#she seems so young here now... and i feel so old :') | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

uglyducklingofthe2000s · 2 days

Text

Switching Teams - Lewis Hamilton

Dark fic - if you don't like this or the warnings/themes make you uncomfortable. I can't stress this enough, DO NOT READ THIS

Summary: Toto bad mouthing Lewis during the time he was still in Mercedes had led to a bitter ending but now Lewis wears red but there's something in him that feels like he needs to do more than just beat his old team on track. He needs to take something that Toto loves more than anything work-related

Wolff!reader - age 23 (Lewis will be 40 with the timeline of this so a 17 year age gap 😮‍💨)

Warnings/themes: Age gap, smut, loss of virginity, coercion, manipulation, corruption/innocence kinks

Part 2 here

In general y/n had never been very much involved in the work side of Toto's life. In fact she wasn't involved in much at all. Toto had always kept her as sheltered and in the shadows as much as possible.

That's what made her such an easy target for Lewis.

He'd not actually met her till she turned 18 and Toto seemed to deem that an acceptable age for her to finally debut into the world. Other than that she'd only briefly been spotted when Toto was home but he didn't even post the young woman.

At one point there was even accusations that he was trying to abandon and disown the young woman. Which is not true, her own mother left her and Toto has been raising her since before Susie came along.

Despite now being in her 20s and very much flirted with by many of the younger drivers. Y/n remains as innocent as someone who was homeschooled and not exposed to the world in such a way.

To Lewis' knowledge she always has a bodyguard after a kidnapping threat when she was younger and the world seemed to learn of Toto's riches, she's not really got any friends because of her homeschooling, she didn't leave the house much because of it and now she just sort of shops, has private workouts with a trainer and then on occasion attends races.

To Lewis' knowledge she's never had alcohol, she's never had a boyfriend and she's very much an innocent little angel who probably doesn't even know what trouble is never mind how to cause it.

When Lewis saw her this morning, she was actually just sitting on her own in the paddock. Initially he wasn't even going to say hi, but then an idea that would maybe finally settle the bitter anger he has towards Toto appeared. It's possibly best described as evil and Lewis definitely knows it's wrong, but there's no way the idea is that bad.

"Y/n, hello." Lewis greets with a smiles.

"Lewis." Y/n beams pushing her headphones down around her neck and greeting him with an excited hug. "I didn't know if you were allowed to talk to me."

"You're not really part of Mercedes. You're just associated with them." Lewis states earning a hum before she sighs and steps back from him. "Are you out here on your own?"

"Oh...yeah, well my dad told me I need to just stay out the way and I'm not allowed anywhere else-but I was going to go walk around the track."

"If you wait for me. I'll come with you. I won't be long." Lewis states figuring there's no point in second guessing it. "If you'll let me?"

"Yeah, I mean...I've got nothing else to do." She shrugs actually looking pretty happy that anyone at all is giving her the time of day. "I'll just wait here."

"Ok, I'll be back."

This might be far easier than he expected.

Y/n is quite a talkative person, probably because of her social isolation and dad who did actually spend a lot of her childhood pushing her onto other people to take care of her, meaning she'll latch onto anyone who will give her the time of day.

So when Lewis invited her to dinner later in the day, of course she jumped at the invitation.

Perfectly as he planned there was some online attention to the shared photos of her and Lewis walking around the track together. He obviously can't be certain that Toto has seen it but he's certain that the Mercedes media team will have seen it.

Since y/n is in the same hotel as Lewis. He doesn't have to go far to knock on her door since he is going all out and "picking her up" for the dinner.

The restaurant isn't far so he figures getting her from her room would only help him in his plan.

"Hey, wow. You look...gorgeous."

"I feel like I'm overdressed." Y/n laughs nervously then swallowing. "But I didn't know what to wear."

"It's perfect. Don't stress." Lewis dismisses making her swallow and smile a little. “I think you look beautiful and you are definitely not overdressed.”

"Thank you." Y/n smiles before she picks up her bag then leaving her room. "I had my dad asking all about you, you know? I didn't realise how much things had changed between the two of you since you left."

"That was his doing more than mine." Lewis states making her look at him for a moment and nod a little. "But we don't need to talk about that."

Y/n seems to take the hint but doesn't let it dampen her good mood.

They head out and sitting down, Lewis makes sure to be the gentleman. He's going to charm this young woman and he's going to make sure that y/n never doubts his intentions.

He has maybe also purposely chosen a slightly more public spot to make them easily found and photographed. This is very much a moment he wants rub in Toto's face without having to even speak to the man directly.

"You know, I've really never noticed just how gorgeous you are."

Y/n's face flushes with a heavy blush but she doesn't really comment about it, instead taking the welcome opportunity of the waiter appearing asking if they're ready to order and what drinks they'd like.

Ordering their food and y/n seems to be getting more and more nervous.

"So how is life in Ferrari?" Y/n asks trying to make conversation that doesn't feel so tense, at least from her side.

"It's good, I'm happy there. Sometimes I miss Bono and other guys in the team, but it's nice being in a new team too."

"I'm glad to hear it. I mean it's good to see you doing well again...as much as it's a shame that Mercedes has fallen so much from grace. It's really important that you're happy."

"I think I'm definitely getting there." Lewis confirms then sighing. "Anyway, enough about F1 and me. I want to hear about you, what have you been doing?"

Y/n being the talkative little bug that she is, she tells him all about her day. Telling him all about how she is spending her time, which is predictably still very much under Toto's control and limited to not doing much really.

She seems to travel around a bit more with the team which is actually quite interesting given her lack of travel with the team until this season.

"You know we should spend more time together if you're here more often-and if your dad stops inviting you. I speak from experience in saying that Ferrari is very welcoming to everyone."

"Yeah?" Y/n laughs clearly assuming he's joking.

"I mean it, I think red would suit you too." Lewis smirks as y/n's dessert is placed down.

"Red?" Y/n chokes out in shock over the suggestion.

"You don't like red?"

"I...well I've never worn red."

No red is too promiscuous a colour for someone like y/n. Light colours like pink and powder blue, white and pale yellows all fit her much better. He's not even sure he's seen her wear a dark wash denim.

Pictures of Lewis and y/n were quick to spread and when y/n steps into the paddock on the Sunday, there's a lot of eyes trained on her. Watching her closely while she slows her steps.

She'd been in a pretty good mood but the attention really isn't something she's so used to.

"Y/n, can we have a talk?" Toto asks seemingly calm, collected and casual as he spots his slightly distressed daughter stepping towards the unit.

Y/n finds herself guided to his office and almost feels like she'd got in trouble once with her private tutor.

"You went for dinner with Lewis last night?" Toto questions making her look at her dad for a couple beats almost not sure if he's asking or if it's a statement instead.

"Yeah, he wanted to spend some time together and I couldn't say no." Y/n smiles lightly since she actually had a really good time with Lewis and he's offered to do more things together which she's already accepted with an open invitation of saying she'd be up for anything.

"That's good." Toto smiles since he can never really be mad at y/n. She's actually too happy and sweet of a person to be mad at, but he certainly will be warning Lewis to keep away from his daughter. "I was going to ask if you want to be in the garage watching the race with Mick and I today?"

"Ok." Y/n nods since she's never got such an opportunity.

"Good." Toto smiles brightly then patting her shoulder.

Y/n actually really enjoyed getting to be a bit more involved with standing and watching the team. Mick even made the effort to speak to her and very kindly explained anything that seemed to confuse her.

"Lewis." Toto calls as he walks up to the Ferrari driver. "What do you think you're doing with y/n?"

"She didn't have plans last night and I thought she could use the company." Lewis smirks then raising an eyebrow. "Problem?"

"You've never seemed interested in y/n before."

"You seemed to always keep her away from then team when I was there." Lewis shrugs before smirking as he looks around Toto. "Speak of the devil."

Toto turns to find y/n walking towards them.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" Toto questions with a smile.

"Lewis offered to give me a ride after the race." Y/n smiles making Toto look at Lewis who has an expression which is just challenging the Mercedes boss to say something. "Is that ok?"

"Of course it is, right Toto?" Lewis smirks earring Toto's attention again. "You can trust me to get y/n home safely."

"Right." Y/n confirms then moving to Toto and lifting to her toes to kiss his cheek. "I'll see you at the next race, dad."

Y/n yawns as she rubs her face and shuffles towards her hotel room door, her lazy eyes falling on the F1 champion stood waiting for her at her door.

"Hey-Oh did I wake you up?" Lewis laughs since they had agreed to travel back to Monaco together. He's talked her into spending a few days there with him and since she has no other plans and he's got plans only for her.

"No. No. I'm just...tired. Gimme a second, I was just packing up the last of my stuff." Y/n smiles tiredly then shuffling off while Lewis steps into her room.

Y/n is wearing light grey matching set of joggers and a hoodie, pretty oversized and sort of swallowing her alive as she seems to pack up the last bits.

"Ok. Let's go."

They get to the airport and on the flight y/n is sleeping all peaceful and actually spends some of the flight with her face squished into Lewis' bicep.

Even he thinks to himself that she's just adorable.

So innocent and sweet.

But all he wants to do is ruin that. He wants to be the one to take the sweet girl from Toto and ruin every innocent fibre of her soul.

When they arrive in Monaco, he decides the innocent game is over and he's going to make it clear what he wants to do to her. He'd been thinking about it the whole flight there and then the ride to his apartment and now he's certain he might set on fire if he doesn't see more of her at the very least.

It had dawned on him thinking about what might be under that oversized sweats set, she is never in clothes that give away much of what her body looks like.

A modest dresser if there ever was one.

"Your apartment is...amazing." Y/n sighs softly earning a hum.

"Thanks, it is home away from." Lewis smiles while he walks up to her and slides his hands underneath her hoodie. Soft skin as he feels her almost tense up at the feeling of his touch on such unfamiliar territory. "It's a bit warm for so many layers."

"It...It is a bit." Y/n mumbles before finding herself very much exposed in a matter of seconds.

"I've got so many plans for you..." Lewis groans while her face burns in a flush, too flustered to find her voice.

Lewis is a patient man in his opinion, but y/n is bringing out a very impatient side.

"Lewis, I've never-I've never had sex." Y/n finally chokes out and while Lewis had somewhat predicted that to be the case.

Now while virginity isn't necessarily of much interest to Lewis, the idea of being the one to take it when he knows Toto has spent y/n's life sheltering her and seeming to keep her from any threat of a man who would touch her in a such a way. Intentionally or not, Toto made her an appeal to his former driver.

"You can trust me." to rob you of that oh-so protected innocence.

He'll be gentle, he'll make it memorable and he'll make sure she's hooked on the feeling of him.

Y/n genuinely came here with this being the last thing she could've assumed to happen. She really didn't know that Lewis looked at her in such a way. But now it's happening, is she actually going to stop him?

She doesn't believe she would have the courage even if she wanted to.

How Lewis manages to get her completely naked and exposed, she's not even sure. But she knows that there's some feelings and flutters that she's never felt before and it's all from his touch.

Is she weak? Probably.

Is this wrong on every moral level that she's been raised to? Definitely.

Is she going to even attempt to stop him? Absolutely not.

"Can I touch you?" Lewis questions since he's not actually going to do anything that will be a step that can't be undone until he knows he's got consent.

"Yes."

"Can I do what I want?"

Hesitation, a thick swallow and shaky breath fill a pause.

"Yes."

And that's like a gun shot to start a race.

There's not an inch of y/n's body that he misses, hands everywhere, lips leave wet kisses as a path around her body. All leading to one place.

Predictably, there's a slick wetness already coating her pussy before he's even touched it.

"I want to hear you, so any sound you need to make. Don't hold back." Lewis states not missing the fact she can't bring herself to look down at him, and while he'd usually make a command for eye contact. Easing her into this is his best choice for not scaring her, after all this has all happened in a matter of minutes and maybe she wasn't quite prepared enough to handle this at such a speed.

But she said yes. Twice.

And while really he didn't need to see with his own eyes, the proof of her being untouched from anyone else before him. Seeing it really is something that makes him almost launch forward, needing a test and the sensation of his tongue licking over her hole up to her clit is enough to earn a moan that he almost wishes he had an audio clip of to replay forever.

Her moans, the taste and just the feeling of her almost trying to shy away from him when she feels herself getting close to orgasm.

"L-Lewis." Y/n stutters with panic laced within a moan as her voice wobbles unsure of what she's doing. "Lewis, I-"

"Don't fight it, it's going to feel so good. Just stop fighting it." Lewis instructs though he's sure she has no idea what he means exactly when he's saying that. Though he's certain she knows what an orgasm is, she's not quite that innocent but he thinks that may have been her first. As much as he could dream about the idea of her playing with herself till she cums, he doesn't think it's very realistic either.

"Lewis..." Y/n whines panting and seeming to follow his command when she arches up against him an almost breathless moan escaping her lips.

Describing her as looking angelic in the moment seems like an inappropriate choice of words given his position but she really does.

Y/n hardly gets to process what just happened when Lewis has moved up to kiss heron such a heavy way that she almost feels a second wave of her orgasm completely overcome with the feelings that Lewis is pulling from her.

"Y/n, this is going to hurt a little but I can't keep waiting." Lewis states making her frown a little but she actually squeaks at the feeling of his dick brushing against her.

