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darlingdaisyfarm · 3 months ago

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⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ HALLOWEEN EDITION | Stan & Ford x reader ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

sorry if this is too late :,((

kind of inspired by two incredible artworks i reblogged earlier this week

tags: nsfw (it’s literally pure filth), fem!reader, oral (f and m receiving), p in v, praise & degradation, rough sex, overstimulating, dirty talk, biting, blood kink, sex toys, Ford is mean

࣪ ִֶָ🩸་༘࿐ vampire!Stanley

Stan’s in that damn costume, the deep red of his cape casting a dark shadow over his broad frame, fangs sharp and glistening. you shouldn’t find it as hot as you do. . .

Stan’s got you exactly where he wants you, pinned down beneath him, wrists locked tight in his grip, his body hot and heavy, pressing you into the mattress, holding you there like he never intends to let go. “oh, sweetie,” he murmurs, that evil smirk curling up on his lips. “you’ve got no idea the kinda trouble you’re in now, do ya? look at you. . . all spread out, soaked for me, you’re just beggin’ for it, aren’t ya?”

his mouth trails to your neck and it’s not soft. no, his fangs sink in, claiming you as his, groaning low as he laps up the drop of blood that blooms under his bite, like tasting you is all he needs. he lets his tongue trace the drop of blood that wells up, groaning as he laps it up like it’s the finest thing he’s ever tasted. Stanley is obsessed, absolutely wrecked over you, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his thumb dragging the crimson over his lips, smearing it, his eyes are dark, half-lidded and god, he’s so hard against you, his thick length grinding up against your cunt through his pants and he feels the way you’re already soaked for him, feel it seeping through the thin fabric of your panties.

“just like that, honey,” he growls, slipping his rough, calloused hand down, pressing his fingers against your aching clit through the cloth, rubbing slow lazy circles that make you whimper, arching up into him. “needy messy thing, huh?” he lets out a dark chuckle, watching you fall apart under his touch, his finger slipping down to push against your entrance, just barely pressing in to tease, before pulling away. “you want this cock so bad, don’t ya, baby? look at you, drippin’ all over my hand.”

Stan can’t help himself; totally crazy about the way you’re gasping, moaning, whining, practically riding his hand as he slides one thick finger inside, then another, stretching you open, working you slow, feeling how you pulse and clench around him, desperate. he’s watching, that dark gleam in his eye as he yanks your panties in one quick, brutal motion, tearing them away, they’re useless anyway, leaving you bare, spread open, trembling under him, your needy cunt exposed to his hungry eyes. “that’s it, sugar.”

Stan’s fingers pump into your wetness, reaching deep, curling up to press against that sweet spot inside that makes you moan his name and beg for more, makes your thighs shake and he’s just eating it up, every little sound, every twitch, every shudder, enjoying how helpless you are. “you’re squeezin’ me so damn tight, doll, like this pretty little pussy’s just beggin’ to be filled. you want it, don’t ya? you want this cock filling you up ‘til you’re creamin’ all over me?” Stan just watches how your pussy takes his fingers, admiring how hot it looks, nearly salivating, oh how starved this man is.

“goddamn, what a beautiful fuckin’ sight.”he mutters, voice low, fingers tracing through your slick, swollen folds, spreading.

his thumb brushes over your clit, gentle at first, just enough to make you squirm and buck your hips. hell, you look so delicious lying there, all innocent and laid out just for him, for his fangs. Stanley doesn’t just want to taste your blood; he wants to drink down every ounce of you, to watch you writhe under his tongue, to fuck you senseless until there’s nothing left but trembling submission. you’re such a stunning sight, gazing up at him with that smoldering need, thighs pressed together as your arousal builds. your neck is covered in bites and love marks, smears of blood dotting your collarbones and throat. fuck, if he weren’t so obsessed with your pussy, he’d paint you in crimson. you’re just so damn sweet, so tempting.

you feel his hot breath against you, his mouth hovering so close, so achingly close to where you want him, need him. and then— oh, god, he’s kissing you there, pressing his mouth right against your wet entrance, sliding his tongue slowly over your slit, drawing out every sweet sound from your parted lips. the first taste makes him groan and he just goes feral from there, his mouth open, wet, hot, working over you like he’s starving, he’s devouring you, worshiping every inch, tongue dipping into your wet opening, making your thighs tremble.

he’s so lost in it, groaning against you as he buries himself between your thighs, tasting you, savouring every last drop. “fuck, you taste so good, baby,” Stan groans, pulling back, watching you with drunk eyes and glistening lips. “sweetest damn thing I’ve ever had.”

he sucks hard on your swollen clit, his lips wrapping around the sensitive bud, tongue rolling slow thick strokes against it until you’re gasping, your hips bucking against his mouth as he laps at you furiously. Stan lets out a low grunt, one hand sliding down, pressing his fingers into your hot soaked opening, working it slow, just barely breaching the entrance, collecting your juices as his tongue works relentlessly over your clit, making you see stars and tug his hair, your vision blurs from pleasure.

he slips his fingers out, just to watch the way your slick coats them, shining, glistening so beautifully and then he’s bringing them up to your lips, pressing them against your mouth with that devilish grin. “c’mon, open up, darlin’. taste yourself, yeah? wanna see you suck those fingers clean.” and when you do, sliding his thick fingers past your lips, tasting your own arousal as you suck them, he’s watching you hungrily, groaning, his hand moving to unzip, to free his cock — thick, veined, throbbing for you, so ready, practically aching as he strokes it, his gaze never leaving your flushed, needy face.

“get on your knees,” Stan commands and as you sink down, legs trembling, he fists a hand in your hair, guiding you to his cock, pressing the swollen, dripping head right up against your lips. “gonna make you choke on it, baby,” he murmurs as he pushes in, filling your warm mouth, groaning at the sensation. the taste of him hits you, salty, hot, intoxicating and when he reaches the back of your throat, he doesn’t pull back, but holds you there, buried deep, growling as he watches the tears prick at the corners of your eyes, feeling you struggle, feeling you take him like a good girl you are.

“ffuck, that’s it,” Stanley grunts, hand tight in your hair, guiding your mouth over him, setting a slow, torturous rhythm. “take it all, honey, don’t you dare pull back. i’m gonna fuck this pretty little mouth ‘til you’re drooling, ‘til I see those sweet little tears rollin’ down your cheeks, beggin’ for more.” and he thrusts slowly, but roughly, his cock filling you over and over, making your throat clench around him as you choke, drool slipping down your chin while he just groans, rolling his hips, pushing deeper, claiming every inch of you, feeding his length into that hot, wet mouth until you’re utterly, completely his.

࣪ ִֶָ🧪་༘࿐ scientist!Ford

that look in Ford’s eyes is downright terrifying, a hunger so dark it borders on obsession. standing above you in his lab, he’s like a predator cornering his prey, latex gloves snapping tight over his hands as he flexes his fingers, testing the restraint of each one. “just perfect,” he says, a sinister smirk tugging at his lips, his gaze devouring every inch of your body, laid bare on the cold examination table. “finally, I have you right where I want you.” Ford feels like watching some rare, elusive phenomenon, one he’s waited years to study up close.

he adjusts his glasses, looking down at you like you’re his own personal experiment. his six fingered hands itching to explore every part of you.

“such a rare subject, huh. . .”

the way you’re spread out on this cold table, vulnerable, open, ready to be ruined, it drives him insane. Ford drags a gloved finger along your needy entrance, feeling how wet you already are. “there we go,” he whispers, eyes glued to your exposed core, barely able to keep his composure as he leans down, his breath hot against your skin, even behind his mask.

he’s teasing you, tracing his gloved fingers along your inner thighs, ignoring the way you squirm, the way your hips lift in search of friction. "oh no, no. . . don't get ahead of yourself. we’re doing this my way, understood?"

then Ford pulls a small vibrator from his lab coat pocket, holding it up to the light, inspecting it clinically with that smart look of his before pressing it right against your swollen clit, flicking it on with a twist of his wrist. you don’t except this at all, the buzz jolts through you, sparking your nerves into overdrive and he watches, utterly fascinated, as your body writhes under him, chest rising and falling, lips parting in gasps and moans as you shake in pleasurable agony.

“no squirming.” he says seriously, even a little bit enjoyed as he adjusts the speed, pressing it harder against your poor little clit, holding you in place with one hand. “do you know how beautiful you look like this? squirming, desperate. . . jesus, and I’m the only one who gets to see it.” he presses it harder, moving it in small circles that make you bite back the desperate cries spilling from your lips.

“god, look at you,” there’s something cruel in his tone, something filthy and mocking that makes it all the hotter. “already dripping for me and I’ve barely began. pathetic.” he doesn’t even wait for an answer, he knows you can’t, not when he teases you like this as he just pushes the vibrator against you harder, grinding it all over your swollen sensitive bud until you’re mewling, “such a good little experiment, so fucking obedient, just look at you. . .”

you’re trembling and he’s right, you’re so damn wet, your thighs slick with arousal. Ford finally pulls the toy away and just when you think he might give you a second to breathe, his fingers are on you, pressing two thick gloved digits right into your drenched cunt so deep it makes your eyes widen. “ohh, you’re squeezing my fingers like you’re trying to keep me inside,” he chuckles darkly, curling them just right and you see stars, your walls pulse around him while you can’t do anything but lay there and take it. “this desperate cunt was made just for me to fuck with.” and he’s got that creepy insane grin which you can’t see through mask, but you definitely know it’s there, as he starts pumping his fingers in and out, dragging every inch until you’re whining again, hips lifting, needing it rougher, needing something much bigger than just his fingers. “just listen to those sounds,” he taunts, twisting his fingers as he buries them knuckle deep into you, pulling out to thrust in again, making the filthiest wettest noises echo through the lab. you’re a whining mess, helpless to the way he plays your body like a madman studying a phenomenon he’s finally captured.

then, without a word, his hand comes down against your clit in a sharp slap, making you jolt, a cry slipping from your mouth as the shock and pleasure blend together, you look down with eyes full of needy tears, sniffing. “oww, did that hurt, darling? is that why your stupid pussy got even wetter? little slut.” Ford growls, rubbing your swollen bud with his thumb, soothing only to slap again, delighting in the way you jolt, the way your mouth opens in a silent scream.

