#[rest in pieces my lad

[b4kuch1n]

I know what I want to see.

I know what I want to see.

I know what I want to see.

[sentofight]

Of course, she has pictures with them but not with him. pouts. pouts.

[k00kiecrumbler]

☆ Rt-tober Day 19 - 26 ☆

no. 528 - rhythm doctor! RT [ *unsteady button smash* ]

no. 569 - Barbie! RT [ *hi Barbie on loop * ]

×

no. 5 - catboy! RT [ this looks better than the sketch ]

no. 19 - Fell! RT [ :0 bones ]

×

no. 26: Genshin Impact AU! RT [ black duck of the post ]

no. 31: Bugsnax! RT [ * sigh* bunger... ]

×

no. 231 : Dimentio! RT [ would've known this lad if I made it past the tutorial. ]

no. 57.2 : AA AU! // mayor // RT [ *smash* ]

[tojisun]

the apple that rolled over to the tree

!! fluff; f!reader; parenthood!!; simon-centric hehe >:3 // divider by @/plutism!

there is a… kid attached to your hip when simon returns home from a mission, his exhausted body stumbling into the kitchen where he finds you and it.

“what—”

he can’t even fathom the emotion coursing through him at the moment, what with shock triumphing over everything. still, you’d probably need to give him credit for not losing his goddamn mind at seeing a whole child — he couldn’t have been more than two years old with how he’s only three apples tall — clinging to you like a baby koala.

“oh my god, you’re back!” you squeal, unfazed at how dumbfounded your fiance has become, before shuffling close to embrace him.

simon reciprocates the hug anyway.

you step back, your lips still wobbling in your tears as you stare up at him, all awed like you couldn’t believe that he was back and simon wishes he can press his promises to your lips because he will always find a way to come back, he swears on his life, but also—

the child.

“sweetheart?” he begins, soft as to not spook you or the kid. “who’s, uh, who’s that?”

the child shifts, turning his little face from where it was burrowed onto your neck at the sound of simon’s voice. he rests his head on your clavicle, smooshing his already chubby cheek, before the biggest brown eyes that simon’s ever seen stare up at him, all doe-eyed and jarringly innocent, and simon, he—

well, not even babysitting tommy’s kids prepared him for this.

“this is yasha,” you murmur, pulling simon’s attention back to you. “or yakov, or james if he would want an english name.”

the boy reacts to you calling his name, and simon watches as those curious eyes tip up at you in question. you swipe your finger over his nose, the little thing scrunching up at the ticklish feeling, and simon becomes breathless at seeing the unadulterated joy in your face.

it is all parts soft and tender, but also anxious and worried, and simon begins to puzzle out the pieces.

“he’s my foster child. or ours, i guess, now that you’re here.” your voice is so fragile as you reply to him, your hand now beginning to rub soothing nothings on the boy’s back. simon wonders if it’s more to calm yourself down than it is to comfort the boy.

your lips purse, hesitating, and simon waits because while he he’s pieced out what you want to ask, he knows that this is something you would want to truly talk to him about. it is something he knows you have mustered up the courage to bring up so he gives it to you, open and ready, and he hopes that his face and his gait show that whatever it is you would want to say, simon will always support you no matter what.

“si?” you begin, looking heart-wrenchingly small in your worry. “i think i wanna adopt him.”

simon hums, stepping close but also being careful not to crowd yasha, before he curls his arms around you two — his family — and nuzzles his face on your other shoulder. “i’d love that.”

he offers you a smile, and squeezes your arm in comfort, then he watches as the tears come, easily springing up from your eyes. yasha startles, whirling to look up at his mother in worry. simon’s throat constricts at the thought of you being a mother and him, a father; how, now, there is someone else for simon to come home to. someone to fight for.

jesus. he’d need to tell the lads and maybe get wasted as a celebration.

“owies?” yasha asks, chubby fist balling your shirt.