He does do her the obvious kindness of going slow but the man is packing and while he tries to make sure he's hurting her a little as possible, there's really not that much he can do.

"Ah." Y/n gasps almost moving back when Lewis feels her hymen give and her expression contorting while Lewis is practically the most restraint he's ever managed in his life.

"It's ok." Lewis assures her while she looks up at him, big eyes definitely not entirely trusting of him.

Lewis keeps easing himself into her as far as he can go, which definitely isn't fully within her.

"Ok. You just tell me when to move." Lewis soothes making her swallow and nod.

"Move. Please." Y/n mumbles after a couple minutes of seeming to adjust and very much start to gush around Lewis' length and while he starts slow and very controlled movements, the self-restraint is proving harder and harder.

The initial resistance is finally gone after a few minutes of slow movements and he does finally lose the ability to control himself a little more.

Reaching to play with her clit as he gives some attention to her nipples. Both of which finally seem to settle her enough and be bringing so much pleasure that he can already feel her second orgasm building up.

He would usually try and push for a third. But honestly, he's surprised he's managed to last this long. He'd be lying if he said that she doesn't feel like another universe of amazing.

He's even forgot the whole reason he's doing this.

Y/n's eyes actually clamp closed as she locks down on him a hand gripping his bicep with a bruising grip but Lewis is far to focused on completely filling y/n as he manages to push himself fully into her. Spotting the bulge in her tummy from being literally stretched beyond capacity and the moan that passes her lips from the additional pressure, literally triggering a second wave of her orgasm.

Eventually she's calmed down and relaxed while Lewis sighs beginning to pull out.

"Ah." Y/n hisses feeling pretty damn raw since Lewis did sort of go rougher and harder than he maybe should've with her first time.

"You'll probably be a little sore." Lewis chuckles lightly while moving his hand down to pull at her lip. "Wait here I'll clean you up."

It took a couple hours for Lewis to realise, but it was only while y/n was curled up next to him on the sofa that he realised there's no way she's on birth control and the last thing he was thinking about was wearing a condom. As much as that should be something he things about.

"Fucking hell." Lewis curses grimacing as he slides out from under y/n gently placing her head down.

Now he's going to have to find a way to get a morning after pill in her without being caught getting hold of one.

Thankfully his assistant, Lola (idk his assistant so we're making it up) is in Monaco and he finds her available to pick one up but when she appears in his apartment, she raises an eyebrow at the sight of y/n Wolff lying still very much passed out on his sofa.

"Really? Toto's daughter?" Lola questions making Lewis frown.

"Any of your business?"

He's not usually bothered about such comments but on this occasion he's not happy.

By the time the next race comes around, Lewis and y/n have been spotted together nonstop. Lewis looking very much possessive and always seeming on the borderline of something not very PG.

They've also noted that y/n's wardrobe has taken a change from modest to very much more easily accessible for Lewis to touch her however he wants. Very rarely keeping his hands far from her arse.

Walking through the paddock there's several drivers who seem to be watching the two along with a lot of media and even a lot of fans.

"Y/n...are you with us for this weekend?" Charles asks as Lewis keeps a tight hold on her hand, she couldn't walk to Mercedes even if she tried.

"Yeah, she is my guest." Lewis confirms seeming to surprise the young woman before she smiles brightly.

"Welcome. Is there sort of pipeline from Merc to Ferrari I wasn't informed about?" Charles jokes earning an innocent shrug from the young woman while Lewis spots Toto walk with James through the paddock and he looks angry.

Lewis has pretty purposely been making sure y/n ignores any and all messages and calls from her dad. Always distracting her and teaching her something new in the bedroom, he actually thinks he's morphed her into almost an unrecognisable woman.

"Shall we go?" Lewis asks catching y/n's attention as he smoothes the short skirt she's wearing down over her butt.

Y/n was apparently not the priority for Toto when it came to speaking about the new relationship. But Lewis certainly was because Lewis found himself summoned to Toto's motorhome and he couldn't wipe the victorious smirk off his lips.

"Using my daughter to get to me is not nice. She's not invloved in this."

"Y/n's happy with me and I can promise that I'm taking very good care of her in every way...including ways you can't." Lewis shrugs then smirking. "Well not without committing some serious crimes."

Toto looks like he's about to explode when Lewis stands up completely unbothered.

"I have lunch with y/n, so unless there's something else you need. I should get back to her-you know I think that neglect of attention with her might've given her some daddy issues." Lewis smirks then moving to the door. "Don't worry though, I treat her very well and she enjoys everything I have to to offer her. Maybe you'll respect your daughter's boyfriend a bit more to the media now."

808 notes · View notes

fayes-fics · 1 day

Text

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace.

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own.

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly.

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.”

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident.

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it.

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours.

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air. “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room.

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.”

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast.

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks.

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…”

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.”

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand.

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.”

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly.

Benedict has no response to that.

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence.

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.”

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly.

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in.

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing.

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid.

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly.

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?” The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all.

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on.

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such.

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him; his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat.

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive.

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…”

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.”

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance.

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary.

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!”

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not.

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that.

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor.

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event.

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.”

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face.

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton.

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside.

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.”

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner.

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply.

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man.

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking.

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless.

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!” He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly.

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does.

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge.

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it.

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips.

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?”

Even he can read between those lines.

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks.

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked.

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice.

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest.

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless.

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.”

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more.

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud.

The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation.

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart. “And I do. I truly do.”

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

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n

394 notes · View notes

gyomei · 3 days

Text

OBJECTIVE: FUCK FUSHIGURO TOJI

・SYNOPSIS: what started off as two friendly workers transpires into something more when toji asks you out for a couple of drinks one night. and when the two of you agree that your sexual relationship would be nothing more, both of your hearts and emotions yearn for the inevitable ( 3.2k words )

・CONTENT WARNINGS: minors, ageless & blank blogs: do not interact ! afab!reader (she/her) paramedic!toji & nurse!reader, recreational alcoholic consumption, situationship to lovers. smut content: cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, praise kink, not proofread.

・SIDE NOTE. here's the very first installation of fuck, marry, kill. and i don't know, i was heavily feeling paramedic!toji. like... mmmyeah ! 😋

The double doors to the hospital entrance opens upon the men wheeling in the gurney, pushing the poor patient in a hurry. The chill upon entering, while not foreign, still makes Toji shiver as he bustles inside. His veins protrude deeply from his hands as the receptionists open the locked doors without question as one of the paramedics stays behind to check in the newfound patient. The crowded waiting area watches as the once moderate volume spikes up with the gurney wheels as the heavy and rushed footsteps of the men.

Pale yellow walls before the site of desks and nurses heading from one station to the next, Toji’s eyes dart until he sees just who exactly he wants. And just to his pleasure, you’re already looking at him. All men come to a halt, the gurney slowing down as you make a beeline in Toji’s direction. Your arms open up and the taller man doesn’t need to question exactly what you want.

Arriving at the scene, the sight was a gruesome mess. Blood everywhere as the victim was clearly struggling with their aggressor. It took the police awhile to find it, but they managed to snag out the ID.

“Gojo Satoru—” Toji recites from the top of his head, yet still handing the small rectangular plastic to you nonetheless. “Twenty-eight year old Asian male. Fatal stabs to his chest, nearly piercing his heart and right lung. He’s in a stable condition right now, and the only contact that we can get for him is a close friend in his contact— Geto Suguru.”

“Gosh!” You can’t help but breathe out, eyes widening as you’re typing in the information into the computer. Though Toji’s giving you a verbatim of the individual’s information, you look over the ID to make sure you have everything correct. Strikingly white hair that seems unreal and blue eyes that are so magnetic and captivating, you can’t help but feel for the young man.

“I know right,” Toji sighs, sharing your same sentiment. “Heard it was about a vengeful ex or something? Don’t know, but that’s what the cops are speculating right now.”

“Well, I hope whoever did it receives ten times worse,” you breathe, submitting the information as you take a stand. You stretch, hearing the cracks of your muscles as you let out a soft yawn. You feel the eyes of Toji on you as you turn, directing more of your attention to him.

“Careful,” Toji warns in jest, the corners of his lips curving upwards as his eyes light up in amusement. “You might have to be the nurse assigned to caring for them.”

You chuckle at that, slipping yourself out from behind your desk. The patient has already been assigned and brought to a vacant room. You’re dressed in a pair of turquoise blue scrubs, going nice with your skin tone. Toji has just a few more minutes to spare before he has to run off again into the ambulance. Really, he should be heading back now, but he wants to spend a bit more time in your company while he can.

“What time d’ya get off tonight, hm?” he asks. “I’ve got three more hours.”

An eyebrow spikes as you glance over at the taller man. Green eyes that always seem to dance with humor and the scar on the left corner of his lip still standing vastly visible as he grins, expectant of your answer. You snort at how unbelievable this man can be at times. “You’re asking me out after telling me about a severely harmed patient? Do you know nothing about timing?”

“Hey,” Toji throws his hands up to defend himself. “We see the gnarliest of shit everyday. We have to stay sane somehow.”

Well, he’s not wrong on that part. Most nights you just head straight home, take a quick shower and go to bed. Your work days can be rough within the emergency room as you have many different people come into the hospital. All different kinds of problems and different lifestyles all seeking help from you, the other nurses and doctors. If you didn’t immediately fall asleep once hitting the bed, sometimes your mind would wander and a recap of the day would play in your head.

You shouldn’t get attached to the people that come in and tell you about their issues and why exactly they’re in the emergency room, but at times you find yourself slipping and you just can’t help yourself. You can’t and refuse to harden your heart, not wanting to be immune to emotion. Every time you find yourself dwelling on the patients you come across, you find yourself slowly losing your sanity. Toji’s right.

“I have the next four hours here, then I’m free,” you finally answer his question before turning on your heel to leave. “I suggest you hurry back before they have your ass again.”

“Again?” Toji snorts, an eyebrow cocking upwards, but he does take a step back in the opposite direction towards the exit. “They never had it.”

You ignore that statement, instead saying, “The longer you stand here stalling, the slower time goes.” And it’s enough to get Toji out of the building.

—

Toji doesn't like to drink. On the contrary to his looks, he finds the beverage to be grimacing. Some weren't as bad as the others, but no one could ever convince him to drink willingly. So, while you have a glass of bourbon, he nurses water. And while your drink makes your face sour when he doesn't, both of you need this.

It's a Wednesday night and the both of you— on your weird schedules— don't have work tomorrow. The bar is fairly empty; no more than eleven people in tonight, not counting the lonely bartender. The two of you sit down on stools, listening to the mellow music playing overhead on the speakers as a couple enjoys their company on the dancefloor. Toji’s eyes are on them, fixated as he envies them.

Envies the look in their eyes, dark bags underneath them but the love is so evident. Envies the tight hold they have on each other as they sway to the music, how their bodies seem to mesh with one another. He envies the intimacy that they hold, but if anyone were to ask him when he was going to settle down or if he was ready to be in a relationship, he'd immediately say no.

And it's not exactly like he's lying. He's not ready to be in a relationship and he's not someone desperate that he needs to be in one. But, he's been yearning recently. Yearning after this one someone that makes him seek what the couple before him has.

“Ugh,” you gulp down the remaining content of your glass. “I need another one.” That was your second glass.

“No, you don't,” Toji immediately states, intervening when you turn around to beckon for the bartender. Grabbing the empty glass, the employee looks from you to Toji, trying to decide just who to listen to. You just had two glasses.

Toji shoots the young man a glare, subtly shaking his head and making him walk away. Groaning when the bartender walks away, you spin in your chair and shoot daggers into Toji. Those eyes, they try to intimidate, but Toji can only smirk in amusement as he fixes himself in his seat again.

“I thought we came here to relax,” you slump into your chair. “You invited me here tonight, but you're not letting me drink?”

“You're driving home, aren't you?” Toji asks rhetorically. “Plus, do you really wanna spend your day off nursing a hangover instead of actually enjoying it?”

You don't like how his voice drops. He's being serious, but the way your body reacts isn't. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes gloss with a hint of lust. However, you hold yourself up as you contemplate his words. He's got a point. You don't want to waste your day off with a headache and whining about the discomfort you're in.

Pressing the balls on your feet on the wooden plank of the stool, you shift in your seat and ready to surrender when Toji drops lower into your space. Lips pricking against the shell of your ears and you can feel his breath against you.

“I'd rather have you waste it with me,” he hums out a ‘hm’ at the end. “Rather have you in your right mind than be more intoxicated.”

You should be used to his flirtatious remarks, but sometimes he catches you off guard. Speechless, your tongue goes dry as you immediately forget about what you were going to say. Your mouth opens and closes, looking like a fish gasping for water. At this, Toji can't help but smirk, sliding off the bench with ease as he slides the nearly empty glass in the direction of the bartender. “I'll pay for the tab. Let's go.”

He takes your hand and you can feel the rough texture of his calloused palms and fingers, something that you’ve come to get used to and adore. You don’t say anything else, simply following behind him as he leads you out the bar.

