so greedily—made your head spin.

You’d spent years second-guessing what guys thought when they touched you, wondering if they found you too much, too soft in places you’d been taught to shrink. The idea of straddling Dean, of all people, should’ve sent a jolt of insecurity through you. Should’ve had you hesitating.

But then Dean’s hands tightened—fingers pressing into your thighs, squeezing like he couldn’t stand not to have you closer. A deep, rough sound rumbled from his chest, his lips breaking from yours just long enough to groan, "Jesus—fuck."

The way he said it sent fire straight to your core.

He wanted you like this. Craved it. He wasn’t just tolerating the way your body pressed against him—he was obsessed with it.

As if to prove the point, his grip turned bruising, his hands dragging you even closer, pulling you down into him, despite the small part of you that feared you might be too much.

Dean grunted, his head dropping forward slightly, his forehead pressing to yours. "Goddamn, sweetheart."

A rush of confidence flooded through you, drowning out every lingering doubt.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips, testing, teasing—just enough to feel the hard, undeniable evidence of how much he wanted this. Wanted you.

The friction was incredible, sending a bolt of pleasure up your spine, making you bite back a moan.

Dean’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into your flesh, his entire body going rigid.

That only made you do it again. Slower this time, deeper.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, his hands twitching on your thighs like he was trying to keep himself together.

"Fuck—" His voice was raw, strangled, almost pained.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, every muscle coiled tight as you ground against him, feeling the delicious pressure between you, the way his cock strained beneath his jeans, thick and hot against you.

Suddenly, his hands snapped up to your waist, gripping hard, stilling you.

You barely had a second to register it before—

Dean shuddered. His whole body tensed beneath you, a choked grunt ripping from his throat as his fingers dug into your flesh, his head tipping back against the couch.

He went still, and it took you a second to realise.

Dean Winchester had just cum in his jeans.

A rush of heat flooded his face, his expression shifting from shock to pure horror. He blinked up at you, wide-eyed, mortified.

"Oh, fuck." His voice was barely above a whisper, his hands still gripping your hips, as if he was trying to process what the hell had just happened.

Your lips parted in surprise. Then—a slow, wicked grin spread across your face.

"Did you just—?"

Dean groaned, head dropping back against the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don’t. Just—don’t."

But you couldn’t help it. Because holy shit.

You’d just made Dean Winchester cum in his jeans.

If that wasn’t the biggest ego boost of your life, you didn’t know what was.

Leaning down, you pressed a lingering kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, revelling in the way his breath stuttered. "That," you murmured, lips brushing against his ear, "is the best compliment I’ve ever gotten."

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he melted under your touch, his hands hesitantly sliding up your sides, gripping your waist like he needed to anchor himself. When he finally looked up at you, the humiliation still lingered, but something warmer, something softer, began to take its place.

His green eyes flickered over your face like he was memorising you. His throat bobbed with a swallow. Then, suddenly, he let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.

"God, I’m sorry," he huffed, running a hand down his face, still half-stunned. "You’re just—" His eyes swept over you, dark and reverent as his hands followed, tracing over the curve of your hips, the swell of your full breasts, the thickness of your thighs. His fingers flexed, like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was real. "Fucking gorgeous."

Heat rushed to your face, your stomach flipping as you instinctively tried to shy away. But Dean was already there, his thumb pressing lightly under your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

"Hey," he murmured, his lips twitching into something wicked and sweet all at once. "Give me five minutes," his hands slid around the curve of your hips, then lower, grasping large handfuls of your ass, his fingers digging in like he couldn't help himself. He groaned, low and deep, pressing you closer, like he needed you to feel just how much he meant it. "And I’ll really show you how much I want you."

Your own lips curled, mirroring his. "Five minutes, huh?" You couldn’t help but hum as he kissed along the column of your throat, his lips soft and warm, his teeth grazing, sending a shiver down your spine.

His grip on you tightened, kneading the flesh beneath his hands, and another groan rumbled through his chest, when you shifted in his lap again and you felt the unmistakable twitch of him against you.

"Okay, make that two," he muttered, his voice rough with renewed hunger.

You laughed, and he grinned against your skin at the sound, before pulling you in and claiming your lips in a hot, deep kiss once more.

“Besides,” he mumbled between kisses, “I wanna sample the goods first, anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, about to retort, but then you squealed as he abruptly lifted you into his arms, carrying you over to the bed like you weighed nothing. With a playful smirk, he dropped you onto the mattress unceremoniously, making you bounce with a giggle.

Dean climbed in after you, hovering over you, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his expression turning unexpectedly tender. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he admitted, voice quieter now, raw and honest.

Your heart fluttered.

"Then show me," you whispered.

And as his lips met yours again, slow and deep, Dean swore he’d take his damn time proving just how much he did.

AN: So this just popped into my mind, I hadn't planned on posting, but had to get it out 😅. I know this doesn't cater to everyone it's a little more reader specific, but, it's just another reason to love Dean! 😍

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Ahhhhh! First of...BIG FAN OF YOUR SOTRYS AND HEADCANONS! And i want to request an Yandere TFA Starscream AND ALL of his clones(plus Slipstream, if you like) with an cybertronian s/o that is SUPERA shy, easily flustered and hardly ever raises thare voice that comes out as VERY adorable whispers and thare...

❤️‍🔥DROP❤️‍🔥

💞DEAD💞

😍GORGEOUS😍

I would VERY much love it if you add small scenarios.

🌌💗💜Love your storys!💜💗🌌

Oh my Primus THANK YOU!!! You're so sweet (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) It makes me smile to know my works are being liked, it is my little escape from reality and adult life - I'll do my best since I haven't seen Transformers Animated too.

(TFA) Yandere!Starscream & Clones w/ Shy Cybertronian!Reader (HCs & Scenario)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, too many yanderes in the same place, typical violence from the series and a little bit more. Reader gets a little bit hurt by Sunstorm, but nothing too bad. Reader is gender neutral and in the Decepticon faction.

Perfection - that's the word Starscream, Skywarp, Sunstorm, Thundercracker, Ramjet, Slipstream, Dirge and Thrust use to describe you.

What is a shy, soft speaking, easy to fluster cybertronian in the Decepticon's faction and still walking around, unchanged?

Starscream has never been one to believe in beings like Primus - but thanks to Primus for having given him someone just as perfect as you.

And if Starscream loved you, his clones did the same - after all, they were a part of Starscream. It would be impossible to not love you as deadly as Starscream already did!

You are never alone - never. At least one of them is by your side.

Skywarp is paranoid. Sunstorm is sadistic. Thundercracker is obsessive. Ramjet is delusional. Slipstream is stalkerish. Dirge is possessive. Thrust is manipulative.

And Starscream? Well - he has a little bit of all of those traits. I'll say he remains as a possessive yandere, but with how of a mess he is, tends to the hysteric type too.

All of them love to say they own you and such, they like to think they are in charge of you - but they are dead aft wrong.

You have 8 yanderes wrapped by your pinkie finger - whatever you wish they will try to give it to you, they will guard you and, if you ever showed a desire to offline someone, they would shed all the energon and helms you want.

Of course - they take advantage of your shy behaviour. They always keep you by their side, prohibiting you of interacting with other bots if they are not around. Hell, they even intimidate you partially to neither run or fight them back.

But, oh - just how precious you are? How kind and soft you are, too scared to raise your voice, easy to embarrass and get you too overwhelmed by their love you can't think on doing anything but recieve whatever form of sickening saccharine love they decide to give you.

They have definitely threaten another bot to offline them just because they saw you for 1 klik. A few bots would not really take Starscream or any of his clones seriously... but the look all of them have in their optics - it is pure madness. Hysteric insanity barely tamed, branded as their love for you.

Only you.

If they could, they would chant how perfect you are that not even Primus could be compared to you. They want to hold you, bond their sparks with yours, end everyone just so there would be only you and them.

You've been desperately trying to get a least one klik of privacy for yourself - your anxiety is skyrocketing. You've always been aware of Starscream's obsession with you. He would always follow you, claim to be the perfect candidate to be your conjux endura and promise he was going to be yours.

And you've seen it - how he stalks and follows you, how he has threatened others to keep themselves away from you, how he aims to kill any bot if you are in the middle of the battle against the autobots and get hurt or targeted. And Starscream has been doing a good job at actually being taken as a threat if you were in the middle of the ecuation (hell, even Megatron has been quite careful whenever interacting with you.)

But with the clones now around... your hell grew 7 times worse.

Skywarp would cry his optics off, begging you about not leaving him, constantly being tortured by himself with the many imaginary scenarios he makes of you being taken or leaving them. To then cry as he thanks you for proving him you love him when you just comforted him, not having the spark to leave him like that when is clinging to you as if you were going to disappear.

Sunstorm is always there to hurt you, one way or another - he proclaims that is in the name of love and making sure others know you are taken after he left a few bitemarks or bruises on your neck or armplates, seeming too pleased when you whimper or sob. You're starting to believe he also does it to tell you what the consequences could be if you tried to leave him.

Thundercracker constantly has this episodes where he has you cornered or held, rambling and rambling about too many things but they always revolve about that insane and obsessive love for yours, how he promises to destroy anyone who gets in your way and so, so much more. It always scares you as he always spills his love for you, never tearing his optics away from you.

Ramjet believes with all his spark that you and him (plus Starscream and the other clones) are already the Conjux Endura of the other, and he believes you and him have been past lovers from another lives, your sparks bonded through all eternity and, no matter if he dies or you die, you will always come back to him and fall in love with him just as he does it with you every single klik of his life.

Slipstream is there, she is always there. Always listening. Always watching you. Stalking you. You know she is there even if you can't see her. And before you know it, she has you in her arms, hugging you and whispering to you too many promises about never leaving you. She knows everything about you, knows where you are or where you are going - you can't escape her.

Dirge is not like Slipstream. While she hides in the shadows to follow you, he is physically there with you. He acts like a barrier between you and the world, isolating you. Constantly has his servo holding yours, he needs to touch you one way or another, and is not afraid to throw a few faceplate breaking punches at anyone who tries to approach you.

Thrust guilt-trips you. You know he is doing it whenever he does it, and still your spark aches and bends, giving into whatever he wants. Why do you want to go outside when there are too many autobots and other decepticons wanting to hurt you? Ramjet and the others are doing everything to keep you safe and sound! They love you so much, sweetspark - how can you be so sparkless? Worst part, when you give in, he always coos and praises you for being such a good soon-to-be-conjux.

"Ah, there you are, my dear Conjux." And the last one to be enlisted - Starscream himself. A servo is quick to grab yours, pulling you by force to stop walking and follow him, instead. "What did I told you about leaving our room?"

"I... I wanted to, um, have a little bit of privacy-" You try to explain.

"And who gave you permission to?" Starscream looks at you, making you bite your own glossa and hold your helm down.

"You found them! Oh, thanks Primus!" Skywarp cries as he arrives, quick to run and hug you. Sunstorm and Dirge follow closely, hugging you just like Skywarp (Dirge needs to hold you, Sunstorm... well, he knows having too many bots hugging you makes you anxious and prone to just not move, not fight back.)

"Now -" Thrust starts. "You could have got hurt or taken away, sweetspark." Skywarp, Dirge and Sunstorm finally let you go, but their servos rest on your back, gently pushing you to keep walking as Starscream lead the way.

You try to be brave. "I just wanted to - to..." You fail.

"Hush - it is already night time." Starscream orders softly, and you shut your mouth at it. "It is time to recharge, my Conjux."

"She is my Conjux!" Thundercracker shouts the moment you and your lovers enter your shared room. Slipstream nonchalantly slaps the back of Thundercracker's helm, making him hiss.

"She is our Conjux." Ramjet says, smiling with optics full of love as he takes your free servo and pull you gently towards the big berth all of you slept.

You end resting against Starscream's chestplate, his arms wrapped around you. Somehow, the others always manage to sleep touching you - two helms resting against your legs, a servo touching your back, another one your shoulderplate, a helm nestled against your torso. It makes you feel trapped.

"Rest well, my Conjux." Starscream whispers to you after kissing your forehelm, Slipstream gently snuzzling her helm against your torso as Sunstorm and Thrust trace their digits on your back, Dirge and Ramjet coo and whisper sweet nothings to you quietly as you feel Thundercracker hug your legs, Skywarp resting his helm on Starscream's shoulder so he could look at you.

You close your optics, embracing dearfuly the only time you are allowed to be alone - whenever you recharge.

I hope you like it! This week has been a little bit too much for me, but it was interesting to write this! (*^▽^*) Vhaos out!

[coichii]

WHITE CHRISTMAS

—(🎧)—> y/n seeing snow for the first time

pairing - bf!seungmin ♥︎ fem!reader

genre - fluff

word count - 1.2k

warnings - written by a girl who’s had like 3 good snows in her lifetime, this is bad I’m in writers block

series note : hello !! welcome to part seven of my winter series, “winter records of love” where there will be 8 individual short stories for each member :) these stories are based off of songs I deem “winter” feeling ! this story is based off of “White Christmas ” by Bing Crosby. enjoy <3

“It’s seriously freezing.” You shiver, burrying your self into Seungmin and the warm, plaid blanket layed upon both of you.

It’s winter, of course, frost nipping at your nose. On top of that, it was Christmas Eve. Carolers roamed the streets of your neighborhood, knocking on doors and singing their cheery carols.

You loved it. The atmosphere of Christmas always made you feel like a little kid receiving a toy you had on a wishlist for years. Even like a kid sitting on Santa’s lap in one of those crappy mall photoshoot places.

It was magical, but there was one tiny issue that messed with your Christmas ideals.

You had never seen snow before.

It’s hard to believe, but you’ve only ever seen those intricate flurries of soft ice on screen before. It’s been on of your dreams to see it, to play in it, to feel it. All you can hope is that it snows.

It sounds childish, but you don’t care. A snowy Christmas would make the holiday even more cherish-able, which will be hard to top ever since you started dating Seungmin.

Christmas with him was...un describable. He knew how much the season meant to you, and would always do whatever he could to make it enjoyable for you. You loved him for it.

“I can go turn the heat up, baby.” He replies, preparing to stand up. You groan and pull him back down to you, holding on to his shoulders with all your strength.