“my god, look at that,” Stanford finally pulls his fingers out and holds them up in front of you, you bite your lip, all humiliated as your juices dripping down his knuckles. “such a filthy mess you’re making of my gloves, dripping all over me and it’s just from my fingers?”

when you’re all dazed and ruined, with flushed face and body, all brain fucked out of you, he finally takes his fingers away. Ford undoes his belt with his free hand, pulling out his cock — hard, thick, dripping with pre-cum as he lines himself up against your soaked needy cunt. "you’re going to take every inch of this cock,” he guides himself at your leaking entrance. "you’re going to take it, let me fill you up, fuck you so deep you feel me for days.” his length slides against your puffy folds, pressing in slowly, groaning at how good you feel, your warm and soft walls squeezing him, until he’s buried to the hilt, stretching you open. “mmhm, barely fitting around me, but you’re taking it, aren’t you? good girl. . . there you go, keep squeezing me just like that.”

he doesn’t give you a second to adjust before he starts moving, driving his cock into you, thrusting hard, rough, hitting so deep, making your eyes roll back, mouth open as your body clings to him. “can feel you getting tighter— gonna cum for me already, aren’t you? barely even started fucking you and you’re already falling apart.”

and when you cum, your whole body shakes, gasping for air as a powerful orgasm tears through you because nothing compares to the bliss of cumming on Ford’s cock while feeling him so deep inside. but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t pull out; he keeps fucking you, barely holding back his own moans, lost in the incredible feeling of your little pussy squeezing around him, making it all too fucking good to resist. chucking, Ford pulls your leg up, shifting you to your side, thrusting into you from a different angle, his cock hitting that spot that makes you moan his name, lost to everything but the relentless drive of his hips. “oh, you like that, don’t you?” you can’t even a answer, your body so pliant in his hands as he pounds into you, watching the way your pussy hungrily sucks him in deeper. “feels that good, huh? can’t believe how fast you’re cumming, such a desperate little slut for me.”

he really is fucking every last bit of sense out of you, until the only sounds you can make are broken cries of ‘dr Pines!’ and ‘please!’ as Ford pounds into your dripping cunt, rough and relentless, your leg hooked over his shoulder as he drives deeper.

drool is spilling down your chin, your mouth slack, open wide as the lab fills with the sharp slaps of his hips against you, the sounds of your desperate cries and his ragged breaths. but it feels so fucking good, his cock stretching and filling you in ways that make your pussy squelch with every thrust. Ford smirks, eyes dark as he watches your slick drip down onto the cold lab table beneath you.

you’re so fucked out that you whine pathetically when he pulls out, your cunt clenching around nothing, left empty and throbbing, aching for more. that’s why Ford slips you over, bending you forward, one hand fisting in your hair as he slides back in, thrusting deep, filling you again, and that angle makes you gasp, makes you feel every inch, every thick, throbbing vein dragging against your soft walls. “you’re just swallowing me up, aren’t you? like this greedy little pussy was made for me,” he groans, his hand gripping your hip, pulling you back onto him with every thrust, filling you, splitting you open, slamming into you hard enough to make the table shake.

“look at you, cumming again, can’t even help yourself,” he pants, voice mocking as he feels you tightening around him again, finishing on his cock again and again, trying to milk him. and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, just keeps thrusting, filling you over and over, until you’re nothing but a moaning, trembling mess beneath him, totally, completely his.

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blue-lights-to-dreams · 22 days ago

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Golden Light (pt. 2) // H.S.

part 2 to Golden Light! please read that first if you haven't already!

synopsis: you and Harry go back to your apartment after your date, and learn a little more about each other in the process.

warnings: smut, kissing, fingering (f receiving), i think that's it?

wc: 3.6k

a/n: the (maybe) long-awaited sequel to Golden Light as so many of you requested! thank you all so much for all of the love on that work, i'm so happy you guys enjoyed it. let me know what you think of this and if you'd like to see a part 3! :)

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The crackle of the fireplace (and the wine you were drinking) was almost enough to soothe your nerves. Almost.

You and Harry were sprawled on your living room floor, backs against the couch, enjoying the heat radiating from the fire as Harry described what he had gotten his family for Christmas this year. It was only the beginning of December, but he had everyone’s gifts already. He was so prepared, and the gifts he picked were so thoughtful. Each came with a backstory of exactly why he chose it, usually after the person mentioned something in passing once or twice.

A vintage whale-shaped coffee mug for his sister, who’d talked about how much she enjoyed a documentary about them over brunch one day. A beautiful landscape by a local painter for his mother after she admired another of her works when they’d gone to the art museum. He’d even gotten a custom doll made for his goddaughter after she complained one day that none of the ones at the store looked like her.

You’d picked out a riesling from your small stash of wine when you two arrived at your flat, remembering that’s what Harry preferred. You’d quickly changed into soft shorts and a graphic t-shirt, needing out of your dress, before the two of you settled on the floor and fell back into comfortable chatter.

It was probably for the better that he was the one speaking at the moment, because you could feel your head get fuzzier with each sip from your glass. As much as you tried to stay focused, you couldn’t help but run your eyes up his frame. He’d draped his blazer over the back of one of your barstools as he’d come in, leaving him in just his slacks and half-unbuttoned dress shirt. He looked stunning.

Harry noticed the way you were looking at him but elected not to say anything as he continued his story. “I’m really hoping she’s going to like it. How about you? Anything special you’ve gotten for anyone?”

His question snapped you out of your mild stupor, and you racked your brain. “Not really – I’m not nearly as prepared as you are. I only need to get a couple of things, though. Just something for my mom and a few for my friends. Nothing major.”

“No siblings?” He asked.

“Nope. Well, I do have them, but they’re my step-siblings, and I don’t think I’ve seen them since I was like 14 or so. My dad kind of packed them up and ran for the hills with his new wife at that point.” Your statement was blunt, and you picked at the skin around your nails as you explained. It wasn’t anything you had a hard time discussing anymore, given it had been upwards of 10 years.

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry looked like he didn’t know what to say. You probably should have said that differently, you thought, not wanting to overshare and make him uncomfortable.

“It’s fine, Harry. It was a long time ago, and probably for the better. My mom and I have only gotten closer since then, and I wouldn’t change it.” He nodded in understanding with a small smile but didn’t respond, letting his gaze drift to the artwork hung over the mantle of the fireplace.

A hush fell between the two of you, the noise of the fire and your creaky New York City radiator the only things audible. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, just calm and peaceful. You stood to open the window – the heat was getting to be too much. It was nearing midnight at this point, so there wasn’t much commotion on your street, but the sound of cars driving by now and then was familiar and soothing.

You returned to your seat, slightly closer to Harry than you had been previously. He seemed deep in thought, arm draped lazily over the seat of the couch behind him. His eyes hadn’t left the window after they followed your movement there.

“Whatcha thinking about?” You questioned softly, turning to face him and pulling your knees to your chest, leaning to rest your shoulder against the cushions. You didn’t mean to pry, but you wanted to know what was going on inside that pretty head of his.

“Honestly,” he exhaled, brows furrowing slightly, “you.”

“Me?” Not the answer you’d expected.

“Yes, you,” he spoke with a hint of teasing, flashing a quick smile at you before glancing away. “I was thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve enjoyed myself this much on a date. I really like you, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours like they were searching for your response.

His earnestness left you speechless for a moment. You stared back at him - his eyes were so green, so beautiful, like waves were crashing against white sand just behind his pupils.

“I like you too, Harry.” He relaxed slightly, shifting his position a hair. “This is definitely the best date I’ve been on in a long time.” You weren’t always great at expressing emotion, but it was only fair for him to know how you felt too.

He grinned, then, and pushed himself up to slide closer to you on the floor. His eyes were still locked on yours, both of you smiling at each other like giddy teenagers. His arm was almost around you now but remained on the couch as you lowered your legs, returning them to a cross-legged position. Harry reached forward, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear before allowing his hand to rest gently on the side of your neck, thumb caressing your jawbone slowly. He looked you up and down, again admiring how gorgeous you looked before flitting his eyes to your lips.

He inhaled briskly, hand not halting its movements on your face. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, of course. You don’t have to ask, but I appreciate it.” As much as you liked Harry being a gentleman, right now, you honestly just wanted him to be anything but.

He nodded quickly before pulling you forward, pressing his lips to yours. It started with slow, gentle movements of your lips together, but quickly became much more desperate. His hands roamed your face before moving to your waist, gripping the skin above your hips just firmly enough to drive you crazy. Your hands were pressed to his chest over his thin silk shirt, and you could feel the muscles there flex as he moved his hands around your body. You weren’t normally one to care about muscles, but something about his drove you crazy.

Harry’s thumbs brushed your lower ribs as he deepened the kiss, stealing your breath for a moment. Your hands instinctively moved to his hair, fingers knotting through and gently gripping his short curls. A small groan left his throat, shooting straight to your core. His hands suddenly gripped your hips harshly, lifting you to pull you into his lap. He swallowed the small gasp you let out as he did so, flattening his hands on your back to pull you against him as you settled on his thighs. The kiss was sloppy, now, almost depraved, as he tried to pull you as close as physically possible. The way you were tugging his hair was driving him wild, you could tell, and it only encouraged you.

You pulled away from his mouth for just a second as your fingers moved to toy with the small buttons of his shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Please,” Harry sighed, loosening his grip on you so you had the space to work. As you undid the last button, he pulled away from the couch and shrugged the shirt off, allowing it to fall onto the floor behind him.

He was breathtaking. At dinner, you could see the tattooed heads of what you assumed to be two small birds peeking out from under his shirt, but you weren’t expecting him to have so many more. Those swallows sat just underneath his collarbone, above a large butterfly on his stomach that almost appeared lifelike, the ink stretching and compressing as he breathed. His left arm was nearly covered in various small symbols and words, and you made a mental note to ask about them later.