—

Sometimes you believe that you deserve more than what Toji gives you. That you deserve someone that isn’t afraid to commit. Then, you rationalize everything, realizing that you’re asking for something that you also can’t devote to. Long schedules and when you have free time, you spend it sleeping or tending to duties and tasks that you need to cross off your checklist. So, you take what you can get. After all, you also agreed to this arrangement.

Legs hiked up and pushed into your chest, your knees pressed against your breasts as Toji hums against your decadent pussy. Folds that gloss like porcelain as he laps at it. Saliva intermingling with your arousal, your slick juices staining your inner thighs and dripping down the crevices of your arousal. Your breathing is erratic with the tight hold he has you in, legs bound to be aching when he’s finally done with you. Tears stain the corners of your eyes as you look down at the brute of a man below you, green eyes that meet yours with visceral hunger evident in them.

He groans, adjusting his position to only push you higher on your bed as he psychs himself to believe that he’s deeper inside you. Both hands that were holding down your legs become one, strong enough to hinder your movement with only one as his arms. His free one now traverses down to your heat, pulling away for a second for his thumb to press down to your clit and rub it. His eyes become hooded as he takes a moment to watch just how your pussy responds to him. And when he looks up at you once more, loving the way your cheeks are stained with tears as your golden skin glows from the sweat beading down your temple. Your mouth opens in a small o-shape and he’s reminded that he’s the one that has you like this.

There’s something residing on his chest that he can’t quite identify the name of. He just has this longing to please you— to make you feel good. He groans once more, inserting a finger inside your entrance as his lips wrap around your clit. From the sudden intrusion, your body tenses up as the fingers that were clinging to your soft sheets become entangled in Toji’s dark locks. “Fffuck! Toji, I— I—”

You don’t know what you were going to say, the words tangling up inside your mouth as you feel a second finger inside of you. His thick digits stretch you out, leading you to gnaw on your bottom lip instead as a strangled mewl escapes you. Toji chuckles, vibrations being shot straight through your body.

“I love the way your body responds to me,” his deep voice reverberates in the sex-soaked bedroom. “I love the fact that I can make you get like this.”

Fingers plunging deep inside you until he can't see them, he stills his movements as he lets go of your legs and climbs up to meet your lips. Engulfing them, he swallows those beautiful sounds you make, turning them muffled. His digits curl inside of you simultaneously, feeling your thighs clamped around his hand as he does so. Your walls pulsate around them, feeling that familiar stir within your stomach as Toji still has your lips in a hold.

A high-pitched whine escapes you, fingers traversing the length of his body and getting rougher as you feel your orgasm nearly approaching. You don't have to tell him verbatim that you're about to cum, he knows your body better than you do.

Drilling his fingers inside you, it's no battle against him and your tight walls. He grounds himself on the bed, his erection pressing into your sheets more as he pulls away from your lips and focuses on your pussy.

He watches how his fingers plunge in and out, your juices dripping down from the crevices and to the palm of his hand. Oh, how you make such a mess of him. It brings a cocky smile on his face. And when you finally release, it’s even bigger, staining the sheets underneath you in a milky white that contrasts your skin. Your legs tremble as he thrusts into you one, two, three more times before pulling out.

His fingers are coated in your slick release, and he doesn’t hesitate to suck them clean. Your eyes meet him at the ministration, a heavy hum that falls from his chest that has your aching legs clenching and begging for more. With a breathy voice as you bring your hands to tangle in his hair, calling for his attention. Your eyes gloss with lust, widening as your bottom lip juts out as you tug him closer to you. “Want you in me,” you breathe. “Please.”

Usually, Toji would prolong this, have you beg for him or tease you relentlessly. However, those eyes of yours… And there’s a hunger that he shares with you that tells him not to wait any longer. With his chest bare for your wandering eyes, he reaches down to tug off his pants, making his erection more prominent than before. It still makes your heart jolt in anticipation and slight fright. Your body seems to react on its own, legs involuntarily spreading as you scoot closer to him. Your bottom lip perched in between your teeth, you gnaw on it as Toji doesn’t need to be told twice. He wants you just as bad as you him,

Thick and heavy length that plants in between your folds, his pre-cum makes his length glisten in the dim lighting of your bedroom and with your soaked pussy, it only adds to it. With a few fingers, he spreads your lips open, plopping his mushroom tip against the entrance to only rub against it. So much for not being a tease, he snorts to himself. He just loves the look of his cock sliding against your sweet cunt. It’s a sight he’s embedded in his mind when he’s not with you.

You whine, however, bucking your hips upward in a silent plea for more. Again, he presses the head of his cock against your entrance, a mixture of his pre and your release intermingling with each other. With a thumb, he presses down on your clit before slowly entering you. The intrusion is always a delicious pain that you enjoy, you shamelessly moan as your arms wrap around the expanse of his broad shoulders.

Ignoring the ache of your legs, you bring them to hold onto his hips as Toji grunts, always enjoying that slight flutter of your pussy upon his entering.

“Shit,” he curses, a sigh following it. “This pussy always feels so good no matter how much I stretch it out.”

It's your turn to drag him into a kiss, creating a wet sound to follow it as he bottoms out inside you. You can feel his eyes on you, traveling down the course of your body and you don't know why you thought it was normal in a relationship like yours. This complication of not having a name for each other, but holding intimate moments where he maps out the span of your body to memorize it. More than a simple situationship should.

That when he shares the utmost concern for you; when he asks questions that show more than polite concern when he comes across you at work; and when he stays a couple of more minutes to show you a little more care than he should; you don't know why you thought that was normal.

He takes the time (when he can) to take you out— even if it's just a bar. To treat you more than someone he sees to fuck even if it is the end game. This isn't normal.

And while he drills into your pussy, chasing after ecstacy, you can barely get out a coherent word let alone a thought, but you know that you're not mixing lust with love. You think you're falling— no, you know you're falling in love. So when you feel his cock twitch inside of you, you don't care about the possible repercussions. “Come— come inside me.”

He halts for a moment, never thinking he'd get the chance to do this. But when your glassy eyes open once more, he sees the certainty in them as you give him a little nod, “Do it. I'll take a pill.”

You milk his cock, a white ring forming around the base as he feels that same shudder of your legs from before as your mouth fixates back into that o-shape. You cry out, but it's cut short as Toji’s lips crash into yours. Quick squeaks that fly from your mouth instead, Toji can't help but chuckle at the sounds before he pulls away and those hazel eyes back on you. I love you.

That's all he has left to say, but of course, the words never leave his lips.

—

Your eyes are hooded, but you don't dare give into sleep. Toji's still resting in the bed beside you, eyes transfixed on you. Quirking an eyebrow, you nudge him with your finger. “What's on your mind?”

The corner of his lips twitches, but it's not to smile. Moreso a motion of questioning, contemplating if he should say anything at all. However, your curiosity kills, eyes squinting down as you inch closer to him. Your bare body presses closer. “C’mon,” you poke. “Say it.”

“Do you want more than this?” He asks, eyes becoming serious as he stares down at you. Your mouth goes dry because you think you know what he's asking exactly. Do you want more than… this? However, you feign ignorance.

“M-more than what?” You breathe, your stammer betraying you as Toji immediately calls your bullshit. His head tilts to the side, a knowing gaze on you.

“More than what I'm offering,” he continues to say nonetheless. “More than just meaningless fucking. Do you want to make this official?”

Your voice is barely above a whisper as you start to wonder if it's a trick question. If you answer, will he automatically end things? “Is that what you want?” There's a faint nod— one that has you taken aback. Still, you feel a surge of confidence when you immediately respond, “Then, yes.”

one (1) notification from gyomei plays ! thank you so much for playing the first chapter of fuck, marry, kill. please give us a rating along with feedback about the gameplay. looking forward to seeing you on chapter two.

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #fushiguro toji smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #fushiguro toji x you #x black reader #x reader #tw: (n)sfw #toji fushiguro x black reader #toji x black reader #( 🎰 ) : game series.

141 notes · View notes

acheronist · 2 days

Text

to the ghost of henry peglar, congrats on writing your poem down 177 years ago!!!

to the actual academic scholars who have studied the pages before me....

so I took the royal museum greenwich's scan of the poem page (which is available online hereeee) and screwed around with its light levels in photoshop until henry's script was darkened enough to see more clearly. then I digitally traced over the darkened letters as best as I could, while also trying to discern his handwriting, and type up how I was reading it & this process took me about a week to get done between like... living my regular day to day life lmao.......

so when it WAS done, the final isabel acheronist peglar papers ["the open C"] transcript seemed a bit different than how I remembered the readily available russell potter transcript going ? (the poem is on the last two pages of that pdf for those of you who don't spend a billion hours a week looking at it btw)

it felt like I was getting more/different information out of it, compared to the potter transcript, which was kind of stressing me out honestly. so THEN I compared mine with barry cornwall's original poem and found more words that matched up? particularly in the second and third stanzas?

so!!!!! almost two hundred years later here's what I've landed on:

April 21 1847 the C the C the open ) ( it grew so fresh the Ever free the Ever free the Ever free without it without it covered it will Run to Earth above Re gions Round I love the C I love the C when I whare & I wish to be with and and silence whare Never go if a sailor should a Come and Make the meek What matter what matter Come Ride Or Sleep there was shores white and of red morn at the noisy hours knew I was ever near I was Born the [...] in felt Unto the Maid the wale the young dolphin ...... yet thes back of gold the Call of gods When I was on Old England Shore I like the young C more and more oftentimes time flew to a sweltering place like a bird thats seeks it mother Case and ware she was bird oft to me for have I loved a young and Hopen C

so then after going thru All Of That, I wanted to have a version of the original poem with parts that Henry did remember clearly highlighted for comparison purposes:

I know it's a popular theory that Henry was writing a dirty parody of the original poem? which if true, is funny as hell. me when i have to write cheeky victorian porn before i die.

But (serious voice) something about that hadn't ever seemed exactly right to me... IN MY HEART it seems more realistic that around 1847 he (and also by extension, the whole surviving expedition crew) were starting to experience confusion / brain fog symptoms from being ummmm quite physically unwell. the lead poisoning/scurvy combo would have severe effects on the brain's ability to function properly, and I started to wonder if Henry was trying to test his memory somehow? So he picked a widely known and popular Victorian era poem about being a sailor to see how much he could recall??? and he then got a little whimsical with it, and wrote in his own words to fill in the portions he couldn't fully recall, because it's his own diary and likely didn't expect anyone else to ever read it, much less have it turn into ONE of TWO surviving sources about the expedition?????

like... idk... this is probably the work of someone in the exact moment as they were starting to realize how bad things were, and then was trying to cope by using poetry. and That hurts my feelings enough as it is, but going through it was also just a very weird and haunting experience....... like, I can recognize all these tiny details in this dead guy's script and handwriting now. and to read his own account of his life in his own words, what stood out to him and what he recalled, what he wanted people in the future to know about him? insane. it literally felt like i was getting haunted by him for no reason. on top of knowing that Someone (#teamarmitage) loved this guy enough to keep his memory protected and safe, even though They Were So Totally Fucked And Going To Die There, unknowing if they'd ever be found again........

SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + SIGHING + CRYING A BIT HONESTLY

anyways thanks for reading this all. I don't think that this is revolutionary franklin expedition news by any means, and idk if there's a better different transcript somewhere that i've not found that already covers all this? but it's consumed a lot of my life lately lol and i wanted to share. because its the anniversary of henry writing it, and it felt...... important....? 💌....????

#📜#henry peglar #this is my crazy person post i wanted to make two weeks ago #i really did do my best to follow his hand btw but let's all read this expecting a few mistakes #franklin expedition #peglar papers

131 notes · View notes

downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le · 2 days

Text

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) - Chapter 3

Always Been You (Dick Grayson x Reader) Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 2627 Warnings: death, violence, fighting, bloody wounds, angst, infuriatingly oblivious love interest, slowburn Spoilers: Young Justice Seasons 1-3 plot partially, but it ended in 2022 so catch up.

Y/N Prince - miracle daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor - and Dick Grayson - first adoptive son of the Batman himself - have been best friends since day one. They went to school together, trained together, kept each other's alter ego secret from everyone else, and they founded the Young Justice alongside their friends together.

But as time progressed, Y/N and Dick grew up and Y/N found herself wanting more than friendship with Dick. But he never seemed to indicate that he reciprocated her feelings. And when Wally died and Dick abandoned the team, Y/N realised he never would. So she heads to the one place she knows will help her become a stronger warrior so that one day she can take her mother's place: Themyscira.

Two years after his leave, Dick reaches out to his old friends to help him with a mission. But when he finds out Y/N left too, he chases after her in the hopes to bring her back.

However, when the two finally reunite, it isn't as warm as he hopes. Not to mention Themyscira becomes under siege as they go to war against Echidna, the Mother of Monsters in Greek Mythology, and her army of monstrous children.