“Noooo,” you mumble into his chest, pouting as you hear him chuckle. “Don’t leave me. You’re warm. Plus, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

He smiles, rubbing his hand over your hair. He swears you’re always so cute like this, but he’ll never let you hear that.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be right back.” He retaliates, pushing you off of him despite your dismissal, giggling cutely at a soft groan that tumbled out of your lips.

You watch him as he walks to the thermostat and turns it on heat, the bitter cold eventually evening out to a toasty warm as you sigh in content.

He settles back down next to you, snuggling comfortably into your side.

It’s blissful like this; you don’t get much alone time, so this Christmas break with him feels perfect. He’s not working, you’re not studying. It’s amazing.

“You excited for tomorrow?” He asks, voice suddenly soaked with sleep.

“Is that even a question, Minnie?” You giggle, mind wandering off to that warm, home like place you feel whenever the weather gets cold and jingle bells begin to ring.

“I know, I’m just messing with you.” He laughs back, eyes slipping closed and lips parting in a sleep like matter.

“You tired, bubs? Wanna go sleep?” You ask, and Seungmin flushed pink. He always gets so nervous whenever you call him buns, but he doesn’t know why. You’ve been dating for 2 years, he should be used to it by now, but he’s not.

There’s just something about you that always erupts butterflies in his stomach. Maybe it’s the way you sound and feel or look, but it’s something about you that makes him so bashful and shy.

“A-are you sure? I know you wanted to stay up.” His voice is lower now, his words mixed with a yawn. What type of girlfriend would be if you sat here and let him stay up like this.

“Of course I’m sure, min. C’mon let’s go.” You chuckle, climbing out of his warm embrace and standing up, proceeding to help him stand up himself and leading him to the bedroom.

He’s not sure where he got so lucky.

◂—♥︎—▸

“Wake up, baby! It’s Christmas!”

The sun had began to peak its way into your room beyond the shades, the birds chirping and traffic roaring.

Seungmin began to groan, twisting and turning and grabbing onto your waist tightly. He rest his head on your chest, sighing in content before peeling his boba brown eyes open.

“Mhm.” He mumbles. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

He laughs slightly at your excited smile when you leap out of bed to quickly shower. He gets out soon too, body finally acclimated to the new day.

He swiftly opens the blinds, hoping to get some light into the room.

And there, he sees it.

“Y/N!” He shouts, mouthing dropped in shock. You hum back at him, heading peaking out the bathroom. “Baby, it snowed.”

Your heart stops for a while. He’s playing with you, right? He has to be.

“Y-you can’t be serious.” You stumble, walking towards him clad in nothing but a light robe. “H-holy shit.”

You eyes are blinded by the sight, white crystals still fall as the green turf is absolutely filled with snow, children outside already playing and making snowmen.

“Baby! Oh my god we need to go outside! Where’s my coat?” You squeal, practically jumping up and down with excitement and glee.

You’re so overjoyed with happiness you could almost cry. Snow. It’s really, really snow.

“Hold on. I know you’re excited, but shouldn’t you open your gift first?” He ask, tipping his head to side.

“Ughhhh, but it’s snow!” You groan, rolling your eyes and shaking his shoulders with your hands. You look so adorable to him, but he really just wants you to open your damn gift.

“I promise, you can go out immediately after. But please, open your gift first.”

“Ugh.” You sigh, finally giving in. “Fine. I’ll do the gift first but immediately after, it’s snow.”

◂—♥︎—▸

“B-baby. I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful.”

You open the gift to find a beautiful, heart shaped diamond necklace with Seungmin’s name engraved inside. It was gorgeous, the light blue tint shining, and shimmering with the highlights from the overhead light.

“L-look. I got a matching one too.“ He shyly, mumbles, covering his face with one of his hands and pulling out a matching but smaller necklace from his pocket.

“Seungmin, it’s beautiful. I fucking love you so much.” You say, crashing into him with a tight embrace and snuggling your head into his chest.

“I love you too, baby.” He giggles, becoming flustered at your excited reaction. “ C’mon, Let’s play in this snow.”

◂—♥︎—▸

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin! It’s so fluffy!” You shriek, laying on the snow and pressing it to your face.

“Hold on baby, you’ll catch a cold.” He laughs, moving to sit next to you. He watches as your eyes sparkle with admiration and happiness, heart being warmed by the sight.

“I don’t care. It’s so fluffy And cold and lovely I just love it so much.” You go on, drawing even more laughs from the man beside you.

“Oh baby baby! Let’s make a snowman!” You jump up and down, grabbing a ball of snow and meshing it with others.

“Whatever you want, Y/N.” He goes with the flow, helping you put together pieces of the tiny snowman you created on your front lawn.

He lets you do most of the work, watching with a spark in his eye as yours mirror his.

He loves the side of you, he Loves how childish you can be, How excited and happy you get over the smallest things.

It just makes that birthday present of a ring he has even more special.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

More Than You Could Ever Know - Part 1

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: On god they're about to be so cute. This was going to be one chapter but they can't stop fucking and I can't stop writing. Enjoy!

Title from All I Want For Christmas is You by Mariah Carey

Word Count: 8.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A No Love Lost Christmas Special! Takes place about five months after the end of No Love Lost, sort of an epilogue to the main story.

The Boys start Secret Santa, Ben pretends to do his job. Usual Warnings, plus smut. Much fluff and smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth rotting fluff, smut (fingering, oral f receiving, p in v sex), established relationship, Christmas Special

Part 2

Read on A03!

Doing this in Butcher’s apartment was a terrible idea, because the asshole only cleans when it’s his weekend with Ryan, and you’re right on the wrong end of that. Doing it immediately after work was a worse one, because you’re in heels and a too tight bra that you’re not allow to rip off, throw in Ben’s face, giggling when he all but tackles you into bed.

Doing it without Ben here to smile and pout and snark at might be the worst idea you’ve ever had.

And you’ve had a lot of remarkably fucking terrible ideas.

You’re not really paying attention to your friends around you, because you’re staring at your phone. Turning it around between your hands, waiting for Ben’s text to let you know Ryan’s home from school. That he’s not being bullied, and he’s doing his homework, and his powers didn’t cause what the principal had referred to as structural damage to the school’s foundation, and what Ben had correctly said was just a fucking accident. It’s not Ryan’s fault you pussies put the baseball field right next to the goddamn building.

There haven’t been any incidents since then—Ben had taken Ryan to a large, empty field and helped him figure out how to not turn a ball into a genuine weapon—but it’s still a delicate situation. It took a lot to get Ryan into a public school. A lot of promises of Ryan won’t hurt anyone, you fucking pussies, he’s not a damn baby, and bargains of Ben and I will donate, and go to all the fundraisers, but you’re not allowed to explicitly advertise that Ryan’s here, and many, many thinly veiled threats of if you don’t treat our son like a proper fucking human, I’ll let my wife yell at you. And she’ll rip you to fucking pieces.

You wouldn’t have ripped anyone to pieces. Literal pieces. Emotional pieces had been on the table, as had reputational pieces. It was one of the very few advantages of being so highly and strangely regarded as the woman who killed Homelander and the founder of the Soldier Boy Relief Foundation. People respected you and your opinion, which was an interesting choice on their part, but served you well. Ryan had gotten into the school, and he seemed to be liking it, so you hadn’t even been that mad at Ben for threatening the superintendent.

But you also don’t really get mad at Ben. Not ever. You whack his arms and wrinkle your nose and elbow his gut, but he always feels that you don’t mean it, and you never fight him when he tugs you into his arms and kisses you breathless and dizzy. When he mutters promises about fucking you stupid later, and calls you a brat, and chuckles when you grind onto his thigh in the middle of the office, and you miss him so much-

It’s barely been six fucking hours, Sunshine.

You scowl into the air, even as your whole body sings from the feeling of Ben, strong and deep and flaring in your chest. Shut up, you’re supposed to be picking up Ryan-

Already got him. We’re home.

You were supposed to text me, Benjamin-

Why, I’m telling you right fucking now-

Because Singer’s still on our ass. You sigh, tapping your fingers on the back of your phone. And the Ben’o’phone isn’t admissible in a court of law to prove we’re well-suited parents.

Singer can shove it up his fucking dick-

Ben, please- You cut yourself off as your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a message.

Benjamin; Stupid fucking handsome asshole husband

Ryans hoem

R u fuckingg happy sunshine

You smile, typing back Yes. Thank you, grumpy.

Shut the fuck up, Ben grumbles in your head, and all his adoration flares in your chest as you smile into the air like an idiot.

I love you, you massive fucking man-child.

I love you too, brat. Why the fuck aren’t you home yet.

You can almost picture his half-pouting scowl, feel the warmth of his body around you and smell pine drifting through the air. Meeting with everyone.

Everyone.

Yep.

Why the fuck is everyone meeting without me-

Because you’re picking up Ryan.

We could’ve made fucking Butcher do that-

Butcher doesn’t have a super awesome wife who’s going to tell him everything when she gets home, my love.

There’s a pause, and then Ben mutters between the low words of your friends talking around you, Be fucking fast.

MM says your name, looking between you and the bowl on the center of the table. “You put Ben in there?”

I always am. You nod to MM as Ben moves back to a quiet, warm hum in your chest, and tuck your phone into your pocket. “Yeah. I’ll give him his name when I get home.”

“And we’re sure Ben knows how Secret Santa works?” Hughie scratches the back of his neck with a sheepish expression, and you sigh.

“No. But I can explain it to him.”

“Old cunt ever even celebrated Christmas?” Butcher mutters, his feet kicked up on the table. “He don’t seem like the spirit of givin’ type.”

You flip Butcher off, your words short and firm. “He’s not a million Butcher, he’s celebrated Christmas before.”

Ben seems to love Christmas. Or at least grumpily acknowledge it with a soft, easy glow over his ribs and a relaxed face, which is the closest thing he gets to loving something that’s not you or Ryan. He’d told you, at the beginning of the month, that it was the only time his father didn’t drink as much. The only time his mother got to love him and not be caught between he and his father’s fights. The only time he got something as a child that he wasn’t expected to feel sorry or wasteful for receiving. 

You wish there was some sort of supe that could communicate with ghosts or raise the dead. You’d mimic their powers, bring Ben’s father back, and then kill him again.

“Alright, Love.” Butcher raises his hands up in mock surrender. “Just makin’ sure.”

“Suck my fucking dick-“

“Can we, um,” Annie gives you an apologetic look as she cuts you off. “Can we draw? Now? Everyone has work tomorrow, and I would like to go home and eat my weight in sushi.”

Hughie nods, grinning down at Annie. “And watch Love Island.”

“Love Island?” MM raises his brows, and Annie blushes.

“It’s fun-“

“Names, cunts.” Butcher leans forward, pulling his paper, and looks around at the rest of the group. “Before time get’s all our sorry fuckin arses. Except yours. Love,” Butcher winks at you. “You’re stuck ‘ere till the sun goes out.”

“Eat me, Butcher.”

“Oi, I’m not above tellin the Gov you said that-“

“Ben would kick your sorry ass if you said that, Butcher.” MM’s voice is flat as he interrupts, leaning over the table to draw his paper. “You might be a supe now, but that motherfucker would beat up a mountain if it insulted her honor.”

You snort as Butcher’s sour expression, and give MM a grateful nod. Everyone here knows you don’t really have honor—at least not in a way that matters—but they also know that Ben doesn’t really care about that. His notion of your honor is subjective. You’re, apparently, above killing and straining labor, so he does that for you, but he also threatens congressmen and rude parents of Ryan’s classmates with his wife. You don’t lie to him, but he’s flat out encouraged you to commit perjury. He’d threatened a journalist who said you spread your legs for any powerful supe, but then shoved your knees apart to bury himself inside you and fuck you until you were a slurring, whiny mess under him.

It seems to mostly be about what you think of the insult. If that mountain called you a slut and you laughed, Ben would just glower, standing tall and ridged at your side. If it said the same thing and you stopped talking—cold spreading through your body and a ringing in your ears—Ben would make the mountain regret being born.

You miss him so fucking much.

Once everyone has a name and you’re sure no one’s pulled their own name, you leave Butcher’s apartment with grins and half-goodbyes. You, Annie, MM, and Hughie will all see each other tomorrow, and Frenchie, Kimiko, and Butcher will do the same.

It’s a short drive home from Butcher’s apartment, but that’s by design. For Ryan. Butcher lives in the city, and you and Ben are in the outskirt suburbs. You’d say Ben’s benefitting more from this arrangement—Butcher lives right above their office, while you have to drive to downtown for yours—but you’re the one who fought for this. The one who convinced Ben that Philadelphia would be a good place to live, because there was enough to not get bored, not enough that you’d never have peace, and it was halfway between New York and Washington. Most of the supe cleanup contracts that Ben, Butcher, Frenchie, and Kimiko got contracted for ended up being in New York—you’ve called Ben a murder maid several times, and he always rolls his eyes, kisses the top of your head, and mutters we don’t fucking murder people, we just get them in line when they’re being damn idiots—while a lot of your work is in DC, dealing with the more technical side of the post-Vought mess.

Ben hadn’t wanted you to call it the Soldier Boy Relief Foundation. He’d scowled at you as you’d told him and MM the idea, and their glares had been almost identical.

“There’s no fucking way you’re calling it that.” Ben had snapped, and MM had shot him a look of surprise.

“I mean, not that I don’t agree,” MM had said, scanning over Ben with a frown. “But why the hell do you think that.”

“Because Soldier Boy’s fucking dead. You,” he’d bumped his shoulder with yours, rough affection spreading over his ribs, even as he continued to glower. “Fucking killed him, Sunshine. Don’t use that name.”

You’d wrinkled your nose at him. “First of all, that’s very romantic, Pretty Boy. I’ve always wanted to metaphorically murder my husband.”

Brat-

“But,” you’d continued, kicking Ben’s shin as he’d started to smirk. “I have reasons to name it that.”