“they’re happy tears, sweetie pie,” you reply, crooning. “i’m just so, so happy.”

yasha hums, nodding, probably already distracted, and simon takes that time to straighten back up. he pushes your hair away from your face, before he pitches forward to press a kiss on your forehead.

yeah, he’s happy too.

.

yasha gets spoiled, not that simon’s complaining given that he’s been the one doing all the spoiling.

“really, si? a new toly?” you ask, arms crossed over your chest in your exasperation.

toly or anatoly, or tory because yasha still can’t speak properly, is the name that yasha gave to all of his new stuffed toys. it all started with a dog plush that simon bought from the supermarket on a whim and gave to the boy. it was laughably quick how yasha had abandoned his blocks to make grabby hands to the toy, before squealing out that name.

the next stuffed toy that yasha received, which was just the softest and roundest penguin plush toy that simon’s ever seen, was also named toly. so was that teddy bear you bought for him. or that reindeer he got for christmas. somehow, every single one had been named toly.

the only thing you and simon can find about toly was that anatoly means sunrise. simon was so sure it was the russian word for animal, because why else would yasha repeat it, but who would have thought that their little fish is so imaginative?

like, of course he’s going to name all of his toys toly because they are as warm as sunrises. see? smart kid.

but this one, this new toly, set off world records. it was a camel plush that simon saw at the airport when he was out, pretending to be a civilian.

(garrick had been assigned with him for that mission, and was quick to spot and mention simon’s on-duty purchase.

“it’s for my boy,” he grunted in reply, forgetting the fact that he’s yet to truly break the news to his squad. garrick had never looked as surprised, and next thing simon knew, the news made its way to their group chat.

price was amiable about the whole thing. mactavish? not so much.

he just about begged to see a picture of yasha — “and yer girl again, if you wouldn’t mind.” — or even visit him. then he invited garrick to come and price invited himself too, so now the guys are going to swing by some time soon.)

when simon gave it to yasha, their boy had stared at it for a solid minute — simon counted — before screaming and then running to snatch the toy from simon’s hold. he hugged the camel close to his person, his little head nuzzling against the plush face of the camel, all the while absolutely vibrating in unabashed excitement.

he picked up thundering footsteps and turned around just enough to see you literally slide into the room. yasha continued to hug the camel, ignorant of the distress he caused, while you looked on in your panic, buzzing with worry because you just heard your boy scream, damn it!

“he’s fine, bub,” simon said before you could ask, and he watched as you came down from your frenzy, your breathing slowing down at the rationalization that if simon was not panicked, then everything’s alright.

then, your eyes landed on the new stuff toy.

“really?” you asked.

in his defence, yasha adores camel-toly.

in your defence, yasha’s room is running out of space for his tolys.

…well, simon does have all that military money. gonna have to spend it on something else, right?

.

[charlie foxtrot]

sriley: link

john2: ????

sriley: new address.

garry: oh? congratulations.

sriley: thanks.

johnp: 👍

.

yasha was shy when saying hi to price, then outright cried when he saw mactavish, which made simon bark out loud in laughter. yasha only stopped sniffling when he saw kyle. in no time, yasha absolutely adored garrick to the point that he would not even let him go.

dinner was prepared and while you called them all to eat, simon ambled out of the kitchen, where he had been helping you, and walked towards kyle and yasha to pick up his son and seat him on his high chair. but yasha had only looked at him, his head tilted in question, before ignoring simon and clinging onto kyle.

hell, he had even let go of camel-toly so that he could use two chubby fists to hold onto kyle. surprised, simon didn’t even know how to react and watched as his sergeant offered him an apologetic smile before carrying his son to the dining room. kyle rounded the table and sat yasha on his high chair, only, yasha made a scene when kyle did so, and he released a lungful of screams and cries, breaking everyone’s eardrums and their hearts.

kyle stood there, worried and confused, and hovered because he did not know what to do. hell, none of them did, and then you walked out of the kitchen, rushing to yasha, and hummed songs to comfort your son.