Will Dick and Y/N be able to put their past behind them and save the Amazons' homeland? Or will they fall, unable to tell one another their true feelings?

~~~

'You are five miles from the estimated target, Master Dick,' Alfred said over the intercom of the Bat Wing.

Immediately upon entering Wayne Manor, Dick had rushed to his childhood room - the one he still used on the occasion he worked with Bruce as the Dynamic Duo, or he needed some space from his duties as Bludhaven's hero - and packed a small duffle of clothes and weapons and ran straight for the Bat Cave. As promised, Alfred had the Bat Wing waiting, ready for take off, and Dick barely greeted the old man before leaving Gotham far behind.

Dick had been flying for almost twelve hours and hadn't slept a wink. Sitting at the control panel with only a wide window of open sea to look at, Dick rubbed his tired eyes as the shadows of sleep flickered in the corners of his vision. He had to stay awake, just a little bit longer at least.

And then... Well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

'Is there anything else you need from me, Master Dick?' Alfred asked.

Dick shook his head initially, then remembered Alfred couldn't see him. 'No, thank you, Alfred,' Dick replied, sitting up straighter in his seat. 'I should be fine from here on out.'

It was quiet for a moment, and Dick thought Alfred had signed off accidentally. But then he spoke. 'Are you sure there is something out here? I know you and your friends' findings seem well-supported, but there is only open ocean. There isn't even an under water volcano or ancient mountain range recorded there.'

'Which makes it an even more suspicious place,' Dick countered. 'Trust me Alfred, there is something out here.'

'Let's just hope Miss Y/N is too, or you'll have wasted Master Bruce's fuel. And I will tell you now, he will not be pleased about that.'

The mention of her name caused Dick's heart rate to increase with anxiety. But he quickly recovered as he scoffed. 'I don't know why he's complaining,' Dick said nonchalantly. 'He's the billionaire of the family, after all.'

'Have you seen the price of fuel these days?'

That caused Dick to chuckle slightly, just imagining the singular raised eyebrow Alfred used to ask the silent question of Are you serious? In that moment, he was once again grateful for Alfred. He barely asked any questions as to why Dick needed the Bat Wing, he just trusted Dick that it was for a good reason. Unlike Bruce, where trust needed to be hard earned, Alfred had always given his trust and love unconditionally.

The Bat Wing suddenly jerked as it seemed to hit something. Or, maybe, something hit it.

'Master Dick, what was that?" Alfred asked, worry lacing his words.

Suddenly alert, Dick brought up the different cameras hidden in the ship to try and find what had cause the sudden shift, but sound nothing.

'I'm not sure, Alfred,' Dick answered, running diagnostics over the ship in case of damage. 'There seems to be no damage to the Bat Wing, and there is nothing on the radar indicating another ship or flying creature of sorts.'

The ship rocked again, and Dick gripped tighter to the control handles as he took the ship off autopilot. 'What in the world!'

'Master Di-,' Alfred said, but his words were glitchy and some parts were coming through slowly. 'A-re yo- all rig-' Alfred was cut off before he could finish.

'Alfred? Alfred,' Dick called, but he got no reply. He slammed the control handles in frustration. 'Damnit.' He was on his own now.

However, his annoyance dissipated at the site he'd only ever seen in books he'd borrowed from Y/N when they were children.

To say Themyscira stood atop a mountain would be an inaccurate description. It was more like Themyscira was the mountain, with a long staircase weaving and winding up the entire mountain from the ivory beach and cerulean waters at the base of it. There were small stone huts with woven roofs closer to the beach, but quickly evolved into larger houses and buildings of impressive white columns and marble. As Dick flew closer to the island, he spotted a large coliseum used for sports and physical trials like the ruins in Greece, and a small amphitheatre next door that no doubt was used for the arts.

Atop Themyscira's mountain could only be the royal palace, held up by intricately carved statues of women and marble columns, decorated in plates of gold and held together by green grape vines that covered the palace walls, the statues, the columns.

The bed time stories he'd heard from Wonder Woman when he and Y/N would have sleepovers was more than his imagination could ever conceptualise, and the few descriptions and drawings of the island in the books he'd read were amateur attempts that held no candle to the real deal.

It was, in a word, paradise.

I must've hit the invisible barrier before, Dick deduced as he took in the sight of it all. That's why communications were knocked. That's why he'd felt so anxious and tired the closer he got. Now that he'd passed through, he felt ten times better.

A beeping pulled Dick out his trance, drawing his attention to the radar. Something was coming at him. Fast.

Dick looked up in time to see a large fire ball flying at him and barely dodged it. It was so hot Dick felt its heat through the window as it scraped by.

'Woah!' Dick cried, angling the Bat Wing so Dick could see where the fireball had come from. And, more importantly, who had thrown it. Down on the ivory beach was a line of catapults set up Dick hadn't spotted before, and he could just make out an army milling about around each catapult as they reloaded the catapults.

Before he knew it, he was swerving as another fireball flew at him, this time catching part of the left wing and melting it. Sirens blared, indicating the damage, but Dick didn't have time to worry about that. The Amazons thought he was a threat. He needed to change that, or he'd be a goner.

Crazy an idea as it was, Dick manoeuvred through the line of fireballs the Amazons catapulted at him towards the beach. Once he was close enough, he turned on the speaker so the outside world could hear him. 'Please, Amazons of Themyscira, I mean you no harm,' Dick announced to them, hoping he sounded genuine. 'I am going to land my aircraft on your shore. I just want to ta-'

He didn't have time as a small boulder connected with the left wing, sending the Bat Wing into a spin that Dick couldn't control. Sirens blared in the cockpit, reds light flashed and his front window lit up with the message SYSTEM FAILURE in bright red letters. The steering was shot, his vision was impaired, so Dick just closed his eyes and braced for impact.

The Bat Wing hit the beach hard, knocking the wind out of Dick for a moment. Once he'd regained his breath and the world had stopped spinning, Dick checked his immediate surroundings. He was in one piece still, and the Bat Wing hadn't exploded. Good start.

Before he could unplug himself, a spearhead stabbed through the glass of the front window, shattering it completely as the Amazon wielding it pulled it out. Dick was temporarily blinded by the sudden invasion of sunlight to his senses, but he still put his hands up in surrender in case they still thought him a threat.

'Please,' he begged through laboured breaths. 'Please, I don't mean you any harm. I just need to talk with someone you might know. Please.'

'Síko órthios, pareísaktes,' a strong voice hissed above him, her words whipping out like a delicate snake. She yanked him from his seat, breaking the seatbelt as she did, and threw him onto white, hot sand.

Vision coming back ever so slowly, Dick saw more figures approaching where he laid on the beach, spears and swords and shields in hand. All women, and all wearing brown leather skirts, sandals, and breast plates and bronze helmets of the ancient greeks. A small crowd formed around him, leaving no room for escape.

Realising this, Dick hauled himself to his feet and spun around to survey the group with his hands raised. The women ranged from youthful to mature, but all of them looked capable of killing him should he dare run. Capable, and willing.

'Poios eísai esý?' a woman with long brunette hair asked. She looked slightly older than him, perhaps mid to late 20s. But knowing how old Wonder Woman had lived for already, Dick was almost sure all of the women surrounding him were much older than they appeared.

I really regret not taking those Greek classes with Y/N now, he thought to himself, not having a clue what the woman had asked him. When he didn't reply though, she repeated her question but with more annoyance and aggression, pointing her spear towards his chest.

'I am Dick Grayson,' he said, not sure if they could understand him or not. 'I mean you no harm. Please, I must talk with someone you know... Do you understand me?'

The blank faces he received in return were answer enough. The brunette turned to two other women beside her, whispering to one another. It only lasted a moment, for then the brunette raised her spear higher towards Dick's throat. The rest of the women also raised their weapons, all pointed at him.

'Ánthropos apó to exoterikó,' she announced for all to hear, her delivery final and true, 'edó tha petháneis!'

Just as she raised her spear, Dick threw his hands up again and cried, 'Y/N!'

He waited for pain, for the sensation of falling and then nothing, but it never came. The brunette paused, spear still raised above her, and looked at him curiously.

'Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas?' she asked, and to Dick's surprise, he recognised one word. Prinkipissá. Princess.

'Yes,' he said, seizing potentially his only chance at surviving. 'She would be your princess. Sorry, your prinkipissá. Daughter of your champion, Diana.'

At the mention of the mighty Wonder Women, the brunette lowered her weapon entirely and turned to the other women as quiet murmurs broke out amongst the group. Dick wasn't sure what he'd started, but he knew they knew of who he spoke of, and what power her name held. Not just anybody could wield her name.

'I came here to speak with Prinkipissá Y/N,' Dick continued, and then he put his hands together as if he were about to pray. 'Please, can you lead me to her? Is she even here?'

The brunette and her two friends looked him up and down for a moment before consulting one another one last time. After what felt like an eternity, the brunette stepped forward and looked him dead in the eyes.

'Piáste ton!' she cried, and two women grabbed both his arms, ensuring he couldn't escape. 'Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas.'

She then turned away, and Dick was lead by the arms after her and the rest of the crowd. He managed look over his shoulder to see the wreckage of the Bat Wing. The left wing was one metal sheet away from tearing off completely, and the shattered glass and the many dents in the side of the ship just added to Dick's dismay. Oh yeah, Bruce is going to be pissed.

If the Amazons let him live and he ever got off the island, Bruce would definitely make sure Dick suffered long and hard.

Dick was lead up hundreds and hundreds of steps, walking through the bustling city of women and young girls all going about their daily lives. For some reason, it was off putting to Dick to see women and children doing the washing or playing games in the open street. He wasn't sure why, but he envisioned the whole island as warrior women who all fought and died for each other and their home.

They could probably still whoop my ass, he thought as he was marched by some children who were previously playing a game with some dice and a ceramic cup before he came along and stole their attention. It came to Dick's mind that these young girls probably had never seen a male before, and so he smiled at them as kindly as he could. Some of the children smiled back, others had their mothers nearby collect them and take them inside. Dick couldn't blame them for it. Wouldn't he do the same for his child if the roles were reversed.

Why the hell am I thinking about children right now? he asked himself, but he didn't have time to ponder the question as they quickly walked up a final set of stairs into an open field of green covered in warrior women training. When the whole group stopped, Dick was brought to such a startling halt that he thought his arms were going to pop out of their sockets. Thank God for that, he thought, feeling his legs ache with all the climbing. Or is it Zeus I should thank? Maybe Hera? Athena?

The brunette raised her spear, and those not holding Dick prisoner did the same. 'Prinkipissá,' she called out above the din of all the sparring and training. 'Échoume kápoion gia esás.'

Dick wasn't sure who the brunette was talking to at first, but then his gaze settled on a group of women just ahead of them. It seemed it was a six-versus-one situation, as six women surrounded one young woman with familiar H/C hair. The six women ran at the young woman in the middle, all taking swings with their fists and swords, aiming for her head and legs and mid section. While the young woman took a few punches, she didn't flinch with pain. She would just grab her attacker's wrist and flip her over and slam her into the ground.

The fight only lasted a minute, and ended with the H/C haired pointing a sword at her final opponent's throat as she pressed her to the ground with her foot.

When she flipped her hair as she turned to face their group, only then did Dick fully realise who it was.

'Y/N!' he cried out, the brightest smile spreading across his face. Two years since he'd last seen her, his best friend. After the not-so-very-warm welcome, he was beyond relieved to see a familiar face.

But instead of reciprocating his smile with the one he'd always admired since they were children, Y/N paled as if she had seen a ghost. Her whole body seemed to freeze up as her eyes connected with Dick's, and for a moment Dick feared he had mistaken some poor girl for his best friend.

But her shock melted away, and Dick was met with angry eyes and a stony face. Oh, yeah. That's Y/N. He couldn't recall the amount of times he'd seen that expression before, but there was no mistaking it.

His fear turned towards himself as she suddenly, with sword still in hand, stormed towards him, ignoring the other women around her still training.

'Y/N, it's me Dick,' he said, just in case she hadn't recognised him, but still she came at him, raising the sword to her side. 'Wait, what are you doing?

As she stood a step from him, she changed her grip on the sword's hilt and swung the butt of it at his head.

'Hey! Don't-'

The last thing he saw were Y/N's angry eyes of E/C before pain exploded from his right temple and darkness overcame him.

~~~

Síko órthios, pareísaktes = On your feet, outsider

Poios eísai esý? = Who are you?

Ánthropos apó to exoterikó, edó tha petháneis! = Man from the outside, you will die here!

Pós gnorízeis tin prinkípissá mas? = How do you know our princess?

Piáste ton! = Grab him!

Tha ton páme stin prinkípissá mas = We shall take him to our princess

Échoume kápoion gia esás = We have someone for you

---------------

Tag List:

128 notes · View notes

zuhamuses · 15 hours

Text

♡ " The side effect "

Suitor: William Rex x Kate (MC)

Fandom: Ikemen Villains

CW: none!! Just fluff and chaos lol ♡

Prompt: Dressed in love

Note: My entry for @judejazza 's event!! I hope everyone likes this. Divider and header made by the lovely @natimiles <3

No one was expecting that the medicine Roger gave her would have this effect on her. He had first wanted to give it to Liam, but he wasn't present. Roger's second option was Ellis... who was also not in the castle.

It was something he had created himself. Roger had full faith that the medicine had the ability to heal a person quicker. A flu, migraine, anything else? You were gonna feel fine in no time (okay, somewhat of an exaggeration). That's when he heard that Kate was feeling unwell and... yes.

"Oh? Who is this beautiful young man...?" Kate's eyes were fixed on William as soon as he entered the infirmary.