MM had scoffed. “There is not a chance you’ve got reasons to justify using that name-“

“It will draw attention.” You’d raised your fingers as you listed the reasons, using a bored, plain tone. “The whole point of this is to get as many victims of Vought and Homelander as much help as possible. Labelling it with Soldier Boy’s name will put it on people’s radar-“

“So would calling it the Starlight or Anomaly relief Foundation-“

You’d shaken your head, giving MM a flat look. “Annie’s supe name is already tainted in the public eye. Mine is controversial. If people hear the Anomaly Relief Foundation, they’ll form an automatic opinion based on the trials and news stories they’ve read. Soldier Boy will get people to actually look at what we’re doing. Older victims will be more likely to come out of the woodwork, supes that admired Ben growing up will be more willing to see what we’re offering them, and congress is full of old white assholes who will love it.”

MM had frowned, but nodded for you to continue, and you’d raised a second finger.

“Vought’s copyright on Soldier Boy expired last year, but Starlight and the Anomaly won’t be available for public use for another forty. Even if Vought goes down, they could drag us with them on petty litigations and technicalities, and we don’t need that right now. Finally,” you’d raised a third finger. “I think it’s poetic, and funny, and rubbing how we won in Homelander stupid dead face.”

You’d won that argument. And the argument about where to live. And the argument about letting Butcher have alternate weekends with Ryan.

That last one had been the easiest to win. For the name debate you’d had to convince Ben and MM, and for the city debate you’d had to convince the whole team of stubborn assholes you called your friends, but for the last one you’d only had to convince Ben. And you always convince Ben. He puts up a grumbled argument, and you tear down his points with teasing, loving words, and he gives in with a grunt. But you always see his small grin, and feel all his love and care and affection bursting from that piece of him near your heart, and he devours your face and neck and cunt until your knees get weak and you almost fall over.

You might love him more than life.

He’s waiting for you when you get home. You barely open the door before he’s on you, sweeping you into a long, deep kiss and groaning down your throat.

Hi, Benjamin. You mumble between your heads, and his chuckle rolls through your whole body.

“Hi, Sunshine.” He grins at you as he pulls away, hauling you up his chest as you gape at him a little stupidly. It’s not fair how he somehow keeps getting more handsome, how a domestic, peaceful life looks so good on him it might drive you insane. How his shirt under your hands is clean and soft and easy to tug on, to pull him back onto your mouth. How, when you finally get your shoes off, they’re on a mat right next to his, and that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. How his beard is so well-trimmed because there’s nothing to rush for, and the whole house smells like pine because of Ben’s constant presence, and when he carries you up the stairs he doesn’t bother to look where he’s going because he already has the path memorized.

“Wait,” you push up on Ben’s chest, dropping your chin on his shoulder. “Ryan-“

“Hi!” Ryan calls your name from downstairs. “I’m doing homework!”

Don’t know how the fuck he’s my blood. Ben mutters in your head, never breaking his pace. He’s all damn smart and good at homework. “You know the drill, Kid?”

“Dinner in forty, only bother you if it’s an emergency!”

Smug pride inflates in Ben’s chest, and when you lean back he’s already grinning at you with darkened, blown out eyes, his half-hard cock already poking at your thigh.

You wrinkle your nose at him. We are not fucking with Ryan in the house.

We fuck with Ryan in the house all the damn time-

When he’s asleep, or watching TV, or has his headphones on. Not when he can hear it.

Then we’ll have him put headphones on-

You are not asking Ryan to use his headphones so we can have sex. You give Ben’s borderline pout a sweet smile, and lean forward to kiss over his beard. But when he goes to bed, I’ll let you do the thing.

Ben’s hunger grows white-hot and ravenous in your body, and when you meet his eyes, they’re darkened and peeling you apart. You have to squirt.

I can’t control that-

Whatever. Ben kicks open the door to your room, shooting you a wink. You have to let me make you fucking squirt, beautiful. No holding back.

You snort. When have you ever held back during sex.

I managed not to fuck you for six goddamn months. His voice is almost a growl in your head, and it’s not help your resolve to not have sex in the slightest. That’s some goddamn restraint, brat. He drops his mouth to that one spot on your throat, sucking and biting until your fingers curl in his hair. You’re fucking hot.

Thanks. Your voice is breathless, even between your heads, and you give a weak pull of Ben’s hair that only spurs him on. Wait, Ben, I need to talk to you-

That makes his pull away in an instant, his attention vigilant as he scans over your face, your skin suddenly wrapped in his concrete resolve. What the fuck is-

Nothing’s wrong. You take his face between your hands, giving him a soft smile. It’s about the meeting with everyone.

The one that you didn’t fucking invite me to.

The one, you swat at his arm, sticking your tongue out. That I’m trying to tell you about now, you big baby.

Fine. Ben grumbles in your head, watching you expectantly. What.

Have you ever done Secret Santa before?

Once. Vought party in the 80s.

You raise your brows at him. Really? How did that go?

I don’t fucking remember-

Well, it was forty years ago. You hold his face between your hands with a mock pout. Is your memory going, Benjamin? Do Ryan and I have to put you in a home-

Shut the fuck up, brat. Ben moves you flat on your back, kissing a very distracting line along your jaw as your finger curl in his hair.

Ben- You tug him back up—because if he keeps that up, you’ll never get around to telling him anything except more—and the asshole rises up with his hunger covering your bones and muscles, his body big and warm and strong over yours-

“Yes, darling?” Ben drawls, smirking down at you, and you scowl.

“You’re such a fucking cunt-“

“You love it,” he shrugs, still hovering over your body. “Tell me what the fuck the meeting was about to so I,” he pushes his knee between your thighs. “Can focus on this.”

Not with Ryan in the house-

You’ll just have to be quiet. He presses his knee up, bumping right over your clit, and grins at your small whine. Tell me about the meeting.

We’re, fuck- You grind pathetically against him, and Ben drops his weight to down to trap you against the mattress stilling the movements. You dick-

I’ll give you my dick. He kisses you once, long and slow, guiding your arms fully around his neck. Just use your fucking words, beautiful.

It’s a miracle you remember how words work, let alone say any of them, because Ben dives back down to your neck—keeping you pinned down as he works you into a gasping, writhing mess under him—and everything becomes very simply Ben in your mind and body.

“I, um,” he nips at your throat, and you have to swallow a moan. “Kimiko wanted to do something, for the Holidays, and Hughie suggested Secret Santa, so we’re, fuck, Ben, we’re doing that-“

Ben rises back up to frown at you, and you whine at the loss. “Doing what.”

“Secret Santa,” you whisper, taking the moment of his distraction to wrap your legs around his torso. “I put your name in, and, um,” you let go of him for a second, fumbling around in your pocket for Ben’s paper, folded neatly while yours was crumpled. “I grabbed yours.”

Ben wraps an arm around you as he sits up, pulling you to fall over his chest and curl in his lap. “That,” he nods to the paper, still in your hand. “Is who I have to get the gift for.”

You nod with a hum, passing it into his hand. “I didn’t look,” you say, watching him un-wrinkle it. “So don’t-“

“Butcher?” Ben looks up at you with a scowl, a hot, stinging itch spreading over his skin and sitting in his fingers. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with Butcher.”

You sigh. “Tell me. Don’t tell me, Ben.”

“I had to fucking tell you,” he snaps your name, glaring at the paper. “I can’t get a gift for fucking Butcher, all he does is fucking work and pussy around, fucking asshole probably doesn’t even want anything like a normal damn human-“

“There has to be something.” You mumble, tapping your fingers on Ben’s arm. “We’ll figure it out, Ben. I’ll help you. But you can’t tell anyone I did, and you have to pretend you don’t think this is stupid-“

“I don’t think it’s stupid-”

You give him a flat look. “Benjamin-“

“I think Butcher’s a fucking ball strainer.” Ben shrugs, fisting his paper into a ball and tossing it onto the floor. “But I’ve got you, Sunshine, so I’m good.”

You flush, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Ball strainer’s a new one. I like it.”

“Good,” Ben mutters, relaxing under your hands, the glow returning in his chest. “Who the fuck did you get.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why the fuck not, I told you mine-“

“Which you weren’t supposed to do.” You give him a flat look, and he rolls his eyes. “It’s Secret Santa. You’ll find out with everyone else.

“What’s the fucking point of being married,” Ben grumbles, pulling you a little further up his chest. “If my wife won’t tell me all her secrets.”

“You already know all my secrets, Benjamin.”

“Not fucking all of them-“

“This isn’t a secret.” You smile at him, and the glow spreads up his spine. “It’s a surprise.”

“Whatever.” He grumbles. “Sounds like a fucking secret.”

You kiss his cheek with a soft hum. “Grumpy-“

Your words die in a yelp as Ben flips you over, crashing his mouth into yours with a fervor, his hands squeezing and kneading at your waist.

“Brat,” he growls, and you have to bite your tongue to hold down a loud plea of his name. “I’m going to fuck you stupid, Sunshine, make you fucking drool and beg.” He bites on your lower lip, his knee pushing back to your core, and you whimper. “But you need to keep quiet.”

You will not be able to keep quiet. You’re grinding desperately against him, your mouth slack and open, and your whole body warm and sensitive and buzzing with Ben. Leaving wet, open kisses down your neck, replacing his knee with a broad hand cupping your pussy, groaning onto your skin as he twitches against your thigh.

“Ben-“

“Do you need some fucking help?” He drawls, crawling back up over you with a smirk. “Can’t keep that smart, pretty mouth closed?”

“Fuck,” you gasp as he pushes your panties to the side, running one finger between your folds. “God, Ben, fuck you-“

“I will.” He winks at you, his whole body still filled with adoration and hunger as his tone becomes stern. “Just ask real fucking nice, and I’ll fuck you all you damn want, Sunshine.”

“Ben, please-“

“Think you can keep it the fuck down?”

You nod frantically as Ben’s thumb moves to your clit, rubbing around it but never on it. A metallic tang sits in your mouth as you chew through your cheek, and Ben must see the tint of red or feel the sting of pain, because he pulls back suddenly, and you can’t stop your moan of protest.

“Not going to let you fucking hurt yourself.” He mutters, raising your legs up as he pulls off your underwear. You can talk here, he balls up the cloth, rising back up over your body. But that’s it. Got it?

You glance at the underwear in his hand, and swallow as you realize what he means, your mouth falling open without a single other thought.

Fucking words-

Got it. You smile up at him, curling a hand in his shirt to tug him down into a deep, easy kiss, pulling his tongue between your teeth. Fuck me.

He rises back up, scanning over your features with an attentive, rough care that pulls you apart and makes your whole body molten. There’s a sharp, sore ache over his skin and in his muscles, his free hand trailing slowly over your thighs, and God, if he doesn’t fuck you right now you might die.

Please, Ben. You grind up into the air, letting all of your love and thirst for him leak out of your body and into his. Please.

You can see the moment it hits him. His eyes flash, his nostrils flare, and if there was anything holding him back from just fucking you it’s gone. He presses his thumb on your lower lip in a silent request for you to open, and when you do he looks almost feral. He groans as he stuffs your panties into your mouth, tracing broad fingers over your cheekbones and squeezing your waist as he draws back.

Going to go slow, he mutters in your head, angling your hips up into the air so your ass is resting on his thighs, your dripping pussy is fully at his mercy. Take my fucking time.

Ben-

He slaps your pussy once, and your moan is muffled as your eyes roll back in your head.

So fucking wet, he says your name in the silence, smirking at you as he repeats the movement and your hips buck into the air. And fucking needy, already whining and I’ve barely damn touched you-

Please, you widen your eyes at him, your fingers curling in the sheets when he drags his thumb up, over your slit, and presses hard on your clit. Fuck, Ben-

What do you want, darling. He presses his thumb down, angling it so he can tease your already fluttering cunt with two forefingers. You want my fingers? He shoves them deep into you, crooking them as they hit that deep, soft spot that makes everything in your body sing.

Fuck-

Or, he kisses a sloppy path down your chest—pausing only to flick his tongue over your nipple and smirk at your high, muffled noise of need—and moves one hand back to your hips, adjusting you further upwards as he buries his face between your legs. My mouth?

His beard brushes and tickles your thighs as he tongue-fucks you, his nose bumping your clit, and God, it’s everything. Ben’s everything. Just the sight of him—in all his stupid, handsome glory, all of it just for you—makes you dizzy. And he’s touching you like you’re holy and grinning against your cunt as you make high, muffled sounds, and you’re so close already and he’s so good-

Ben. You don’t have to the strength to push up on your elbows and fully look at him, and he’s holding you still with big, warms hands that pull and rub at your skin, so all you can do is moan into the mock-gag and arch your back when he licks a rough stripe up your cunt. Fuck, Ben, I need you, please-

He hums against you, flattening his tongue on your clit as one hand snakes back under your ass, playing and teasing around your cunt, never pushing in. You like this, darling? Like getting my mouth and fingers the needy fucking miracle you are, like it when I fucking worship your perfect pussy-

Yes, please-

He shoves two fingers back into you, pumping and scissoring as he flicks his tongue over that bundle of nerves. Tell me how good it feels, Sunshine, talk to me-

So good, you whine, and he chuckles in a way that rolls right into the tight coil near your gut. Fuck, Ben, fuck me, please-

That what you want? He rises back up with one last suck of your clit, leaving you whining and empty and fuck, he’s so handsome and all yours and looking at you like you’re some sort of god-

Benjamin-

His cock slaps on your clit—you don’t even know when he took off his pants, because everything is just a haze of warm and pine and Ben and good—and you fucking squeal.

You want my fucking cock, beautiful? Want me to make you squirt all over my fucking dick, fuck you like you deserve, fuck you until that smart, pretty mouth is fucking drooling and screaming my name-

Please, you hook your legs around his waist, trying to guide him inside you. Want you-

Beg.

I did, you asshole- The gag barely muffles your moan as Ben teases the head of his cock inside you, and you almost fly off the bed. Fuck, please-

More.

Please, Ben, please fuck me, please-

Good girl. He pushes himself inside you without further warning, primal satisfaction glowing over his ribs and abdomen as ghosting, iridescent fire covers your skin. So fucking beautiful, he growls your name between your heads, dragging himself out and slamming back in with a bruising force. Fucking perfect. So tight and wet for me, Sunshine, always so fucking good-

Ben groans as you squeeze around him, but he doesn’t pick up the pace. He just moves your hips a little higher, towering over you as he slowly thrusts in and out of your aching pussy.