Your hands returned to his chest, this time without barriers. The skin there was soft to the touch but you could feel the firm muscle underneath. It was warm. Hot.

The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smirk at your wide-eyed gaze. After a few seconds of letting you stare, he pulled your lips back to his, unable to wait. It was just as desperate as before.

His large hands slowly slid down your back as your mouths moved together, finding the hem of your shirt before reaching underneath it to grab your hips. The feeling of his warm hands contrasted with the cold metal of the rings he wore, pulling a small gasp from you.

His firm grip on your hips was short-lived as his hands quickly began drifting upwards, thumbs slightly massaging your lower ribs. Fingers splayed on your back, Harry felt you pant into the kiss, unable to catch your breath.

He pulled away for a second, removing his hands from your skin. A small groan escaped you at the loss of warmth, which you hoped Harry didn’t notice. One hand moved to hold your face and the other bunched the hem of your shirt and tugged on it slightly.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, not breaking eye contact. He needed to make sure you were okay with it, just like he would with whatever else ended up happening that night.

You nodded quickly, helping him lift the shirt over your head and toss it onto the floor beside you. He gripped your shoulders and pushed you away slightly so he could see you.

Harry thought you were stunning. His eyes raked longingly over every inch of you - shoulders, arms, breasts, and stomach, taking it all in. His hands slid off your shoulders to press against your ribs again, thumbs brushing the skin just under your bra. He tore his eyes away from the fabric and skin, gazing at you slack-jawed with blown-out pupils.

“Y’so beautiful, Y/N,” he panted, words slurred slightly from the breathlessness, and your heart just about burst in your chest. You weren’t used to being looked at like this, and it made you nervous, but the look in Harry’s eyes told you there was nothing to be afraid of. He didn’t look like he just wanted to fuck you – he looked like he wanted to worship you.

Instead of a response, you smashed your lips back to his. One of the hands gripping your ribs shifted to cup you over your bra, and you couldn’t help the moan that you let out. This only spurred Harry on as he followed suit, groaning into your mouth. The noise was divine – a low, throaty rumble that went straight to your core.

You needed more of his skin on you. Now.

You reached behind yourself and unhooked your bra, shaking it off your shoulders until it dropped to the floor on top of your shirt. While you appreciated Harry asking for permission to continue with everything, you couldn’t wait until he worked up the nerve to ask you before feeling his bare hands on your chest.

He took your invitation to continue grasping at your breast, this time with no barrier. A louder moan left you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, electricity pulsing through your veins. Harry groaned into your mouth again, his other hand resting on your ass and bringing it forward until you sat directly on top of his length. It pressed deliciously against you, pulling another gasp from your throat. He was hard beneath you as you ground back on him, hips rocking in sync with the kiss.

You broke away for a moment to catch your breath, continuing to move against him. Your head fell back until you were panting up at the ceiling. Harry wasted no time in connecting his lips with your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses, licks, and soft bites along it and down to your shoulder blades. The room was quiet apart from the symphony of both of your breathing, the crackle of the fire, and the odd car passing by.

He continued to kiss down your body to the soft tissue of your breast, capturing your nipple in his mouth. The feeling was heaven as his tongue flicked the bud before moving to the other side, his thumb replacing it. His other hand was reaching down your stomach to the button of your shorts, toying with the seams of the fabric. He removed his mouth from you, and you had to hold back a whine of disappointment.

“Is it alright if we get these off of you?” he asked tenderly, staring into you again. You nodded hastily, helping him unbutton them and lifting your hips so he could pull the fabric down your legs and over your knees. You kicked them off, leaving you in just your underwear as he looked you up and down again.

With the layer of fabric gone, your center met his again. You could feel the warmth radiating from his shaft as you pressed onto him, the two of you both groaning in pleasure. The rigid zipper of his pants rubbed firmly against your clit addictively.

A sudden wave of insecurity rushed over you as you realized the situation you’d put yourself in. Here you were, on a blind date with a near stranger, and you were already sitting on top of him in just your underwear while he was still in his pants. It wasn’t like you to give in to a man this quickly, but Harry’s face and smile and body and charm had gotten into your head and pushed away your ability to reason. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be doing this - it was quite the opposite, you were having a lovely time. You just didn’t want Harry to think you were easy, or that this was your plan.

You didn’t realize your movements against Harry had stilled until he was holding your face again, forcing you to look at him. He knew you were in your head about something, and he needed to find out what before taking things any further.

“Y/N, hey, what’s wrong? Do y’need to stop?” His voice was thick with concern as he searched your eyes for discomfort. You shook your head hurriedly, not wanting him to think you weren’t enjoying yourself.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you sighed, face flushing in embarrassment. “I’m just– I’m not usually the type to fuck on the first date. I don’t want you to think that was all I wanted from you.”

“Well, ‘f it helps, I wasn’t planning on having sex with you tonight.” Before you could react negatively (as you were about to) he quickly continued, “I just want to make you feel good tonight. You said you’ve been stressed out all week about work, and I just want to make that go away for you for a while. S’that okay, baby?”

Of course, he knew the perfect thing to say. Your eyes nearly rolled back into your head at how considerate he was, and the pet name at the end was the cherry on top. “That sounds really nice. Thank you, Harry.”

He chuckled before lifting your hips off of his and setting you on the floor next to him, making sure you were close to the fireplace so you didn’t get cold. His hands prompted you to turn your body so you were parallel to the couch. One hand took root in your hair while the other caressed the bare skin on your hip as he kissed you again, slower this time. Harry used your hair as leverage to slowly pull you down until you were on your back on the floor, him slotted between your open legs.

“I want to take care of you, sweetheart, is that okay?” As if you would say no.

Your whiny ‘yes’ was rewarded with his hands caressing your inner thighs slowly, teasingly. You assumed you were noticeably soaked, the baby pink cotton of your underwear unforgiving when it came to hiding your arousal. He massaged the soft skin, moving upwards until his thumb brushed over the fabric’s seam nestled in the crease of your thigh. Your hips moved of their own accord, lifting in search of any friction they could find. Harry tsked quietly, securing a hand on your hip and pushing it back down on the floor.

He rolled onto his side from between your legs, supporting himself on an elbow with his hand cradling your head and wrapping an ankle around your leg to keep them open. His other hand traced a soft line over the wet patch between your legs, fingers brushing your clit with a feather-light touch. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Harry, please,” you whined, trying to regulate your breathing.

He chuckled teasingly. “What d’you need, baby? Use your words.”

“I need –” you cut yourself off, unsure of why you were embarrassed to say it when you knew he already knew what you wanted. “I need you to touch me, please.”

That was all he needed before he slipped his fingers underneath your underwear and swiped them through your wet folds. The contact was heavenly, forcing a choked moan from your throat as he drew circles around your clit in a precise rhythm. He was obviously experienced, building that warm feeling in your stomach faster than even you could yourself.

“Need these off,” he ordered, tugging your underwear down your legs and helping you kick them off before he hooked an ankle around your knee and spread your legs again. His hand returned to your core, this time with his thumb pressing on your clit and his middle finger teasing your entrance. Your soft groan encouraged him to slide it into you, pulling a myriad of lush sounds from your mouth as he pumped in and out. When he curled his fingers into you and brushed against the spongy patch that felt so good, you thought you were a goner. That was until he slipped his ring finger in alongside his middle and picked up his motions on your clit once more. It didn’t take long at all for you to reach the edge, the feeling building in your insides until you felt like a rubber band about to snap.

“Harry, I’m gonna –” a prolonged moan interrupted your statement.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he spoke softly in your ear, leaving a small kiss on your cheekbone. “Let it go for me.”

That was all you needed. The rubber band inside you snapped, and your orgasm washed over you like a tsunami. You clenched tightly around Harry’s fingers, hips writhing, as he worked you through your release. He whispered praises in your ear but you could barely hear them as the room seemed to disappear, leaving just you and the feeling of Harry’s touch. You had to grip his wrist to remove his hand from you after a few seconds, the continued motion turning overstimulating quickly.

After taking a moment to catch your breath, you rolled onto your side to throw an arm around Harry’s neck and pull him closer to you. Your nakedness was catching up to you as not even the warmth from the fireplace was enough.

Harry quickly realized how cold you were and turned to grab the throw blanket off of the couch, draping it over both of you. That was something you were quickly learning about Harry – he was very attentive, and he seemed to be able to anticipate your needs before you even realized them yourself.

After a few moments of quiet, the sounds of your breathing mixing with the other ambient noises, you spoke. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything for you? I feel bad leaving you, you know, high and dry.”

He laughed, leaning down to press a kiss against your hair. “I promise m’okay, Y/N. What you can do for me, though, is let me clean you up and get you in bed. Our backs are going to kill us tomorrow if we stay on this floor any longer.”

----------

After Harry helped you clean up and change into a fresh pair of pajamas, he slipped out of his trousers, leaving him in just his boxers. You’d both crawled into your bed, and you rested your head against his bare chest as his arm stroked small circles on your shoulder. It took everything in you not to fall asleep, but you didn’t want this night with him to end quite yet.

“Harry?” you whispered, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere in the room with your words.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for everything tonight. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed myself this much, and I just want you to know how much I appreciate that.”

“Y’ don’t have to thank me – I had just as good of a time. You’re really special, Y/N. I’d love to do this again, if you’d let me?”

“Which part?” you laughed, “the dinner part or the after-dinner part?”

“Well, honestly, preferably both.” You were both laughing now, his stomach muscles tensing under your hand.

“I think I’d be okay with that,” you agreed, knowing deep down you’d probably beg on your hands and knees for him to let you see him again.