you crooned when he made grabby hands to be picked up and you did so with no hesitation, your touch soothing the boy into quiet sniffles. but even then, yasha wouldn’t settle down as he wriggled in your arms, short limbs reaching for—

simon glowered.

yasha was reaching for kyle. you were quick to giggle, asking kyle if it was alright that yasha would eat with him, and simon had glared at his sergeant, daring him to deny their son of anything, before reluctantly nodding his approval at kyle’s happy trill of, “of course, ma’am!”

yasha had finally calmed down when you sat him on kyle’s lap, and his boy was even polite enough to actually eat his soft veggies every time kyle beckoned him to open his mouth for a new spoonful.

simon did not startle, but it was close, when your hand landed on his thigh.

“you okay, baby?” you asked, eyes furrowed in your worry.

“yeah,” he remembers replying with, his throat all choked-up because he knows yasha must be excited to have new people to play with, but still, there was something that stung when his boy chose garrick over him.

not that it was kyle’s fault because he is a dear for even doing all that he did for yasha, but simon had hoped that he would always be yasha’s favourite.

too lost in his thoughts, simon had almost missed yasha’s call.

“-ddy? daddy?” yasha asked, startling simon.

it was not the first time yasha called him that, but every time he did, it never fails to make simon melt.

“yeah? what’s up, buddy?”

simon pretended that no one was watching the interaction.

yasha giggled, hiding his food-smeared lips behind his little palms, before turning to use garrick’s front to hide from simon. you snorted, murmuring to kyle how you swear you would wash his shirt before they go, but it’s all buzz to simon because his son — his darling boy — wanted to play with him during dinner.

yasha peeked at him again, before giggling once more when he caught simon’s eyes. this continued on until dinner ended, with simon occasionally miming growling monsters to induce more hearty giggles from his son, and being rewarded with the happiest laughter ever.

simon turned to you, with his heart on his throat, and beamed.

“aww,” mactavish sang from somewhere beside him. “ain’t that adorable— argh!”

simon had swung his arm out and thumped his fist on johnny’s stomach. thank god, yasha had chosen that time to hide his face again on kyle’s stomach.

.

“unca’ john?” yasha asks in a stage-whisper because everyone within earshot just heard him even with his attempt to be quiet. it’s only their training that stopped simon from acting like he’s noticed.

“yeah, bubsy?” john replies, sounding so utterly soft that this version of him is so foreign to simon.

“this tory,” yasha says and simon discreetly peeks to see which toly is being introduced to uncle john — it’s the elephant one.

price gasps theatrically like he hadn’t seen yasha drool all over this elephant toy before, and puffs out, “how cute!”

“mhmm,” yasha says, nodding, then smacks the face of the toy on john’s face. the trunk smooshes against john’s nose, and thank god that elephant-tory is soft because that aim would have been lethal if it wasn’t.

“jesus—” price gasps out.

“language!” simon hisses, and ducks his head back down just before yasha could catch him peeking.

.

yasha is now four and he still gets teary eyed when he sees johnny. simon placates his friend and says it’ll pass soon. maybe.

basically, i wanted to write a fic wherein simon’s reaction to being presented with a child is “what— oh okay, sure why not” and (literally in 20 minutes) “i will kill everything for this child” and so here we are

a simon spinoff - it takes a rampage (to be a dad)

[planetpiastri]

pairing: lando norris x fem!australian!reader [no faceclaim] summary: honestly, you kind of expected this part-time gig to just be four days of pure chaos that gave you an excuse to see an f1 race up close. then some guy in the fanzone complimented your shoes, and the rest is history. notes: requested by anon!! this has been sitting in my drafts for aaaaages, sorry love <3 y'all are so brave for putting up with me while i try and remember how tf to write these uhhh yeah this one took a turn hope u like it anyway LMFAO

liked by oscarpiastri, ynusername, and 13,024 others

ausgp Arriving in style! The lads looked great at the Melbourne Walk today 🤩🤩

view all 1,654 comments

username1 lewis and zhou are absolutely slaying!! and oscar is also there

ynusername oscar i love you but you gotta step up your game mate, i wanna wear your merch so bad but it is UGLY!!