Fuck, you’re a goddamn marvel, beautiful, feel like fucking heaven, could die here-

Ben, you whimper around your underwear, somehow finding the strength to reach up to him. Please, faster-

It’s all he needs. Ben’s praise becomes slurred as he fucks into you at an inhuman pace, his skin slapping sinfully against yours and his cock bumping your cervix with every thrust.

Christ, fuck- He falls over you, kissing over your collarbone before sucking on your neck, his movements becoming jerking and uncontrolled. You’re- fuck- Such a good girl, taking my cock so fucking good, fucking made for me, best fucking pussy I’ve ever seen, fucking love you-

You’re so close. Everything in you is alight and desperate for release, and you’re only a split second from begging for it when Ben groans against you, rising up to watch you with a devout, starved focus you can feel pounding in your heart.

You’re perfect. His voice in your head is deep and so fucking hungry, and you whimper. Cum, Sunshine.

Release rips through your body, and Ben rips your underwear out of your mouth, slamming his lips over yours and kissing you into the mattress. You scream down his throat as he fucks you through your orgasm, and when something warm and wet flows out of your pussy, Ben’s cock starts to jerk and spill into you. It’s so warm and blissful and made of Ben’s ardor and pleasure, and it sends you over the edge once more.

Neither of you try to move for a minute, Ben’s brow dropping to yours as you sit in his safe, certain warmth.

“We’ve got dinner.” He mutters, kissing the space between your eyes as he pulls out of you. “Go shower, beautiful.”

“You need to shower as well-“

“I’ll shower after.” Ben shrugs, rubbing on your thigh as he sits on the edge of the mattress. “You’re a bigger mess than me, darling.”

“Then I,” you mumble, and he rolls his eyes, jagged affection flaring in his body. “And I’m only a mess because you’re a tease, Pretty Boy.”

Ben snorts, leaning down to give you one last, soft kiss. “You love it,” he mutters onto your lips. “See you downstairs.”

You don’t move for a while after the door closes behind him, and you don’t know how long passes when Ben sparks in your chest, his words low in your head.

Move, Sunshine. Dinner’s almost ready.

Shut up. You smile at the ceiling, because he’d known you would still just be lying, fucked out, in bed. I hate you.

No you don’t. You fucking love me. 

I’m allowed to feel two things, cunt.

But you don’t, brat. Say it.

You roll your eyes, pushing up on the bed. I love you, you dick.

I love you too. You feel him glow in your body, and you shuffle to find where Ben had tossed your pants. See you in ten.

You nod mindlessly into the air, and pull your own paper out, smiling easily at the name. See you soon, my love.

—————

Ben worked in a fucking office. He did a goddamn commute every weekday, got dropped off at a fucking office, received a paper bag and a kiss on the cheek from his wife, then worked from nine to fucking five.

In a fucking office.

At a fucking desk.

Ben had a fucking desk. With a computer and stupid chair that spun in a circle and a mug that his son had gotten him. It said World’s Greatest Grandpa, and his wife had almost fallen over laughing when Ben showed it to her.

You think that’s fucking funny, Sunshine-

I know it’s funny, Benjamin. She’s kissed him, alive and beautiful in his arms, leaning into his body like she’d never want to be anywhere else. And they were out of Dad mugs, so it was either that or you being the World’s Best Mom.

Ben had rolled his eyes, then kept that mug where he could see it all the time. At his desk.

In his fucking office.

His office with a horrible fucking paint job, and lights that barely worked, and a printer that he had no damn idea how to use. It was why he made Kimiko print out photos of Her and Ryan, and he spent most of the day just fucking staring at them and bothering Her through the brain connection while she worked.

Because Ben was—as She’d call it—being a dramatic fucking man child. He only actually went in once or twice a week, for briefs on new missions and paperwork on old ones. The worst part of the whole fucking thing was that he still couldn’t figure out the fucking computer, and every few weeks he had to sleep at a hotel in New York for a case. In reality he got paid damn well, woke up next to the most beautiful woman in fucking history every morning, and picked his son up from school every afternoon. He got to do work he didn’t hate, and work with people who he—against his fucking will—liked enough not to kill.

Butcher was calling it a Private Military Company. She called it Supe Cleanup. And murder maid, but most supe cleanup.

She was fucking right. In all the jobs Butcher had found for them, exactly two had been non-supe related. And whatever She said was the goddamn truth anyway, because no matter what Butcher claimed, they worked for Her. She got Neuman to give them all their damn cases, was the one who funded a lot of their fucking bullshit, and She dealt with most of the aftermath. Butcher wouldn’t say it because he was a pathetic fucking pussy, and She wouldn’t say it because she was too kind for her own damn good, but everyone else knew.

She was the fucking boss. She called the shots, and looked damn hot doing it. She was the one who killed Homelander—all Butcher had done was shoot a fucking gun, any asscuck with eyes and hands could’ve done that—and the one who built this shit up in a matter of months. She had the ideas for the supe reform programs, and employed all the lawyers who represented the countless victims of Vought and Homelander. Christ, She even got Butcher the damn license to be a private contractor, and convinced that Defense Secretary pussy to hire them the post-Vought efforts. She was the one with a real damn job.

Ben, Butcher, Frenchie, and Kimiko sat around until someone told them there was work to do, and then they damn did it and went home.

She testified before congress. She dealt with all the fucking press idiots, and offered the supes second chances the pussies didn’t deserve, and made sure everyone got their reparations. Ben wasn’t really sure what the fuck the actual mission statement of Her whole thing was—She’d explained it, tits pressed together as she crossed her arms, and he hadn’t remembered all her big, fancy fucking words—but he knew she was doing something good. She ran a real company, not a group of four fucking assholes.

“It’s not a company, Benjamin.” She’d told him, straddling his torso and pouting down at him as his hands kneaded her skin. “It’s a non-profit.”

“What’s the damn difference,” he’d grumbled, and she’d sighed, tapping her fingers on his chest.

“Well, if it’s a company I don’t get any government funding. And as a non-profit we get exempt from certain taxes, and it lends us a certain credibility, which is important because a lot of people aren’t going to trust us. Which I understand, this is a mess, but we also can’t give the media or public anything that might lend to confirmation bias-“

Ben had pulled Her down as she started to spiral into a fucking overdrive, and kissed her until she relaxed in his arms.

Don’t fucking hurt yourself, Sunshine. He’d muttered. You had me with ‘well’.

That was- She’d let out a small gasp as Ben nipped on her upper lip, her voice breathy in their heads. I hadn’t even started talking-

I know. He’d smirked against Her, rolling them over so he could look down at Her beautiful face, how it was open and easy and all his to keep joyful. You have me all the damn time, darling.

Good. She’d smiled up at him, Ben might have drowned in how fucking perfect she was. Because you have me as well.

He didn’t have Her now. Ben had Her everywhere in the world, except in his arms. She was in the flicking, golden light of the office, and the off-key, horrible fucking humming Butcher was doing across the room, and wallpaper of his phone. Both She and Ryan were in pieces all over Ben’s desk as well. Not just in the pictures, but the little paper guide She’d made him to the internet. It told him how shit like URLs and emails and incognito mode worked, and it was in Her handwriting because She loved him enough to help him with this. Ryan had contributed, and drawn a little fucking smile on the corner of one of the pages, and Ben kept it open to that section all the damn time.

Ryan was mostly in that stupid damn mug that Ben kept on his desk every moment, even when he wasn’t using it.

She was mostly in the ring on Ben’s finger. Matching Her’s, the only thing he ever owned that he gave a shit about. He’d had houses and trophies and diamonds and stupid fucking crystal plates that barely damn worked, but they’d all been replaceable. This ring wasn’t. It was made of all the stupid scrap Frenchie had found in the pawn shop, and fireproof because his beautiful, perfect wife was a fucking menace.

And She wasn’t fucking replaceable. The ring proved that Ben had Her—alive in his body and consuming his every damn thought—and he’d never fucking lose Her. He simply fucking refused to, because he’d never, ever be able to find someone he knew how to love half as much. Christ, he’d never had a goddamn chance, because loving Her might be the only thing Ben had ever been a natural at. He’d learned how to do it without effort, like it was something he was born for, and he’d never want to do anything else again. He was the only pussy in the world who was worthy of it, as well.

Ben was worthy of Her, because he fucking understood that She was priceless and holy. That loving Her was a task, but fuck it was worth it. Every nightmare and hollow, glassy stare when she retreated back into pain—the feeling like torture in Ben’s body, making him feel fucking sick until she smiled again—was well worth it to love Her. Worth how he might not be the only one who got to see all Her damn perfection on the surface—beauty and kindness and smart words that came with a smarter fucking brain—but it was Ben alone who got to see everything. The whole picture of this insane, infuriating, perfect woman.

And fuck, She was a masterpiece. And She was all fucking Ben’s. All his to tend to and hold, all his to throw around and fight besides, all his to grin at and care for and really fucking love. All Ben’s to give the whole damn world, and then reduce it all to a moan of his name when he fucked Her. When he buried his head in Her pretty pussy that tasted like a heady, slightly bitter, powerful fucking drug and rubbed Her clit until she squirted all over his fucking face. All Ben’s to trace with worshipping, firm hands, all Ben’s to get fucking high on.

Because sometimes he’d have his hand braced near Her head as he fucked her, and she’d be a needy fucking mess under him, and he’d trace fingers over Her lips and cheekbones before brushing the hair from Her face.

And his ring would catch the light through their blind shades.

And Ben would lose his fucking mind.

He’d hit a pace that was inhuman, and kiss Her everywhere he could fucking reach. Breathing would feel pointless, because he had his wife under him, screaming his name and being the only thing in the whole world that mattered. All of Ben’s existence would narrow to his mouth on her own, or kissing at Her breasts, or sucking on her clit. His hands would be for squeezing and pulling Her skin, or tracing and teasing over her perfect body, or thrusting fingers in and out of Her pussy. Shoving them deep enough his ring would come out covered in her arousal, crooking them until she was pleading and whining under him, and tasting Her when he pulled them out, leaving Her ruined and whimpering on the edge.

And he’d split Her open on his cock, make Her say his name like a prayer, and fuck Her until she squirted all over his cock and he could pump her full of his cum-

Stop distracting me, Benjamin.

I didn’t fucking do anything. He drawled Her name between their heads, smirking into the air. You’re the one who’s distracting me, brat.

Shut up, you’re probably at your desk watching baseball. And you know what you fucking did.

Ben rolled his eyes, turning off his monitor, and with it the MBA game. I don’t have a damn clue what you’re talking about, Sunshine, you spoke first-

Because you started getting horny and loud in my brain, and I’m at work. I can’t start masturbating while I talk to MM and Hughie, they’ll never look me in the eyes again.

Tell them to fucking leave.

I’m not kicking them out of our meeting so we can have mind sex.

You’ve kicked them out so we can have real sex-

Ben could almost see the wrinkle of Her nose. That’s not the same, you looked like you were going to kill them if they didn’t leave-

I hadn’t seen you in a fucking week-

Three days, don’t be dramatic-

And, Ben ignored Her, pushing on. Those pussies chose to leave, it’s not like I fucking threatened them-

They could see your boner, my love. Her voice was bored and amused in his head, and Ben wanted to fucking eat the sound and turn it into a moan. And you almost broke down my door demanding we go on a date, and I quote, ‘right fucking now’-

We should go on a date-

Ben-

Tonight, darling, keep your damn head on. You can stash Ryan at Butcher’s, the asshole looks fucking lonely anyway-

Don’t call it stashing, Ben-

Fine, drop him there after you pick him up-

I was actually, um, I was going to- She paused, and Ben could almost hear her nervous swallow. I wanted to ask, and you can say no, but I-

Words, darling-

Could you pick up Ryan today? I have to go do something.

Ben frowned into the air. Something.

Her voice hummed in his head. Yeah.

Are you going to fucking tell me-

No. It’s a surprise.

It’s a fucking secret-

Ben. Her voice was soft and gentle in his head, and that alone made his frown drop to what She called a pout.

What.

If it was a secret, I would’ve told you I’m working late, or going out with Annie and Kimiko, or something else stupid. But it’s not a secret, I just can’t tell you right now.

She was right. She was always fucking right, and Ben had an idea what this was, but he still missed Her. Wanted to touch her and walk with her and make Her bury her face in his arm when he teased her. You’re going to fucking tell me.

I promise that, by the end of the month, I will have told you. And we can do that date on Christmas eve. Whatever you want.

You don’t have to damn bribe me-

I know. She sighed in the silence, and something in Ben ached as Her own guilt clouded over his eyes. But I want to go on a date with you. And I really want to tell you what I’m doing-

You’re getting a gift. Ben said between their heads, and there was a brief silence before She responded.

Shut up.

Ben drawled Her name, grinning at the air. You’re going to get your gift for the stupid fucking Santa thing-

No, I need to go to the mall for that. Actually, She paused, and Ben felt a smile tug at his lips as he pictured Her pretty face starting into the air, her fingers tapping her desk or leg. Could you take Ryan to the mall? Help him get his gifts? And maybe new pants, I think he grew again-

You have to go with us to get the tree.

If Her nose hadn’t been wrinkling before, it sure as fuck was now. I thought I didn’t have to bribe you, Pretty Boy-

It’s not a fucking bribe, Sunshine, it’s a deal. You go do your secret shit-

My surprise shit-

And I’ll get Ryan and do the fucking shopping. But we’re doing that date, and you’re coming with us for the tree.

Okay. Deal. Ben?

He grunted Her name between their heads, and something warm spread over his whole body at the sound of Her sweet, sharp, infinitely adoring voice.

I love you. She whispered. Thank you-

Don’t. Ben muttered. I love you too. But if you’re not home by midnight I’m finding you and carrying you back.

Her giggle was soft in the silence of the office, and Ben didn’t bother to fight the wide grin on his face. Promise?

Brat.

Cunt.

She faded back into a quiet, perfect presence over Ben’s skull, and now he actually had to damn work. But then he’d get to pick Ryan up—Ben didn’t fucking know how shopping worked without Her there, and he didn’t think Ryan would either, but they’d figure it out—and kiss Her dumb when she got back from whatever the hell she was doing.