“Thank you, baby. Now get some sleep.” He pressed another kiss to your hair and pulled you tighter to his chest, his other hand ensuring the blankets were tucked snugly around your shoulders before he allowed his body to sink back against the pillows. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Harry.” You drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a certain brown-haired boy that you knew wouldn’t be leaving your mind anytime soon.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x y/n #harry x y/n #harry x you #harry styles #hs1 #hs2 #hs3 #one direction #harry #haz #harry styles smut

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lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

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His work of art

day 2 of drabble marathon

Older!book! Percy Jackson x reader

-£ ask: hi! love your writing and love you! could you do for the marathon (book)percy with the reader wearing red lipstick for some occasion and he is so enamored with this look and how the lipstick smears on their lips because of him🥴 and tries to convience them to just spend the day with him.keep thriving, bestie!- Anon

-£ words: 700

-£ warning: short, kissing, fluff, kinda spicy content but nothing to much.

it was unbelievable how much more he was craving your lips.

Percy had to hold himself back most of the time from kissing you every moment he was with you. training? he wanted to scoop you up in his arms and capture your lips with his. or maybe you’re talking about something and all he can do is stare at your pretty lips and going blank on what you were saying. safe to say percy wanted to kiss you every second.

but now, as you lean against the mirror in your shared bathroom with your makeup all done he watched carefully. his heart thumped in his chest he was sure it was about to come out of his skin from how fast and hard it was. you looked so stunning. it was incredible how you made him speechless at your beauty. your body in the new outfit you bought making your body stand out, everything about you in this moment was like staring at a piece of art.

he walked into the bathroom without a word and stood behind you, not caring about the glance you gave him in the mirror as he wrapped his arms around your waist. in his pajamas he hugged you close, his hair messy and all over the place and his lips yawned. he looked so tired. he hummed when he placed his head on your shoulder and in the crook of your neck.

laughing you look at your boyfriend as his hands started to grab at your skin. you sigh and put the cap on your lipstick with a eye roll.

“can I help you?” you asked amused. he didn’t answer but left a small kiss on the skin of your neck. you took a deep breath, “words percy.” he groaned and looked up at you from the mirror and rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Look too good,” he mumbled and tugged you back into his chest with a growing smirk, “you know much much I like red on you.” huffing you raised a brow and place your hands on his arms around your stomach.

“don’t be like that, this is a important day.” both of you knew that his pleading eyes could make you stay almost every time. he only winked at you then spun you around and placed his hands on the sink behind you, trapping you. looking at him you look so beautiful with half wide eyes waiting for him to do something. he wasn’t going to disappoint you and he leaned into you and pressed his lips against yours not caring about messing up your makeup.

at the time you didn’t think about anything else but his lips so you throw your arms around his neck and pull him into you. it made you feel amazing how percy could crave you and needy for your attention.

breathing against each other his actions became messy and you didn’t care about the mischievous smirk on his lips. he knew what he was doing. how easy it was to mess up red lipstick.

he pulled away when he felt you gasping for air and opened his eyes to see his artwork now. the red stain was not just on your lips but around it making him feel proud. he took your chin into his hands, “maybe you should stay home today? no need to fix that.” his thump ran over your lips.

you turn around quickly and see the mess on your face making you panic and grab a rag and wet it with water. “you’re so evil!” you shout a half hearted insult making him laugh at you.

his fingers tap your hips as he inches back near you, “me? you enjoyed too.” his head fell back near your neck, “stay with me today? I’ll make up to you.” it pained you to decline his offer but today couldn’t be missed. your interview was today.

“I can’t,” you pout your lips and starts to cover the skin again, “but when I get home you can mess up my lips again?”

“you know just what to say to me.” he chuckles into your skin. he leaves kisses over your skin until you have to leave him, only the thought of seeing you again makes him keep going.

Taglist: @itzmeme @ravenmedows @maria699669

#percy x reader #percy Jackson x reader #older percy jackson #older Percy Jackson x reader #book percy #book percy jackson #book Percy Jackson x reader

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slut4jeon · 11 months ago

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Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer (jjk)

Pairing: Officer!Jk x fem reader

Sypnosis: Tiredly calling it a night after attending your workplaces celebration New Year's Eve party. You may have or not ran through a stop sign foolishly thinking no one would have been around to witness it…oh how wrong you were

Warnings: mature (18+), smut, degradation, unprotected sex, Voyeurism, don't read this if this does not interest you!! You have been warned!

Note: I had this prepared early Jan but tumblr didn’t save my writing :(( so I gave up on it lmao. I also really wanted to write smth w tsx jungkook. The police trend w the Lana song gave me inspo for this although the actual trend isn’t in the fic.

You were calling it a night, exiting the noisy building that is your workplace. There was a currently a party in the building where your coworkers were celebrating the New Year's.

You were tired. The loud music and chatters annoying you. You chose a safer route tonight, sticking to sparkling cider since you were driving yourselves home tonight.

The cold air hitting your bare skin leaving goosebumps over your entire figure as youstep out into the windy area heading towardsyour parked car.

That's the consequence of wanting to look good and presentable for a celebration, you of course always look stunning. It doesn't hurt to get ready. You were currently sporting a black ysl mini along with a deep v neckline and a pair of matching black pumps. The shoes, also annoying by how sore they left your feet.

Black heels clicking onto the floor as you begin entering your car as you drove into the pitch black night. Admiring the way the twinkling city lights look, along with the lit up buildings and lampposts. You got a little too carried away when you were oblivious to the stop sign you foolishly didn't stop and passed by.

Regret lingered in your chest as you panicked over your foolish action. Perhaps you'd be fine as it is the late night and no cars were present, oh how wrong you were.

The sound of a police siren began ringing as the bright red and blue lights gaining up on the tail of your car. You pulled onto the side of the road swiftly and put your car in park. Your trembly hands gripping both hands onto the steering wheels most definitely leaving your palms and knuckles white. That's when you heard 3 knocks on your left side window.

"Shit" you muttered. Feeling a rise of mixed movement in your lower belly as you begin lowering your window. There you met the gaze of a handsome officer.

"Driving late on New Years Day? When everybody's drinking and celebrating tonight. License and registration." He spewed with a hint of sarcasm.

"Yes, of course." Your hand quickly traveled to your glove compartment pulling out the documents. Then, pulled your license from your clutch.

As he inspected you couldn't help but gaze at him. His raven black sleek parted hair showing off a bit of forehead. His black button up dress shirt that was tucked in the matching black jeans, and rolled up from the sleeves stopping before the elbows to show off his meaty arms that were covered in artworks of tattoos.

The stern look he holds as looking at your documents. The burrowed brow and line wrinkles in between the brows. He was attractive, godly attractive.

"Step out the vehicle for me" he said. You did as told

You couldn't help but gaze at him. He was an attractive specimen. But soon you were ripped out of your thoughts.

"Walk along that yellow line"

"Officer I'm not drunk or anything of the sor-" you were interrupted

"You were given instructions. I expect you to follow them." he bluntly said

Obeying his words you stepped foot onto the yellow line. The cold air doing you no justice as you were trembling from it.

What you weren't aware of was how he stared at your ass that was threatening to spill out of the little piece of flimsy material you call a dress.

Turning around, his gaze caught you off guard at how he stared at you as a helpless little fawn about to be hunt down by a hungry wolf.

"I'm gonna pat you down. Step right by the car for me, palms flat onto the vehicle", he demanded.

Swiftly obeying, you got into position. Beginning his pat down inspection from head to toe. His muscular hands roamed over your body. You wondered whether your goosebumps was from the cold wind or his slithering fingers tracing over your open skin.

As he got lower and lower, padding the waist and soon hips he made sure to grope onto your flesh just in case of any dangerous possessions.

You were a whimpering mess, biting into your bottom lip to suppress any noise coming out of your mouth. The attractive officer had an effect on you. Especially when passing your thighs and ankles, rising back to the top his movement slowed as he reached back to your thighs.

You let out suppressed mewls as his fingers inched towards your inner thighs. Your legs were gonna give up at any threatening moment. You questioned whether he caught onto your reaction to his touch.

His fingers were dangerous close to your soaking cunt. You were took aback at his touch you could not longer suppress the noises that urged to come pass your lips. Your heat was aching for his touch.

He took notice to your glistening folds in with your juices threatening to spill out of your wine red lace panties. The officer could no longer resist the temptation of the sweet treat in front of him.

Riding your dress a bit up his face inched closer to your cunt, nose and all. Hooking his fingers onto your panties and pushing them aside, he ate you out from behind. Your knees about to give in as he ate your pussy like a starved man. His tongue lapped over your clit playing with the cute bud left you a whiny mess.

"Please” you voiced out quietly

How cute, the officer thought. His fingers lathered your juices, leaving them coated and dripping. The sudden intrusion of his long fingers intruding into the tight ring of your hole.

With your mouth agape, your mind was left into a frenzy at how good the officer worked his fingers into your soaking cunt.

"Clenching onto my fingers, aren't you a little eager thing?", he said

You looked back to him to see his pretty pouty lips all swollen and tinted from eating you out. Your juices trailing down his chin and neck. He looked too edible.

He sensed you were near as your gummy walls clamped onto his fingers. Quickly pulling them out and robbing you of your release you mewled at the empty feeling.

You were a minx he thought. His cock hardening and imprinting his jeans. The feeling got only tighter as his fingers savored the taste of your pussy juices that coated his index and middle.

He needed more. Turning your body swiftly around the officer face to face with you connected both mouths together. His hands sneaked onto your hips and lower onto your ass making sure to grip the plumpy flesh.

You couldn't help out moan into his mouth as you both were in ecstasy. You needed more.

"Need to fuck that pussy, will you let me pretty thing?", who were you to deny him?

Eagerly nodding your head in confirmation. "Words, pretty", the officer said

"Please fuck me", you said in a desperate manner. That's all it took for him to roughly turn you around and begin grinding his hard length into your ass.

Desperate for friction you pushed out for him, like a bitch in heat. Your dress being a nuisance for him he unzipped you, freeing your bare body to be in display of his hungry eyes.

You wore no bra as the dress had padding, all you were left in was your wine lace panties. His lips traveled from your neck to breasts. Scattering marks as if he were leaving burns.

The way his teeth clamped onto your bud, sucking and pulling. Something about the way you were fully bare at his mercy as he remained fully clothed while he played with your pussy had you rubbing your thighs together.

