#this IS a part of my wip so forgive me that

[hedwig221b]

happy birthday to wonderful @goddessofsteel 🎉💕 hope this makes you smile today!

read full version

Stiles woke up with a jolt. Opening his bleary eyes, he licked his lips and looked around, thoroughly confused as to where he was.

Then his gaze fell onto Derek.

The man was fully dressed. He was currently putting on his watch but kept his eyes on Stiles. A small amused smile lightened his face, and Stiles immediately wanted to hide from it.

“Good morning, beautiful,” said Derek.

Stiles blinked at him.

Derek chuckled, walked up to the bed and sat down beside him. He cupped Stiles’ face and gave him a light kiss on the lips, before letting him go with a small flick on his chin.

“Sleep well?”

“Mhm,” Stiles raked a hand through his hair and sat up. The covers fell to his lap, and Derek’s eyes immediately slipped down his body.

Stiles didn’t try to cover himself, though his gaze did make him want to squirm.

“I’ve booked this room till three,” said Derek, watching him. “It’s all yours. The mini-bar is paid for, and there’s a nice jacuzzi.”

Stiles’ gaze slid down Derek’s clothes. “And you?”

“As much as I would like to spend time in your company, I have to go.”

Oh.

That’s how it ends, then.

“Okay,” said Stiles, because what else could he say. They were nobody to each other. He could’ve demanded his attention and put on more charm to keep him close, but Stiles was too worn out from yesterday to do anything.

Some of the disappointment must’ve slipped through, though, because Derek smiled again. He caressed Stiles’ cheek with a finger, watching his own movements.

“I had a lot of fun last night,” he said.

Stiles stared at him.

What does that mean? Was there supposed to be a “but”?

“Me, too,” Stiles croaked, unsure of what was happening.

Derek seemed pleased. His hand traveled down Stiles’ neck with his thumb tracing the prominent veins and eventually fell down on Stiles’ covered thigh. The man seemed to have trouble keeping his hands off him.

“Want more?” he asked eventually and arched an eyebrow.

Hell, yeah.

Stiles squeezed his lips together to keep a smile in but wasn’t sure he was successful. A fiercely warm jolt of excitement sent shivers down his body.

“Yeah,” he said, keeping what he really wanted to say (fuck yes, please, please, please I have to get my mouth on your dick and feel a beard burn on my thighs) to himself.

Derek’s pleased and somewhat relieved grin was beautiful. He caught Stiles’ hand and kissed the back of it.

“I’m taking you out to dinner tonight, then.” The man was literally glowing. Stiles fought a laugh at how easy all of it was.

“Awesome,” came out of Stiles’ mouth and he quickly shut it, but Derek, thankfully, laughed.

“I gotta go.” He kissed Stiles in the corner of his lips and stood up. “I’ll text you. Take your time and relax, okay, baby?”

And all these fucking nicknames… Stiles had never been called that before, but he found himself liking it.

“I will.”

Derek left, after tearing his gaze away from Stiles’ body and saying goodbye one more time. Stiles fell back on the bed with the silliest grin and stretched, sighing in pleasure.

He was going to have so much fucking fun.

[druidshollow]

m, wasnt gonna post this wip but ive changed my mind

[shushmal]

a little season 4 vol 2 "missing scene" but angst warning, it's canon compliant!

Eddie opens his eyes.

It shouldn't be a surprise, really, everyone opens their eyes thousand-million-billions of times, probably—Eddie's not very good a math. But still, he opens them, looks out into the world in front of him, and a stray thought flitters through his conscious that goes Wait, what? He can't really remember why, though, suddenly. Because—

Eddie opens his eyes. And Steve smiles at him.

"Hey," Steve says, easy as a breeze, no urgency, no brave-face. None of that fear hidden in his eyes when Eddie had asked him to make Vecna pay for him, to do something Eddie couldn't.

"Hey," Eddie says back, breathless.

Behind them, there's a noise, and Eddie almost turns around to look.

"Eddie," Steve says before Eddie moves. He holds out his hand, long fingers and trimmed nails and soft palms. He almost glows in the grey dark of the forest. "Come with me."

"Okay," Eddie says. And takes his hand.

Steve's smile grows, a flash of white teeth, and he laces their fingers together tightly as he begins to lead Eddie through the trees. There's another sound behind them, Eddie doesn't quite know what it is, but Steve pulls him away gently before Eddie can turn his head to look.

It sounded almost like someone crying.

They walk leisurely, like they don't have anywhere to be, and Eddie stares down at their hands linked together. Something squirms inside of him, almost a feeling of wrongness. He feels off balanced, but he doesn't feel scared. He feels like he should feel scared.

Steve squeezes his hand comfortingly. They can't hear the crying anymore.

"It's okay," Steve says, like he's reading Eddie's mind. "I don't ever want you to be scared. Not anymore."

It clicks then.

"You're not Steve," Eddie says. He comes to a stop.

Steve stops with him, doesn't try to pull him along, to force him to go. He turns back to Eddie, that sweet smile on his face. His thumb brushes against Eddie's, his touch warm and gentle.

"No," Steve admits.

"Are you Vecna?" Eddie feels like he should be shaking with fear, but he's not. Steve's hand in his makes him brave.

"No, no," Steve rushes to say. "I'm not here to hurt you Eddie, I promise. I'm only here to take care of you."

"Oh," Eddie swallows. He thinks about the person crying in the woods and he remembers Dustin leaning over him— "What, are you like, God or something?"

Steve shrugs. "Sometimes I am," he says, thoughtfully. He leans in close as he does, his other hand coming up to their joined hands. "Sometimes I'm Jesus Christ, sometimes I'm an angel. Sometimes I'm deities of other faiths. Most of the time I'm mothers."

"I—" Eddie starts and stops, suddenly overwhelmed. "I don't understand."

"That's okay," Steve says. He presses the back of Eddie's hand to his chest, and he can feel his heartbeat under his shirt. It's comforting, the steady rhythm, the warmth against his skin. "Take your time. We don't have to rush."

Eddie drags his other hand over his face, twitching when something tickles his cheek. There, on his left hand, tied to his ring finger, is a red string tied in a bow, with one long end hanging to the ground near his knees, the end of it frayed.

He tries to remember why he tied it there, what the reason was. But when he looks at Steve again, sees the sadness in his eyes, the sympathy, Eddie knows its something else. He doesn't want to ask.

"Why—" He croaks and clears his throat. Steve watches him patiently. "Why Steve then? If not my mom— If not an angel, or whatever."

"You know why," Steve says, indulgent. "At least part of that, you know exactly why."

Eddie clutches Steve's hand, fingers going tight in that gentle hold, knuckles white, his nails digging into flesh. Steve doesn't wince or shake him off, just gently tugs Eddie closer until they're standing toe to toe, heads bowing into each other. The short ends of Steve's hair brushes Eddie's cheek.

Eddie does know. Knows if it were his mom or his dad, angels or demons or gods, if they'd asked Eddie come with them, he wouldn't have. But he doesn't know why this, why Steve.

"He makes you brave," Steve says. He whispers it like a secret, says it into their joined hands, into Eddie's knuckles, into the breath between them. "He makes you feel safe." He reaches down and plucks the frayed end of the red string between two fingers, runs his thumb along the length of it, holds it like something precious in his palm. "He makes you hope."

A sob erupts out of Eddie then, and Steve releases Eddie's clinging hand to wrap him up in a hug, holds him as he cries. They stand there in the middle of this weird, other dimension as Eddie weeps harder than he ever has in his life, as Steve runs his fingers through his hair, humming a song that Eddie doesn't know the words to, doesn't recognize. Eddie lets himself hold him back, crushing Steve to him, just to feel a little more of that warmth, that steady heartbeat and gentle kindness. He gets it now, and he cries all the harder for it.

It was supposed to be his year.

"I know, honey," Steve murmurs, voice thick like he's crying, too, for the life Eddie doesn't get to live anymore. "I know, I'm so sorry."

Steve holds him until the tears stop, until Eddie's breathing evens out and he pulls himself away to scrub his hands over his wet face. He swallows a few times, trying to find his voice before he looks at him again.

He's still there when Eddie looks at him, that same gentle smile, the kindness of his eyes.

"What now?" Eddie asks, voice ragged.

Taking his hand again, his touch warm and soft, Steve says, "Come with me."

And Eddie goes.

[rainphee-art]

some shots i like from a furry noir murder mystery comic i'm working on for uni. it's not done yet but it will be soon

[branmuffins22]

If you write fanfiction, how do you get people to care about you as a person as well as your work? What do you need to do? Also, how do you make writer friends for the fandom you're in and meet really cool people who treat you like a celebrity?

um. what

[wandaslittlebird]

Gentle With Mama

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

After waking up next to Wanda for the first time in years, you find yourself rediscovering who taught you to be gentle.

CW: Stepmother/Stepdaughter, wet dreams, MOMMY ISSUES, breastfeeding, size kink, strap ons, first time? (kinda?), flashbacks, dacryphilia, R is a terrible fuck.

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: This one is straight up Freudian filth, but I'm unironically proud of it so be nice to me.

A/N: There will be a third part to this eventually, but don’t hold your breath I’ve got a lot of other WIPs I’m going to try to finish first.

Part 2 of Her Special Girl

Wanda was almost embarrassed of the way her heart sang when she woke up with you in her arms the next morning. You were home! Her baby is finally home! 

She hadn’t really even realized how much she’d missed until you’d come back. Sure she thought about you everyday, wondered how you were doing, slept in your bed when she found herself unable to sleep, wore your hoodies around the house, fantasized about you while she…okay so maybe she had missed you more than she cared to admit. 

She giggled when she peeled the covers up to find both your thighs and hers covered in cum, as well as the sheets and the blankets. “Aww my sweet girl,” she cooed, pulling your head up under her chin. She kissed the top of your head stroking it gently with her thumb. “Did you have a good dream?” Even in your sleep, she could’ve sworn she felt you nod. 

It was tempting to shake you awake now. Maybe she’d even make a little fuss about the mess you’d made, watch your face get all red with embarrassment while you tried to hide under the blankets, covered in your own slick. God you’d be so cute. And she was willing to bet you’d do anything to make it up to her, little doe eyes pleading for forgiveness over something Wanda was not even upset about in the first place. She could have you as putty in her hands all morning. 

She shook the thought from her head. As tempting as it was, you’d had a rough week already. She opted instead to grab the discarded towel from last night and use it to clean herself up. Then she pulled back the blankets, smiling when you whined and grabbed around for them in your sleep. “Shh, detka. Keep sleeping. Mama’s gonna get you all cleaned up.” 