She’d tell him. Ben didn’t have a single fucking doubt She’d tell him, because they didn’t keep secrets from each other. Ben could feel Her all the fucking time, and knew exactly where she was across the city, and he didn’t have a single damn desire to keep anything from Her at all. He didn’t see the point in it. That’s what fucking marriage was for, Ben giving his everything to Her, while She gave every part of her right back.

It’s why he was so fucking ready for the holidays. Ben hadn’t had a real Christmas since he was fucking six or seven. They’d either been spent at boarding schools or in military camps through his youth, or at drug-fueled parties through his career. Or just fucking alone. When everyone had people to go to that they cared about more, and Ben didn’t have a single fucking person who saw him as their person.

He’d told Her that, and something soft and pained had flashed over her beautiful face as she held his face between his hands. He’d expected an age joke—So in a hundred fucking years, Pretty Boy?—but all he’d gotten was a gentle, slow kiss and loving words.

You’re my person, Benjamin. She’d mumbled against his lips. And as long as you’re stuck with that, we can do whatever you want for Christmas.

I’m not fucking stuck with it, he’d grumbled, hauling Her up his chest. I love you, Sunshine, you’re not getting rid of me until I fucking die.

She’d hummed, smiling at him. So in like a year, old man?

Ben had rolled his eyes—there She was—and kissed Her until she was squirming above him, then fucked up into her as she screamed his name.

And he didn’t really fucking want much else. There were to many damn traditions for this shit. Activities he didn’t understand, and mistletoe he didn’t fucking care about—he didn’t need a damn plant to tell him when to kiss his wife—and cards that were fucking pointless because they had six friends who they saw every damn day.

He wanted to do some of it though. Ben wanted to eat all the food, and watch whatever movie She told him to—he didn’t understand how a movie about the Grinch could be the best Christmas movie ever fucking made, Benjamin, but he’d watch most anything if She sat with him —and he really wanted to do the tree. To get a big one that made the whole house smell good, and he could cover it in stupid lights.

It should be rainbow lights. She’d fucking love rainbow lights, so Ben should get rainbow lights.

Ben should get them a lot of fucking things. He should get Ryan whatever the hell the kid needed to be a kid, and Ben hadn’t been a kid since the fucking 20s, so he’d have to ask Her and see what that shit looked like now. Probably sports gear, and a real phone that wasn’t a damn brick, and a trip to some museums because Ryan was like Her, and they both liked smart shit, and museums were full of smart shit.

She should get a trip to a museum as well, just Her and Ben. She should get twenty more houses, and a massive library that was just for Her to be a genius in, and as many breaks and vacations as Ben could drag her on. Back to their villa in Rome every summer, and up to Boston to visit Her sister, and every other beautiful place in the world.

She should get the fucking world. Ben should be able to drag the sun down from the sky for Her to hold, and break of a piece of the moon for Her to touch.

But this—a normal, easy holiday where Ben could buy find Her something as perfect as she was for a gift—was going to be damn good place to start.

End Note: It was bold of any of them to think Ben would be able to keep any sort of secret from Her.

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[somethinginthewayiam]

The girl behind the bar (Part 5.2)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x plus-size reader

warnings: weather storm, self-conscious about appearance/body

words: 5.5k (whoops)

Summary: You're stuck at the Hard Deck with Jake due to a weather storm with no power and no other thing to do than to talk...

a/n: I love this part in the series and I hope you like it just as much! The sonds used in the story are Golden Hour by JVKE and Howling by SYML

Link to my masterlist

You had just received an alert on your phone for your area to stay inside because of a weather storm which meant that you and Jake were stuck at the Hard Deck. While you still tried to process what that meant, Jake had walked behind the bar and poured himself a drink with the help of the torch of his phone. “Looks like we’re actually stuck here”, you said while looking out of the big windows.

“Yeah, no shit”, he said while pouring his drink. You cleared your throat when you spotted him. He looked up and rolled his eyes at you. “I’m leaving the money in the register”, he explained like it was super obvious. “You better”, you told him and walked behind the bar as well.

You nudged him out of the way and crouched down. “Excuse me?”, he said a bit irritated. “I know Penny’s got some candles somewhere down here”, you said as you rummaged around the cabinet.

You found a few candles and matches and distributed them over the bar top and the nearby tables. It was a really beautiful scenery, under different circumstances, you might have called it romantic even. After lighting all the candles, you sat down by the bar and Hangman was still standing behind the counter.

“Can you give me a beer, please?”, you asked him. “Sure”, he said, grabbed a beer, opened it and placed it in front of you. “12 dollars”, he said. You looked up a bit startled, then you remembered. A smirk crept on your lips. “Put it on my tab, sweetheart”, you countered. “That doesn’t count as your shift you still owe me, just so you know”, you commented. “Yeah, yeah”, he waved it off.

When you reached out to grab your beer, your hand was shaking. “You’re freezing”, Jake said and it wasn’t a question. Your shirt was still wet and your short sleeves didn’t hide your goosebumps. “I’d give you my jacket but it’s just as wet as yours”, Jake offered in a surprisingly sincere tone. You didn’t know how to handle nice-Jake, so you didn’t.

“I think Penny has a lost-and-found somewhere”, you remembered and got up from your chair. You walked into the storage room and found the cardboard box on a shelve. You carried it over to the bar and placed it on top. “You should probably change into something dry, too”, you told him and started rummaging around in the box. Jake casted an uncertain glance at the contents.

“Ooh, how about that?”, you asked with a wide grin and held up a shirt that said I fucked a guy in the navy. “I bet those nights on the aircraft carrier can get very lonely”, you said and playfully pouted at him, holding up the shirt in front of his face. He grabbed it and threw it back at you with a grumble.

“This looks more like a you-shirt”, he countered. “I haven’t earned that title yet”, you said honestly and threw the shirt back into the box, looking for the next possible outfit. That’s how you didn’t catch Jake’s glance at you.

“How about that hoodie?”, you said and held up the black-colored clothing item. “Sold”, he said and grabbed it from you. He just took off his white shirt and slipped into the hoodie. You got surprised by the vision of a tanned 8-pack and forgot to look away fast enough.

“Like what you see?”, Jakes voice pulled you back into reality. Startled, you sat up straighter. “Maybe I should charge you”, he joked. “Maybe you’ll earn the 12 dollars after all”, you said and somehow pulled off to wink at him and then focused your attention back on the lost-and-found box to look for a shirt for yourself.

At the bottom of the box, you found an oversized, dark-blue shirt with the word Navy in white letters across the chest. “Jackpot”, you said and pulled it out. You tried not to think too much about it when you turned around in your seat, jumped off the bar stool and took off your own shirt, with your back to Jake, quickly pulling the new shirt over your head again. It wasn’t that large on your body as your bigger chest and hips filled it out more than you would have liked, but it was loose around your waist. You bunched up the shirt around your middle and made a knot in the hem, hiking up your pants further over your belly.

When you turned back around, you found Jake quickly looking down at his glass and pouring himself another drink. He had the hoodie zipped up now, only leaving a few inches open at the top.

“I could really use something to eat now”, he said and walked over to where he had put his doggy bag from the Diner and brought it over. “Great! I’m starving”, you said and licked your lips in anticipation.

“Who said I was going to share?”, he asked with a raised eyebrow. “Come on, Hangman”, you whined. He looked you up and down, then suddenly a sly smirk appeared on his lips. “Beg me”, he requested. “In your dreams”, you called out. “Fine, then I’ll eat it all myself”, he said and started to open the bag.

“Nooo, come on”, you whined again. “You know what I wanna hear”, he commented and grabbed a French frie out of the bag. Oh god, he had French fries!

You took a deep breath, not hiding how much effort it cost you. “Can I please have some of your food, Bagman?”, you asked him. “No, no. Do it the right way”, he shook his head, clearly loving this. You huffed out loud and looked at the ceiling.

“Can I please have some of your food, Jake?”, you begged him and tried to sound somewhat sincere. “Ah, that feels good”, he sighed and had a content smile on his face. “Don’t make me slap you”, you countered. “Is that a way to talk to your only supply of food in here?”, he asked and clicked his tongue. “Hangman”, you warned him. “Alright, fine, you can have some of my food”, he finally gave in.

He came around the counter and sat down next to you. “Oh, thank god”, you called out as you watched him unpack a burger and the French fries. “Why ‘Thank god’? What you’d think I get?”, he asked as he pulled a face. You reached over his arm and stole two fries out of the container. They were already cold but you didn’t care.

“I don’t know. Probably something like a kale salad”, you shrugged your shoulder. “Kale salad?”, he laughed. “I don’t know what fit people eat, but I’m glad it’s apparently your cheat day”, you said and fished for another fry.

“I don’t see a knife here somewhere. You mind, if I just rip the burger in half with my hands?”, he asked, ignoring your comment and you were surprised how polite he could be all of a sudden. Apparently that southern charm and politeness peaked through from time to time. “Rip that meat, Lieutenant”, you commanded, your eyes fixed on the burger in his hands.

“Here you go”, he handed you half of the burger and pushed the fries between the two of you. You took a big bite and sighed. “Oh my god, it’s so good”, you mentioned and licked the grease off your lips. Your shoulders did a little dance of joy. You could only imagine how good it would taste if it came fresh out of the kitchen.

"I never taught it'd be fun to watch someone eat", he said surprised and it only sounded like half a joke. You looked over and saw his eyes on you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You should see me eat chocolate cake. Your head would explode", you told him with wiggling eyebrows and a playful smile. "Noted", he simply said and took a bite of his half of the burger.

You swallowed hard and not from the food in your hands. Where did that come from all of a sudden?

“Didn’t you eat at the Diner?”, he suddenly asked. There you go, there’s the old Hangman. “Not really. I ordered the typical first-date salad but was too bored to actually eat it”, you rolled your eyes. “Good old Joe”, Hangman joked. “You mean Jospeh”, you corrected him. “Of course, my apologies”, he put a hand over his heart like he was actually sorry. You let out a chuckle as you had to admit he could be funny if he wanted to and not just annoying.

You kept eating in silence and you used that moment to take a look around. Your eyes fell to the big windows where the storm was still raging on outside, rain washing down the glass. The room was illuminated with candles all over the place, bathing everything in a warm light. You turned back around, looking at the food then Jake.

You just started giggling to yourself. “What are you giggling about?”, he asked suspiciously. “I’m just laughing at this”, you said and motioned at the room. He was still confused. “I mean, I’m on a date with a guy and instead of being in this romantic situation with him, I’m here with you”, you told him.

“Ouch!”, he playfully held a hand over his heart like you had actually hurt his feelings. “Come on, you know what I mean”, you added, trying to dissolve the situation.

“You think this is romantic?”, he asked and took a sip of his drink. “You don’t?”, you asked surprised. He shrugged his shoulders.

“The poor girls that fall for you”, you shook your head and ate the little rest of your burger. You slipped off the bar stool and turned towards the room. “I mean, the rain storm raging outside, in here it’s warm and cozy. The candles give a warm light to the whole room…You either wanna cuddle up to someone or get bent over that bar stool”, you told him while walking a few steps through the bar.

As you turned around, you found him looking at you with big eyes. “What?”, you asked. Didn’t he get your joke?

“Are you coming on to me?”, he asked with a surprised look on his face, wiping his hands on the napkin from the doggy bag. “Not everybody’s coming on to you, Hangman. I’m just making conversation”, you told him with an eyeroll and turned around to the windows to watch the palm trees bending in the storm. You felt your cheeks blushing, you didn’t like to admit it but he made you nervous. Being here all alone with him with nowhere to go at the moment…

“Up for another round?”, Jake asked and broke the silence. “Yeah, sure”, you turned back around to him and walked towards the bar. “I got it”, you said as you saw him getting up and walked straight around the bar, getting two beers out of the cooler as long as they were still somewhat cold.

“We might as well open a tab”, you suggested with a chuckle and opened two bottles. You grabbed them and walked around the bar, back to your seat again. You handed him his bottle and you clinked them together.

“Okay, so if you think this setting, forced or not, isn’t romantic then what does the great Hangman consider to be romantic?”, you picked up the topic from before.

“I don’t know”, he shrugged his shoulders. “What did you do for your last girlfriend? Or current, I don’t know”, you interrogated him. “Very subtle”, he cocked an eyebrow at you. “I just need to see what I’m working with here”, you defended your question. He still looked at you like he didn’t believe you and then he sighed.

“No girlfriend”, he finally answered. “Okay, then what did you do for your last girlfriend that you considered to be romantic?”, you repeated your question. He exhaled loudly and looked at the ceiling while he tried to remember. “My last girlfriend, that was in college, uhm, I gave her something on her birthday”, he recalled. You looked at him with a blank face.

“So, you’re telling me your idea of being romantic is to remember your girlfriend’s birthday?”, you asked in disbelief. “Hey, I gave her some coupons that I had made myself”, he defended himself. “What? A ticket to bone-town?”, you asked in a stupid frat boy voice. “How did you know?”, he asked playfully surprised.

“No, it was something like a massage”, he said. “That leads to sex”, you concluded. “A foot rub”, he continued. “That leads to sex”, you repeated. “A candle light dinner”, he added. “That leads to sex”, you added once again. “I can’t win with you, can’t I?”, he asked defeated and almost sounded genuinely hurt to your ears. Almost.

“Okay, I’ll stop. But honestly, what’s really throwing me is that you supposedly didn’t have a relationship since college?”, you asked in disbelief.

“I just rather not get attached to someone. With a job like mine, there is the very real possibility that I might not come home from my missions. Also, my job’s way too demanding for me to be distracted by anything”, he explained. “Could you at least say ‘anyone’?”, you couldn’t hold back the comment.

"Sounds very lonely", you diverted from the topic, yet not that far. "It is what it is", he shrugged and took a sip of his beer. "But doesn't anyone want that human connection? Someone to come home to? I see you dating, so you must want something", you inquired.

"I'm just having fun, never anything serious. And those girls know that", he explained. “And no one’s waiting for you at home or why did you go out with that Joseph-guy?”, Hangman asked. And just like always, Hangman hit a nerve.