"Officer please, fuck me!", you could no longer take it.

He smirked at your eagerness. Finding it humorously cute at how much of a cock hungry whore you are.

Your ears perked at the noise of him fumbling with his belt. His cock sprung free fully erect as he began aligning it to your entrance.

"O-oh! Fuck.., officer!", you blabbered incoherently as the intrusion of his length stretched your hole.

"-shit, such a tight little pussy", his pace greedily fastened.

You were a mess. All that was heard in the quiet night was the way he rammed his cock into your pussy. Balls slapping against your clit.

"Such a whore you are, aren't you? You like getting rammed from behind by an officer out in the outdoors?" he said as he continued abusing your cunt.

"Who would've thought a pretty thing like you was such a dirty slut, huh?" Your walls clenched by each word coming out of his filthy mouth.

"yes!yes!yes!", he fucked you deliciously good, your orgasm threatening to approach with his current pace.

You were cock drunk. Barely paying any kind of attention to the fact you were getting rammed out in public. Any person or car could pass by but your mind would only be focused on the way his dick drilled at a relentless speed.

His fingers sinked to your clit, rubbing your bud provoking your body to tremble in ecstasy of how he worked wonders on your body.

"Sir, i-it's too much!"

"You can take it ,baby. Milk my cock, make a mess.”

His words were perfectly on cue. Creaming his cock in your release. Falling limp into his arms. His release wasn't too far off yours. Head leaning into your neck as both of your panted. Silence went on for a few minutes before he helped with re-dressing you.

The officer broke the silence, "So, the names Jungkook. Could we perhaps exchange numbers, I'd like to take you out sometime soon.”

end

#jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #jungkook x female reader #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #fanfiction #fanfic #bts fanfic

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fayes-fics · 4 months ago

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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

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dark-moonlust · 6 months ago

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Caught Between the Fae

This is a Patreon commission I finished yesterday. The commissioner chose to remain anonymous. I hope you enjoy this small story! It was so enjoyable to write and it's super steamy, too! I love every part of it 🖤

Pairing: 2 fae males (Nestor, Quin) x f!human (Layla)

Summary: Layla is a photographer in her mid-30s. During her exhibition event, two fae males, Nestor and Quinn, are drawn to one of her paintings and her beauty. They recognize her as their mate and quarrel over who will get Layla and her artwork. Finally, they decide to share her as she belongs to them both. They claim her as their mate and go into a mating rage, driving deep inside her and marking her with their cum.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18+!!, fingering, oral(female+male receiving), kinky talk, a little bondage, big 🍆, fae magic to fit, p in v sex, anal, double penetratiοn, lots of 💦.

Tonight was her big night.

Layla took yet another deep breath and strolled through the art gallery. Her heart thundered with excitement and a little fear. That night, her photography was the star of the show. All her pieces were there for all to see and judge. She truly hoped the people would admire and grasp the feelings and meanings behind each photo. Her work was her pride and joy.

As she walked the sleek gallery, the room was a whirl of positive reviews and the clinking of champagne glasses. The people liked her work! Feeling her anxiety lessen, she smiled, soaking in the energy as she mingled with the guests. She let herself enjoy the vibes, her soft curvy frame moving gracefully through the crowd, her fiery red hair catching the light, making her green eyes gleam with pride.

Taking a short break, she stood near the center of the room and tried to calm her raging heart. The gallery was a big hit and a dream come true! She still couldn’t believe it. She wanted to jump and laugh out of joy. As she scanned the faces of the audience, her gaze stopped on two striking men in front of her favorite piece: a photo of a moonlit beach at night. They were boldly gazing at her piece and then her way.

A jolt traveled through her. Their gazes practically saw through her.

Tall and towering, they were both, with pointy ears and supernatural auras exuding such intense power that caused her whole body to come alive and warm up as if licked by fire.

They were fae... what otherwordly beauty.

The one on the left had close-cropped blonde hair, deep purple eyes, and although he wore a sleek black suit, she could see his neck and hands, which were filled with tattoos that surely filled the rest of his body. The other male beside him was all dark and sensual mischief. He had long, curly, dark hair and ice-blue eyes that sparkled with a devil-may-care attitude.

They were attracting the eyes of everyone in the room; their presence electrifying.

From across the room, Nestor, the King of the Court of Nightmares, stood in front of Layla’s photo, his deep purple eyes drawn to every detail of the mounted piece. The gallery lights cast the perfect light, illuminating the moonlight beach. His fingers tightened around his glass as he swirled the dark liquid inside. Beside him, Quinn admired the same photo, his ice-blue eyes attracted to the art and the artist herself. He was the Emperor of the Court of Chaos.

“Stunning,” Nestor murmured in a low mumble, scanning the room, his gaze finding Layla and staying on her. “They shall be mine. Both the piece and the artist.”

Quinn chuckled, his eyes equally intent on the female. “You wish. You don’t have what it takes to appreciate them both.”

“And you do?” Nestor’s voice was higher than usual, turning heads. “Thinking too high of yourself, aren’t you?”

“This art piece belongs in my court, and little fireheart in my bed.”

“Fireheart…” Nestor whispered, his eyes tracing the fire-colored hair of his mate, the soft and curvy frame he hungered to have exposed beneath him. “I’ll never let you have them. She’s my fated one and the Queen of the Court of Nightmares.”

Quinn’s laugh was light and mocking. “I’ll bid whatever the hell you want. She’s my mate, the Empress of Chaos Court. She will be mine.”

“You? I don’t think so. I want her and that piece, and I’ll have them,” Nestor stated, his voice hard with authority. “You’d better wet your dick elsewhere.”

Quinn’s lips curled at his words. “I’ll wet my dick inside her, in every warm little place inside her.” The Emperor of Chaos stared at his mate, their gazes meeting and holding. She was gorgeous. In every way. Her red hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled with passion. He wanted her. He’d never back down.

“She is mine.” Nestor’s eyes flicked to the other fae. “The moment I saw her, I knew she was my fated one.”

“And you think I didn’t feel the same?” Quinn spat back, with a hint of annoyance. Long moments passed before he added, “Perhaps there’s a reason we both recognize her so strongly.”

Nestor narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you implying?”

“Fate doesn’t make mistakes,” Quinn answered. “She belongs to both of us.”

“This makes sense…” Nestor trailed off, clearly considering the proposal.

Quinn chuckled warmly. “Finally, we agree on something. So, what do we do about it?”

“We claim her. Every part of her.”

It was that moment when Layla decided to approach them. She closed in on them, and they immediately framed her luscious body with their possessive, towering bodies on both sides. Layla felt hot all over, her frame shivering from the intensity of their aura and their mere height. The dynamic between the two fae made her belly clench with arousal and for a few seconds she felt such an intense magnetic pull towards them that she could barely contain it.

“Gentlemen… I am Layla, the artist behind these photographs. I’m honored by your interest, and I couldn’t help but notice your tension… is there a problem?”

“Good evening, Layla,” Nestor greeted with a sultry drawl. “I am Nestor, King of the Court of Nightmares. Your work is extraordinary, I must have it.”

Quinn grinned and stepped closer to her, his ice-blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “I am Quinn, Emperor of the Court of Chaos. Our problem is that we both desire this piece of art, though not as much as we desire you.”

Nestor shifted closer to her right side, his scent enveloping her. “You should visit my court, Layla, and be the crown jewel of my kingdom. Choose me, fireheart.”

“Fireheart?” Layla muttered, a little taken by the nickname and the intensity in his eyes.

Quinn hummed and let his towering form nearly envelop her left side. “We feel a connection to you, little one. A bond that cannot be ignored.”

Layla didn’t know whether to laugh or blush at their bold statements. The gallery suddenly buzzed with whispers and speculations as all eyes turned toward the three of them. Both fae males had surrounded her, and her cheeks felt hot, as did the rest of her body. Her pussy was also wet, aching with a need she couldn’t barely ignore. They weren’t just interested in her art—they wanted her.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding.

How could she refuse the King of Nightmares and Emperor of Chos without offending them?

“Gentlemen,” she finally said, her voice wavering, “I’m afraid the artist—meaning myself—is not available for such… arrangement. However, the art piece is. I am sure we can find a way to resolve this without—”

“Without what?” Nestor’s eyes darkened. “Without accepting the connection you are feeling?"

Layla opened her mouth to reply, but Quinn cut her off. “Don’t deny it, fireheart. You feel it too. The mating bond, the desire.”

Layla bit her lip and unconsciously rubbed her thighs together. Liquid warmth pooled in her core. “I… I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“Yet your pussy is wet and aching for us,” Quinn whispered against her ear, his breath warm. “And it’s not going away unless we take care of you.”

“Accept us, little mate,” Nestor said, sending shivers down her spine. “We can feel your need. You want us. Both.“

“I—I…” Layla stuttered wordlessly, her eyes flicking between the two fae. She felt such longing and undeniable attraction for them. But how could she just give in?

“You are ours, fireheart. Ours to claim in ways neither of us could do alone,” Quinn nodded, his ice-blue eyes intense.

“B-b-both of you…” Layla muttered, her body tightening pleasurably at the mere thought of those two fae belonging to her.

“Hmm,” both men growled, their eyes caressing her face and red hair.

Layla nodded slowly, listening to her heart which was screaming for them. Immediately, Fae magic surrounded her, stealing her breath away. The gallery blurred and melted away, replaced by a lavish bedroom filled with rich fabrics and flickering candles. Nestor and Quinn embraced her from both sides, their hands exploring her heated body.

Nestor scented her neck, his fingers tangling in her loose hair as if he couldn’t have enough of her. Quinn kissed her shoulders over the straps of her dress, each lingering touch leaving trails of delightful warmth and heat. When their gazes locked on hers, she felt hypnotized by the mating bond between them. It was real; they belonged to her, and she ached with need, desperate to be touched by them.

“Yes, fireheart,” Quinn rasped, sliding down the straps of her dress. “You are our mate, and you will be filled by us both.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nestor said, unzipping the back of her dress, his fingers warm against her skin. “Do you agree, sweetheart? Do you want this?”