She gently wiped you down with the towel, shushing your whines as the cool fabric hit the warm skin of your thighs. You moaned when the fabric hit your core, stuttering your little hips against the fluffy towel. Wanda chuckled. “Settle down, honey. You're gonna get yourself all worked up again.”

When she finished with the towel, she pulled a sheet from the closet. She climbed onto the bed between your legs, lifting you off the bed while she scooted the clean sheet underneath you. She heard a sleepy little whimper in her ear as she lifted you up against her chest. “Mama?” 

She laid you back down against the clean sheet, pulling up the duvet to tuck you back in. “Shh, it’s okay little love. Go back to sleep.” She wiped the hair off of your sleepy face, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

She wadded up the wet blanket, throwing it into a pile with the towel. You groaned. The extra blanket was definitely missed without any clothes on in the middle of winter. Your face reddened as you started to realize she was cleaning up a mess. Probably your mess. 

“Did I wet myself last night?” You asked, sitting up in bed as panic started to build in your chest. Did you seriously just wet the bed at 22 years old? Did you seriously just wet your parents bed at 22 years old?

She sat down next to you pulling you in to kiss your head. So much for not embarrassing you. “You made a little bit of a mess, but it’s okay. Mama took care of it. It wasn’t a potty mess, if that’s what you're worried about. My sweet girl just had a really good dream is all. You don’t need to be embarrassed, honey.”

“O-okay,” you nodded, still blushing fiercely as you curl into her. You were unsure if it was more or less embarrassing that you’d cum in sleep rather than having pissed the bed. Still, you were able to relax into her, recalling bits of the dream that had caused the mess in the first place. “Mama?”

“Yes, little love?”

“It’s not a bad thing to have naughty dreams, is it? Cause, like, you’re asleep and you can’t control it.” You couldn’t look her in the eyes as you spoke. 

Wanda chuckled and kissed the top of your head. She knew your shame well and never wished to perpetuate it anyway. “No sweetheart. It’s not a bad thing.”

You nodded shyly. “Not even if they’re about mama?”

Wanda smiled, pleasantly surprised by your admission. “Especially not if they’re about mama, honey.” She squeezed you tight, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. She bent and whispered in your ear. “Sometimes mama has naughty dreams about you too.”

You smiled up at her, kissing her jaw before kissing your way further down her body. You rubbed your hands over the soft expanse of her stomach, admiring each curve and dip with endless wonder, caressing her with gentle hands. You traced the stretch marks that littered her side, curving upwards from her underbelly and her hips. 

She’d always loathed this part of herself. She never, for a second, regretted her boys, but she could not deny the havoc having twins wrecked on her body. Two babies meant she grew bigger all at once, leaving her skin stretched grotesquely. She hated when people brought any attention to at all. 

Yet, when she looked down at your face, she could not bring herself to ask you to stop. You look at her with a wonder she’d never experienced before. The innocent look in your eyes was not one of someone trying to console her about her broken body, but one of pure worship. It had never even crossed your mind that such attributes could be considered ugly. To you, she was nothing short of pure perfection. 

You kissed her just below her navel, nuzzling your nose in the space above it. You hummed contentedly, resting your head on her stomach, rubbing small circles on her lower abdomen.

But after a while, your face fell from one of contentment and joy, to one of an almost sad longing. 

Wanda noticed the shift immediately. “Is everything alright, love?”

You paused, unsure of what to say without making it weird. You could barely speak above a whisper. “It’s not fair.”

Wanda tried to pull you up her body so she could hear you better and give you comforting kisses, but you were cemented in place. “What’s not fair, detka?”

“I didn’t get to grow inside of you. I had to grow inside of some rotten woman who doesn’t even love me anyway!” Frustrated tears pricked your eyes. Nothing was fair. Your hands continued to gently caress the womb you envied. “I hate her! She was never my mama!”

Wanda sighed, playing with your hair. She held an equal amount of hatred for your mother, if not more. Her lack of dedication and responsibility towards you had always been equal parts confusing and infuriating. “I’m sorry, detka. I’m sorry she doesn’t treat you like the special, important little girl you are. You deserve so much better than her. She doesn’t deserve to call herself your mother.” Wanda pulled you up her body again, this time dragging you up by force. She needed you closer. 

You conceded allowing her to slide you up the bed and tuck your head under her chin. She gently petted your hair and rocked you against her, shushing your cries and wiping away your tears. “Why doesn’t she love me?”

Wanda felt her heart shatter into a million pieces. She wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t understand how any mother could treat their child so carelessly, least of all when that child was as brilliant and wonderful as you were. “Because she’s only ever looking out for herself. Because she’s so blinded by her own misery to see what a beautiful thing she has created.”

Your hand gently caressed her chest, feeling her nipples harden under your fingertips. She shivered under your touch, watching you as you looked longingly at her chest. 

She recalled a random conversation she’d once had with your mother in which she had said she didn’t breastfeed any of her children because it was quote “not her responsibility to get up in the middle of night when the baby got hungry.” 

God I would’ve been so much better at being your mother. I would’ve stayed up all night just to watch your sweet little face as you nursed. 

She smiled sadly. She couldn’t turn back the clock, but she had you here with her now. She couldn’t change what you did and didn’t have then, but she could give it to you now. 

“Come here, sweet girl. You can suck on mama. It’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed.” She manually parted your hesitant lips with her thumb, allowing you to take her into your mouth. “That’s it sweet girl,” she cooed, stroking her hands through your hair. She ran her knuckle over your soft cheek, still covered in fine baby fuzz. Your lips were soft and warm around her. She thought she’d never get tired of the sight or the sensation. 

For a moment, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. Despite never actually having been breastfed, your body knew instinctively what to do. It’s like it had been waiting all along, for Wanda to come around. You sucked at her with effortless rhythm, perfectly massing her nipple with your tongue. But then, a new sadness and longing creeped into your mind. There was no milk here. There was no milk here for you, and there never was because she was never truly yours. 

You pulled away, shrinking back down her body. You clutched at her waist, nuzzling into her so hard it was like you were trying to crawl under her skin. You wanted to be inside of her where you'd be safe and warm and comfortable. You needed to be inside of her. It felt like the only thing that could quell the aching in your heart.

“Mama?”

“Yes, little love?”

“Can I…?” You pressed on her lower abdomen in indication. “Please?”

She looked down at you, your big soft eyes pleading with her. How could she ever deny you anything? “Aww sweetheart, do you wanna be inside mama?”

You nodded eagerly, still clinging to her lower half. 

She stroked your temple with her knuckle. “Alright, honey. You can be inside mama. You just have to be gentle. Can you do that? Do you remember how mama taught you to be gentle?”

You laid with your head pressed to her stomach, recalling what it meant to be gentle. 

—————

“I’m scared, mama,” you said, voice shaking slightly. You were 18 again, a newly deflowered girl who was yet to explore anything beyond a few fingers. The two of you’d been talking about this for a couple weeks now, and you were sure you wanted to try it, but you were still so nervous. “Is it gonna hurt?”

Wanda gently slid a soft towel under your butt. She warned you that you might bleed a little tiny bit, since it was your first time. “It might. But it will only hurt for a little bit, I promise. And then you’re going to feel so so good, baby. I just know you’re gonna love it.”

Wanda knew what she was getting herself into here. She knew the moment she was inside of you, you were going to be hooked on the feeling. She had no doubt you’d be begging for her strap every single time you were alone together. 

And god she could nearly cum from the thought alone. 

You, sitting at her feet while she worked, begging to be fucked just one more time. You, falling apart as she buried herself inside of you. You, incoherently mumbling her name while you cried on her big toy. 

Deep breaths. She had to pace herself. This was only your first time after all.

“Mama’s gonna be so gentle, okay? And if you don’t like it, we can stop and you don’t have to try it again,” she cooed. 

You nodded. Poor thing, you looked like you were already about to cry and she hadn’t even touched you yet. 

“It’s okay to cry, sweetheart,” she insisted, more for her own purposes than for your comfort. She stroked your cheek gently, watching the first of many tears roll down. “It’s okay. Mama’s got you. Take a deep breath for me honey.”

You nodded again, closing your eyes to take a deep breath. “I trust you, mama.” 

“I know, love. Mama’s gonna take good care of you.” She opened a little bottle on the side table. “Now this is gonna be a little cold, okay?” She said before pouring a little bit of lube down your folds. She slowly massaged it inside of you with her fingers, shushing your little squeaks of discomfort as the cool liquid hit your most sensitive parts. Then she massaged a generous amount onto the shaft of her toy. 

She could have, admittedly, gone a bit smaller for your first time. But, as much as she didn’t want to hurt you, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch you squirm on a bigger toy. It wasn’t anything outrageous, of course, but it was still a generous 8 inches and probably twice as thick as the three fingers you’d had inside of you before. 

She slid the tip of the toy through your center, wiggling it against your clit. You shivered at the new sensation, your nerves still growing inside of you. She lined the toy up with your entrance. “Okay, baby. Take a big deep breath for me.”

You did as instructed, taking in a long shaky inhale, and exhaling. On the exhale though, she pushed the first inches of the toy inside of you. You cried out, flailing around underneath her as she pushed into slowly. Your hands shot down between your legs, pushing against her lower abdomen to keep her from pushing in any further. “Mama please, please mama it hurts.”

She took your hand from her stomach, gently placing it over your head. She intertwined her fingers with yours, allowing you to squeeze her hand as much as you needed. “Shh baby, it’ll only hurt for a second. I promise it’ll feel good in a minute. Just trust me love.”

You bit your lip hard, but nodded your head, allowing her to keep going. You whimpered and cried with each cruel inch that made its way into you, but eventually she stopped. 

“That’s it baby. It’s all the way in. Aww, sweet girl mama’s so so proud of you. I know it hurts baby but you’re doing so good,” she praised, kissing away your tears and softly caressing your face. Her body was flushed with yours. You squeezed her hand, trying to relieve some of the pain. 

She whispered soft words of comfort and soothed you while your face slowly shifted from contorted in pain, to mindless with pleasure. She used her free hand to wipe your hair from your forehead. “There you go sweet girl. Does it still hurt?”

You shook your head. “N-no. I just feel… you.”

She kissed your forehead gently. “I’m going to start moving now, okay? Just tell me if it hurts again and I’ll stop.”

You nodded, wrapping your free arm around her back, clinging to her. Your other hand still squeezed hers. 

She started slow, just as she promised she would. It stung, a little, but more than anything, you just felt full of her. It felt heavenly. You weren’t sure how you’d live your entire life without it. You wanted her buried inside you forever. Anything less, you thought, would be unsatisfactory. You’d felt heaven, and now you’d never be satisfied on Earth. 

Almost unintentionally, you scratched her back, leaving red tracks down her spine. She gasped and thrust into you. You cried out, freeing your other hand from her grip and wrapping it around her back, now clinging to her with both arms. 