“He was literally the first person to ask me. He seemed okay, not too bad looking, so I said yes”, you told him with a shrug of your shoulders and scratched at the label on your bottle.

“It’s not like I have a lot of options. I just took a leap of faith. And it didn’t work out, so what?”, you added and started to sound defensive.

“You shouldn’t say yes to every person who asks you out, we all saw how that went”, he raised an eyebrow at you and took a sip of his drink.

"That's not the same", you waved it off. "How come?", he asked relentlessly. "Because you are you and I am...me", you said and gestured towards his appearance and then yours.

“That’s bull”, he called out. “No, THAT’s bullshit. Looks matter and don’t try to deny it. Otherwise, you wouldn’t take so much care of your own”, you countered. “I hear personality is the new dating trend these days”, he suggested. You snorted in response. “If you bother to get to know someone, it might be. But most of the time it doesn’t get that far”, you revealed. This conversation was getting way too real for you.

“But, what if…”, “Can we talk about something else?”, you interrupted him. “Sure. What you wanna talk about?”, he asked, a bit startled by your sudden mood change.

“How about your ancient views on romance?”, you suggested and tried to lighten the mood again. Hangman rolled his eyes and sighed defeated. “And what do you suggest? Should I bring candles everywhere I go and make it rain?”, he mocked you.

“Ha-ha”, you said dryly. “I don’t care what you think, for me that’s romantic”, you defended your views. “It’s different for everybody, there are several love languages. You have to figure out what your partner’s love language is to be truly romantic with them. I, for example, like the little things that let you know the other person is thinking of you, listens to you and that you're important enough to them that they remember”, you said and your voice was almost a whisper. It was weird being so honest with Jake of all people.

“What would be your love language?”, you asked and put the focus on him. Hangman just shrugged his shoulders. “What other love languages are there?”, he questioned. “There’s physical touch, words of affirmation, quality time, gifts. There are literally so many”, you counted on your fingers. “I like getting blow-jobs”, he suggested and laughed at your shocked facial expression. “That must count as physical touch”, he commented. “That also counts as gross”, you retorted.

“If I have to pick one, then I’ll guess it’s physical touch”, he conceded. “See? Was that so hard?”, you asked and nudged his arm with your elbow.

“A good example for that would be dancing with someone”, you mentioned off the top of your head. “Like we danced?”, he asked and startled you with his comment. You couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. You cleared your throat as you averted your eyes from him and just brushed it off.

"Our little dance last time was cute, but…", you said and grabbed your phone. "But there is more to it than just swaying from side to side", you continued. When you looked at him again, you found a questioning look on his face.

"God, I have to teach you so much", you sighed. You put on one of your favorite songs and placed your phone back on the counter.

Golden Hour by JVKE started playing.

You held out your hand. "Dance with me", it wasn't a question, more a gentle order. "What if I don't wanna dance with you?", he asked but his protest sounded half-heartedly at best as he was getting up from his seat. "Am I keeping you from something right now?", you asked and looked outside into the darkness around the building, rain running down the big windows like a waterfall.

With a huff, he grabbed your right hand with his left and placed his right hand on your back. Your left hand automatically moved to his shoulder. He pulled you a bit closer and stood up straighter.

"Dancing is not only a great way to create physical touch, it also allows you to connect and build trust. The man leads and the woman decides to follow if she wants to", you started your lecture. As a response, he started walking a few steps forward, pushing you back with his hand around yours. He caught you a bit by surprise, but you managed to follow without stepping on his toes.

When you looked up into his eyes, you saw that he was focused on your face as he led you through the open bar space with safe steps, giving you little pushes and pulls on your hand. You looked at him surprised with big eyes when you had completed a few steps.

"My mother had me take ballroom dance lessons as a teen", he simply said. "Huh, you're full of surprises, Jake Seresin", you said and after a smirk from him, he had you spinning away from him and pulled you back in.

You moved another few circles before he lifted his hand and had you turning, spinning you out in front of him again and pulling you back until you were giggling.

At the end of the song, he even dipped you down which for a second made you wide-eyed, fearing he would drop you. But his strong arms and hands had a good grip on you and brought you back up safely.

The next song that started playing automatically was Howling by SYML and the two of you kept dancing, but the mood in the room changed. It's a more sensual song and you both felt it.

You looked up at his face and found his piercing green eyes looking at you. You were so captivated by his stare that you couldn’t look away. You felt goose bumps spread across your whole body. His hand on your lower back pushed you a bit closer and you swallowed.

Your bodies were swaying from side to side. Jake put your right hand on his chest, right above his heart and covered it with his own. You didn’t know if the pulsation in your fingertips came from your own racing heart or if it was maybe his.

Your left hand moved from his shoulder to his neck, your fingertips grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. You didn’t decide to do that, your body moved on its own.

He moved so slowly that you almost didn’t notice it as you were still looking deep into his eyes but suddenly his lips were merely an inch from yours. His eyes looked down at your lips and back up to your eyes as if he was asking for permission. Your hand on the back of his neck pushed slightly against him, almost as an okay.

Jake lowered his head further and suddenly his lips were brushing over yours, light like a feather. Your stomach jumped at the contact and it sent a tingle down your spine. He pulled back slightly and your head followed him. You noticed how a little smirk formed on his lips. That jerk was actually teasing you.

You wanted to pull back, too, showing him that he couldn’t just play his stupid games with you but he had already started a fire within you that you couldn’t just ignore.

With your hand still on his neck, you pushed him towards you and your lips crashed onto his. You inhaled sharply through your nose at the firm contact and your fingers dug into his skin.

Your hand that was placed on his chest, fisted the fabric of his hoodie. Jake’s hands cupped your face and held you steady as it was his turn to press further into you. Your lips moved on his, sucking on his bottom lip. His tongue darted out and glided along your upper lip. You almost immediately opened your mouth and let him in.

As your tongues danced with each other like your bodies did before, one of his hands moved into your hair, cradling your head and his other hand moved to your hips. His fingers were touching the stripe of naked skin between your jeans and your shirt and it made you moan against his lips.

With his body, he moved yours backwards until you felt the edge of a table on your butt. With quick hands, he lifted you onto the table and you gasped in surprise, letting go of his lips only for a second before he was kissing you again, stepping between your open thighs.

His hands roamed your back, running through your hair, they seemed to be everywhere. Your fingers found the zipper of his hoodie and pulled it down. As your fingers touched his bare skin, you could swear you heard him growl. Your fingertips ran from his pecks down to his abs. You wondered how they might feel ever since you saw them on the beach the other day when he played football with the others.

With your hands on his hips, you pulled him against you, his pelvis rocking forward against yours and you yelped at the contact. You were so horny for him, you could really do something stupid.

“Hello? Someone here?”, you suddenly heard and Jake pulled off you with a jump backwards. You were breathing so heavily, it took you a second to realize that there was another person in the bar. You looked at Jake with wide eyes and noticed he was equally out of breath.

You jumped off the table and Jake pulled up the zipper of his hoodie just at the moment that the person came around the corner into the main bar area. When he pushed back the hoodie of his rain coat, you saw that it was Jimmy.

“Jimmy?! What are you doing here?”, you asked honestly surprised. You walked over to him, quickly running your hands through your disheveled hair, trying to get it back to normal. Your lips felt swollen and were still tingling from Jake’s kisses.

“Hey, Y/N”, he greeted you. His raincoat was completely drenched. “Penny called me. She hadn’t heard from you for a few hours and was worried”, he told you. “Oh, hey Hangman”, he greeted Jake, seemingly only noticing him now. “Hey, Jimmy”, Jake raised his hand in greeting and came over to the bar, taking a long sip of his drink. You realized you needed a drink as well. Your cheeks were burning, they must be bright red, but thankfully the light of the candles was too low for that to be noticeable.

“Ehm, Jake was at the Diner when I got the call from Penny and he offered to drive me. The power is out and we couldn’t get it running and then the weather warning came on our phones and we couldn’t leave and now you’re here”, you realized you were rambling. You could just about stop yourself from adding “And nothing else happened”.

“I figured that the power’s out, that happens for far less”, Jimmy told you. “We couldn’t make sense of your make-shift fuse box”, Jake commented. “Yeah, that’s a Jimmy original. Keeps my job safe”, Jimmy told him with a wink.

“I better take a look at it”, he announced and turned on his flashlight. Old-school, you thought to yourself. “I’ll go with you”, Jake said and followed Jimmy through the door to the little hallway, not before throwing you a look over his shoulder, accompanied with a little smirk and it made your stomach flutter. You shot him a smirk and shook your head. That was a close one and you didn’t know why you felt caught by Jimmy, but you did.

You grabbed your bottle of beer and downed your drink with two big gulps. You took a deep breath and looked around the room. Yup, that happened. You grabbed your phone and turned off the music.

Just a moment later, the light went on in the whole bar and the sudden brightness hurt your eyes. You started to blow out the candles as the two men came back into the room. “Oh my god, you really did it”, you said impressed and kept collecting the candles to put them all on the bar.

“Now that the power’s back, I’ll take a look around the bar and see if everything’s okay. You can go home”, Jimmy offered. “Is it safe to drive home?”, you asked and put the last candle on the counter. You would put them back into the cabinet tomorrow and let them cool down over night.

“I got here fine, it’s okay”, Jimmy waved off your concern. “Great, thanks”, Jake said and grabbed his shirt from the chair it was drying on.

“Jimmy, are you sure? I can stay with you”, you offered and suddenly were nervous to be alone with Jake. “No, it’s fine. You already came here. I don’t wanna keep you kids”, he said and gave you a little wink, which you prayed Hangman didn’t see. “You can drive her home, right?”, Jimmy asked over your shoulder and checked with Hangman. “Sure thing, Jim”, Jake answered him.

“Okay, but be safe when you get back out there again, okay?”, you said to Jimmy and got on your toes to press a quick peck to his cheek before you turned around to collect your phone, your purse and your shirt that was drying on another chair. You stuffed your phone and shirt into your purse and walked over to the rack by the entrance where Jake already waited with your denim jacket in his hands, his own already put on.

He helped you in your jacket which somehow surprised you, even after what the two of you had just done. “Thanks”, you mumbled shyly. You walked over to the door and looked outside, the rain still pouring down. “Ready?”, he asked and looked at you. You looked up at him and honestly didn’t know that you were.

The drive to your apartment was silent, but not in a bad way. You both indulged in your thoughts, a smile creeping onto your lips when you thought back to the kiss. You let out little sighs that you didn’t even notice but Jake did.

When you arrived at your apartment building, Jake drove to the curb and turned off the motor. Neither of you wanted this to end just yet.

“Thank you for driving me home. And, for checking with me on the bar”, you spoke first. “Sure, no problem”, he mentioned and looked over to you. Under his eyes on you, you felt your cheeks blushing again and looked away. “That night took an interesting turn”, he said and his words made you look over to him again.

“Yeah? Which part?”, you asked and when his eyes met yours again, you both chuckled. “Hard to say”, he replied. “It was probably shocking to see me on a date”, you mocked yourself in a playful tone. “Poor Joseph, he never had a chance”, Jake commented, over-pronouncing his name and it made you giggle. “Yeah, I gotta be careful with whom I say yes to”, you thought out loud.

“You know that I can’t keep it to myself that you had ballroom dancing lessons as a teen, right? That is too good not to share”, you said after a few moments of silence. “Do it, I don’t care. I’m great at dancing”, he countered, a smug smile on his face. “Yeah, you are. Amongst other things”, you complimented him and looked out of the windshield, biting down on your bottom lip with a smile. The tone in your voice made him look at you again, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah?”, he asked as if he didn’t know that he was a great kisser.

"Mh-hm”, you confirmed, looking at your fingers. “But there will always be one undeniable fact", you said and looked over at him. "What?", he said with a light smile playing around the corners of his lips.

"Rooster kissed me before you did", you said, remembering when you sang Great Balls of Fire with Bradley and he jokingly pressed a kiss to your lips mid song like the lyrics suggested.

Jake let his head fall back against the headrest of his seat and exhaled loudly as he remembered that moment in the bar. A chuckle escaped your lips.

"But not like this, though?", Jake commented and looked over at you, his green eyes piercing into yours. "No, not like this", you almost whispered, struck by a flashback of your kiss at the bar and resisting the urge to touch your lips.

The air between you in the car was filled with electricity as you just looked at each other. Even though the voice in the back of your head screamed that you were just imagining it, your foggy, aroused brain relished in the atmosphere. You never experienced something like this and you wanted to hold on to it as long as you could.

But all good things had to come to an end sometime. “I think I should go inside. It’s late”, you said and played with your keys that you had grabbed from your purse. “Mhm”, Jake commented. You waited for him to say something, anything. Asking if he could come up or suggesting to go to his place or…you didn’t know what you wanted to hear.

You waited for another moment and then put your hand on the door handle. “Okay, goodnight”, you said and got out of the car. “Night”, you heard before you closed the door and ran to your door in the rain. It had gotten lighter but was still at a rate where you didn’t want to stay out for too long.

You opened the main entrance with the keys and got in. You turned around in the open door to find Jake still waiting in his car to see if you got in safely.

You raised your hand for a little wave goodbye and you saw him do the same before he started his engine again and drove off.

You walked over to the elevator and pushed the button for your floor before you leaned against the elevator wall, exhaling loudly.

At the beginning of your night, you’d had never thought it would end with you being kissed by Jake Hangman Seresin of all people. Your fingers touched your lips at the thought of it and a light smile played around your lips.

Hadn’t Jimmy shown up out of the blue, God knows what you would have done. You really couldn’t say, if you were completely honest. So, you should be thankful that he had prevented something that you probably would have regretted after.

But why were you so disappointed then?

Next chapter: Part 6

[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 4.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes)

Warnings for this part: smut

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

The cloak wrapped around you felt like velvet. The softness between your fingers calmed you down significantly. Reynolds grabbed your hand after the fifth time you balled it up in your skirts. You looked up to see your three valets trying to hide the concern on their faces. You could have an incident or get caught or both. None of those three options were ideal or even good. 

“Do I look decent?” you asked as the carriage got closer and closer to the party. 