“Hmmm… I want you,” Layla breathed, adrenaline pumping in her heart.

Quinn’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “Good girl,” he murmured, his icy eyes bearing into her emerald ones. They were enchanting, hypnotizing. “Now, let us show you what it means to be ours.”

Layla didn’t realize how quickly they scooped her up and propped her on the plush bed. They divested her of her clothing skillfully. Quinn peeled away her dress while Nestor unclasped her bra, moaning low as her breasts spilled free. He cupped them in his big palms and pushed them up to his hot mouth, suckling each pouting nipple. Quinn knelt at her half-closed thighs and gently removed her panties and shoes. Seeing how she hesitated once she was fully exposed to them, Quinn’s long fingers trailed down her belly, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin between her thighs.

“Open for us, little one,” Quinn said, his voice a seductive promise. “We’re going to fuck you deep, make you feel so good.”

Layla shyly opened her legs and suddenly both men were between them, each one securing a leg over their muscular thighs, their hands making sure she was fully open to their eyes. Using their magic, they removed their clothes, leaving her to gape at the two fae males, so big and powerful—in every way.

Nestor had a sculpted body covered in tattoos. His eyes were warm and inviting, his stomach taut, his thighs firm and in between... his cock stood proud, looking utterly inhumane. It was thick and very long, pulsing, its length surrounded by protruding veins. Quinn was no less captivating. He was just as tall, his stance emphasizing the force of his thighs and the raw power of his well-muscled body. His eyes swirled with blue ice as he pumped his rigid cock. It was deliciously curved and textured with ridges, a little thicker than Nestor’s but not as long.

Having both of them… Layla felt the dark desire, the intensity overflowing. The need. The craving. She wanted them. Wanted them more than anything in her life.

“Fuuuuck, our mate’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” Nestor growled. She looked so pretty and tiny in contrast to their raging bodies. Flushed face, nipples out, pussy exposed. He wanted to debauch her.

“Show us your pretty cunt, fireheart,” Quinn demanded softly. “Open those pretty lips nicely for your mates.”

Dazed by desire, Layla reached down and did as told. She opened her outer folds with two fingers, showing off her slit and the bud of her clit. Both men growled ferociously and stared for a few seconds.

“That’s it,” Nestor growled, bending to lick a thick stripe up her pussy. “So wet already for your mates.”

Layla gasped, all sane thoughts fleeing.

Quinn also leaned down to taste her pussy, kissing her throbbing clit. She saw stars.

“She is ready for her mates,” Quinn said with a smirk. “You’re going to take every inch of us, aren’t you, fireheart?”

Layla whimpered, her voice and body trembling. “Yes… Please…”

The two males smiled.

Nestor toyed with her pussy lips and Quinn rubbed her needy clit. Layla whimpered and struggled to arch off the bed. She squirmed restlessly, but their hold on her thighs was too secure, allowing no movement as their fingers probed and rubbed her pussy to their liking. She melted under their touch, her heart pulsing with the intensity of their bond.

“Such a sweet wet cunt," Quinn marveled, gathering her slick and rolling it between two fingers.

“Love your nipples, sweetheart,” Nestor drawled, moving to suckle one tit then the other, his tongue swirling around the hardened buds.

“Pl… ease,” she sighed, her body feverish with need. “Need you. Need you so much it hurts!”

"Hurts?“ Quinn said in a mischievous tone as he rubbed her clit round and round while thrusting a thick finger inside her. Layla cried out and Nestor claimed her lips, swallowing her moans.

“Hurts so good, hm, sweetheart?” Nestor drawled as their lips brushed, their tongues mating.

“Yesss, please, more please… hmnnn...”

No sooner had she said that than Quinn was tasting her mouth, kissing her possessively and deeply. His tongue licked into her mouth then his tongue danced with hers.

“What do you need, fireheart?”

Oh, how she adored the way they called her nicknames. She wanted to be theirs forever and get lost in their warmth and affection.

“Want you so much. I’m so empty…”

“Our mate needs to be filled,” Nestor said to the other fae. “But first she will cum for us.”

Quinn agreed in a low chuckle and finger-fucked her while Nestor pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing over and over. Driving her higher and higher until she exploded, bliss and pleasure overtaking her until she couldn’t think or talk. Layla quivered and while she rode her orgasm, Nestor suckled her lower lip. Quinn moved to her breasts, his mouth nursing her aching nipples. Captive in their hold, she arched into their touch, drawn-out moans escaping her.

She was still dizzy from her orgasm when they shifted. Nestor sneaked between her thighs, slapping his heavy cock against her glistening pussy. The sound was wet and squelching, her pussy fluttering with the need to be filled. Quinn kneeled next to her head, his cock pulsing in the air, the tip leaking precum. Layla licked her lips, hungry to taste him.

“Open,” Quinn commanded softly, “wet my dick, mate.”

Layla obeyed, her lips parting to take him in. Smiling mischievously, Quinn thrust his hips gently, his leaking cock stretching her mouth wide and filling it up. At the same time, Nestor entered her pussy, his girth spreading her cunt and filling her up inch by delectable inch.

“Mhppphhh!” Layla gasped and gurgled around the cock in her mouth, her pussy filled to the limit by Nestor. Quinn gripped her fiery hair, guiding her head to keep sucking him. She was so full… Quinn’s shaft kissed her throat while Nestor’s cock kissed her cervix.

“That’s it… fuck, you’re perfect,” Nestor groaned, watching her pussy suck him in.

“Is it good, fireheart? Being fucked from both ends?” Quinn pulled his cock out of her mouth with a wet pop, his cock coated in her saliva.

“Hmnn! Want more!”

With a proud moan, Quinn shoved his cock back into her hot mouth, going deeper and fucking down her throat. Nestor watched the lewd sight with pride. Their pretty mate struggled a little, but she took Quinn’s cock like the queen she was, hollowing her cheeks and clenching her pretty throat. She stroked his balls, cradling them in her small hands, her eyes rolling back with each thrust from both of them.

Groaning, Nestor pounded deep into her cunt, making her pretty tits bounce with each sharp thrust. He kneaded her mounds, his thumbs pinching her nipples, causing her to gag and whimper around a mouthful of cock, her breathing heavy. Gods, she was so pretty like this, trapped between them, their cocks spearing her back and forth.

A few calculated thrusts, and she came explosively, her body shuddering. Once she rode the waves of pleasure, the fae changed positions again, with Nestor fucking her mouth and Quinn taking her pussy. The dual sensations were overwhelming, liquid pleasure coursing through her veins as they filled her relentlessly. The room echoed with the rhythmic slaps of skin against skin and her muffled moans as she took fae cock.

“Such a good mate for us,” Quinn said with pride. Her lips were swollen, her pussy drenched with her release. “Now it’s time to take our seed, hm?”

“Hmp, yes… want your cum,” Layla said in a seductive purr.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Nestor drawled. “Ready to take us both in your soaked cunt and tight little ass?“

“Hmm, gonna take you both,” Layla nodded, seeing the pride and desire on their handsome faces. “Need to feel you inside me.”

In a flurry of motion, they repositioned themselves so that Layla was straddling Nestor, her raw breasts rubbing against his muscled chest. Quinn kneeled behind her, his strong hands spreading her asscheeks, his thumbs teasing around the tight, puckered hole. Such a cute little hole. Layla whimpered when Nestor gripped her hips and guided her down onto his throbbing dick while Quinn thrust a magically lubed finger into her ass.

Layla groaned, desperation and desire in her green eyes.

Quinn kissed her spine. “Relax your pretty asshole and take my fingers, fireheart.”

Layla clutched Nestor’s shoulders and tried to relax while Quinn squeezed a second oiled finger into her ass, the thick intrusions making her gasp and shut her eyes tightly. The combination of Nestor filling her pussy and Quinn’s fingers in her ass was strange. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at their mercy.

“So damn tight," Nestor muttered against her moaning lips, his shaft buried in the heat of her cunt.

Quinn added a third finger in her ass, pumped, and curled them inside her before replacing them with the head of his cock. The broad head spread her tight hole, forcing its way inside. Layla trembled at the dual invasion— they were so deep, stretching her wide around their inhuman girths. She glanced down at where they were joined, and with shock, she realized just how much more they had to go. Only a third of their shafts were inside her, and that both thrilled and scared her.

Nestor’s voice broke through her haze. “You can do this, sweetheart.”

“You’re so big…” Layla whined. She was human, could she really take them both?

“Deep breaths, mate,” Quinn advised gently. “Take a little more of us, hmm?”

“Feels strange…” Layla looked at them for guidance, her cheeks flushed, her eyes worried. She could feel their dicks rubbing inside her, and she took deep breaths that were mixed with cries of pain and pleasure.

“Let’s stroke your little clit,” Nestor murmured, his thumb stroking her bud, sending pulses of warmth all over her body. “Yesss, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm! Moree!”

“Such a good little mate,” Nestor cooed and proved his point by pulling out of her wet cunt then slamming more inches inside.

“Our mate needed a cock up her cunt and ass so badly,” Quinn growled as he worked deeper into her ass.

“You will take us, mate. Again and again until you reek of our cum. Our magic protects you. Relax your holes,” Quinn ordered in her ear.

Blindsided by the fullness of their penetration, Layla said yes in a series of raspy moans. Their fae magic infused her fully, empowering her and building her arousal. Before long, she’d taken the full lengths of their cocks. The fullness, the heat, the stretch— she was overwhelmed but in no pain. She curled between their powerful bodies, and when they started fucking her in earnest, she cried out, her nails digging into their flesh.

“Look at you,” Nestor growled, his purple eyes dark with lust. “So beautiful riding our dicks.”

“You’re perfect like this, fireheart,” Quinn whispered, his hands fondling her asscheeks. “So tight, so hot.”

Hands grabbed and fondled her as they pounded her, their cocks owning her depths. When Nestor’s cock left her pussy, Quinn plunged into her ass. Layla tried to get more friction only to have their strong hands restrain her. Nestor grasped her tits while Quinn secured her wrists with magical silken ropes, carefully tying her arms behind her back. The silk felt like a caress, soft and slightly loose.