“I’m sorry baby,” she whispered, kissing your temple in apology.

“It’s okay, mama,” you mumbled, face buried in her shoulder. “Please don’t stop. Please don’t leave me.” You wrapped your legs around her waist, holding her inside of you. 

Wanda knew in that moment, she had you hooked. She rocked into you faster, your old bed creaking with her movements. You whined and whimpered with each thrust, but matched her hips with your own. You were so desperate for her, so desperate for her to make you hers. 

“I-I love you. Mama I love you. Please don’t stop. Please mama never… I want you inside of me forever. Please, you feel so good,” you rambled breathlessly, clawing into her back. You hadn’t stopped crying through the whole ordeal. You were unsure when the crying had turned from pain to pleasure. 

She breathed heavily in your ear, your desperate clinging forcing her to double her efforts. She was only spurred on by your scratching. Each jolt of pain sent her hammering into you harder than before. “You’re doing so good, baby. Mama’s close, honey. Oh love, just like that. You’re gonna make mama cum.”

You felt her hips stutter as she came, finally collapsing breathlessly on top of you. She laid there for a few moments before reaching down between your legs to pull the toy out. 

“No! Mama please don’t take it out yet. Please just a little longer. Just for a little bit while we cuddle,” you pleaded. 

Wanda laughed breathlessly. “Okay, sweet girl. We can leave it there for another minute longer. But then you have to sit up and drink some water.”

She laid on your chest, letting you play with her hair. You ran a gentle hand over the long red lines that covered her back, occasionally hitting a spot that would make her wince. 

“Oh! Careful detka. You gotta be gentle with mama,” she said. 

You bent down and kissed her back, brushing your hands over the scratches more lightly this time. “Gentle with mama,” you repeated, coddling her body until she fell asleep inside of you.

—————

You nodded. Gentle. You remembered gentle. 

“Okay, detka,” she chuckled. “I’ll go get it.”

She hopped up off the bed, heading into your bedroom. She kept the secret toys in the top of your old closet with the remainder of your clothes, a place she knew your father would never look. She pulled down an old duffle bag that had remained almost entirely untouched since you left. 

She returned with a large scarlet strap, your favorite, already secured to a harness. You excitedly clambered off the bed, allowing her to help you buckle it around your waist. 

You were tempted to pull her into a bruising kiss right there, back her up until her knees hit the bed, and push yourself inside of her until you both forgot where you ended and she began.

But you promised to be gentle. So you would be gentle. 

You waited for her to crawl up on the bed before crawling up behind her and kneeling between her legs. She reached back to grab a bottle of lube from the drawer at the side table, reaching down to rub a generous amount onto the strap. 

She smirked when you whined, bucking and twitching against her hand like you could actually feel her movements. With how reactive you were, she was sometimes genuinely convinced you could. 

“Already, honey. Nice and slow for mama,” she instructed, allowing you to start slowly pressing yourself into her. 

You did as instructed, lining yourself with her entrance and watching in fascination as her body took more and more of you inside of it. Your eyes went wide and you watched a small bulge form at the base of her abdomen. In a moment of excitement, you pushed yourself all the way inside of her, bottoming out unexpectedly.

“Fuck!” She shouted, hands immediately pushing your hips back. 

“Sorry sorry sorry!” You apologized frantically. You hadn’t meant to hurt her, you’d just gotten excited. Your hand ran gently over her abdomen, instinctively trying to soothe the pain you’d caused. 

“It’s okay baby. Just nice and gentle for mama. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded eagerly. Slow and gentle. You could be slow and gentle. Just like she taught you. 

You tried again, this time succeeding at a slower pace. You reached down to touch the bulge in her stomach. Your heart raced with excitement. That’s me! That’s me inside of mama! 

You started to slowly rock your hips back and forth, whimpering as you watched the bump in her stomach slowly move. “Mama…”

Wanda had her head tossed back over the pillows, head spinning with the sensation of being so incredibly full. “That’s it, baby. That’s my sweet girl, being all nice and gentle for mama,” she moaned. “You can start moving, sweetheart.”

You moved slowly at first, clearly very nervous to accidentally hurt her again. But after watching the rhythmic movement of the bulge in her stomach for a few minutes, your thrust became more erratic. You rutted into her with absolutely no rhythm, your own head spinning with too much excitement to care.

Words like “slow” and “gentle” were forgotten to the wet sound of her cunt swallowing you. You panted pathetically, whimpering as thoughtlessly chased your own pleasure. 

Two hands fell on your hips, stilling them and forcing you out of her. “Okay, honey,” she chuckled, amused by your lust blown eyes pleading with her to let you keep going. “It’s okay baby, you’re okay.”

She grabbed you and flipped you over, pinning you underneath her. She straddled your waist. “Now just be a good girl and lay down for me just like that. Mama’s gonna have her turn now okay?”

You nodded eagerly, propping your head up with pillows so you could look at her. 

She lined the toy back up with her own entrance, slowly lowering herself down onto it. Your eyes went wide at the sight of the beautiful woman, in complete ecstasy as she took your toy down to the last inch. She threw her head back, moaning with unrestrained pleasure. 

Your hands clambered up her body, desperate to grab a hold of anything at all. She took one of your hands in hers, flattening it out and placing it against her lower abdomen as she rode you. “You feel that baby? That’s you, honey!”

You nodded dumbly. “Inside mama.”

“That’s right, detka. You’re inside your mama,” she cooed. “Oh fuck, you feel so good baby. Do you like being inside mama, sweet girl. Do you like feeling your big toy moving inside of her?”

“Mhm,” you groaned, biting your lip. “You feel so good. It’s so tight and warm. You’re so beautiful mama. So so beautiful.”

She smiled. “Thank you, baby,” she said, squeezing your hand. “Fuck your making your mama feel so good.” Her voice cracked and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. 

You sniffled, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. You could hardly take it, watching her face contorted in pleasure while you felt yourself moving inside of her. It was all too much. 

“Aww, sweet girl,” she cooed. “Come here, honey.” She pulled you up by the arm so you were sitting up, flush against her. She ran her fingers through your hair. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. You feel so good buried inside of mama, right where you’re supposed to be, huh?”

You nodded against her chest, arms wrapping tight around her waist. “Uh huh.” Your nails clawed at her back in a desperate attempt to pull her closer. 

She groaned at the feeling of you, slicing at her skin. “That’s it, detka. Hold onto mama, baby. I’ve got you. No need to scratch, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”

She continued to ride you while you cried into her chest. “Mama… I love you! I love you, mama! Please mama! I love you so much.”

“I love you too, darling,” she moaned. “Do you wanna make mama cum, sweet girl? Do you wanna feel mama cum around you?” She lead your hand between her legs, guiding you to play with her clit. 

You nodded frantically into her chest, circling your fingers around her swollen bud. “I wanna make you cum. Please. Please cum for me, mama.”

Before you could even finish your sentence, she was crying out, pulsing around the toy. She quickly swatted your hand away, instantly overstimulated by the intensity of her orgasm. 

You caught her as she nearly fell backwards. The toy popped out of her and bounced against her stomach. You eased her down against the bed, stuffing a pillow up under her head. You wrapped your arms around her torso, cradling her head in one hand. You pressed a long kiss to her forehead. “I got you, mama.”

You got up, making quick work of removing the harness before crawling back into bed with Wanda, who lay completely breathless. You managed to turn her around, laying her gently against the headboard so you could press a cold glass of water to her lips. 

She smiled, taking the water from you and happily gulping it down. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

You smiled back at her and kissed her temple, grabbing your pajama shirt and using it to very gently clean her up. She winced when you touched between her legs, still terribly sensitive from her orgasm. 

You grabbed her hand, intertwining her fingers with your own. “It’s okay, mama. I’ll be gentle.”

She smiled down at you, beaming with pride. “You really do remember how to be gentle with mama.”

You grinned. “I learned from the best.”

You tossed the dirty shirt towards the hamper, just barely missing and landing on the towel and blanket from earlier. Wanda chuckled, pulling your body against her own. She guided your head down to her chest, encouraging you to take her nipple into your mouth. “Do you wanna try again, little love?”

You nodded, wrapping your lips around her, suckling peacefully. This time, it didn’t matter that there was no milk there for you. It didn’t matter that you hadn’t grown inside of her, or that she wasn’t the first person to ever hold you. She was holding you now.

She was still your mama, and you were still her baby. Everything else was white noise.

Taglist: @wandasdove @themilfsland @moonxytcn @jordy-12 @the-lakes89 @boredandneedfanfics @bwe-esfr @wandasslut3000 @kaymariesworld @wandasfreak @lesbiansweet

[xomakara]

Bedtime Surprises

SUMMARY | Mark comes home from practice and finds you waiting in bed for him. PAIRINGS | Mark x Reader GENRE | idol!Mark, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya'll!), fingering, dirty talk, blowjobs, pure unadulterated sex RATING | Mature LENGTH | 1,922 words AUTHOR’S NOTE | Guess who's back!! ME!! Can't believe it's been like 3 months since I wrote anything NCT related. Please forgive me my neos. I've been distracted with Ateez 🫣. It's a short one but I needed to write something with Mark (I have a Jaehyun and a Johnny wip in the works lolol) because Mark be looking so good this comeback. Love you all 💚

Mark let out a weary sigh as he let himself into the apartment, dropping his bag on the floor and kicking the door closed. It was good to be home.

He was tired. He'd spent all day working hard at practice and his muscles were aching. He was sweaty and grubby but he wanted nothing more than to see you. He called out, "Babe? You home?"

"In here!" came your reply, and he followed the sound of your voice to the bedroom, where he stopped short in the doorway, eyes going wide.

You were lying back against the pillows, dressed only in a lacy red bra and panties. Your legs were slightly parted, and you were looking at him with a playful, sultry smile on your face.

"What... What's all this?" Mark said, motioning to the room. There were candles all around, and flower petals on the bed. The lights were low and music was playing.

"I thought you deserved a reward for working so hard," you said, beckoning him closer. He stepped over to the bed, kneeling on it, crawling up your body to hover over you, hands resting either side of your head.

"Really?" he breathed, leaning down and brushing his lips against yours. "And what did you have in mind, babe?"

"This," you said, and kissed him, running your hands up his back.

He kissed you back, pressing his lips harder against yours, and you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging gently.

He broke away, smiling at you, his dark eyes sparkling. "You look so gorgeous, baby," he whispered, running his fingers down the side of your face.

You leaned up and kissed him again, pulling him down so his body was flush with yours, feeling his skin against your own. You moaned into the kiss, arching up into him, and he responded by trailing kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, tilting your head to give him better access. He nibbled lightly on the spot just below your ear, and you gasped, shivering. He chuckled softly, then kissed his way back up your neck to your mouth, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close.