He smiled at his lover and gave Roger a look.

"Ah, right. She will be fine in a day. Seems like I made a mistake with the medicine."

William nodded his head, the smile still on his face, and he went closer to Kate.

"Hello, Kate. How are you feeling?"

She giggled. "Great! Now that I have seen such a handsome guy. What's your name?"

He laughed, realizing that she was having troubling remembering him. Ah, it was somewhat sad. They were meant to go on a date but...

"William Rex at your service. So, Kate..."

Her big eyes were staring at him the entire time, and a goofy smile was on her face.

"Your eyes are telling me that you like me. Will you give me your time and spend the day with me?"

She gasped and quickly stood up, moving towards the stairs. "YES! What are you waiting for, pretty guy? Let's go! This feels like a dream - it must be - but I won't let my chance slip."

William laughed again and went after her. Roger cleared his throat. Well, that was interesting...

In the parlour:

Kate stared at everyone present in the room. Her face showed it clearly that she didn't remember any of them. Harrison and Liam were sitting and having a talk when they stopped to look at Kate.

"Woah, Katie! What happened?" Liam asked.

"Katie?" She asked, "You know me?"

"Will! What's wrong with her?" Liam looked crestfallen.

The red-eyed man laughed and shook his head. "She will be fine in a day, Liam. Don't worry."

Harrison chuckled. "You look like you are in a trance."

Kate nodded her head, suddenly very serious. "There are too many pretty boys here," she looked at William, "but I think you are the only one for me."

Harrison's eyes went wide, and Liam choked on his own spit.

"HUH?!" Liam let out.

"Damn... she's still in love with you despite her 'temporary case of amnesia'". Harry's voice was full of amusement.

William was biting back a laugh as he followed behind Kate, who was running towards the kitchen. She looked like a little child on a sugar rush.

In the kitchen:

"Oh! Pretty guy with long hair!" Her first instinct was to touch Victor's hair. The Queen's Aide was beaming at her.

"Aww! You flatter me, Miss Kate!"

William raised an eyebrow at his old friend, smile not faltering. "She's still mine, Victor."

"Aww, shucks. Kate you are just so cute!!! Would you like this fresh scone I made?"

"Ooooh! Yes, please."

And Kate was given a plate full of scones by Victor...

In the dining hall:

"Oh, hello, Kate!" Ellis warmly smiled at her. "Is there something wrong?"

"Ohhhh, pretty boy number four. I am fine. It's a weird medicine, and I think I have a memory loss, and I feel weird. But I am fine." She looked at Jude, "You look like a gang boss."

"Tch. Yeah, gon' make your ass go bankrupt."

"Haha, okay." Kate laughed.

Jude's brows were furrowed. He didn't even want to ask any questions.

"Come on, Will! Let's go outside!" She smiled at him. A smile that always had him weak.

"After you, my lady."

In the garden:

"You look really beautiful." Kate told Elbert.

"Oh... thank you. Al, am I beautiful?"

"Yes, of course... what kind of ideas are you having?"

"... nothing."

Kate took William's hand. "Hey... I am feeling dizzy."

He carried his lover to her room.

---

"Hmm... I still don't remember much." She told him. "My heart starts beating super fast when I look at you, though."

"Hmm? Really?"

"Yes. You have such pretty eyes... your hair looks so smooth, and you smell divine. Hmm, Will?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Can I borrow your cape...? It's cold."

He laughed. "Of course."

It looked better on her than it did on him. William wondered how she would look if she wore his clothes. Hmm, adorable. But first, he had to make sure his lover would feel normal again.

#☆ musings ☆#ikevil x reader #ikevil imagines #ikemen villains #william x reader #william rex x reader #invitation2crownCC

40 notes · View notes

bestworstcase · 2 days

Text

@sailorb00 tags here

#i was also on the fence about the EA siblings and Theodore being related by looks alone (#... and the alice + dorothy comparison#mostly chalked it up to coincidence but now that they're conf. to be from Vacuo it's looking less like coincidence fsdf#then is the girl on the desk photograph Alyx before she and Lewis found the EA?#And Theodore juat inherited it? He grew up on his great-great grandfather/uncle/who know's stories about the EA being real?#Maybe in hopes that one day his sister would return and be welcomed by family? even if they're generations apart#if Lewis's pseudonym is Theodore Im gonna lose it#I mean we dont know his or the EA siblings' surnames.#IS THAT WHY THEODORE DOESNT GO BY HIS SURNAME#BC OF THE FAMILY LEGACY???#ok imma go sit down now before i hurt myself w/ speculation fsdf

YEAH SAME on the being like Doubt.jpg about a relation between theodore and lewis on the basis of… skin color, basically, but the minute i heard “i couldn’t believe they were from vacuo,” that’s a deliberate choice to link these kids to the setting for the next major story arc, and that’s happening in conjunction with several developments in the 9.11 animatic that suggest history is about to become very important (soaring popular support for the crown—probable mountain glenn history-repeating-itself theme with salem razing vale—oscar mentioning vacuo’s history of colonization—plus the great war having ended with ozma’s use of the sword in vacuo).

it’s very. raises eyebrow. alrighty then!

so whatever lewis did after coming home, other than writing tgwfttw, probably has some narrative relevance—might be as small as something jaune needs to find closure, or it might be bigger than that, who knows, but if it was a hundred and fifty years ago and it matters enough to be in the story, then the story needs a vehicle to deliver this information in a manner that feels naturalistic and non-arbitrary. (jaune-stumbles-across-loved-one’s-memorial-statue-by-chance once is a believable happenstance; twice, a cheap contrivance.)

the simplest way to do that is to introduce a vacuan character with some connection to lewis, and the obvious choice there is a descendent, because lewis lived a long enough time ago that family lineage is kind of the only plausible reason for a living character in the present to have a meaningful personal connection to lewis.

(and it can’t be oz, because oz had no idea the ever after existed.)

this descendent-character also ideally should be prominent enough in the story to matter for reasons unrelated to their relation to lewis, to avoid feeling shoehorned in. and they are probably human, given the apparent rarity of interracial human/faunus couples.

that pretty much narrows it down to theodore, or the asturias twins. NOW hysterical as it would be for jax and gillian to be descended from lewis, finn asturias is obsessed with “the old stories about [his] family” and yet doesn’t drop even a single hint about the ever after, so i think we can rule that out.

which leaves theodore. hmm.

that picture in his office:

She still remembered that her attention had been drawn to one photo in particular: a black-and-white picture of a young girl in pigtails and a checkered dress with a small black dog. She hadn’t mustered the courage to ask who she was to Theodore. A daughter? A sister? Whoever she was, Velvet could see the resemblance.

plainly evokes dorothy, and even bearing in mind that there may be discrepancies (theodore is described as blue-eyed in the book but has brown eyes in beyond, for example)… there’s nothing in this photo to suggest a resemblance to alyx beyond ‘young girl.’ alyx doesn’t wear her hair in pigtails, nor does she have checkered patterns anywhere in her design, nor does she have a little black dog. so i doubt it’s her.

but black-and-white does suggest it’s old. ‘sister’ seems a lot more plausible than ‘daughter’ for that reason, and ‘mother or aunt’ even more likely than either of those.

(the other thing about a young girl with a small black dog in This story, is.

it’s a symbol for the deaths of the ozlem girls and the inescapable grief that underlies the whole conflict between ozma and salem—there’s a reason she sends a giant monstrous hound to capture oz and then huddles in the shadows miserably looking at conjured images of her daughters until oscar wakes up; the black dog reappears as this terrifying monster in conjunction with the surfacing of all this pain.

so the question is to what extent this small black dog in the photograph is Just Toto, and whether the specific narrative symbolism is or isn’t in play here; Did This Girl Die? that would preclude her being theodore’s mother but she could well be an aunt or great-aunt.)

of course the point of drawing attention to this photograph might be as simple as hinting at theodore’s quote-unquote real ozian allusion; not dorothy but the silver shoes lost in the desert. which is an interesting angle to consider with regard to this possibility of lewis being his ancestor, because on the one hand there’s the silver shoes carrying dorothy home yet becoming irretrievably lost themselves in doing so, and on the other there’s alyx, the white rabbit, guiding people home yet never able to return home herself. see the rhyme?

in a sense jaune and team rwby bring alyx home with them, in that they know what happened to her and if there are descendants of lewis still living in vacuo then the question of why she never came home can finally be answered. and if the descendent is theodore, then the intertextual confluence between him and alyx is more resonant than the surface dorothy-and-alice comparison; the silver shoes are the home the white rabbit returns to, as a memory, a hundred and fifty-odd years late. and it matters.

but also i have a little hamster wheel churning at all times in the back of my mind and right now it’s churning around: sixty, seventy years before the great war began, vacuo was a colonial territory of mistral—before the great war, it had no formal government, it wasn’t a state, and oscar references the history of colonization in the 9.11 animatic. so that history and the history of the great war—which was for vacuo a war for independence—is narratively salient. lewis was a child who grew up in vacuo during the fractious decades preceding the great war; he gives a face to this period in history.

and jaune told lewis and alyx not only that he was from remnant but that he was from more than a century in their future; he and lewis “compared notes on remnant.” jaune couldn’t believe they were from vacuo, “back before the war, before huntsmen.”

they compared notes.

jaune’s grandfather fought in the great war.

so lewis went back home to colonial vacuo fifty, sixty, seventy years before the great war knowing that the great war was going to happen. knowing that within his lifetime vacuo would fight for its independence and win. knowing that there would be peace in the end. according to what blake says in 9.2, in the book, alyx “didn’t know [afteran] customs and started a war between the townsfolk” and that takes on a really different subtext now that we know the story’s author was a man who grew up in colonial vacuo knowing that the great war was coming.

either lewis and alyx were vacuan, or they were mistrali but born in vacuo; either way the tenor of the girl who fell through the world suggests that lewis’ sympathies lay with vacuo. both options stand to be compelling if he acted upon this knowledge more directly than writing anti-colonial themes into his children’s book. or books. there is also the boy who fell from the sky, mentioned in after the fall, and alice’s adventures in wonderland does have a somewhat lesser-known sequel.

i doubt lewis fought in the great war himself—he was probably in his seventies or older by then—but if he had children they would have been of an age to fight for vacuo, and if lewis had passed down to them the stories he knew of what remnant would be like after…

y’see how lewis could have ended up playing a really important role in vacuo’s side of the great war, if he’d decided not to leave matters in the hands of fate? jaune told him about what the world would be like after the great war, but lewis also figured out that jaune knew more than he let on, figured out that jaune remembered a story lewis hadn’t written down yet. he knew that knowledge of the future could shape the future, because if it hadn’t been for jaune and jaune’s foreknowledge of his book, he might not have written it the way he did, as a guide for how to get out of the ever after.

so he goes home, knowing the great war will happen and what the outcome will be—or else knowing that it might happen that way. who did he become with that knowledge? what did he choose to do with what he knew? the one thing we know is he became a storyteller, and “storytellers have great power” is a prominent narrative theme.

salem inspired the world to rebel against the brothers by telling the story of what they had done to her, and speaking of her vision of a time when humanity could be free.

lewis…?

#the potential for foiling between the asturias legacy and lewis’s legacy is. Tasty!

21 notes · View notes

changingplumbob · 3 days

Text

Romero Household: Chapter 1, Part 9

Honeymoon continues as we check out the waterfall and beaches.

CW: Light dash of sim spice

Marta’s first language is Spanish so she is teaching Keira (and me) some common Spanish words/phrases Bueno: Good, fine, okay Gracias: Thank you Qué?: What? Si: Yes

Marta kisses Keira on the cheek, they’re both still chilled from the water battle.

Marta: Gracias for that, it felt good to play around

Keira: As old as we get, we should always make time for fun. And romance

Marta: Si, we sho-

Keira cuts her off mid sentence sweeping her around for another romantic kiss. Marta may be the romantic but Keira is completely in love with her wife and not afraid to show it.

The couple figure while they’re here they may as well have showers and immerse themselves in the water.

Keira: You know if you really want to be part of Sulani…

Marta: Si?

Keira: Then you woohoo in the waterfall

Marta: *giggles* That can’t be right

Keira: Oh no, we don’t accept anyone to the islands unless they’ve achieved that

Marta: So you’ve done it before

Keira: Well no, but maybe that’s why they kicked me off the islands

Marta giggles and leans forward to kiss Keira with unexpected passion.

Marta: You okay?

Keira: You know what they say, when in Sulani

Marta: Que?

Keira: Like when in Rome but- ahh

Marta pulls Keira back to the sheltered area behind the falls and the two share more adventurous woohoo.

When they emerge Keira is giddy but she notices Marta seems more pensieve.

Keira: Hey, you alright?

Marta: That was a bit different and I just worry… I was too loud, si?

Keira: Oh hey sweetheart, no. No. I love your voice, do you hear me? I love it. Plus if there’s a time to break molds and be loud it would definitely be when beside a raging waterfall

Marta: Gracias. Te amo. What should we do now

Keira: I’m feeling a bit hungry-

Marta: Let’s go back to the house, I’ll make fruit salad for lunch! I saw some pineapple somewhere around here

Of course we had to do a tiny bit of collectable grabbing. Marta caught some Monarch butterflies that she’s going to magically get through customs. She also found a fossil that she’s planning on giving to Keira as a gift. Keira meanwhile was harvesting some pineapple and kava.