landonorris excuse me ausgp i think my fit was deserving of recognition in this post :(

ausgp Can't compete with the hometown hero 🤷‍♂️ landonorris but daniel isn't in this either ? oscarpiastri You're funny.

landonorris

liked by mclaren, ausgp, and 811,364 others

landonorris he shoots, he scores! thanks for such a warm welcome melbourne :)

view all 7,023 comments

oscarpiastri You and I have different definitions of scoring I think

landonorris ever heard of playing the long game? oscarpiastri Nurse he's out again

username2 where's the worker with the shoes i think they're indirecting her

username3 GET THIS MAN THE SHOE LADY'S DIGITS

maxfewtrell Now that's just uncalled for

ausgp Love to see the spirit 😉

username4 aww lando always looks so happy in melbourne, he loves it here :'))

ynusername oh wtf

liked by ausgp, yourfriend, and others

ynusername busy busy busy day, absolutely buggered, but very excited for tomorrow 😁 (also peep The Shoes on the last slide)

view all 89 comments

yourfriend i mean... he's right, they are sick shoes

ynusername you're just saying that cos you made me buy them yourfriend well yes!

username5 omg are u the girl who was working the fanzone today??

ynusername i was one of them!

username6 ok if this is the shoe lady i don't blame lando for staring she's so pretty omg

yourfriend "the shoe lady" ynusername i've been titled?????

ynusername

liked by yourfriend, landonorris, and others

ynusername weirdest work day ever (included today's shoes bc apparently it's a thing now)

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yourfriend that wrap was good as hell tho

ynusername deffo the most exciting part of lunch

username7 wait who is this girl and why does lando follow her?

username8 go to lovestruckln on twitter, she has a whole thread about it!

landonorris ...weird in a good way, right?

username9 your lack of rizz is astounding lando username10 bro STAND UP ynusername weird in an interesting way landonorris i'll take that

landonorris

liked by ynusername, ausgp, and 1,011,023 others

landonorris melb, you have my ❤️

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username11 SHOE GIRLLLLLL

username12 i hope they never hard launch and he just keeps posting pics of cool sneakers

georgerussell63 You're welcome

charles_leclerc You did it, you crazy son of a bitch ausgp Where's our credit?? georgerussell63 You put the pieces in play, I moved them into checkmate ynusername you threw a shoe at me. calm down. ausgp He what???

username13 bro's collecting aussies like infinity stones

danielricciardo ?? oscarpiastri No ynusername :// landonorris 😁😁

ynusername you're cool ig 🙄

landonorris your swag style and utter disdain for me has captured my heart ynusername oh my god stop i'm blushing

tagging: @thearchieves @sheridamn @nikfigueiredo @charlig123456789 @ilove-tswizzle @aandreea2005 @sideboobrry @vellicora @eire-the-egg @marymustdie @cocote1410 @taygrls @koalapastries @vroomvroommuppett @nichmeddar @d3kstar @333kiki @ririyulife @resident-swiftie @zimm04 @jupiter-je-taime @ever_bizzare @clemswrld @hollieeelol @leireggsworld @ironmaiden1313 @lunar-racing @lightninginab0ttle @maddie-naps @bwddermilch @pnkwhskyprncss @landossainz @chaotic_version

request: hiya! i love how funny your smau’s are and i’m begging for an aussie!reader x Lando one. maybe she works for the AusGP and they met in Melbourne? idk -anon

[ladybyakuya]

| MY STARGIRL + rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne. 

+cw. — f!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, established relationship, unprotected, s/d dynamics, explicit smut, rafayel is in heat, period sex, oral sex, f!overstim + m!overstim,  | +wc. — 3.5k |

+syn. — the thought of having a quickie with you occurred to him so suddenly and so enormously that all he needed was just to make it go away. However, it did not stop there.