Mark broke away, looking at you with a smile, his dark eyes sparkling. His hair was mussed from where you had run your fingers through it, and his cheeks were flushed. He looked beautiful, and you felt your heart flutter.

You reached up, cupping his cheek, stroking your thumb over his soft skin. He closed his eyes, nuzzling into your touch, and you smiled.

Mark opened his eyes, looking at you, and you could see the love and adoration in his gaze. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"You've been working too hard, Mark. With your comeback, dance practices…" you said softly. "Let me take care of you tonight."

He smiled, nodding. "I'd like that," he replied, and you reached up, taking his face in your hands and kissing him.

Mark settled back against the pillows, his shirt thrown to who knew where and his jeans unbuttoned. You climbed over him, straddling his hips, and bent to press kisses to his neck, sucking lightly on the soft skin. He tilted his head to the side, allowing you better access, and you nipped lightly, making him gasp.

You moved your kisses lower, across his chest and down his stomach, pausing at his waistband and glancing up at him through your lashes. His eyes were dark with desire, and his breath was coming faster. You reached up, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, and tugged.

Mark lifted his hips, and you slid his jeans and boxers down, tossing them aside. You ran your hands up his legs, and he shivered at the sensation of your soft skin against his. You moved between his legs, leaning forward and pressing kisses to his inner thighs.

Mark's breathing quickened, and his cock twitched. You looked up at him, smiling mischievously, and took him in your hand. He moaned softly as you began to stroke him, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Mark, look at me," you said, and he opened his eyes, meeting your gaze. You kept your eyes locked on his as you lowered your head, running your tongue along his length. He shuddered, his breathing ragged, and you repeated the motion.

"Oh god, baby," he groaned, his voice thick with arousal.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, tasting him, and he cried out, his hands fisting in the sheets.

You took him in your mouth, sucking gently, and his hips bucked involuntarily. You continued to work him with your mouth, using your hand to stroke the base. His breathing was fast and shallow, and his body was tense. He lifted one hand to your head, his fingers tangling in your hair.

"Please," he panted. "I need... I want..."

You released him from your mouth with a wet pop, looking up at him. His face was flushed, his eyes half-lidded, his pupils dilated.

"What do you want, Mark?" you asked, your voice low and husky.

"I want you, baby," he said, his voice strained. "I need you."

"How do you want me, Mark?"

"I want... I want to feel you," he said. "All of you. Please, baby."

You nodded, moving up to kiss him. He pulled you close, his hands roaming over your body, squeezing and caressing.

"I love you so much," he murmured against your lips.

You broke the kiss, looking into his eyes. "I love you too," you whispered.

Mark's hands found their way to your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulled you down onto his lap. Your legs straddled him, and his erection rubbed against you, making you both gasp.

"Baby," he groaned, grinding up against you. "I need you."

Your hands tangled in his hair as you pulled him into another heated kiss. He slipped his hands under your bra, palming your breasts.

"Fuck," he moaned, rolling his thumbs over your nipples. "You're so fucking sexy, baby."

"Mark," you moaned, arching into his touch.

"Shh," he soothed, nuzzling your neck. "I've got you, baby."

He kissed you again, his tongue sliding into your mouth, and his hands worked the clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the floor. His hands moved to cup your breasts, kneading them gently, and you gasped as his thumbs grazed your nipples.

He trailed kisses down your neck, licking and nibbling at your collarbone, before taking one nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. You moaned, arching into his touch, and he chuckled softly.

He moved his attention to the other nipple, licking and sucking, and you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly. He moaned against your breast, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Oh, Mark," you breathed.

He switched back and forth between your breasts, his hands wandering lower, stroking your stomach and sides. His hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, cupping your ass and squeezing.

You gasped, arching into his touch, and he chuckled, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire.

"I love it when you make those noises," he said, his voice low and husky.

You moaned, pressing yourself against him. He was hard and throbbing, and you could feel him twitch against you.

"Please, Mark," you begged. "I need you."

"What do you need, baby?" he asked, his fingers slipping into your panties, teasing you.

"I need you inside me," you breathed.

He smiled, his eyes glittering. "That can be arranged," he said, pushing your panties to the side before sliding two fingers inside you, making you gasp.

"You're so wet," he groaned, his cock twitching.

"Yes," you moaned, rocking your hips against his hand.

"Fuck," he groaned, adding a third finger, curling them and finding that sweet spot.

You gasped, your head falling back as he worked his fingers in and out of you.

"Do you want my cock, baby?" he asked, his voice strained.

"Yes, Mark," you moaned, riding his fingers.

"Tell me what you want," he growled.

"I want your cock, Mark," you whimpered.

"What else?" he prompted, thrusting his fingers deeper, making you cry out.

"I want you to fuck me, Mark," you moaned. "I want to feel you inside me, stretching me, filling me."

He growled, his cock throbbing. "Good girl," he praised, removing his fingers and lining his cock up with your entrance.

He gripped your hips, pulling you down onto him, burying himself in your tight heat.

You both moaned as he filled you, stretching you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Mark," you moaned, grinding down against him, savoring the feel of him inside you.

"Baby," he moaned, rocking his hips, his cock twitching.

You rode him, your pace increasing as he thrust up into you.

"Fuck," he moaned, his hands roaming over your body, caressing and squeezing. "Look at you. Only in your panties, bouncing on my dick."

"Shit, you're so deep," you whimpered.

"Does it feel good, baby?"

"So fucking good," you moaned, rolling your hips, feeling him hit all the right spots.

"I love the sounds you make," he groaned.

You leaned down and kissed him, moaning against his lips.

"Fuck," he hissed, thrusting up into you.

"Faster," you urged, and he obliged, speeding up his movements, and slamming into you.

You moaned, your head falling back, and he leaned forward, latching onto one of your breasts, sucking and biting.

"Mark, oh god Mark," you moaned, and he switched his attention to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention.

"Mark," you cried out, and he lifted his head, looking at you, his eyes dark with desire.

"I can't hold out much longer, baby," he groaned, thrusting deeper and harder.

"Come for me, Mark," you moaned, clenching around him, and his thrusts became erratic, his movements frantic.

"Oh fuck, baby, I'm gonna come," he groaned. "Can I come in you, baby? I want to come in you, please."

"Yes, Mark," you cried out, feeling yourself reach the edge. "I want you to come inside me, I want to feel you."

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, and with a final thrust, he came, spilling himself inside you, and the feel of his cock pulsing and the sound of his moans sent you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through you.

"Holy shit," he breathed, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close as you both came down from your highs.

"That was amazing," you murmured, nuzzling his neck.

"You're amazing," he said, kissing the top of your head.

You pulled back and looked at him, seeing the love and adoration in his eyes. "I love you, Mark."

He smiled, cupping your cheek. "I love you too, baby," he said, leaning down and kissing you softly.

You snuggled into his side, resting your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

"So, what do you want to do tonight?" he asked.

"I was thinking we could just stay in and watch a movie," you suggested.

"Sounds good," he agreed.

You smiled, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"Why don't we go shower first?" he suggested, and you nodded.

"Mmm, I like the sound of that," you purred.

"I thought you might," he grinned.

You stood, pulling him up after you, and the two of you headed for the bathroom.

[fayes-fics]

The Secrets We Keep: Pt II

<< Part I

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

-vii-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dearest Y/n

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

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

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

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

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

I love you, y/n.

Most ardently and most truly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benedict

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

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

-viii-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, just please… do as he asks?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benedict has come!

-ix-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss y/l/n!?”

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

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

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

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

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

-x-

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

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

“Where are we headed, Benedict?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A warm wetness on your brow stirs you.

“Y/n…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-xi-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-xii-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touch me, Benedict.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guide me…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your heart veritably explodes.

-xiii-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

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

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

[loganwritesprobably]

Even Strong Men Have Weaknesses

Content/Warnings: Mihawk/GN!Reader, Crocodile & GN!Reader, Mihawk has chronic fatigue, cross guild era, established relationship, fluff, reader and Croc have chronic pain

Dracule Mihawk, the World's Greatest swordsman.

Dracule Mihawk, your boyfriend.

Dracule Mihawk, the world's sleepiest swordsman.

You and Mihawk had been dating for a few years now, and it'd been pretty blissful for the most part. Now, on Karai Bari, life had never been better. Your shared tent did leave some things to be desired (like privacy) but there was very little to complain about. You were happy, healthy and comfortable. At least, as healthy and comfortable as two chronically ill people could be.

That was why your relationship worked so well, you suspected. The two of you understood each other in a way that an abled person couldn't understand, no matter how hard they tried.

Your boyfriend was known for his love of naps, but only yourself and Crocodile (his closest friend) were aware that it was a medical requirement. His chronic fatigue left him exhausted even from the smallest of tasks, and the fact that he'd mastered swordsmanship despite it made you admire him deeply. He'd succeeded despite his illness, and you were incredibly proud of him.

On the other hand, you had chronic pain. Often, you'd join Mihawk's midday naps if only to sleep away some of your aches and pains, though they'd always return when you woke. Resting was rarely a bad thing in your case. You both understood that sometimes you just had to say no, even to the smallest of things, for the sake of your health and that a relationship may not always be able to be 50/50, it really depended on how much you had to give on any day.

You'd grown closer with Crocodile since the beginning of the Cross Guild too, which was a nice bonus considering he and Mihawk had been friends for so long. He had his own issues with pain when it came to his missing hand, and you'd bonded over it. He was far less forgiving with himself despite your attempts to convince him to take it a little easy sometimes for his own sake. It was a work in progress.

"Love?" Mihawk called out as he walked into your shared tent, a yawn quickly following. "I'm already in bed, I was waiting up for you." You replied. Mihawk parted the curtains that separated your bedroom from the rest of the living space and then silently admired him as he stripped down to his underwear to sleep. "You're very good to me." He said softly, neither of you minding the long silence between your words and his response. He slipped into the bed and opened his arms for you to cuddle in closer, resting your head beneath his chin. "I try." You said with a yawn of your own, and it didn't take long for the both of you to be asleep. Crocodile had attempted to organise an afternoon meeting but you suspected the both of you would be missing it.