Keira: You sure you don’t want help cooking

Marta: Si. I want to cook for you. Not that I’ll be cooking fruit salad

Keira enjoys having a moment to sit down and write. She hasn’t had time since starting work and she’s got a lot to get out of her head. In the kitchen Marta sings to herself while prepping the fruit. I wish she wouldn’t play fruit ninja quite so much (wait, are some of you too young to get that reference *stares into the distance horrified at the possibility*)

Marta gives the fruit salad some finishing touches and calls Keira to come eat.

Keira: You really like cooking huh

Marta: Si, food is important. It brings people together

Keira: Is that why you like being a barista so much

Marta: Si and no. I do heat some pastry but it is mainly coffee. The people ordering may be grumpy at times but I like knowing something I’ve done has made their day better

Keira: *chuckles* Just when I thought I couldn’t love you any more

The couple head to Ohan’ali Town for the afternoon. The Island Celebration event has been running since the early morning so there is already a smattering of sandcastles about. The girls head for the swing set where they swing gleefully.

Marta: Swings are fun. I feel like I’m flying

Keira: I reckon you’re never too old for swings

Marta: Si! I like this idea. I bet I can go higher than you

Keira: Wait, you’re lighter because you’re short, it’s not a fair contest

Marta: *giggles* Hard to hear you up here

When they start feeling sick they decide it’s best to head for solid ground and build a sandcastle.

Marta: Carino, have you thought more about your parents offer

Keira: You mean them paying so we can have an infant? I guess the Staples infants are pretty cute

Marta: Si, they are

Keira: And I’ve got to remember you’re older than me

Marta sticks her tongue out at this.

Keira: But an infant or two would be something I can handle I think. It’s just… how do we do it

Marta: Que?

Keira: It may have escaped your notice but we’re both women

Marta: Si, and?

Keira: Two cis women can’t have a baby by themselves. We’d need a sperm donor

Marta: What about a science baby

Keira: I don’t know. I’m a scientist sweetheart, I don’t easily trust technology I can’t understand and they haven’t published any papers on the results yet. What if they give us an infant with two heads

Marta: Carino, we’re not living in your cloning show

Keira: I know and I’m not talking about an Orphan Black situation but- can we trust them?

Marta: Would you rather look for a donor

Keira: I don’t know. What if we get a donor and in 18 years the kid decides we’re not their real family and leave to find the donor

Marta: However we get our kids, science or donors or adoption, there will be the risk that they’ll leave us. We just need to raise them the best we can

Keira: I suppose. I just wish I understood more

Marta: We can do more research first, we don’t have to rush into anything carino. There Mr gnome, do you like your shark suit

Keira: I thought he was being eaten by the shark

Marta: I... vote shark suit

Keira: *smiles* gnome in a shark suit it is. Shall we go see what’s left of the festival?

They leave the beach and take the steps up to the community space. There’s not much left by this time. Keira is annoyed that there aren’t many shells left but Marta enjoys the smells of the food. Quick romantic selfie time!

Previous ... Next

#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #my sims #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #MartaRomero #KeiraRomero

24 notes · View notes

opens-up-4-nobody · 4 months

Text

...

#i was looking through old photos today. they where from wjen i was like 1 and it made me so sad #bc my mum would have been like only a year or 2 older then i am now and she looked so young #and now she has an abdomen full of tumors and blistered hands and feet. theyre prob gonna hsve to remove her bladder #but shes still very pragmatic abt it. but she grew up in a house where no one really cared about her feelings so she made them small #and now her mother calls and doesn't ask how her grandkids are doing and doesn't ask how her daughter is doing. im cursed with terrible #grandparents on both sides but i resent my mothers mother worse. though my dad said i probably wouldnt have survived his upbringing #and hes right. my nana has like zero empathy and cant cook for shit. idk how my parents r so normal but the fact i had a good upbringing is #probably the only reason im still here. and thats the other thing that made me sad abt the old pics. just looking at this little baby with a #fucked up head and thinking: in 25 years that kid is gonna b so broken down their not gonns kno what to do or how to fix it. idk whats wrong #with me. ive always been some stage of miserable but i used to b able to get things done. and now i cant seem to force functionality #and it sucks. bc im home now and i still feel like im cringing around this open wound in my chest. but whatever #as of today ive started taking ab1lify. hopefully it helps in the long term but in the short term it triggers my 0cd. which is not fun #its so frustrating. whatever. i also found out my eyes used to not work together. not enough to have a lazy eye but it was hard for me to #read and apparently my eyes were tracking at like double the speed of a normal person. wtf is wrong with my brain? also also my mum was like #yea i never would have guessed bip0lar but we thought it was something. autism i could see 100% but yea didnt see that coming. ao i guess #i brehave like a bit of an oddball. ans my nana would bother my dad to try to make me participate in church and my dad was like no. she #clearly don't wanna b here lol. ay. they did the best they could which i appreciate #unrelated

7 notes · View notes

generation-fucked-nostalgia · 2 years

Photo

Tell Me Something I Don’t Know - Selena Gomez

48 notes · View notes

be-good-to-bugs · 5 months

Text

the world isnt so bad

#the bin #i think ill be ok one day #i feel like i need to change a lot of my lofe and relationships for that to happen but ill do it and ill be better for it and ill be ok #i feel like the big thing thats been fucking me uo these past years besides not having friends is my sister #i just. dont like her. shes mean and unpleasant to be around. she seems fine if u only spend a little time around her but shes so negative #and its not enougj to just not talk much. like. i need our relationship to stop existing in its current for in a tangeble way #not enough to just talk less bc then shes like why r we talking less. but i dont have the option of just saying hey ur mean and i dont #wanna be kinda-friends anymore. we can just have the same kinda relationship i have with the rest of our siblings #because i have literally nobody else here and if she gets mad im kinda fucked. i need her to take me to work. i cant compromise that #its just. idk it sucks. i think itll be healthy to jave distance from her when i move away so that ohr relationship can do the thing quietly #idk. i would have no problem with just changing things immediately but she always has reacted badly to that stuff sooo #ive felt yhis way for many years now but i felt like i was the problem and that shes actually fine but thats not it #and i keep trying to fix it but idk. shes just unpleasant. shes not horrible but we do NOT work. i need to talk to my other older sister #more cause shes really nice. probably gonna help her get a job and stuff when i move. maybe we will move in together #only for like a temp time but just so she can get a handle on living on ur own. and she would need a ride to work n stuff #shes very loud so id rather not live with her. i wanna live alone. but i wanna help her out also bc nobody is willing to do that for her #and also treat her like a capable adult. how can she learn how to be an adult if nobody treats her like one? shes perfectly capable once #she learns but its not stuff u just know on ur own. well. without other ppl getting in the way we communicate very well #idk. thats way future stuff tho. but maybe will do that in the future. im trying to be optimistic and think abt my oter siblings to talk to #i have 3 who are old enough to have regular conversations with and the other 2 r a bit young. 2 of the 3 r kinda mean tho #well. me and my other older sister can live in the least fav children club and talk abt how rude the other 2 are lol

0 notes

wild-at-mind · 11 months

Text

Me recently: what if someone thinks I’m a loser? What if I AM a loser??

#what triggers this? usually comparing my life to other people's #it's just like.....i'm 33 soon to be 34. and i've barely lived at all.#i feel like there are certain life experiences that people do in their 20s that they look back on and say #'those things i did i would not do now as they were probably a bad idea #but i was young and fun and now i'm older and can calm down a bit and i'm glad i had those experiences'#but for me i feel like it took me this long to find the tiniest idea of who i am #sometimes i feel like i fel out of a cocoon or something like a year ago #i feel like i was born yesterday i've done no living at all #and that which i did do i don't talk about because i don't want to make other people feel like i do right now #if they haven't done those things #but like i've not done anything god fuck #my friend who doesn't message me back any more said it seemed like i wanted new experiences and that's not a bad thing #and it's true and she's right but omg i'm so scared #every time i tried to do anything the slightest bit adventurous in the past something went fucked up #and all the people who might have introduced me to fun new things are gone because they made me feel shitty #and when i meet new people they stop messaging me #i'm waaaay way too old to be behaving like an experiementing teenager and i feel like everyone is laughing at me because of it #even if they are not i feel like they can tell i'm the boring person i always thought i would grow up to be #i better stop here because i'm crying again fuck fuck fuck

1 note · View note

koemiexists · 2 months

Text

Perfect Gift | Alastor x Fem Reader

summary: you receive a gift from alastor after residing in the hotel for a month word count: 3.7k tags: smut, cream pie, voice kink, love bites

Recently, you have been noticing just how enchanting Pentagram City is, with the way it seemed to pull you forward. Residing in the Pride Ring as a sinner, you never got to see past that ring.

Nothing was truly new, except for what was occurring around the Morningstar District, as some sinners pegged it. You usually reside in the inner city, near the Heaven Ambasade.

Towards the border of the Morningstar District, on an elevated ground was what seemed to be a hotel, and you could just barely make out the words. Hazbin Hotel .

It seemed interesting, it intrigued you. And the best part, it was something new.

Now, if you were one for TV, you’d probably have heard about the Hotel way sooner from a news reporter Katie Killjoy, but you find it much more fascinating to listen to the radio, old fashion, but it’s something you enjoyed.

You guess that if it wasn’t for your constant urge to try new things, you likely wouldn’t have ended up in this mess. Yet, you can’t find it in yourself to hate where you turned up.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!” A feminine voice said, and you thought you could vaguely hear just how bright it was. You watched as Charlie Morningstar, the princess of Hell, next to the throne, jumped in your space, her eyes shining. “Are you a wayward sinner in hopes of being redeemed!? Are you here for a chance to make it to Heaven, to have your soul be cleansed of your sins?”

Redemption? You weren't too sure it was possible, but if Charlie, the daughter of Lucifer, believed it so wholeheartedly... Perhaps there was a chance.

“I never really thought about being redeemed,” You admit quietly, looking up at the tall hellborn. Why was she so tall? Was her father even taller then? Your internal dialogue was cut short when she gasped.

“No? Never?” She inquired, bending her knees slightly, her eyes crinkling a bit knowingly at your height difference predicament.

Truly is the daughter of the Devil , you thought with a frown. “No, not really. I came here because I was interested, if I’m being honest.” You felt embarrassed, you didn’t want to turn away after how excited Charlie seemed. “But... now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind being redeemed.”

Charlie’s smile grew wider, and with a tug, you found yourself in the hotel, feeling a bit dizzy, albeit excited at what you were getting into.

You saw her take a deep breath, and gather the other members around. “This is Vaggie-” A young woman comes into view, and you furrow your brows, wondering why she looks different from the others you see in Hell. Almost like an-

“Angel Dust is the name! Nice to meet ya, toots,” A spider looking demon grins at you, and you felt your face flush, knowing exactly where you heard the name, and saw him from. You never watched his porn movies voluntarily, but you have heard about him countless times from your coworkers.

Charlie smiles, and points towards a bar. “There’s Husk, and we have our maid, Nifty!”

“Forgetting someone?” Vaggie mentioned, rolling her eye.

The woman furrowed her brows, wondering just who she was missing. “Oh! You’re right! I don’t know where he is right now, but there’s also Alastor, our facility manager!”

At that moment, you felt a presence behind you, yelping as you fell. From the ground, an inky darkness rose into the form of a tall demon, a large grin present on his face. “You called?” He spoke, and you felt a sharp tingle go through your body at the sound of his voice, staticky but also pleasant.

Charlie smiled. “Yup, that’s Alastor!” She spoke, helping you up.

“Ah- Nice to meet you all. I’m (Name).” You spoke, feeling shaken up still.

“(Name)?” Alastor spoke, his grin widening as he walked over to you. “Well it is just a pleasure to be meeting you. You’re here to be redeemed, dear?” He questioned, and you can only mumble a yes, cheeks flushing.

Charlie was about to speak again, before her phone rang loudly, and she let out a quiet groan. “Who is... Dad? Ugh, alright! Vaggie, Alastor, can you please show (Name) around? And (Name), sorry for not being the one to give you a tour! I have to take this call.” She gave you an apologetic smile, before walking off, answering the phone.

You notice Vaggie had an annoyed expression, but it was quickly wiped off as she turned to you. “Well let’s get this tour going. At the end we’ll show you your quarters, (Name).”

“Alright,” Smiling, you follow Vaggie, keenly aware of Alastor trailing behind you two.

“...And this is the kitchen, Nifty usually cooks, but as long as you aren’t absolutely horrible at it, we don’t mind if you use it. Here’s-” Vaggie pauses, taking out her phone, squinting her eye at it. “Sorry,” She apologized, as she backed up. “Charlie needs me right now. Alastor? Finish the tour for (Name), please.”

With that she left, leaving just you and Alastor, whose grin sharpened. “Well, it’s just you and me now!” He laughed, beginning to walk forward as you trailed behind.

You stayed silent, before your curiosity fully peaked, leaving you unable to keep your mouth shut. “Your cane,” You started, feeling Alastor’s gaze on you even though you were looking down. “What’s it for?”