“You look perfect.” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t wear the mask?” 

“You don’t have to but keep it on you.” 

You agreed, exiting the carriage with a letter from the princess version of you — complete with a wax seal — that was basically a pass to enter any establishment no matter what. Spotting Penelope and Colin out of the corner of your eye, you breathed out a sigh of relief and ran over to them. Both of them wore wide smiles at your surprise arrival. They had been expecting a letter or something to signal your arrival back from Ireland. 

You were sad to hear about Marina not joining you all for this evening. It would have been nice to know her more than a little bit in between the courting of suitors. But there would be more times to meet and catch up later. Plus, hearing your friends’ stories of their daily lives proved to be a good enough distraction. You let them go after a while so Colin could escort Penelope to the dance floor like he promised to do after a run in with Cressida Cowper. 

Looking around, you failed to immediately locate the rest of the Bridgerton children. You grabbed a drink from the lemonade table and began to wander. The alcohol had looked appealing but you had never drank, afraid of the consequences if drink mixed with your illness. Someday you’d try some but not after an episode. Never right after one. 

On the outskirts of the party, still close enough to hear the music, you ran into Benedict. He gave you a smile and the same surprised look on his face as Penelope and Colin. You leaned in closer to hear him over the deafening melodies of the orchestra. Small talk that was mainly about your fictitious trip made up the first half of your conversation. After a while, you grew comfortable with each other as if you never left. 

“The lights are beautiful,” he commented, staring at the small lantern display that a scientist presented. 

You nodded. “We have some at the palace. They add more day by day but it would be nice if all of London, maybe all of the world, had these little lights. How has your art been?” 

“Not terribly well. Nothing seems to be good enough.” 

“Well, what are you drawing?” 

“Still life. I can’t expect my free drawings to be good if I can’t depict what is right in front of me.” 

“You are too hard on yourself, Benedict seriously,” you argued when he scoffed. “Sometimes we have a problem seeing our own greatness. You ju—” 

“Would you ever consider marriage to someone, me, perhaps?” 

You choked on your lemonade. “Pardon?” 

“Apologies.” He finally turned to look at you. “With Daphne out in society, people have started looking at Anthony and because my dear brother does not care to at least pretend to be a proper viscount, they have started to look at me. Ravenous mamas are eyeing me and it must be a matter of time before they talk to me.” 

You laughed. “You still call me Miss Beckett yet you want me to help you through a marriage?” 

“Wait, what is your name, actually? If you are to continue being a friend of the family then I am at liberty to refer to you by first name.” 

“Bergamot. My parents were a bit too keen on gardens. My second name is Sophie.” 

“Bergamot Sophie Beckett. That is a lovely name.” 

“Thank you… I still won’t marry you.”

Benedict scrunched up his face as he bent over to try and plead with you. “Please! I can’t be out here with the wolves.” 

You patted him on the shoulder. “Your whining, no matter how pathetic and cute, will not work. I will see you tomorrow, alright.” 

He muttered something that you didn’t hear while you took off into the gardens for a stroll. You’d have to leave soon, pressing your luck wasn’t the way to go. You put your cloak back on and closed it to hide your dress completely as you finally put your mask on. The gardens at night were very beautiful. Perhaps because you were alone. 

You chuckled at the thought of your interaction with Benedict. Even if it happened only a few moments ago, it was hysterical. It was only funnier because you were sure that when you finally introduced yourself to society, you’d get even stranger proposals. Only they wouldn’t be to avoid hungry mamas. And they wouldn’t be coming from one of your friends. 

Hopefully, they wouldn’t be too upset with you. Hyacinth would never but she was more like a little sister than a friend. Benedict would think the whole situation is funny, hopefully. Daphne might as well. Eloise and Penelope could go either way. Anthony would probably be mad that you let him attempt to woo the princess when you knew the truth which would make Colin and Gregory and Francesca mad at you as well. But maybe it would be fine after you explained everything. 

The sound of voices caught your attention. Spying was wrong but you couldn’t help yourself. You started to walk into the hedges, ignoring the twigs catching everywhere. The view wasn’t the best but you could see well enough. What could be a scandal between Daphne Bridgerton and Nigel Berbrooke seemed to be a very different scene to you because you knew the man from her letters. You tightened the mask around you just in case you needed to leave the bushes. 

Nigel kept coming close to Daphne. You began to run when he grabbed her, thinking of how to protect your friend. You’d have to hit him. That was the only option. There was nothing else you could do about it… You paused as Daphne pulled her hand back. There was Nigel Berbrooke on the ground. After being punched. 

You and Daphne looked up from Nigel to see the Duke of Hastings running into the garden clearing as well. The two of them seemed to realize that you were the princess and you were in the garden with them having witnessed everything. They bowed to you deeply, something you returned. 

“I will survey the area. If I do not return then you two may safely leave the garden.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

“It is no trouble really. I am so sorry for your distress, Miss Bridgerton, and I do hope your hand feels better in the morning.”  

You did a thorough check of the area to make sure that Daphne wasn’t compromised before fleeing to your carriage before anyone could spot the mask. Assuring your valets nothing went wrong, you closed the carriage door and let it drive back to Kew. 

“Thank you,” you said as you took off your mask and cloak and opened the carriage window since it was night. 

“For what?” 

“For making me go out tonight. I did need it. I feel better, immensely.” 

“That is good. We are glad to hear it. Will you be going out again tomorrow?” 

“Just to the Bridgertons.” 

“Oh, to home then.” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue because they were right. Being at the Bridgertons felt like home more than your own at times. Maybe because your mother and father were the only ones who even tried to be a proper family. But there was no trying with the Bridgertons. They just were family. 

That much was true when you walked into the house a lot later than the early morning to see everyone but Eloise in the drawing room, talking about Daphne and the Duke. You said hello, greeted by hugs from everyone who didn’t see you yesterday. You took the plate of toast from Violet, who was trying to get her daughter to eat, and shoved the bread under Daphne’s nose. She took a bite before actually grabbing it from you. Relieved of your mother bird duties, you plopped down on the couch in between Benedict and Colin. 

“What are your plans for today?” 

“Fencing and then a gentlemen’s club and then preparing for a party tomorrow and, dreadfully, a picnic the next day,” Colin said as he handed you a chocolate from the box on the side table. 

“May I watch?” 

“Of course, Sophie. A beautiful lady will only encourage us.” 

“Since when did you learn to be a flirt?” 

He just shrugged, sitting back to listen to Daphne play the pianoforte and tease her about the duke. You clapped at the end of her piece and requested a second one that she obliged. Daphne would have to play at the palace some time or at least at Kew. She sounded lovely. Closing your eyes, you just listened for a moment. 

“How does a lady come to be with child?” 

Your eyes flew open to see Eloise standing in front of everyone. Violet jumped up from her brief moment of sitting on the couch across from you. 

“Eloise, what a question!” 

“I thought marriage was a requirement.” 

Daphne tilted her head. “What?” 

“Apparently, it’s not even a requirement.” 

“Eloise.” 

“Mama, the princess did say all young women nearing their debut should learn.” 

Violet stuttered as she took the tray of food out of the room, forcing Hyacinth and Gregory to go with her, stating she’d be back in a moment she just needed some water. She turned back for a moment. 

“Daphne, dear, do go on. I’d like to hear some calming music when we return.” 

Eloise trudged over to the couch, sitting on the other side of Benedict. She smacked her brothers’ knees but neither one of them wanted to answer her directly. Colin turned his head. 

“Have you ever visited a farm, El?” 

You laughed as Benedict smacked the back of Colin’s head but stopped when Eloise slumped down in her seat. You tapped her on the shoulder, making her perk up again. Your hand rested on Benedict’s thigh so you could prop yourself up as you leaned over him.

Covering your mouth and Eloise’s ear, you began whispering to your friend everything you thought she needed to know about sex. Unable to help himself, Benedict leaned in to spy, surprised that your information was actually correct. You weren’t lying, the Princess’ court really taught all the valets everything. Eloise sat back, finally satisfied and a lot less worried about a spontaneous pregnancy. Until she became curious again. 

“But why would anyone want to initiate it? Who wants to be with child?” 

You leaned over once again. “No one wants to be with child. Even those who want children. It’s about the pleasure. Sometimes the pleasure of actually liking someone and other times the pleasure being about nothing but you.” 

“What?” 

“The… think about when you start breathing a bit heavier, feeling warm when you touch each other, a… I’ll tell you the rest when your brothers aren’t here. It is a bit awkward. Oh, I’ll even draw you pictures. Only a certain amount of posit— mov— steps are important. The rest you should figure out with your husband.” 

“So you do truly know what you’re talking about?” Benedict interrupted the nearly finished meeting. 

“Did you doubt me?” 

“A bit,” he admitted. 

You sat back down. “Men aren’t the only ones that know what they are talking about.” 

“Sorry to offend.” 

“No offense. None at all. I expect even the kindest and smartest and prudest of men to think such things.” 

“Well, I am still sorry. If not because of offense then because of my ignorance.”

You squeezed his thigh in appreciation. Benedict laid his hand on top of yours. The two of you stayed like that for a moment until his hand held onto yours a bit tighter. He turned to look at you. There was an understanding shared between your eyes. There was no breathing heavy or loving eyes. It was for both of you but in purely selfish pleasurable ways. 

“Sophie, are you coming to watch our fencing match?” Benedict asked.

“Yes.” At that he moved your hand closer to his private. “A bit after the calling hour starts. I like to watch the men make fools of themselves.” 

“I am not surprised by that at all. Shall we wait for you?” 

You closed the gap and placed your hand over the top of Benedict’s pants. “No. You may start without me and I’ll just come when I find the time.” 

“Okay. We’ll play again soon, maybe even another game today. So don’t be too bothered if you miss us playing for your calling hour.” 

Giving an experimental squeeze, you watched the man next to you nod ever so slightly and swallow his spit before moving your hand himself. You both relaxed into the couch completely, satisfied with your understanding. The two men left when Violet came back — it was fairly obvious that calling hour was about to start. The calling hour was several hours but at some point you had just dropped the s and you weren’t sure why. 

You thought it would be only one or two men but the duke seemed to have lit a fire under the other men’s feet. The line became rather long rather quickly. You were happy for Daphne. The more men the better. Maybe she could get a love match.

You took the last bouquet of flowers for Daphne, thanked Lord Colfield, and went to go put the flowers in a vase on the fireplace mantle. You were about to tell Daphne that you were leaving to see her brothers’ fencing match when Anthony came storming in. A gasp escaped you when Nigel Berbrooke came up behind. You were completely over this little man and his obsession. 

Without thinking, you approached Anthony. “What do you think you ar— Anthony, you and Nigel need to either leave the drawing room as this is your sister’s calling hour or wait in line if he is here to call? These lords and gentlemen have waited a great deal to talk to her and they are very patient. It is not right nor just nor of any class to disrespect the patience they have shown.” 

“Nigel?” Berbrooke scoffed. “Who do think yo—” 

“The Young Princess’ valet. She’s become a family friend,” Anthony cut Nigel off. 

At least Berbrooke had the decency to be surprised and then give you a bow. Their tunes towards you changed completely as they almost looked like they were going to wait their turn or just leave. Nigel smiled. 

“Callers were unexpected as we have already been talking extensively.” 

“Lord Berbrooke is the only man who proposed and therefore the only person I consider.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” You looked at Anthony.

“He is the on—” 

“Everyone! I am very sorry but you must leave. Miss Bridgerton’s calling hour is currently closed. Please leave your name with Heroldt, starting with the order you have been waiting, and two days from now we will continue.” You turned to Anthony as everyone filed out without complaint since they thought the princess was the reason for calling hour being over. “There. Now, Lord Berbrooke, I must speak with the Bridgertons alone. I hope that speech staved off the wolves for you if only for two days while matters are discussed.” 

“Thank you, Lady…” 

“Miss Beckett,” Anthony answered. “Thank you, Sophie. Lord Berbrooke, do you need me to escort you?” 

“No, no. You have business. I can find the front door on my own.” 

The moment he left, you, Daphne, and Violet descended on Anthony. Every word that came out of Anthony’s mouth made you scoff. Violet looked between all three of you, very upset. Anthony was ruining both Daphne’s prospects as well as his own prospects with the princess. And you were there to witness it all.

You backed Daphne on everything. Even if she was wrong, Nigel was a foul man that you would never allow to marry. You approached Anthony, speaking lowly although your friend and her mother could still hear it. 

“I hope you survive whatever poison you are drinking. Whether the Duke is a serious man or not, there are plenty of serious men here. You will not sign away your sister to such a foul man that you barely know as well and pretend it is in her best interest. And you will not expect her to be understanding or appreciative when you don’t care an ounce for your sister’s happiness. And you still wish to draw up a marriage contract? Please, just think for a moment… Good day, Viscount Bridgerton.” 

You stormed out of the drawing room and straight into the backyard where Colin and Benedict were handing their fencing gear back to a servant. They noticed the furrow in your brow. Benedict clicked his tongue. 

“I will find out what is wrong. You, brother, instruct the kitchen to leave something out for us. If there is crying then we will be long.” 

Benedict practically dragged you to the far side of the backyard. He knew no one would think anything of it when you were very angry about something Anthony did — that part was loud enough for everyone to hear. He looked at you when the two of you finally stopped. 

“Was that a ploy to get away? Or are you genuinely mad at my brother?” 

“I don’t want to talk about why I’m mad at Anthony. There’s nothing you can do anyway. Not without a good scandal… Sorry, I came out here for a fencing match. Let us focus on it. On you.” 

He took your hand again, placing it over his trousers. You began to rub it back and forth, the fabric between you guys creating friction. You reached into his pants and pulled out his cock, stroking it a bit more freely. Benedict pulled you closer. His hand reached around your ass to squeeze it.

Every time you stroked him closer to finishing he would squeeze harder than before. You watched his face the entire time. If you got back exactly what you were giving him then you would be a very happy woman. It was truly going to be about selfish pleasure for both of you. 