Requests are open! See below links for my other works, and how to leave requests. I write both canon/canon and canon/reader requests for your enjoyment

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide | WIPs

Tags: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots

[from-izzy]

[01:34] | nct na jaemin

Your ceiling fell.

pairing » nct na jaemin x gn!reader (lmk if i missed anything!)​

trope/au » ​established relationship au!, non-idol au!

genre » boyfriend na jaemin who picks you up even though he's tired, summer is annoying to the reader (sorry, i'm really hating summer rn), fluffy fluff with a tinge of angst, clothes stealer reader!, but you never end up using it because you got too tired and fell asleep, i love na jaemin (can you tell?), reader is the little spoon, jaemin is so caring and cute (i'm in love with him), jaemin brushing his hand through your hair

word count, estimated reading time » 2496, ~9 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » jaemin is taller, outside clothes on the bed (i don't do this but it's cute here 😭 forgive me), oh...it's not proofread 😭

navi/masterlist!! 🤍

recently went back to my wips and found bits and pieces that could work together and meshed them together as best as i can 🤣 just whipped up this little thing whilst i was at it hehe

also, not going to be specific but will you believe if i said that this is based on a (my) true story? 🤠 it's been...messy 🤠 to say the least.

thank you for proofreading (when you're supposed to be focusing on school) @cupidjyu !! 💕

Your ceiling fell.

Well...

To be exact, there isn't a hole that lets the spiders and birds able to look down and see the base of your kitchen sink but when the inside surface of the roof fell, so did the insulator that kept the house warm during the frosty winter, and cool in the scorching summer. Because of the unstable roof condition, your whole family was wary of putting the air conditioning system on. The vibration from the machine and the sound waves themselves may be the little push it needs to send other parts of the roof crumbling.

You hate the hot weather so much.

In this period of the summer, when opening the windows was barely an option as it also let the heat through, it has been hard even to do anything remotely productive. With every move of your body, it generates heat and energy, which when mixed with the thirty-five-degree heat, all you want to do is lay on your bed and let the sweat evaporate off your skin with the help of your tower fan. That's how the mornings would go. Sometimes when you're not too tired from the previous day's work, you would go and take shelter in the library, turning confused heads when you would be wearing a jacket as overtime, it became too cold. 

The worst thing is that there has been no word from the insurance company or the people who could help to fix the hole in your ceiling. Unfortunately, it did fall during the peak holiday season but at this point, when it’s no longer the festive season, no one in your family understands what’s going on with the back-and-forth messy conversations to fix the issue. 

The past three months have been full of frustrating calls to your boyfriend but Jaemin has been picking up your phone call at the second time his ringtone rings, greeting you with that emphasising smile of his as he sees the layer of moisture on your face. At first, you tried to give him the best smile you could, but you eventually broke down after the first month, completely done with changing your clothes every day in every hour. Jaemin, though busy with his own responsibilities, never fails to take you out whenever he can, accompanying you in your aimless night time walks or accompanying you to the library where he would start reading a random book while you snooze on his shoulder. 

Today is one of the nights where you can’t handle sleeping in the house, too hot and uncomfortable for your eyes to even think about closing. You guiltily text Jaemin, asking if he’s able to have you over and within a few minutes, the black-haired arrives at your house, air conditioner blasting in his car and a genuine smile greeting you as soon as you step in. He waits outside his car with his oversized shirt and short pants; his usual summer attire. He kisses your frown away as soon as you rush into his arms, dropping your bag of clothes to the floor. His affectionate gaze for you grows, cupping your cheeks in his hands to hush you from the apologies that you would say for going out so late at night even though you insisted that the five-minute walk was fine to do.

“No,” Jaemin juts his lower lip to you adorably. “Not letting you do that!” He presses another quick peck on your lips that makes your cheeks heat up and makes you a stuttering mess. “I’m hungry! Let’s go grab some food first!”

You let out a knowing chuckle, shaking your head at him fondly as you know that just means another movie night that will go on until five am. To Jaemin, this is the best kind of date: the one that is unplanned but is planned at the same time. With the way that you’re literally having the worst summer ever as well, all he wants to do is to make sure that at least when you look back on this summer, you will remember his air conditioner blasting in his room. Bonus, the later you sleep, the more time you’ll have in a cooled, comfortable and private environment. 

But you know deep down, that you will always remember his warm, kind heart first out of all. 

With hands full of takeout from the nearest fast food to his house, Jaemin talks you through his list of movies that he wants to check out before you both fall asleep. He was so excited that he nearly missed the step up to his room, almost waking up the whole house with how his body would tumble down the staircase otherwise. But oh how much he would if it meant that you wouldn’t be crying on the humid, summer night.

"It's perfect, Jaem." 

You comment when Jaemin asks you about the temperature of his room and he gives you a relieved look, smiling in satisfaction to know your thoughts. Jaemin starts to unload the snacks in his arm on his study table, prompting you to do the same. He turns his sleeping laptop on, waiting for his device to start up.

In the meantime, his attention falls on you once more. "You must've been overwhelmed." His arm spreads open, silently asking if you would accept his gesture.

All you gave was a quiet hum and it momentarily worries him before you step to bury your head into his broad chest. You sigh into his perfect body temperature that balances the coolness trapped in the four walls. The corners of Jaemin’s lips rise as he starts shifting his body side to side, giving the hug a little more dynamic and comfort as he starts to sing your favourite tune to your ears. His fingers rake across your hair, not minding the whines and complaints you gave about how your hair is disgusting and oily, even pressing a kiss to your scalp to ease your worries. 

Your arms start to find home around his waist and your palm grips the fabric of the shirt even more, feeling eternally thankful for having a loving person in your life. A mutter, “Thank you for all this.” Your voice trails off, eyelids heavy and honestly, quiet snores could leave your lips at any moment now. 

“Always, bubs,” he muses back. “Maybe we can skip the movie night today?” 

The suggestion pulls your lips into a sour smile but you can’t hide the drowsiness in your system after getting small hours of sleep for the past week. “We have food.” But truly, it’s nothing that food can’t fix.

A raised eyebrow meets you when you slightly pull back to see the reaction on Jaemin’s face. “Food and horror movies.”

The shared favourite genre makes you break out into a genuine smile, excited for the movie marathon cuddled up in his bedsheets and the smell of food as you both expose yourself to the light from the computer until the sun replaces the moon. Jaemin watches you excitedly walk back to the door of his room where your bag slumps over on the wall next to the frame. 

“You don’t want to wear mine?” The suggestion is said with a smirk from him and your hands stopping to unzip your bag halfway. “Guess not!”

“No! I do!” You drag the last syllable out and when you turn to face him once more, Jaemin only lets out a teasing smile. “Let me steal!”

Indeed, Jaemin already has everything prepared for you, tilting his chin to his bed where some of his and your favourite hoodies are spread across the duvet. You spot the emerald green one, immediately jumping from your kneeling position on the floor and making the neat pile topple over at your eagerness. 

Jaemin feigns fake offence and an exaggerated gasp, “All my hard work!” He weeps to which you just roll your eyes as a response, continuing to take out your shower and night necessities to prepare for the night. 

“Alright.” A heavy sigh follows after, “I’m going to sho—”

But before you could take another step towards the bathroom, a pair of arms pulls you backwards, your back colliding with a chest that you know all too well. You can’t see the expression on his face but another thing that you know about Jaemin is when he leans down to press his cheek on yours, humming once more into your embrace, his cheeks are painted with hues of red and pink—his love for you overflowing from the simple back hug gesture.

“What you doing, Nana?” It deepens his blush, melting with how the nickname naturally sounds lovelier coming from you.

“Just go brush your teeth and shower in the morning.” He mumbles against your cheek. “I want to go on this movie marathon with you right now.”

“But you hate it the most when someone lays on your bed without washing up.” 

That’s also true. He does hate that a lot. 

The idea of outside germs reaching the place where he would be closing his eyes and be in another space for hours never fails to bring a scowl to his face and he always makes sure everyone who visits his space is aware of that fact.

But it’s you—and Jaemin loves you more to overlook that fact for a day.

“I’m planning on changing the sheets anyway.” He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly, “Plus, I literally get grease and pieces of chocolate on there anyways so I think I may need to change my mindset about that rule now…”

The mention of the substances makes you gasp, a similar one to the one he directed at you before. “Na Jaemin!” The playful slap on his arm only makes his hold against your body tighter, sending you both into a fit of laughter.

Amid the chaos you created, Jaemin makes his point clear with the previous topic, throwing himself still clad in his dirty clothes onto his bed and taking you down with him. You yelp at the sudden fall, throwing everything out of your hands to muffle the sound of your mouth, aware of the sleeping couple not too far away from this room. 

“Oops! Gotta change it tomorrow, I guess!”

“Na Jaemin, stop! I’m still going to shower anyway!”

So begins the shoving and wiggling for you to escape his strong grip on his bulky arms. You know shortly after running out of breath that it’s a better choice to rest your head on his pectoral, giving up on both the shower and possibly the movie night. The laughter dies down, but never the love that Jaemin shows for you. On the back of your head, you can feel his thumping heartbeat, the rhythm making your eyelids fall naturally.

Jaemin carefully slides you over to the mattress on his side, turning his body to face the girl he loves the most in this world. His eyelashes flutter quietly, quieter than the humming of the white rectangular machine stuck high onto his wall. He doesn’t bother waking you up, content with the tiny snores you let out through the small gap between your lips.

“And to think you were scolding me minutes ago.” Bopping your ice-cold nose with the pad of his pointer finger. “Okay, at this point you’re going to freeze.”

Though exhausted and body screaming to just fall asleep then and there, Jaemin pulls himself back to the edge of the bed, standing and stretching his four limbs. He quickly retreated to the connecting bathroom, picking up your discarded items that he made you toss to avoid his parents from waking up and scolding the young couple in love—though he knows they will just scold him given how much his parents adore everything about you.

Scared that you would soon wake up in the very uncomfortable posture that you have right now, more than half your feet dangling off the bed, Jaemin swiftly completes his night routine, skipping the one that would make his dentist question his habits but he pushed the thought aside for now. As quiet as he could, he makes his way over to your still peaceful figure. His knees sink into the bed, eyes observing you while he holds his breath to avoid any more unnecessary movements than the ones he’s making right now.

An arm lifts your upper body, and Jaemin quickly jumps behind you. You did stir a bit in your sleep when Jaemin undoes the noisy metal zipper of your jacket but nonetheless, he succeeded without bringing you back into full consciousness. In his head, he imagines himself doing a little celebratory dance under the shining disco ball, all the fluorescent light on him on the dance floor. Then, the same arm is placed on your upper back once more but now paired with his other arm tucked under the back of your knees. You quickly adjusted to the position, Jaemin raising your body high enough for you to relish in the remnants of his cologne on the crook of his neck. 

“I love you, Nana.” You confess to him earnestly. “I love you so much…”

Jaemin stands on one side of the bed, scanning the curves of your face intently as if he has never noticed the small mole on the slope of your nose. He couldn’t fight off the want to steal another kiss from you, bending his neck down to slot his soft ones to hug your plump ones. A satisfied hum is brought out after, Jaemin mirroring your content heart with another lingering press on your forehead.