“What do you think it is for?” He questioned back, watching as you fumbled your words.

“Well- I just thought it was for aesthetics-”

Alastor let out a laugh. “Only for appearances? Well darling, it allows me to broadcast my voice.”

Your brows furrow, confused. “Is that all it does?” You inquire, wondering if you’ll get more information. “Wait- broadcast...?”

His smile broadens as he watches you expressively piece it together. “I heard your broadcasts before!” You sputtered, and then you froze. “Oh my gosh. You’re the Radio Demon , aren’t you...”

“Correct! I am.” He said with glee, as he opened a door, pointing inside with his cane. “A gentleman will never enter a woman’s quarters without permission,” Alastor spoke, looking at you.

“This is my room...? Already?” You murmured, as you walked in, noting how it was already furnished.

Alastor let out a huff of laughter, the radio effect increasing slightly. “Darling, you didn’t seriously expect many sinners to be rushing to reside here, now do you?”

You frown, crossing your arms. “Charlie believes in this idea. Who's to say it’s not a possibility? Being redeemed seems far-fetched, yes, but I’ll gladly try and be cleansed of my sins then spit in her idea.”

“Would you still think that way?~” He sing-songed, grinning. “Charlie’s way is less than conventional, you’ll see. But if you truly wish to reside here in the path of redemption... Well, who am I to stop you?” Alastor leaned in, patting your head. Then he seemingly melted into that inky darkness you saw, watching as it went down the hall.

“Weird.” You huffed, rubbing your eyes. You were exhausted, mentally and physically, and the fluffy bed seemed to be calling your name.

“(Name)!” Charlie yelled, watching as you yelped, falling from your bed. “Great, you’re awake.”

You grumbled softly. “Only because you yelled. I was sleeping, peacefully.”

She grinned. “Not anymore. Besides, it’s good to be an early riser!”

The princess helped you up, and began going through your closet. “I think you’re due for a trip outside the hotel. You have clothes, but...” Charlie frowned, wrinkling her nose as she took out an article of clothing that was at least a few hundred years old. “They’re old.”

“Yeah,” You yawned. “It’s ‘cause I never made enough truly besides the necessities. I couldn’t really splurge.”

Charlie gasped, turning to you. “You couldn’t? Well- we need you to! This is actually sad.” She began to think, before snapping her fingers. “Don’t worry, I know who you can borrow some clothes from!”

“Who?” You questioned, watching as Charlie tapped rapidly at her phone, then pocketing it.

Your door opened, and you watched as Vaggie walked in, holding a few pieces of clothing. “(Name), you need some new clothes.” She said, glancing at the battered clothes. “Jeez. Your clothes are actually ugly.”

“Vaggie!” Charlie huffed, and her girlfriend smiled a little, pecking her cheek. “A kiss isn’t going to change the fact you said something so mean!” She squawked.

You groaned. “Let’s just move on from my wardrobe, alright?”

Vaggie shrugged, putting down the clothes on your bed. “Here. You’re lucky we’re roughly the same height and size.”

Grasping the soft clothes, you note how they were very feminine. “You have pretty taste.” You remarked quietly, as you pulled at the dressing screen.

She let out a laugh. “Thanks, (Name). I’d say the same but-” “Vaggie-!”

“-I would need to see more of your clothes.” Vaggie finished wryly, smirking.

You huffed, even though truly, you were amused. Opening your mouth to speak again, you fell silent when a knock was heard on the door.

You heard Charlie get up, opening the door slightly. “Yes?”

“Is (Name) there?” You heard Angel ask, and you felt relieved.

“Uhm..” Charlie bit her lip, unsure if you wanted him to come in.

You pulled the clothing screen back, revealing the flowy skirt paired with a tight blouse. “Charlie, it’s okay! Angel can come in. I’m finished changing anyways.”

Angel sauntered in, stretching. “Look at you, toots. You look awfully dolled up for how you usually dress.”

Vaggie snorted, as she got up, walking towards the door. “Charlie made her change. She had to borrow my clothes.” She said, grinning. “Anyways, Charlie and I will be downstairs if you need us, (Name).”

You watched the couple wave, shutting your bedroom door closed afterwards.

“So,” Angel started, smirking.

You quirked a brow, sitting down on your bed. “So,” You repeated back, folding your arms.”

He grinned. “It’s been a few weeks, how are you feelin’ staying in this hotel?”

That was something you were thinking about. It was amazing to be able to live here without needing to pay money. It also helped how nice Charlie and Vaggie were to you.

What also was good was just how pleasant it was to listen to Alastor speak. You hid your radio in your drawer almost always, but when you heard the little crackle that was the tell-tale sign he was live, you always tuned in.

“Good.” You said simply, smiling. “I like it here enough. It’s nice to be around welcoming people too.”

Angel laughed, moving to sit next to you, laying his head on your lap. “Does getting horny at Alastor’s voice also help?” He asked casually, laughing louder as you squeaked and pushed him off.

“I do not get horny at his voice!”

“No?” Angel probed, watching as you got even more flustered.

“Let’s just go.” You muttered, embarrassed and flushed from just the thought. Angel only smirked, walking with you down the stairs.

It’s something that became a bit of a routine, Angel joking with you about you being attracted to Alastor’s voice, and you fervently denying it, despite it being the truth.

And then one day, while you were out with Charlie to run errands, Angel slipped up.

Alastor was already quite interested in the fact you hung out with him so frequently, especially since he only made idle chat with you, and on rare occasions sought out to make a deal for your soul.

You always declined, knowing that making a deal with Alastor would be a terrible choice, as Husk told you.

So when Angel began to talk about you to Husk in a drunken haze, he found it to be a perfect opportunity to learn more about you.

“So,” Angel spoke, slurring his words only lightly. “(Name) fell into a puddle of someone’s vomit! She told me how embarrassed she was! I told her she wasn’t alone, and how I slipped on some dude’s jizz once, but she just argued how it wasn’t the same.”

Husk snorted. “It really isn’t. One is gross, and the other is because you’re a pornstar who actually deals with bodily fluids like jizz.”

Angel rolled his eyes, drinking some more alcohol. “It’s the same sentiment though! That shit hurts. Plus, it was sticky, which is gross.”

Alastor felt his eyes twitch, ready to slink away to do something more productive, before he heard Angel speak up again.

“Hey Whiskers, did I tell you about something (Name) doesn’t tell anyone ? I only figured it out by observing!”

It was obvious Husk wanted to stop Angel from spilling your secrets, but he was also curious. “No, what happened?”

Leaning in, Angel spoke in a voice that meant to be hushed, but was regular in volume. “She finds Alastor’s voice attractive! Like, she gets absolutely flustered when listening to his broadcast- she hides a radio she owns in her drawer. She uses it only to listen to him. Isn’t that crazy?”

Alastor let out a quiet hum, static filling in the air as he slipped into the darkness, ready to use this new information.

You were exhausted from the outing with Charlie, but she insisted, stating how “a new resident’s idea on things will benefit the hotel in the future!”

You wish you told her you didn’t want to, but it was Charlie, and she would have just sang to you in order to convince you. And needless to say, you didn’t want her singing. Slumping in your bed, you cuddled against the comforters, fully about to drift off to sleep, before you heard a light noise. Groaning, you turned over, refusing to get up, until you felt a presence. Jolting up, you saw Alastor, who was grinning widely at you.

“And I thought the new resident was sleeping peacefully!” He laughed, twirling his cane. “Looks like she’s fully awake instead.”

You huffed. “What do you need, Alastor? I’m tired, Charlie dragged me all around Pentagram City.”

He smirked, sitting on the bed. “Well, I thought that you needed a gift.”

“Gift?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “Why do I need a gift?”

“You don’t even know?” Alastor’s voice was self-satisfied as he pulled out a calendar from nowhere, tapping on it. “It’s your full month being here! That calls for a gift, don’t you think?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No.” You said flatly.

“So hostile!” He laughed, grinning even wider. “Well dear, I think you deserve one. Especially with how sweet you are to others. Almost rivaling Ms. Morningstar!”

“I don’t believe so,” You sighed. “Charlie is insanely nice. I think I’m only a fraction of how nice she is. And I think I’m just okay to be around, everyone else is too abrasive.”

Alastor leaned closer, his smile toothy. “Abrasive? Such a big word! Only fitting for a knowledgeable lady like yourself, hmm? Although, I think you’re only so informed and enlightened by a certain radio broadcast, don’t you think so?”

You felt your blood run cold, as you slowly turned to Alastor, who’s smile widened even more at your fearful expression. “What are you talking about?” You whispered.

“What do you mean dear?” He asked, the static increasing in his voice again. “The fact that you have a radio hidden in your drawer, that you use to listen to me whenever I begin to broadcast,” He said, leaning over you as your breath began to pick up. “Or the fact you get aroused at hearing me speak? Is that why you come to me so much? To listen to me speak?”

Your breath hitched, and Alastor laughed. “Oh, it is! Aren’t you the naughty doe? Getting riled up over the sound of my voice...” He hummed, and you felt him begin to unbutton your pajama top. “Say, do you touch yourself to my voice? When I start my radio show late at night, do you wake up just to listen in?”

“I-” You let out a small whimper, arousal pooling in your lower belly as he rubbed light circles on your hips. “Sometimes-! Only some- only a little.” You spoke, fast and hushed as you gripped his arms. “Alastor-”

He smirked. “Let this be your gift, for being here for a month.” Alastor said shortly, pushing your top off. Your breath hitched, but you can’t find yourself to feel uncomfortable or angry, you wanted this so badly. To have a night with Alastor, to feel his touch in an intimate way.

“Alastor,” You spoke breathily, as he slipped his hand underneath your pajama shorts, rubbing at your wet slit.

You felt hot, your body responding to his touches extremely well, like it was made to be touched by him.

Alastor bit at your collarbone, laving his tongue over the bite, growling lightly at the taste of blood. “Look at you. Look how your body responds to me.” His voice lost some of its static, and you couldn’t help but moan at the sound.

He laughed, and began to work a finger inside you, thrusting in and out, curling it against the spongy part deep within you.

“Wow, you really do like my voice. You have a voice kink, (Name)? Want me to groan in your ear?” He questioned, smirking as he bit lightly on your lobe.

You huffed, moaning as quietly as you could, rolling your hips into his hand. “Damn it, Alastor.” You choked, grasping at the sheets underneath you. “ Fuck - please, please just...”

He leaned closer, obviously waiting for you to say what you wanted. “Just...?”

“Shit! Fuck me? Please?” You whimpered, an embarrassing high pitch whine emitting from you as he removed his finger.

“Fascinating, isn’t it? I didn’t even put two fingers in you! Look at just how much arousal is covering my finger.” Alastor licked his finger, laughing.

You mewled pitifully, needing him badly. “Fuck you,” You groaned, trying to get him to just fuck you.

Alastor let out a haughty cackle, unzipping his trousers as he pulled your hips against him. “Are you ready, darling? You wanted this so bad.”

Letting out another whine, you nod, watching as Alastor kissed and bit at your chest.

Then, in one swift motion you felt him enter you, filing you to the absolute brim. You moaned loudly, wrapping your legs around his waist, eyes shutting close as you tried to steady your breathing.

“When I fuck you,” Alastor began, his voice sharp as his hand gripped you chin, forcing you to look at him. The pain was slight, but enough for you to let out a quiet whimper. “You will look at me when I do so. You understand, (Name)?”

“Yes,” You stutter out, your walls fluttering around his cock.

Alastor hummed, waiting as he watched you tremble and try to fuck yourself onto him, a smug grin present on his face. “My poor doe,” He cooed, his voice crackling with static as he pinched your nipple. You yelped, and he laughed, kissing your neck, the very same spot he bit.

“Hungry for me to fuck you dumb, hm? You really are a whore for me.” He murmured, kissing your lips lightly before he gripped your thighs, pulling out almost completely.

“Don’t worry my doe, I’ll make sure you get what you want.” He breathed out, his voice slightly deeper as he slammed back in you, the headboard hitting the wall roughly as his fingers clawed into your hip.

You cried out loudly, pussy dripping all over his pelvis as he repeated the motions, rough thrusts into your willing body. “Alastor, Christ!”

He let out a quiet growl, snapping his hips into your body at a faster pace.

“The only name you shall evoke is mine. Understand?” He spoke harshly as the ever present grin became strained, the static in his voice and around him increasing as he grasped your face, staring into your eyes.

You moaned loudly, nodding pitifully, and he smirked. “Good girl.”

Alastor began to maneuver you while thrusting slowly, your ankles pressing against his shoulders instead of his waist. He pressed a hand against your abdomen, moving at a bit faster pace, a groan escaping him. “You’re being such a good girl. ” Alastor groaned, right in your ear, and burst, whining loudly.

His own breath hitched, as he kept thrusting in your spasming heat, sucking a large bruise on your neck.

You felt your energy drain from you, overstimulated and sensitive after your orgasm, yet Alastor didn’t seem done with you yet. Groaning, you tried to pull away, legs shaking from the continued stimulation at your groin.

“You aren’t truly that foolish, right (Name)?” Alastor laughed, swiping his fingers at his tongue, before rubbing tight circles onto your clit, watching as you jerked from his touch.