You gasped when he all but ripped the top part of the dress as he tried to push it all down to expose your breasts. He wanted something else to stare at that would get him off even quicker. You tried to stifle any moans threatening to escape your lips as he groped you — some of the marks so hard you were sure they would be a bit red until tomorrow. This was his turn. Yours would be later. If you both tried to get pleasure at the same time... Well, that's how people fall in love. The two of you weren't stupid to test that.

Benedict moaned and for a moment both of you were worried someone would come see what was the matter. He laughed underneath your hand covering his mouth. 

A shudder went through him and he grabbed your wrist. “I’m going to come. I-if you let g-go… just in m-my britches.” 

You dropped to your knees, shocking your friend. He grabbed your head with one hand while he bit down on the other until he finished. A very gentle touch lifted you up. He wiped stray bits of lipstick from around your mouth, wiping the evidence away on the inside of his vest. 

“I have to say I did not expect you to sit down for the last round of fencing. We were done anyway.” 

“Well, I wanted to help put up the equipment so we could all relax later. Plus, if the princess does choose to invite you all to Kew then I would like you to help put up the equipment there too.” 

Benedict laughed. 

“I promise whether I win or lose. The next time we have a round of fencing, I will put up the equipment. All of it.”

He leaned down to whisper.

“Even if you are not a lover, I would never have you on the ground, sullying your pretty gowns and body..." He squeezed your breasts one last time before helping pull your dress back up. "with grass and dirt stains. I promise I’ll bring you your pleasure next time we are inside and alone. I will leave first and retire to my room. You stay out here and eat the sandwiches the cook left. I won’t be able to return for at least an hour.” 

“Okay. I have to go see the Featheringtons and Miss Thompson anyway.” 

You did just as Benedict suggested and no one even gave you a suspicious look. You took your own sweet time going across the street. You had moved the physician and all of Wednesdays special tutors to Tuesdays so you would have more time in the city. Despite not wanting any visitors, you were the obvious exception and could go upstairs to see Marina. She looked up from her writing desk when Penelope announced she was coming with a visitor. 

The three of you gathered on the bed to share a plate of sweets. You mainly listened to Marina and Penelope, not having much to add. You wanted to figure out a way to help her. Trying to meddle in daily affairs and save the lives of one subject at a time seemed almost ridiculous. But, that was what you should do as a royal. 

“Did you say Spain?” 

“Yes. That’s where all of George’s letters are coming from at the moment. They all say Spain.”

“If you ever need a letter to Spain or to anywhere else they send Sir George, just let me know. The princess wants to help her subjects, especially women, so give me a letter and I’ll give it to her. Whenever you need.” 

Marina flung herself at you. “Thank you. If there shall ever be a problem, I promise I will say such.” 

“Oh, the princess is going back to the palace for a few weeks because of something important so I won’t be so available for a little bit.” 

“What will she be there for?” 

“You will find out when it happens.” 

The two of them giggled. “You are so mysterious.” 

~~

You were tired after an exhausting day but a letter you received from a footman that same day made you get up. Anthony had given you a key to the front and back garden gates as well as the back door that led into the kitchen. You entered through the backyard so you could actually get inside the house without waking the entire house with your knocking. You only needed Violet and Daphne. And you had a letter to leave just in case you couldn’t wake a single person. 

Voices made you pause. You recognized Eloise and Benedict talking. Instead of going any further, you just listened. Eloise — like so many other women — wanted better for herself. It had never been a question of something you would plead to your brother… You sighed. You knew your brother. It was time to stop thinking of him as the heir. There was a reason everyone was going to support Younger Charlotte’s claim over her father. And Young Charlotte listened to you. She planned on making you her advisor. There would be no pleading. You would make better laws for women. 

You didn’t want to disturb them too much so you flung the letter at Benedict’s head. Running as fast as you could, you ignored their confused calling out for you once they recognized the letter coming from the princess. Hopefully, Benedict or Eloise would get the letter to their mother before Nigel could come back. 

Dear Dowager Viscountess, 

I am nothing but my mother’s daughter and therefore it is, in fact, my job to meddle in the lives of our precious subjects for a better and more peaceful United Kingdom. Miss Beckett has told me much of your troubles in regards to a man called Lord Nigel Berbrooke. I don’t have much information on him but I do have a request that I would ask you to aid your princess in. 

I recall an acquaintance of his. A maid. She used to work at the palace but asked for a job in the ton so she could be closer to her aging parents. I believe she was employed by a neighbor of the Berbrookes? Or a friend? Or maybe them, who knows. She was supposed to come back two years after they died but has yet to return. Nigel or one of his neighbors must know. Or perhaps, his mother, she’s very close to the maids. Knows every single one of them by name. I care terribly for this maid and would like her working back at the palace.  

Please meet with his mother. She loves crumpets with any sort of preserves or a chocolate dipping sauce. It was all she wanted when she requested a meeting with my second brother. 

That is all I have to say. I do look forward to seeing your family properly. 

Yours Truly, 

Princess Y/N Kew 

P.S. Please tell Anthony that it took him long enough but I am proud he finally came to his senses. If only he can learn to listen to a woman first then he might have less problems.

You smiled to yourself as you sat in the kitchens. The staff couldn’t stop talking about Nigel Berbrooke’s bastard that he doesn’t take care of and the mother he sent away before she even gave birth. You would feel bad but you had a very personal and up-close view of the man’s real personality. The morning only got better when Brimsley and Reynolds came in with Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. It was on the front page of the pamphlets. Absolutely worth paying the two pounds per pamphlet for everyone in the Kew household. 

“Do you think he’ll ever show his face again?” 

“No,” the cook said as she handed you your breakfast. “You did a good thing for Miss Bridgerton, Your Grace.” 

“Your Grace?” 

“It is just a title we are trying out.” 

You hummed suspiciously. The cook ignored you. 

“You better pack if you don’t want to be late for the carriage coming today.” 

You nearly forgot. The reason you couldn’t hang out with the Featheringtons and the Bridgertons arrived. Your cousin Friedrich, the prince of Prussia, was coming for a visit. He agreed to marry a British girl to strengthen the alliances and prove that Prussia and Britain were still close family. It was neither a complete truth or a complete lie. The entire family was not close. But you, your cousin, your father, your mother, and your aunt were very close. 

Sneaking out wasn’t an option. You thought that much as the carriage neared Buckingham. It had been a while since you snuck out the palace — a completely different thing from simply leaving Kew. Pandora, Brimsley, or Reynolds would sneak you your letters and you would be satisfied. Besides, even though your family was coming for an indefinite amount of time, you only had to stay a week or two. 

The carriage hadn’t even stopped completely before you ran to hug your cousin. It had been years since you last saw each other. You could hear your mothers laughing in the background. They left to have tea inside while the two of you stayed out. 

Friedrich took your hand in the crook of his arm. “Come, cousin, let us take a promenade. Have you been well?” 

“I have been better. However, I am doing well.” 

“And your illness?” 

“Not better. But I haven’t had an episode that I couldn't recover from on my own.” 

“That is good. I suppose that is the best we can ask for. Especially since I have a surprise for you.” 

“A surprise?” 

“I asked Aunt Charlotte and she agreed to let the princess accompany me to events as she knows the ton better than the both of us. You have to wear your mask but it is still a good deal.” 

“It is a wonderful deal.”

“Good. The first event is a ball tonight.” 

“Tonight?! But I’m not prepared.” 

“I’ve already had everything arranged.” 

“You planned this?” 

“I figured it would do you good to get some fresh air and get out of the palace… or Kew, now.” 

“Thank you, Friedrich. Seriously, thank you.”

(part 5)

THIS FIC TAGLIST:

@fredsbetch @cherrylovers-world @chrystinaamanda @grassclippers @flyestvenustrap @spookystitchery @lovelyygirl8 @ben-has-arrived @tragically-hipp @cherrysxuya @alowint @jackierose902109 @boojaynaqueen @thesparkling-diamond27 @intothesoul

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@venomsvl @peaches-n-sunscreen @summerellaz @supernaturallover2002 @sambucky8 @9daykrisr @thebitchinleo @23victoria @scarlets-widow @pagetpagetpagetpaget @lovexnatasha @awesomebooklover17 @1234-angelika @imatrisk @blackreaderatrisk @princess-jules47 @alexloveskili @a-marie-a @siriuslysirius1107​ @i-have-no-life-charlie

[zepskies]

Writing Update ✍🏽

Hey, friends! I haven't done one of these in a while, have I? lol

Well here we go! I just finished posting the last chapter of Between the City & the Stars (Dean Winchester x Reader | 1940s AU). 💖

Before we dive into some Jason Teague for Jacklesverse Bingo, I have a surprise Dean AU story for you that brings us back to the modern world, and it's a firefighter!Dean AU! ❤️‍🔥 (No, it's not set in the Smoke Eater-verse, but there's a little one-shot for that series coming in the future. 😉)

This one is a request from a new member of my Patreon, @redhoodieone. It's a whopper of a two-parter for Dean, called...

IF I STAY

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

👀 Sneak Peek

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. You gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

⋆˙⟡ Part 1 coming 3/16!

⋆˙⟡ Or read Part 1 on Patreon now! - Part 2 will be posting there on 3/14~

Dean Winchester Tag List (Part 1):

@luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @winchestergirl2 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @mostlymarvelgirl @kaleldobrev

@globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse @twinkleinadiamondsky @my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester

@rizlowwritessortof @k-slla @jackles010378 @alwaystiredandconfused @nancymcl

@this-is-me19 @spnwoman @illicithallways @pieandmonsters @deansbbyx

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @cheynovak @jollyhunter

@deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @leigh70 @aylacavebear @jessjad

@kmc1989 @siampie @rubyvhs @masked-lost-girl @spnbabe67

@deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused @impala-dreamer @supernotnatural2005

[martialartslover7]

Headcanon time: Am I the only one who feels like, Jiraiya should have left this little compensation gift for Tsunade, before heading off to fight Pain? Dying in the process, while still leaving a remainder of his legacy behind? Making up for lost time, and allowing the two to heal together, after years of fearful denial and trauma?

I get that the Naruto series is practically infamous for how poorly the female characters were handled, but honestly, this one time, where one woman in the series would end up pregnant, where I would wholeheartedly SUPPORT it, would be Tsunade. Think about it, after the war, after fighting Madara, she practically returned to the same solitude lifestyle she had, before encountering Naruto. She didn't change for the better, in fact, she regressed completely. She returned to living without any purpose, going back to gambling and getting senselessly drunk, practically every day.

Look, I get it, by the time Kakashi becomes Hokage, she might have just retired and wanted to be left alone, but is this really all there is to it? Just regressing back to negative habits, because, screw you? I dunno, man, this is that one time where, if she DID end up having a child to take care of, it might have elevated her character, instead of "putting her down", because it would mean: She has a purpose for living. And it would mean, her love for Jiraiya wasn't a "curse", like how it was with her previous lover, Dan. Jiraiya's love for her, saved her life, in the end. He turned out to be that one guy, that, even post-mortum, still managed to have a positive influence on her. And the child is a daily reminder, of how closely intertwined the two were, in spite of the trauma. That just sounds so beautiful, and far more conclusive to Tsunade as a character, than what happened in the actual story. Plus, she and Kurenai could have become besties and connect over the difficulties with pregnancy.

And yeah, I hear you calling: BuT tSuNaDe Is ToO oLd To GeT pReGgErS! Listen, the Strength of a Hundred Seal kept her entire appearance and body about twenty years younger, if that also applies to her organs and her uterus, that isn't a dead topic. Plus, we all know how much of a horny perv Jiraiya is, he couldn't have just left it at just one time, and then never again. Especially since, this is Tsunade we are talking about here, the one woman, he had always held so dear. And I can only imagine, the moment the dam breaks between the two, it would get... SPICY.

It wouldn't even come close to all these sex worker ladies that Jiraiya had probably slept with, while thinking about Tsunade, since he would always go for those, who KIND OF resemble her. But I will bet, in spite of his attitude, I doubt he would have even minded to see Tsunade all wrinkly and old. His love for her was genuine and deep-rooted, I doubt he would have had any problems with her getting "saggy". She would have been THE golden exception, to most of his "rules" on what he finds attractive, because to him, everything about her, is attractive, not just the looks.

But another point to consider, just imagine, IMAGINE, the look on Naruto's face, the moment he learns that part of his father figure will continue to live on, inside Tsunade. That all his sacrifices were never in vain, and he finally got over himself to tell her the truth, resulting in the birth of their child, the one to carry on both of their legacies. Naruto would have cherished this baby, just imagine him tearfully cradling it in his arms, swearing to protect it, the same way his mom swore to him, when he was still a newborn. Oh god, my heart...

...it would also be a nice callback to how Kushina held Naruto, right after birth.

Plus, it would have given Naruto, much like when Shikamaru revealed to him, how Kurenai bore the child of her and Asuma before he died, a much bigger motivation to fight Madara, Obito, and later, Sasuke. The stakes would have become way higher then, if that were the case, since, this isn't anyone's child, it's Jiraiya's and Tsunade's child. Two people, who have played major roles in Naruto's life, being his foster parents, if you will. And he would have fought way harder to defend the past, the present and the future, while facing Sasuke. I mean, sure, it's doubtful if Sasuke would have ever had the guts to truly go through with this, since he couldn't even bring himself to kill either Naruto or Sakura, no matter how hard he tried, so, if he couldn't do that, then everything would be out of the question. But you get the point.

And for NaruHina and SasuSaku fans: Yup. Both Naruto and Sakura would have probably had to take care of Tsunade's baby, since they were the closest to her, and it could have been an ideal training method for either of them, to grasp all about the stressful nature of raising a child, while still working as shinobi and in their respective fields of work. It would have mentally prepared either of them, for when Hinata and Sasuke finally decide to tie the knot with them, and build their own families. And to add another layer of pure sweetness: Kakashi and Anko would have gotten announced as the child's godparents, should something happen to Tsunade. Nuff' said.

I am sorry, despite Kakashi and Anko not looking like it, I think, both of them would be AWESOME godparents, or hell, even uncle and aunt. Both saw the worst of what life had to offer. Raising a child would be... child's play, by contrast. Just imagine Anko adorably doting on the baby in her crazy, unhinged, but very endearing way.

There you go, another headcanon of mine, spilled. What do you guys think? Lemme know. Peace.