She didn’t complain; she only trembled between them, her watery eyes begging them to claim her.

“If this is too much for you, fireheart, say “red” and we will stop. I promise you. Understood?”

“Yesss,” Layla nodded fervently. “Now… just fuck me.”

“Easy, sweetheart,” Nestor said, his hands gripping her thighs. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Layla was too far gone to think straight. “C-can’t! Want more!”

“It’s the mating bond. She is human, and it’s affecting her. Our magic is also making everything stronger,” Nestor explained to the other fae.

“Such a needy little mate,” Quinn rasped and pressed a harsh kiss to her mouth. “Bound and begging for us.”

Nestor grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You think you can handle us, huh? Think you can keep up with us?”

“Hmn… I can handle it,” Layla panted as they impaled her on their stiff cocks.

Nestor chuckled from under her, his fingers pinching her nipples. “Is that so? Well, let’s see how long you can keep that attitude.”

The two males exchanged glances before they resumed pounding into her. Nestor lifted her a few inches, then lowered her back down onto his cock. Quinn thrust his hips, fucking her ass in full thrusts that reached deep into her guts. They were both too thick, too hard, and too long, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

It went on and on; their stamina seemed endless, their cocks so impossibly hard and swollen with the need to cum. The scent of desire hung heavily in the air and she came again with uncontrollable, shuddering contractions, her holes clenching hard around their massive girths. The males followed right after her, their muscled bodies shuddering, roars ringing out as she felt something burst inside her. Massive wings sprouted from their backs as their seed filled her up, loads and loads of it, forcing little aftershocks of ecstasy.

But they were far from done.

They switched places, Nestor claiming her now stretched asshole while Quinn filled up her pussy. Their wings curled around her as they slammed inside her, and Layla lost herself in the mating bond, quaking between them, her arms securely bound, her holes fluttering around their shafts. She could only whimper and utter their names, begging them to stop, then begging them to never stop and make her cum.

“Remember your safe word, mate,” Quinn reminded her roughly. “If it’s too much say "red" and we will stop.”

“Would you like us to stop fucking your naughty holes?” Nestor’s fingers curled around her nape, his hips snapping repeatedly into hers.

“Nnn—nooo!” Layla whined, her body tense as she balanced on the edge of pleasure.

Quinn growled his approval. “That’s good, fireheart, because we’re not going to.”

The bed creaked, obscene moans echoing with every move they made. Her fae mates fucked her powerfully, thrusting to the hilt again and again, deep and tirelessly. Quinn devoured her lips with his kisses, his hands cupping her tits and pinching her sore nipples. Nestor growled from behind her, his broad chest pressing against her back as he claimed her ass and flicked her clit with his thumb.

They were primal and fully affected by the need to claim her, and she loved it—she loved them and how they fucked her, it was unlike anything she had imagined.

Layla’s moans rang out when she came again, sobs of pleasure escaping her kiss-swollen mouth. She trembled as a pleasure bomb went off in her center. It was too much, but it was divine, every nerve was alight. They joined her soon after, pulsing up inside her and releasing spurt after spurt of their cum. She was already filled with them, but the second load overflowed from her, dribbling down her thighs.

Layla didn’t know for how long it went on.

They untied the silk ropes and took her again and again, lifting her off the bed, sandwiching her between their aroused bodies and feeding her their cocks in every position imaginable. Their wings flapped powerfully, and when Layla touched them, her mates went into a mating rage, driving deep inside her, claiming her, owning her.

As the sun began to rise, their frenzied mating finally came to an end.

They collapsed on the bed, the covers tattered and smeared with signs of their primitive coupling. Layla’s mates enveloped her, spooning her from front to back, their bodies entwined with hers, their cocks still hard inside her due to the suction of her cunt and ass. She was sated and exhausted, feeling a sense of belonging she had never known before.

They took turns kissing her, softly, lovingly, whispering sweet nothings while gazing at her with an impossibly soft, oh-so-soft expression on their faces. Their seed had marked her as theirs; the mate of the Nightmare and Chaos Courts.

“Who do you belong to, little mate?” Nestor asked, kissing the side of her neck.

“You,” Layla breathed. “Both of you.”

Nestor growled and gazed at her possessively. She belonged wholly to them. And they to her. She was filled to the brim with their seed, her holes stretched taut around their shafts. It was the ultimate claiming. "So beautiful. You did so well, fireheart.”

“Stunning.” Quinn brushed a few sweaty hair strands from her face and kissed her fluttering eyelashes. “You were so good for us, mate. Our beautiful Queen and Empress.”

“Yes,” Nestor agreed proudly. “We shall unite our courts and give our mate everything.”

“Hmmm,” Quinn hummed against her chest, his voice a sultry whisper against her lips. “Do you like being filled by your King and Emperor, fireheart?”

“Yes,” Layla answered, her heart brimming with affection for them. “I love it. I love you both.”

Nestor hummed from behind her, kissing her softly. “We love you more. You’re ours, sweetheart. Forever.”

That night, they’d claimed more than a masterpiece.

They’d claimed their soulmate.

#fae x reader #fae x human #fae x oc #comission #monster writer #monster writing #fae smut #fae fucker #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster x human #monster fudger #monster fucker #monster x you #monster smut #monster x female reader #monster romance

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foodfightnovelization · 9 months ago

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ROTTEN: Behind The Foodfight

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Holy chips! It's an exciting time to be a Foodfight! fan, because ROTTEN: Behind The Foodfight is finally out! This really is THE definitive documentary on the insanity behind the movie, and it finally answers the question of just what was going on behind the scenes during production. Since I helped out with research (and I even get a short line of dialogue at 45:19) I've already seen everything that was shown off, but had to keep quiet until all the interviews were conducted and the documentary was finished. But now it's out and everything has been made public, the cat's out of the bag (the Fat Cat Burglar?) and I can talk about all the production material that's been shared.

Before I get into any of that though, I'd highly recommend you watch the documentary for yourself. It's insanely well researched and put together, and having worked together with Ziggy Cashmere (the documentary's creator) I know how hard he dedicated himself towards making this all possible. If it weren't for him, the most interesting Foodfight! discovery would've been finding the novelization, and we would have never gotten any real insight into how this movie came to be. It's also a documentary that really speaks for itself- I don't want to say too much about what it reveals since it's all expressed far better through its narrative and the interviews with people who actually worked on the project. My favorite is the interview with texture artist Mona Weiss- she tells such horrifying stories about how she was treated by Larry and other crewmembers, yet does it all with a sense of humor that makes it clear she's enjoying getting to talk about her crazy experiences. It's clear Foodfight! was an unmitigated disaster from start to finish, and there's nobody to blame for that but Larry Kasanoff himself. The movie was rotten from the top down and despite the countless talented animators and artists working on it, nothing could fix the fact that it was fundamentally mismanaged in the worst way possible. I think the quote from producer George Johnsen summarizes it best: "Foodfight! was a good idea that unfortunately lost its way during production. The technology, the art, and the direction were not in sync. Many very talented people gave their all to make the picture, but more understanding of process from the top was needed for it to succeed."

But if you saw the documentary, you already know all that, right? So instead, let's talk about the behind-the-scenes material that's finally been shared! You can find everything I'll talking about HERE on archive.org-

It's worth following the link and checking it out for yourself- there's so much it'd impossible to discuss everything. Artwork, storyboards, bloopers, models, a nude render of Lady X, an interview with Larry Kasanoff, the list goes on and it's still being updated! Despite the documentary already being out, people who worked on the movie are continuing to share new material! It's pretty incredible- for the past year I've ran this blog all I've really had to discuss are two tie-in books, and now there's so much Foodfight! material I can't even keep up with it.

I mean LOOK at all this, isn't it fantastic? The character art by Jim George showing off just how much better these designs originally were, the countless environments showing off just how stunning Marketropolis could've looked as well as the strength of the core idea "what if a supermarket came to life at night", and insanely detailed storyboards for a 7-minute pitch reel that was used to sell the movie to investors. Normally, I'd be ALL OVER this because it's all just incredible, but there's something far, FAR more fascinating than any of it.

There are even multiple drafts of the script (one from 2005 and one from 2007 respectively) and normally I'd be insanely fascinated by those too, making extremely detailed posts explaining the differences between the drafts and how they compare to the novelization, but there's something else that was found that blows ALL of this out of the water and is easily one of the most monumental lost media discoveries of ALL TIME.

youtube

That's right, a rough cut of the ENTIRE movie from 2005 has been found, containing nearly ALL the completed animation from earlier on in production. I mean, that's mindblowing right? We first got sent this around a month ago, a little while before the documentary came out, and I literally stopped everything I was doing at work to just sit and watch this. This is the closest we're ever going to get to the "original" version of Foodfight! after all- only 7 minutes of footage was ever actually made before they switched to mocap, made solely for the aforementioned pitch reel, and this workprint contains practically all of it! On top of that there are some great storyboards in here, as well as some truly hilarious ones cobbled together from 3D renders, and the plot is far better than what we ended up with, a lot of the more inappropriate jokes being absent. This rough cut is actually pretty similar to the novelization in that regard, and it also contains scenes that we'd previously only read about in there.

For example, in the novelization there's a snowmobile chase through the mountains, with Brand X soldiers on snowmobiles and a heavy avalanche close behind. This scene was completely left out of the movie itself, but in this workprint it's here! ALL the previously novelization-exclusive scenes are included, and this rough cut is seemingly based on an even earlier draft of the script than that- here Brand X are still defeated by a flood, whereas by the time of the novelization it'd been changed to a lightning storm. There are SO many exciting differences in this workprint, the snippets of original animation we get to see are SO good, and it's SO much better than the movie itself that I think it by far deserves the crown as the DEFINITIVE version of Foodfight! There's so much in it I want to discuss, that there's no way I can fit it all into this one post...so stay tuned, because in the next few days I'll be doing a FULL analysis of the 2005 workprint, pointing out all the extra brand mascots not in the finished film, and generally just gushing about how amazing it is.