Soon enough, your body is finally between his bouncy mattress and his weighted polyester. Immediately, your hands roam over to the other side of the bed where Jaemin would usually be, groaning when all you felt was the crinkles of the cotton that is not his shirt.

“Okay, okay. I’m here.” He assures the dissatisfaction painted on your face first by flicking the light switch off and then by wrapping your smaller frame into his own. 

The muscles of your whole body relax for the first time in a while at the thought of going to dreamland—maybe it’s the Jaemin effect. A hand makes its way to the curve of your head, fingertips half-buried into your strands. A slight gush of wind can be felt on your nose but you don’t mind the proximity, even continuing to scoot even closer, pleased with the hand on your lower back that pushes you in closer. 

“Sleep tight.” His eyes landed on the brown bag across the room and his muted laptop that plays your favourite comfort movie. He lets the movie play, strategically moving his forearm to block the blue light emitted. When he confirms that his shadow falls upon your lids, he places the lightest kiss as a final ‘goodnight’. “I love you.”

So maybe, you don’t hate the hot weather as much as you thought.

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 tags (send a dm/ask if you would like to be here or removed!): @k-labels 💙🤍 @k-films 🤎🎞️ @kflixnet 📺🍿 @sanaxo-o

[kiwiana-writes]

hi MJ!! for the sleepover weekend asks, i'd love some fluffy and a few hurt/comfort firstprince fic recs! and and for fmk: bea, june and nora from rwrb! okay thats it byebye ~saturday xoxo

Forgive me: I sat on this one for so long it's now officially NEXT weekend, at least in my part of the planet, so I guess answering this is also me kicking off this weekend's slumber party 😅

I'm doing FMK first, even though I need you to know this is CRUEL. Fuck Nora, marry Bea, kill June, but I am absolutely relying on Nora's smarts/Pez's cash to get her out of this situation.

Anyway:

FLUFFY FIRSTPRINCE FIC RECS

take me back to San Francisco by @getmehighonmagic: this has a sequel languishing in my emails for that magical future day when I'm capable of reading again but I have no doubt it'll be just as incredible as part one, which is FUCKING DIVINE. Also I just... really wanna go to San Francisco.

You love me! You love me? by anarchyat4am: How often I shoehorn a rec for this fic wherever it might be even remotely applicable is sort of a running joke by this point but I stand by it actually. This is a massive comfort fic for my trans ass.

Confidential Memorandum by @sherryvalli: this fic is so stinkin' cute I feel like I need to book a dental appointment every time I read it.

Dick, Dick, Dick (You Down) by @everwitch-magiks: do I feel a deep abiding kinship with Henry's anxiety being read as rudeness in this fic? Maybe, shut up.

Getting Clinical by @cha-melodius: Yes I'm biased because this was a gift for me, no I don't care, IT'S A FUCKING DELIGHT.

In His Wildest Dreams by @myheartalivewrites: This fic is a fucking fluffy blanket of joy.

If at first you don't succeed by @clottedcreamfudge: I am lowkey obsessed with CCF second first impressions and Alex being blissfully unaware until he's not.

HURT/COMFORT FIRSTPRINCE FIC RECS

a shard or two by @aeithalian: you don't read WIPs? I don't care. Read this one. I beg of you. Hands down the most criminally underrated fic in this entire fandom in my opinion. It is so, SO good. I reread it all the time in between chapters, I am hoping DESPERATELY the author will let me ficbind it when it's done, and I will scream about it from the fucking ROOFTOPS to convince y'all to read it. No cliffhangers, no relationship drama, just the meatiest post-canon deliciousness.

(but i knew you) baby, kiss it better by saintsnames: age gap my beloved, sex bloopers my beloved, two idiots in love MY BELOVED.

i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie) and even though we know it isn't true by @matherines: double-reccing even though these can be read separately because HAHA OUCH MY HEART. Both of these fics just fucking flayed me alive????

you were more than just a short time by @hypnostheory: DAVID 😭😭😭😭😭😭 mind the living fuck out of the tags but FUCK this is good. Heartbreaking, but good.

Downburst by @cricketnationrise had me clutching my face from start to finish I swear to god.

So I Will Weather the Storm by @sparklepocalypse: while reading this, picture me just screaming ALEX YOU FUCKING DUMBASS at my computer the entire time and it'll be like you were right here with me the first time I read it!

The Domestication of Household Spiders by @cultofsappho: if Spider-Man Alex has no fans I am dead etc etc. This is so fucking SOFT from start to finish.

[Sleepover weekend!]

[2smolbeans]

Part 2 of the fem yan ceo x ex girlfriend reader

Part 1

Part 3 (WIP)

Cw: gaslighting, manipulation, from enemies - to lovers - to exes, a bit of angst, old woman toxic yuri, overall just toxic and dark behavior(?).

When she hugged you, you were so confused, pissed even. You pushed her away, cussing her off, clutching your fists. What the fuck? Was the first thing you thought of. Why was she here?! You demanded, completely livid at the sight of her. She looked at you, not even afraid or worried, but a bit sympathetic. Before she could get a word out, you pointed to the door, trembling. "Out. Now." She frowned, crossing her arms. "Now come on-" "Is this a fucking joke to you? Out. Now!" She didn't listen, just stared at you with a small frown, like your tantrum was an inconvience. "You don't want to talk? Not even a little?" You laughed, completely angry beyond reasoning. "After what? 20 years?! No, why would I? I don't owe you anything, I don't owe you shit" She dropped the frown, looking a little desperate. "Please, just for a bit. I missed you" You screamed, face red as the hurt feelings came rushing back to you like an old memory. "How do you think I felt?! What about me?! It's always you, you, YOU! But never about anyone else!" She looked guilty, her arms still crossed while her lips were kept in a straight line. "Miss me? What a joke. You left me!" "I can explain-" "Well I don't care!" You screamed, tired of her voice. "Why? Just why?" You sigh, taking a seat in the kitchen, giving up and knowing she wasn't budging. She closed the door behind her, making herself welcome when she sat beside you. You had your elbows on the table, massaging your temple as you felt a headache. "I know I hurt you, I know I never got to apologize. Just let me do this" you decided to humor her, so you stayed quiet. "I had to do it for my dad, it wasn't easy. I was at a rough time in my life. You understand that our lives were different from each others right?" Excuses, excuses, you rolled your eyes. "What? You want us to be back together huh? Like nothing happened?" You smiled, the venom seeping out from your eyes. She flinched a little, a sweatdrop rolling from the side of her forehead. "N-No.. I know that's not possible now. But I... I don't know" It took her a while before she spoke again. "I just wanted to let you know that I thought about you everyday. That I still think about what could've been. How much I hurt you" the look on her face almost made you cry again. So fucking stupid, so very fucking stupid, you cursed inside your head, hating yourself for letting her do this to you. "What the fuck.." She put both of her hands on the table, offering for you to hold both of them. All you really ever wanted was for her to come back, for her to love you. You used to dream of this moment yesrs ago, the day she would come back and apologize. But that was years ago, and now that it was actually happening, you didn't know what to do or say. You grabbed her hands though, letting her hold them as she talked to you with that awful sincerity. "I'm sorry. I should've been there for you. I should've done more, I should've done so much more." You swallowed, listening intently to the tone of her words. "I know you won't ever forgive me. It's too late for that. But please, let me make it up to you. Let me do something." The logical thing that should've been done was to kick her out. To lie and pretend you forgave her and never speak to her again once she was out the door. But, you couldn't. You could, but you didn't want to. That pathetic part of you wanted her back, just like those years ago. So like a poor fool, you let her back into your life, knowing full well you'd regret it.

But you never knew what extent you'd regret it to.

.

.

[pretty-circa006]

Unhealthy Attachments pt.1

Coach! Negan x Student! F! Reader

summary Negan, your gym coach, takes pity on you after seeing the way your peers treat you. tags mentions of bullying/ mild bullying, second person pov (sorry lol this is old pls forgive me) note this is an old WIP that i'm choosing to post because i haven't had time to write anything new (I WILL EVENTUALLY, I PROMISE, BUT COLLEGE IS DRAINING MY FREE TIME). this is part one of a multi-part series, maybe it'll even evolve into a longfic, who knows. btw you guys will have to pry coach negan x student reader fics from my cold dead hands bc i loooove writing these.

wc 1.3k

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ 

You stood lined up with the other students in your PE class, waiting to be chosen by the team captains for this class' soccer game. It didn't even phase you how every other student was picked before you, leaving you the last one standing until one unlucky captain had to pick you. That's just how things went, you were always the odd one out. Even now, everyone wore the usual school issued PE uniform of a t-shirt and shorts, while you had on the sweater and sweatpants version- in ninety degree weather. You were just honoring your father's, the town's local pastor, principles of modesty. Being the pastor's daughter felt isolating. Nobody invited you to things or wanted to be friends with you for fear that the indecencies of their typical teenage behavior would get back to their parents by way of the pastor; and of course he'd get that information from none other than you, his daughter. You never would, though. In middle school, you learned the hard way to not be such a narc, but by then it was too late and nobody trusted you or even wanted to be near you. 

 "Over here!" you shouted to your teammates, wanting them to pass you the ball. You had a perfect shot to the other team's goal. Like always, they ignored you, but it didn't matter because they scored anyway. You didn't give up on trying to be a team player, though. The gym coach, Negan, was watching the game closely and you wanted him to see that you cared and tried to put effort into his class. Maybe it was because he was the only person who ever paid you any attention, but the fear of letting the handsome man down weighed heavily on you. 

"Guys, I'm open!" you yelled. Your desperation to be a part of things was becoming so pathetic that Negan had to direct his focus elsewhere. Maybe it was by mistake, but the ball came rolling your way. Hope blossomed within you. It sounded silly, but you hoped that even something as little as you scoring a goal would make your class like you again. You kicked the ball, sending it flying to the opposing team's goal. It would have made it in if someone didn't intercept- someone from your own team, you notice- and kick it directly at you. You didn't have time to dodge it because it had already smacked you square in the face, knocking you over. You clutched your nose as you writhed on the floor in pain, salt being rubbed even further into your wound by the snickers of your classmates. 

 Negan blew his whistle and called a foul. He profanely scolded the students about their bad sportsmanship and lectured  them on treating their teammates fairly. He helped you up off the floor and led you to his office with an arm wrapped around your shoulder. You sat in one of the chairs with your nose plugged up with tissues per Negan's orders after it started bleeding. It didn't seem broken, so he didn't deem your injury bad enough to send you to the nurse. 

"You can go back now," he told you once fresh blood stopped flowing from your nose between tissue changes. 

"Do I have to?" you asked with teary eyes. You were tired of all the bullying and just ready to graduate already. Your senior year was almost over and you were legally an adult, so why did you still have to put up with everyone else's childish behavior.