Almost as if you got electrocuted, you let out a wail, pushing with all your might to get some reprieve, but the pain felt almost too good. Alastor bit your lip lightly, snickering when you began to orgasm again, squirting all over his pelvis and the bed sheets.

You jolted, twitching lightly as Alastor buried himself deep, kissing you passionately as he came inside you. You couldn’t find any stamina to pull away and turn, fully relying on the radio demon to help you.

He let out a low cackle, pulling out and zipping his trousers up again. Despite the obvious spot at his crotch from your squirting, he decided he’ll resolve it later, tucking you into bed. “Hope you enjoyed your gift, my little doe.” He murmured, fixing his hair.

“Hey, (Name)! What’s all the noise?” Charlie came bounding into your room, freezing at the sight of Alastor.

Vaggie came behind Charlie, immediately falling into a fighting stance when she noticed Alastor as well.

“Uh... Alastor,” Charlie started, trying to smile casually. “What are you doing in (Name)’s room...? And uhm, why does it smell like that?”

Alastor laughed, his expression smug. “I just gave (Name) a gift, that’s all! She’ll be fine, maybe a little sore.” He turned to you, his expression softening just a tiniest bit. “Well, ladies, I’m off to do a radio broadcast! I’ll see you two in the morning.”

#alastor headcanons #alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fandom #smut #female reader #x reader

2K notes · View notes

orcelito · 1 year

Text

Tales of Arise has consumed my life

I am already in love with this man

#speculation nation #hfkshfkshx ive played way too much today. whoop #but it let me meet him so that is fine by me #i was expecting to fall in love with his lady knight who will Also be a party member #and dont get me wrong i love the idea of her. but i have seen so little of her so far #& all ive really seen is the typical knightly Loyalty To The Lord kinda thing #but Him... shows up serving looks. a subtle attitude to him. a general atmosphere of power and strength #and commitment to Peace in a world that otherwise lacks it #this land is absolutely beautiful & the people are so happy and it's bc he's been working tirelessly for 7 years #oh also he plays (or at least played) violin!!!! which is also so so good #cant wait to have him on my party and Never take him off. ever.#in general im loving all the player characters. they have so much depth & feel very sympathetic #i also do like Shionne's bitchy act. tho i would kinda like to know what the fuck she's even doing all this for.#alphen is my baby boy and i love him so very much #i would like to give head pats to both the kiddos of the party #and now. Now. regal man. pretty man. he's older than ME even and that is so good #tales games have a tendency to have mostly very young parties and Maybe one token old person #youngest here is 14 then one's 16. then 19. then ?? but physically seems like an adult (amnesia meaning no exact age lol)#and then lady knight at 24 i think. and lord man at 28.#which honestly makes me love him more. he's Mature... and oh so very pretty...#i was not expecting him to be my choice of favorite character but i am soooo looking forward to him joining the party.#forcing myself to stop for the day bc my head hurts and ive been playing for like 7 hours straight. whoops.#i get to sleep and then play some more tomorrow... heheheheheh

0 notes

slashersidewhore · 10 months

Text

Slashers! First meeting their S/O

Slashers! x gn!reader

Includes Michael Myers, Jason Voorhees, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair

Requested? Yes

Warnings: beefy murder boyfriends, fluffy shit, pre-relationship stuff, love at first sight, mentions of murder/gore/malicious intentions, violence

Michael Myers

It was Halloween night, dark eyes through holes in a white, cast of a mask staring through the second story window of an old, decrepit house

A young boy skipping by as in a blue, capped superhero, an older couple strolling on the opposite street, arm in arm minding their own in the breezy night

Eyes cast downward as the sharp ring of a doorbell shot through the old bones of the house, glint of a butchers knife tight in the grasp of the man know silently making his way through the upper hall

“Are we even supposed to be going in here?”

“Who cares, it’s tradition to check out the Myers mansion, relax”

“I don’t know, this feels wrong..”

Listening to what seemed to be two young adult, the shrill voice of one of them almost instantly striking the silent man with a headache

Michael watched from the shadows as the pair came into view, the louder of the two wearing her hair in tight pigtails, a cheerleader outfit splattered with what was obviously fake blood, a bad attempt at a murder victim

Ready to lumber from the darkness and strike down on the intruders, the man was struck to the spot he stood as you came into view, wearing another poorly, and clearly last minute, thrown on pirate costume

You were what he imagined when the perfect kill was dreamt, your face burned into his as your pictured screams of fear and pain died as did your fighting spirit, the knife once again tightened in his grip, knuckles turning a pale white, veins pulsing beneath taut skin

He wanted, no, needed to kill you

Even the thought alone send a bold chill of excitement through the otherwise lifeless body of his

“You know what would be so funny-“

The girl in pigtails spoke as she flipped around the corner, the voice shrinking in her throat quickly morphing in a scream of terror as she bumped into the large, awaiting body of the infamous Michael Myers

Although her scream was also short lived as a rough hand was immediately around her throat, lifting her from her feet and slamming her back into the adjacent wall breath knocked from her body at the impact

His other hand rose, moonlight catching the long, silver blade as it was plunged deep into her stomach, twisting, turning as her throat gave up on its scream, another shriek caused the killers head to twist like an owl

There you stood, frozen in place with hands partly covering your mouth, eyes wide, not shaking, not running, just watching as the man before you brutalized your friend

But as your eyes caught each others in the dimly lit hallway, Michaels grasp on the now corpse released, body hitting the floor with a dull thud he didnt bother to pull the knife from its placed nestled between dead flesh, not even glancing down at it

Your hands slowly fell from your face, still not shaking, but clearly stressed with sweat as you wiped your hands on the fabric covering your thighs

“I’m, sorry for breaking in”

Your voice was soft, careful but not disingenuous, Michael didn’t know how to react, unable to look away or even move

His head tilted to the left, mask bunching at the bottom, he turned on his heel and made his exit through the rickety wooden door leading to the backyard, leaving the body, knife, and you alone in the corridor

As his walk through the brisk night air flooded under the neck of his mask, the killer could feel his normally emotionless face scrunch with confusion

If hearing you scream in fear wasn’t what he thought he wanted from you, then what did he want from you?

He would have to investigate this sudden curiosity closely

Jason Voorhees

Jason was tirelessly indulging the day by sitting on the end of his cabins patio, watching the slow turn of various wild animals go by

There weren’t any campers to keep him busy, nor screams and boisterous laughter of teens trying to get their rocks off on the property, just the hum of June bugs and trees swaying beneath the gentle breeze of warm weather

That was until a shrill yelp drilled into Jason’s eardrums, bothered by the distraction from his day of calm, the man stood with shoulders squared, grabbing the awaiting machete perched against one of the patios wooden posts

Marching through the dense woods, his boots crushed leaves as he made he way to the noise from minutes earlier, hoping whoever it was was far gone

“Oh my god”

Of course they weren’t though, of course whoever this was decided to stupidly wander onto private property, clearly posted in writing on multiple trees and wire fences

Although Jason hesitated when he heard something he’d never had the pleasure of catching

“You poor thing, here I am breaking the law because of you”

Peeking from behind the thick trunk of a large oak, Jason was surprised to see a stranger kneeling in the dirt, fingers and palms cut up with minor wounds as they attempted to unwind a helpless rabbit that seemed to have gotten itself rolled in loose barbed wire

Not minding to worry about yourself, you winced as another barb caught your finger, slicing the thin flesh there as the rabbit was freed, trotting away without a care in the world

“Okay, now which way did I come in from?”

You wondered aloud, turning on your heel to go back the direction you think you came from, hoping in get back on the hiking trail you’d left behind

Jason merely watched with confusion, no malice or really any thought behind his eyes other than the urge to, protect you, from what he wasn’t sure

But he knew for certain, you weren’t someone he’d be able to forget

Thomas Hewitt

Let’s get one thing straight, Thomas doesn’t enjoy killing, him and his family was forced into it by Hoyt and his insatiable urge to feed and “care” for everyone

Most victims were easy to kill, treating him like a monster, screaming in his face curses and insults as they went out

Others he had a harder time with, the ones that just cry, plead with him for their life, promise they won’t tell the police if he lets them go

That being said, he’s never failed to kill, not once since he’s begun

That is until one summer day, when a knock at the door caught Luda Mae by surprise, wiping her wet hands on a dish towel and headed to the front door

Eyes narrowed, the older woman opened the door to reveal a young adult, you, standing there with a shy smile gracing your features, you held a pair of car keys in one hand, the other free to reach up and rub nervously at the back of your neck

“I’m sorry to bother you and, whoever else is home, but my car broke down a mile out, and I’m unable to reach anyone on my cell”

Luda Maes confusion turned to soft pity, a reserved grin taking over her lips as she moved to the left, a hand beckoning you in

“Well dear, there’s a phone in the kitchen, if you’d like I can call the towns auto shop while you wait in the living room”

Although still shaken from being practically dropped in the middle of nowhere Texas, you made your way graciously inside, thanking the woman with kind praise as you did so

Taking a seat on one of the two sofas available, your ankles crossed as you stared down at one of the keychains dangling from your car keys

You could hear the woman in the kitchen shuffling around, although you weren’t sure if you could hear anyone speaking to anyone on the phone

Curious, you slowly stood, palms sweaty as you now took a few steps from the living room, now able to hear Luda Mae speaking on the low to someone, then the sound of a corded phone clicking into its place on the wall

Heart slowing as you realized you were just being paranoid, you quickly turned on your heel to find your way back to the couch, although your trip was cut short by your feet crossing over one another, about to fall on your face when a two large hands steadied your shoulder

Gazing up, your breath caught in your throat at the absolute behemoth of a man now standing before you, a leather mask covering the bottom half of his face, thick brows furrowing as you simply continued to stare with wonder up at him

“Thank you”

Was all you could manage, voice catching as you realized your body was practically pressed up against his

“There you are dear, oh look I see you’ve met my youngest boy Tommy”

Luda Mae spoke as she entered the room, knowing look on her face as she coyly added fuel to the current fire

Pulling yourself up right and out of Thomas’ grasp, your hot face was focused on the older woman in hopes the man wouldn’t notice your sudden fluster

“Unfortunately our only truck is out with my other son, so I was thinking my boy here could be so kind as to walk you to the auto shop, you’ll be safe with him, promise”

You didn’t notice the way Thomas’ eyes followed you, too focused on thinking about being alone with a man as attractive as the one quietly standing beside you

“You’re not worried are you?”

Luda seemed to test you, but it went right over your head as you shook your head no

“He seems very reliable”

You smiled up at Thomas, unable to catch the skip in his chest as you did so

Luda Mae could only grin at the sight, ready to call up Hoyt and tell him to leave this stranger alone, as she could see a future blooming before her eyes

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent wasn’t one to leave his studio unless absolutely necessary, and even in those cases he didn’t, it wasn’t pleasant for the man

Until Bo brought home a guest, someone shaking and blindfolded as he manhandled the poor soul, although the stranger wasn’t screaming nor fighting, it was as if they’d completely given up, or knew it wouldn’t help

Vincent watched silently as his brother forced you to the ground, your knees surely hurting as they made contact with the hard, concrete floor

“Do you know what happens to people that wander where they don’t belong?”

Bo questioned menacingly, although he had a playful glint in his eye Vincent had never seen before

Silently creeping up behind his twin, the long haired man narrowed his eyes as he scanned what he could see in the dim, candle lit room of your face

The obvious old, dried tears that had found their way down your cheeks were still shining, creating lines over your soft skin

You looked to be carved of marble, painted with delicate strokes and framed with care, you were a work of art, and he hadn’t even seen your eyes yet

Placing a deft hand on Bo’s shoulder, the two exchanged looks, the shorter haired twin groaning in annoyance, although that look from before was still in his eye

Right as he was turning to take his leave, he leaned closer to Vincent, whispering to him as he passed

“I took one glance and knew you’d like them, guess I was right”

Then he was gone, foot steps disappearing as he left up the basement stairway

Vincent cautiously walked closer to you, noticing how you flinched back a bit when he made a move to pull your blindfold up, doing it slowly as to not startle you

Your watery eyes fell on his masked face, brows furrowing slightly as you glanced around the room

Vincent’s mouth soured at the idea that you were looking for Bo, of course you would be, what new comer in town wasn’t, until

“Is that man from before gone?”

You’d whispered, and if your sweet voice didn’t send Vincent into a flutter of strange emotions, your next words at the nod of, “yes”, Vincent gave you did

“Good, he scares me”

He merely nodded, unsure of how to act

“Is he going to come back?”

Vincent shrugged

Your shifted so you were sitting, wincing at the ache in your legs, eyes nervous but no longer afraid, you looked to the silent man before you

“Will you, stay here if he comes back?”

Vincent had never been so quick to nod a, “yes”

Sorry I’ve been gone for so long, but I’m back now! I’m working on what is currently in my requests but feel free to send in more!

^ me returning after being inactive for 6 months

#slasher #thomas hewitt #vincent sinclair #michael myers #slasher x reader #jason voorhees #slashers x reader insert #slashers x gn reader #slashers x reader #thomas hewitt fanfic #thomas hewitt x reader #jason voorhees x reader #Jason Voorhees fanfic #michael myers x reader #Michael Myers fanfic #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair fanfic

6K notes · View notes