I mean, this is it. Just take it all in for a second- the original footage was considered lost media for over a decade, and now it's practically been found in its entirety, embedded in an early cut of the whole movie...isn't that just phenomenal? All the mysteries have been unraveled, all the questions have been answered, and now we can relax, take a deep breath, and watch Foodfight!...the REAL Foodfight! Make sure to enjoy it, and join me next time for my analysis!

#Youtube #foodfight #dex dogtective #lady x #daredevil dan #polar penguin #rotten behind the foodfight

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synthwayve · 1 year ago

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THIS COLORING WOAAAH. Amazing as always! It’s so clean and professional-looking, and these EXPRESSIONS. Fantastic!

Daddy Guac with his daughter

#other people’s art #father gascoigne #viola #bloodborne #bloodborne fanart #fanart #this is such eye candy holy shit #father gastrointestinal #father goose #father gold coin #the mispellings of his name destroy me(in the good way)#the poses too 😭#your artwork is so stunning every time #keep it up!!

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kyri45 · 2 months ago

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✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 21/11✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hi! Would Macaque kidnap Wukong again? I read your comic, the last page, where Macaque is the kidnapping expert. And I'm very curious about it. Anyway, I love your comics! You are awesome.

Haha I don't think they really need it unless they want to do a "traditional wedding courtnapping" but it would be pretty odd since they kind of already live togehter.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know this is definitely a LONG ways away, but, imagine: Wukong and Macaque playing the newlyweds game. What questions? What answers? Who’s asking the questions? Who’s getting the most right?

I wont list all the lesson but I think Macaque would get most of them right just because Wukong never really changed a lot during the years, while Macaque went through different stages of his life, and and he has new hobbies and tastes.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will mk have a nightmare about LBD? If yes Then we will have some angst with fluffy monkeys family moments!!!

Oh he has. He has many. Most of them he has while he is at pigsy's.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can you please shows up a flashback backstory on how MK/Wukong discovered/found out/came out as trans?? 🙏🙏🙏 Banana sundae with chocolate sauce, rainbow sprinkles, THREE cherries, and a super-deluxe one-and-only Monkie King™️ collectible spoon???

Anonimo ha chiesto: will we see any past Shadowpeach?? I’m interested to see how you frame their dynamic back 5en.

Hahah maybe in the future, I'll see

Anonimo ha chiesto: Can we get Wukong telling dad jokes? Please, I’m begging i want to see MK laughing and Macaque just being so disappointed with Wukong yet so smitten. I want to see more Monkey family domestic blissss. 🙏🙏🙏🙏

I don't have my dad jokes book here but man give Macaque an award for the patience he has with these two children

@goofybearclown ha chiesto: Hi :3 Just wanted to say I love your shadowpeach and cotl AU!!! I didn't notice you made both at first but when I did I was like "waow :0". Tbh your works are in my top 3 series on Tumblr! @fenikzia ha chiesto: I love your LMK comic so much, I look forward to reading the new additions to it when they come out every other day,and reading your comic just makes my day better. Even if it hasn't updated a particular day, I make sure to go back and reread the newest part.Keep doing what you're doing and make sure to take breaks! @skye-minecraftyt-blog ha chiesto: You! I like you! Your Bio parents Lmk au always makes me extremely happy and I regularly reread it. ((o(^∇^)o)) Just wanted to say it @blazeandsilver ha chiesto: Hello, I just wanted to say your artwork is absolutely stunning, it makes my day whenever I see that you posted something new to the BioParents comic. Please keep up the good work and be sure to take some time for yourself, you’re important too.

AWWWWWW THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hihi shadowpeach au question: You mentioned in the latest comic that Mac is more lean and skinny than Wukong. Will we ever see the full extent of that?? ALSO I ADORE YOUR ART OMG ❤️❤️

A fully naked Macaque you say? Maybe.... who knows....

Anonimo ha chiesto: I come to defend Wukong acting like a man looking at a victorian lady ankles, he hasn’t seen his (ex) husband’s fur in centuries. And he probably hasn’t socialize in years either besides MK and the gang. Romantically he is stunned right? I doubt he has even looked at anyone besides Macaque anyways…

Honestly I like to think that Macaque was the only being in all the universe that was eer able to make him flustered

@mochalikesdrawing ha chiesto: So I got a question, will we ever get to see kaiju MK again?

I have a scene post AU I would like to draw. Maybe.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Ignoring all the angst because it is crushing my soul /pos, I'm lowkey convinced that Macaque knows Wukong feels some kind of way about him because he can hear his heartbeat go crazy at certain moments and isn't dumb, but just isn't calling Wukong on it because he's still trying to sort his own feelings first. BUT ONCE HE DOES OH BOY-

Hahah Macaque knows perfectly well Wukong is down for him. In the meantime Wukong is alwasy afraid he's just imagining things bc he's dense af.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you think Wukong and macaque would be cuddling and macaque would be watching something scary and Wukong would be trying to not pay attention to it because he hates scary stuff or would it be the other way around?

yess

@ep2nd ha chiesto: In your shadowpeach bio parents au, if MK and Wukong were created by Nuwa, with Nuwa using Macaque and Wukong as a base, has anyone wondered who created Macaque? And does Macaque himself knows?

Wait Nuwa created Wukong? If that's so I think then all the 5 monkeys were made by her, for some reason.

@boonalina ha chiesto: Sooo what exactly is the courtnapping process like? Is it just a simple "I'm gonna pick you up and carry you away" or is it an entire ceremony? Does someone have to lure the person into place? For example, Mei bringing Redson over to a secluded spot so that Mk can "courtnap" him? (Side note: I've been in this fandom for around two years now, and this comic is what made me find out about courtnapping lol)

I "think" anything that can be counted as like a sneak attack that takes them out of guard and brings them to the designated courtnapped room can be considered as courtnapping technically.

Anonimo ha chiesto: ... Hey so your shadow peach bio parent AU is better way better than season five. WOAH, WHO SAID THAT!! (no but seriously it is like a sitcom I tune on ever so often. Much love 🫶)

Haha thank you! That's a HUGE statement!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I wonder if MK has any unique attributes/abilities as a living mass of celestial material?

He's such a cocktail ofdifferent energies I wouldn't be surprised he is able to glow in the dark.

@cjtuy ha chiesto: I do have a question it's mainly about pigsy and tang when and how long have they been together as a couple and did both of them find mk are they married ?

They have been together for almost a year, but I don't think they are married, but maybe that could happen in the future??? But yeah MK found out a little after season 5 that they are together, that was also the same time he started calling Tang "Papa"

Anonimo ha chiesto: Has macaque added any personal items to the house? Like is he moved in? Have Wukong and macaque improved or changed anything else besides making the bed bigger?

Yes he did! Half of his belongins are in FFM, althought he's a little more minimalistic than Wukong. He also have been bothering Wukong to death so that he can finally organize his stuff (and they were roomates

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like if they were to play Minecraft or something macaque would be the base mom. He would be the only one to remember to farm food to not starve. The others would probably forget all the time that hunger is a thing in game. Wukong or Mk: oh dang does anyone have food I'm starving Macaque: (always brings extra for this reason) "sighs" yes

AH!

Anonimo ha chiesto: Remember the Minor Scale episode, from season 2? Where MK learn how to shrink himself? And there’s also the final episode of that season where MK just grow very big to try to fight LBD. I just love that part of his power and I have seen very little people showing it. Like, sometimes that power can show up when the poor boy is experiencing overwhelming emotions that can’t be contained anymore, or pure exhaustion. For example, Having many responsibility can lead to a lot of stress and exhaustion and at some point MK just can’t do more and just become tiny, not able to do more. On the opposite, maybe he experience trauma again through a nightmare (like about azure for example) and the emotional burden is to much and he just becomes big because of that. You see my vision? I love sizeshifting base on emotions :)

Aww and i love emotion-based powers, they are just so easy to play around.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Tbh the show should let macaque have a motorcycle. Wukong gets to be passenger princess

Yesss

Anonimo ha chiesto: as we get into the colder months i like to imagine MK’s first winter coat and he’s all super fluffy and warm

Cool for the monkey parents, bad for pigsy and all the hair in the restaurant from sheeding.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think it would be so funny if MKs rock hadn't been cracked and he'd been raised on FFM by wukong. If the same thing happens in the show macaque planning to take mks powers thinking he's just Wukongs student but then while macaque and MK are training. Since macaque is so close he notices his ears. (Being raised by a monkey he gets his form sooner) suddenly putting everything on hold busting into FFM and is like WUKONG WTF

There's a fic on AO3 about it it's A Son of Two Dads

@cheese-hommo ha chiesto: Hii, fiesta I want to say I love how you draw and everything, it just looks so cool and beautiful. Now, with the last chapter of Monkey parents Au and so, with the acknowledgement of the demon etiquette and else, DBK and Wukong really misunderstand the comfort scene for a confession? Or something more? It was just so funny seeing the two of them getting so embarrassed at the end 🙂‍↕️

Ah, 2 young demons in their true forms so close to each other, blushing? Scandalous.

Anonimo ha chiesto: I've seen Mk is his Lego merch- he gots a tooth gap- so does this MK have one or did he get it filled?

Wait that was a tooth gap??? I though it was like, a detail of the smile

Anonimo ha chiesto: 🎤 what is your official (if any) opinion on Ink MK? (as a character, plot device, literary parallel, what have you)

It's ok. I personally believe "shadow" version of one character with their own fears and doubts is a clique a little bit too much used. But they give a lot of angst.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Thoughts on Macaque knowing either Japanese or Korean due to him liking anime.

I'll give you one better. Macaque always traveled to Japan pretty frequently during the centuries. Then became a weeb

Anonimo ha chiesto: Maybe it's just me but Wukong looks a bit thicker each time, is it because his fur's thickening or is he getting chubbier ??????? Anyway luv ur art

Both.

#ask box #shadowpeach bio parents au

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