"You're all healed up. Don't see why you needa be in here any longer." It was obvious that he wanted you out of his office, probably feeling the same way your classmates felt about you. It shouldn't have surprised you, yet it stabbed you in the heart.  Your chin and lips quivered as you blinked back the tears burning in your eyes. 

"C-can I just stay in here?" you cringed at the way your voice cracked. He rolled his eyes and sighed. 

"Just because your sucky ass team is losing doesn't mean you can hide out here and skip class." 

"That's not why!" you pleaded. 

"Then why?" he asked. 

"Everybody hates me!" You couldn't keep it together after finally saying it out loud. You sobbed like a baby, tears streaming down your face and snot dripping from your nose. You were ugly crying but you didn't even care, it wasn't like you had anyone else's respect to lose. Negan got up and closed the door in an attempt to save you some dignity. Your breathing became short and rapid as your bawling made it difficult to take in oxygen. 

"Teenagers are so goddamn hormonal and dramatic. Nobody hates you, kid," he said disinterested. 

"E-even you d-d-do!" you choked out before going back to wailing. He felt bad for you. He saw the way others treated you and it made him feel worse seeing you long for the acceptance of people who rejected you and took pleasure in your pain. But that's high school for you.

"What makes you think I hate you?" he asked, genuinely curious. He didn't hate you, not even close. He just couldn't stand seeing you walking around like a kicked puppy-dog, it was pitiful. You tried to explain your reasoning, but everything that came out of your mouth was an incoherent blubbering, stuttering, and hyperventilating. He pulled you up from the chair and cradled you in his chest, just letting you sob into his sweater. He hushed you and rubbed your back in soothing circles. It was the best he could do, he knew his words sure as hell couldn't offer the comfort he wanted to give you. Your sobbing eventually calmed into small hiccups and occasional sniffles. 

"Why does everyone hate me?" you whispered. He wanted to tell you that they didn't and that's just how high schoolers are, but he didn't want to lie to you. 

"You're almost outta this goddamn shit hole, kid. Jus' keep your head held up high and finish the year off strong." He clapped a strong hand on your shoulder for added reassurance. You gave him a small smile before trudging out of his classroom and to the locker room now that the class was over.

...  

 Negan comforting you in his office that day made you feel like he was a safe space. He seemed to be the only person who cared, or bothered to do anything about how others treated you, even if it was just the bare minimum, you felt it was better than nothing. 

"Coach," you muttered shyly, standing outside his open office door in the gym. He glanced up at you from whatever work he was doing and immediately sighed. It was a miracle to him that you were oblivious as to why people bullied you. Here you were, dressed so matronly in a long floral skirt that resembled an old woman’s wallpaper and an awful knitted sweater. He knew you were a pastor’s daughter, but did you really need to dress the part. 

“What do you need, kid?” He asked, focusing on his work again. “Can I eat lunch in here?” 

“Why? The bathroom crowded or somethin’?” He joked. When you nodded your head yes, he immediately felt guilty. He motioned with his hand for you to sit in one of the chairs before his desk. You happily took a seat before offering him half of your sandwich. 

“It’s turkey,” you said when he looked at you strangely. He accepted the half and ate it while he worked and you sat in silence enjoying the change of scenery. 

“You don’t actually eat lunch in the bathroom, do you?” He asked. 

“There’s nowhere else for me to sit,” you admitted shamefully. 

“That is  fuckin’ disgusting!” You shrugged your shoulders and went back to your sandwich, embarrassed to let Negan see how pathetic your life really was. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

“Look, if you have nowhere else to sit, you can eat lunch in here.” You visibly perked up, a your face splitting into a joyous smile. 

“Really?” 

“Don’t make me fuckin’ regret it.”

next part ▶︎

[sceletaflores]

•｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ wip wednesday!

thanks for the tag babes! @guiltyasdave • nsfw under the cut! 18+ MDNI!

wip #1 • show me a little bit of spine! feat. logan howlett (& crimson!)

'five x-men walk into a bar, only three walk out…'

oops i don't have a sneak peek for this one...sorry chickens.

this is an official part two to "all's fair in love and viscera" cause i can't leave them alone to save my life! i finally decided on the name crimson for this specific reader, and the au as a whole will be called the to the bone universe (that’s also how it’ll be tagged on my acc!!!)

this is jealous!logan getting down and dirty in a bar bathroom after a special someone makes a move on his girl...wink wink nudge nudge. a special guest! a very special guest, cause what better way is there to get a man off their ass and admit they like you than dirty dancing with another man in front of him.

think degradation, biting, pain kink (obvi wtf). there's also some emotional constipation and just a hint of angst. it'll be so fun!

wip #2 • says he needs it bad (oh so very bad) feat. sub!logan howlett (& crimson!)

'it’s not often that logan needs this, but you’re always more than happy to give it to him when he does…'

double oops i don’t have a sneak peek for this one either…pls forgive me!

this is also apart of the to the bone universe but it's more like a non-connecting little blurb than another part...if that makes sense lol i just wanted to write more crimson!

all this is thanks to a lovely anon who sent in a req desperately needing me to speak on sub!logan. it's funny because ofc i'll speak on sub!logan wtf who do you think i am. it's honestly one of the fluffiest, softest things i've ever written...established relationship is really locking my ass down. it's still filthy though don't worry! think riding, think pain kink, think light dustings of a breeding kink. i really don't know how to explain this lmao it's gonna be great trust me!

wip #3 • hunting for sport... feat. logan howlett (& crimson!)

'there's a big bad wolf somewhere in these woods...'

You scramble backwards, stuck watching the way the brush starts to rustle as he gets closer. You push yourself back to your feet, muscles screaming in protest as you break into a sprint. It's all in vain, you know it is. He's only playing with you, letting you tire yourself out. He’s known where you’ve been the whole time, could smell you the whole time, could hear you the whole time. The two of you have been at this long enough now, his patience is starting to run thin. He's right behind you, if the violent thrashing of the brush over your shoulder getting louder is any indication. The dull sound of claws ripping through the forest floor growing closer and closer before the entire woods suddenly tilts on its axis.

this is also in the to the bone universe! can you tell that i'm really into this au? i physically can't stop writing them...another little fic that's outside the events of parts one and two :))) who would i be if i didn't write a chase fic for this man? that's the real question. more violence heavy than the other fics listed, i got bit by the freak bug and i need to write nasty sexy violence sorry babes.

wip #4 • give it to me like a man! feat. dbf!patrick zweig

'patrick comes to your college graduation party, he gives you the best gift...'

“Yeah, I've been pretty busy since the season started. Lot’s of traveling and shit, you know?” Your dad hums in agreement, nodding his head lazily. “For sure, my schedule has been killer this season.” He brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Patrick are in the same boat. Only your dad’s boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing to cushy televised matches and Nike shoots while Patrick is floating on a dinghy to some barely media covered ITF matches. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?” Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow motion, your palm grinding over the tip through the denim. “Yeah, daddy.” You say, voice going light and airy around the edges. Patrick thinks it’s being said to your dad, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re already looking at him. Eyes half-lidded and shiny as your fingers brush over the metal of his zipper.

the long awaited dbf!patrick lol i know i've been dragging this damn thing out for like three weeks but it's the most "done" fic on this list so maybe maybe MAYBE it'll actually be posted soon...

anyway this is nothing but pure filth. just straight up nasty no plot at all pure sex and fucking hard gross style. lots and lots of dirty talk, degradation, risk play, sort of public sex, a barely there daddy kink...just me being nasty on a google doc for no reason!

no pressure tags! @ebodebo @artemis-b-writes @avocado-writing (it's technically thursday but like oh em gee who cares just do it anyway chickens)

[wanderingblindly]

i can only agree with the other anon, your prompt fills are giving me LIFE <3 and if you have the time, could we maybe get a landoscar + 22 or 31 pls? have a lovely evening!

YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD GET RID OF ME!!! YOU REALLY THOUGHT!! UNFORTUNATELY FOR YOUR ALL I CAN'T WORK ON ANY OF MY WIPS BECAUSE MY BRAIN IS IN HELL!!! anyways here's landoscar for "a kiss after a small rejection", looooooosely inspired by Hungary 2024! prompt list here :))

What Can I Say?

The lift is deathly silent, almost like it's frozen. If he couldn't feel it moving under his feet, if he wasn't intently watching the numbers tick upwards towards their end, he would think it was the universe punishing him further – giving him more chances to fail at biting his tongue.

Oscar's standing next to him so stilly that, similarly, Lando wonders if he's turned to stone.

He doesn't even know what to say to him. Clearly he's meant to say something if Oscar chose to sneak into the same lift, if he waited in hospitality for so long that the bulk of the crowd had died down.

The lift ticks by the fifth floor.

He's meant to say congratulations, probably. Definitely. He's definitely meant to say congratulations, meant to drown out the caustic words building on the back of his tongue. It's not that he doesn't want to, but it's hard. Not because it came at the expense of Lando's win – he can get his own wins, those not handed to him by strategy and team orders. But it's the fact that it came after his own public lambasting, a public verbal crucifixion as the team drove nail after nail into his bleeding wrists.

How is he meant to say congratulations when it was written in his own blood?

Oscar doesn't even know that it was, not really. He didn't hear each strike of the hammer unto iron, like it's some tightly kept secret between Lando, the team, and every single fan. But not Oscar.

It hangs in the stagnant air between them: a secret the other doesn't know exists and the looming feeling that they'd both simultaneously played the villain and the victim.

They pass the tenth.

"You could come to mine," Oscar finally mumbles, voice so quiet that Lando nearly misses it. It's not quite an invitation, definitely not a question. Certainly it's not a declaration of want, of desire. It's something more fragile than that.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Lando says; from the corner of his eye, he sees Oscar move – leaning against the wall like speaking took it out of him.

"Oh."

"It's not…" Lando trails off, finally giving up with a sigh; he joins Oscar against the wall, both of them still staring at the ticking numbers. It's a countdown to something.

"A good idea." Oscar repeats for him, tone harsh in it's neutrality.

"What do you really want?"

Oscar crosses his ankles. He uncrosses his ankles. "I dunno, just to like…" He rubs his hand across his face, the way that makes his delicate skin turn pink. "Go back to normal."

Part of Lando's glad that it's not just him, that he isn't alone in the feeling that the air has gone too thin.

"It will," He says, finally turning to look at Oscar – his eyes are a little red, blinking like he's trying to keep more unsavory emotions at bay. "But not right now."

"I won't apologize," Oscar answers, though Lando never asked. He never asked because he never expected it, because he – honestly – never needed it. He doesn't need Oscar's apology just like he doesn't need Oscar's forgiveness, because, at the end of the day, they knew this was a risk.

And it was a risk they took, last year in in Singapore.

"Me neither." Lando says.

The lift hits fifteen. Lando's on twenty, Oscar somewhere above.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Lando continues, standing back up and straightening out his polo. Oscar follows him like a shadow, hands shoved in his pockets.

"We'll be ok." He, again, answers something Lando hadn't asked – something Lando knows.

"I know," Lando agrees, voice soft. Before the doors can open, pulling them apart to go ask what ifs into the dark of their hotel rooms, Lando leans towards Oscar. "Soon." Gently, so gentle it may as well have never happened, Lando presses his lips to Oscar's – as if sealing a promise, a deal.

Oscar doesn't move, just takes what Lando gives him and offers lightly closed eyes in return – as if he wishes it could be more.

They separate just before the door opens.

Lando leaves without a goodnight.

[ladykailitha]

Sweet Home Indiana Part 5

Hey all! Heads up for those that missed my previous announcements, I'm going on vacation starting today for about a week.

No WIP Wednesday tomorrow as it's my niece's graduation, but it should be back on next week, depending on how late I get in.

We finally hit pinnacle douche Eddie and the beginning of his turn to the lovable Eddie we know and love.

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4

****

Steve walked into his house after a long day at the shop to find Eddie in the kitchen making dinner. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked behind him at the door he clearly unlocked to get in and then back at Eddie.

“How the fuck did you get into my house?” he growled, throwing his keys in the dish by the door and kicking off his shoes.

Eddie didn’t even bother looking up from his dicing of vegetables. “Robin always forgets her keys, so you have to have a spare for her to get in, and because she’s so forgetful it has to be in the same spot.”

Steve let out an annoyed huff. “Under the second flower pot with duck.”

“Right in one, darlin’,” Eddie said, looking up at him with a grin.

“So is this your new strategy to get me to sign the divorce papers?” Steve asked pulling out a beer from the fridge. “Buttering me up?”

“Well,” Eddie said going back to his cutting, “since we’re still married and all with you refusing to sign the papers, I figured I’d just move back in.”

Steve dug around his crock drawer for the bottle opener. “Like you’d give up your cushy tattoo job up in Seattle.” He popped open the lid and took a sip.

He immediately went to the sink and spat it out. “What the fuck is that?!”

“Craft beer!” Eddie said with another grin. “It’s all the rage out on the West Coast. But anyway, I was in town and stopped by the furniture shop because that couch is hideous and has to go. And of course we're going to need a bigger bed.”

Steve scoffed and shook his head. “Whatever, babe. It’s your money.”

Eddie stopped chopping and said with all the innocence he could muster and said, “But Stevie, I thought it was our money.”

Steve who had opened a bottle of his own beer and was drinking it, suddenly froze. His throat still moved, swallow after swallow but the rest of him was stock still.

“I bet the words ‘joint checking account’ are flashing through your mind right now,” Eddie sneered.

Steve emptied his bottle and threw it into the sink with a loud crash. “How much did you take?”

Eddie turned around and faced him, crossing his arms over his chest. “All twenty-nine thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven dollars and fourteen cents.”

Steve’s jaw formed a hard set line and he clenched his fists. “You put it back, right now.”

“Why don’t you use it for something useful, Steve?” he asked, waving his hands in front of him. “You have a shop, why aren’t you putting the money toward that? Christ that is almost life changing money.”

Steve stormed out of the room and was back before he could even raise a protest. “This is what it’s for, asshole and if you don’t put it back I will never forgive you. Do you understand me?”

Eddie looked down at the papers in his hand in confusion, gingerly taking them from Steve. In big bold letters were the words NON DISCLOSURE AGREEMENT.

“Am I allowed to read this?” he asked with a gulp.

“It expired five years ago,” Steve bit out. “So yeah, otherwise I wouldn’t be giving it to you, would I?”

Eddie nodded and began reading. The date was roughly three or four months after he left and god was it a mess. It chronicled Susan Hargrove’s addictions to drugs, alcohol, and sex. And that if Steve wanted custody of her daughter, Maxine Maxwell he had to jump through so many hoops, including signing the NDA. His hand shook as he turned page after page of what boiled down to fifteen page document.

“The money is part of the settlement from the court,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “I put it in the old account because I didn’t feel like opening another one and forgot your name was still on it. It pays for her schooling, rent, and food until it’s gone.”

Eddie’s lip quivered. “Shit, Steve, I’m sorry. But I’m still in contact with most of the kids. Even Max and no one told me about this. Not ever.”

Steve frowned and took the pages from Eddie’s trembling hands. “I thought you knew. Hell, it was more than a nine day wonder here in town when the dust finally settled.”

Eddie thought for a moment, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. The more he thought about it the more it actually made sense. And fuck if that didn’t hurt like a kick to the ribs.

One of his worst parting shots was that the kids would be fine on their own. They had parents and friends and other people who cared about them. But that fucking NDA proved him to be the biggest asshole in that regard. Because it irrefutable proof that he had been dead wrong about that.

“Fuck,” he whispered, drawing his hands over his face. “It’ll be back in there by tonight, I swear. I’m so, so sorry, Steve. I swear I am. I know you won’t believe me and that’s okay. But I would never do anything that would harm those kids. Not if my life depended on it.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivered and then he pinched his nose and rubbed the end. And fuck if that didn’t break Eddie’s heart. That was Steve’s little tell that he was fighting back tears.

“You really didn’t know?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Eddie shook his head. “I didn’t know. Here...” he pulled out his phone and immediately transferred the money back. He had transferred it in several small amounts as to not trigger that that Fed law thingy and reversed every one of them. “All back.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath. “Were you really going to blackmail me with the money to divorce you?”

Eddie hung his head and let out a sigh of his own. “I can’t tell you why, but me and Chrissy are on a timetable and if we don’t get married by certain date, things can go very badly. So yeah. I was going to do whatever it took.”

Steve’s bottom lip quivered so him bit down on it to stop it shaking.

“Come on,” Eddie murmured. “Let me finish making dinner and we’ll talk. I think there are a lot of things between us left unsaid. I thought it was all on my side, but I’m starting to think there has been a lot of things that I haven’t been told about what’s being going on with you and this town.”

Steve nodded.

****

It took Steve a fair bit of breathing techniques to get his heart rate back to normal after that little stunt. And if he was honest, he couldn’t say had their situations been reversed, he wouldn’t have tried the same thing.

But there wasn’t anyone in his life right now that measured up to Eddie. Or at least that starry-eyed boy he fell in love with the first time.

Eddie had actually made his favorite meal. Manicotti. He had been cutting up the vegetables for the bolognese sauce that he poured over the top.

They sat down on the hideous neon green sofa while it went into the oven to cook.

“This sofa really is grotesque, Steve,” Eddie muttered, bringing one knee up so he could turn and face him.

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “That’s what everyone has said once they’ve seen it.”

“So why keep it?”

He ran his fingers over the worn surface thoughtfully. “Because despite how ugly it looks, it’s soft and comfortable. Great for naps and movie nights. If I spill something on it, I won’t freak out about it getting ruined.”

Eddie’s heart sank to his stomach. That was something that had made having movie nights over at Steve’s parents’ house such a nightmare. No feet on the sofa, no drinks anywhere but on the coffee table with a coaster, no dips or salsa, nothing red or orange, drinks or otherwise. It was the biggest house with the biggest screen, but it was a museum and not a home.

He actually looked around him for the first time, taking in the homey surroundings, the pictures on the wall of not just Steve and Robin, but all the kids. Birthdays, graduations, dances, you name it, if Steve was there with a camera, it was there up on his wall in some way.

The house was neat, but in a lived in sort of way instead of the strict tomb quality of his parents’ house. Christ. He had been joking about wanting to move back, but now he actually did. He could see himself slotting himself into this home as easy as breathing.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Right. So how long have you had this place?”

“About three years now,” Steve murmured. “That’s about when the shop started making a profit and not just coasting along above red.”

“I like it,” he said with a fond smile.

Steve gave his shoulder a shove. “You do not. You don’t need to pretend with me.”

Eddie grasped his hands to his chest. “Ah! I doth protest!” He paused for a moment and tapped his lips thoughtfully. “You’re right, I don’t like it.”

“See?” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I love it.”

Steve stared at him for a moment before blushing and looking away. “So how long have you and Chrissy known each other?”

“Two years,” Eddie replied. “She came in for a tattoo to cover up the name of her ex-boyfriend and we became really good friends.”

“And she’s a paralegal?” Steve asked.

“Legal assistant,” Eddie said. “Don’t ask me what the difference is, I don’t know. But she’ll always correct people when they say ‘paralegal’.”

Steve nodded.

“So, is it just you and Robin?” he asked, looking around the house for clues there was another person here. Either for Steve or for Robin.

“Yeah,” Steve said with a sad smile. “But not for much longer. She’s starting school in the fall. She just needs to pick which one she wants and let the other know she’s pulling out.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked. “What are her choices?”

“NYU and University of Washington,” Steve said. “I don’t get wanting to go to either except to get as far away from Hawkins as possible and still be in the country.”

Eddie laughed. “Well can you blame her?”

Steve leveled him with a glare and Eddie gulped.

“Right, sorry. That was a shit thing to say,” he said ducking his head. “I ran away and kept running away and you didn’t deserve that.”

“So why did you? Run away, I mean?”

Eddie ran his fingers over his face and let out frustrated sigh. “I thought it was what I wanted. The fame, the fortune, the screaming crowds every night. And maybe it still is, but the other guys got tired of it. Of the being away from family and on the road all the time, so by the time that all fell apart, it was just too much.”

Steve cocked his head to the side and regarded Eddie fully. He took him all in and not just the cursory glance he got at the bakery.

Eddie had filled out in a good way. He would always be thin, but he was no longer that waif he was in high school. He had more tattoos, which made sense considering his job. His hair was still as wild and untamed as always. He had stubble on his jaw and on his upper lip. There was a weariness to those dark brown chocolate button eyes.

“What was too much, Eddie?”

“The amount of pain I put you through,” he said softly. “And continued to put you through. You didn’t deserve any of it, sweetheart. You deserve a white wedding with all your friends and loved ones around you. You deserve to have someone standing by your side as an equal partner. You deserve someone who isn’t going to run the moment things get rough.”

“I always thought that would be you,” Steve admitted.

Eddie nodded. “So did I, once upon a time.”

“But not anymore?” Steve asked, breathless.

“No. Not anymore.”

****

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Tag List:

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @ravenfrog @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @vecnuthy @irregular-child

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95

7- @blackpanzy @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras

8- @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975 @thespaceantwhowrites

9- @mac-attack19 @blondie1006