+notes. — something possessed me while I wrote this. So happy that I’m finally making the debut post for this fandom & thanks to @hayatoseyepatch for beta reading all my lads pieces. | redirect to blog navigation

◈ RAFAYEL. 

“It’s just the tip baby,” Rafayel whispers against your ears followed by a prolonged groan. Encapsulated by his arms you feel immobile under his touch. He adds, “I promise.” You know him better than he knows himself. He says it's just the tip but the way he is being handsy with you, playing with the hem of your robes, pressing himself against you it does not strengthen the promise part of his word. 

“I don’t think you will. . .ahaAah!” His lips have already moved onto the bottom of your nape. You can feel his teeth sinking into your skin.  You can still look at the view of the vast blue of the sea through the window but as his hands skim under your dress cupping your breasts you moaningly exclaim, “I bet you won’t stop just at the tip.” There is a hint of mockery in your tone, underneath that, a challenge. Rafayel can take on challenges quite well even though he will whine about them throughout, very well when it is coming from you but not a taunt. That’s still a little hard to digest for him.

“Hah! We’ll see who’s on the winning side,” He rasps against your ears before turning you towards himself. Now your back is against the warm glass window. The heat does not irritate your skin since the sun is not very rowdy today but Rafayel is. Rafayel does not wait any further for any form of resistance but ends up smashing his lips against yours. It is the first time he has been like this, so needy, so rough, and above everything you like it. Is he on his heat cycle already? Both of your hands rest on his chest, trying to push him away at the possible realization because it would be dangerous for both of you but he just wouldn’t budge. So, instead of trying to resist, you just give in. 

“We’re not going to do this here, are we?”Rafayel does not answer your question with words but with his actions. He clusters all your dress up and tucking it over your boobs. You gulp as you help him to unbuckle his belt. As soon as his pants hit the floor, you can see the evidence of his yearning for you. 

Rafayel takes you into his lap by hoisting you up in his arms. The moment he pushes the head of his cock inside you, a gush of warmth washes all over your body. It is a beach resort solely owned by him where you have accompanied him but there must be at least a few staff, right? What if they see you like this? The chances are bleak but never zero. Those worrisome thoughts were pushed aside you feel the base of his cock hitting your skin with a strong deep thrust making you arch and moan.  You tip your head forward to say, “But Rafayel. . .you said. . . it's just the tip.” 

“And you said I —ahh— I can’t be stopped at just the tip.” He states as he starts to rut into you. “I'm just proving you right. Doesn't it feel good to be on the winning side?” it does . . . it does . . . your arms encapsulate around his shoulders as he starts to bob you up and down his fat shaft as you bury your face into his shoulders. He is stronger than his usual self. As he quickens his pace you start to whimper and you can feel him leaking and growing inside you, reaching your sweet spot as he keeps rutting into you in full yet strong thrusts.

By now, he has fucked you in different positions and different places of the resort keeping in mind not to finish inside you. He can not just help it: chasing the thought of cumming inside you especially when he fucked you raw for the first time. But he can wait. No. he will wait for you till you are begging for him.

And, when the sun sinks into the sea making the sky blush at its fullest, you and him are deep in slumber, in front of the fireplace, under the sheets, naked underneath, and holding each other.

◈ SYLUS.

It’s painful. He has been teasing you for a while now and your posture does not make it easier for you. Your muscles feel clammy. The way Sylus keeps rubbing the tip of his cock-head against your soft, tender flesh of your femininity gradually wears off your patience, thinning your limit and testing your sanity. It was you. It was all you. You admit that but you did not think he would be able to keep up when you kept being so needy, so ready for him. By now, you have come to know his melting points and you know when to abuse them and when not to. When you said you needed him, despite being in your months-time, at first he hesitated because you are not someone who can easily beg or ask for things but when you kept being handsy, and distracting him he said he would— with just the tip— a mere quickie but you never knew it would turn out to be this tormenting.

“Wait Sylus. You gasp as he rests both of his palms over your respective knees. This position.”

“Yeah, too deep?” Sylus verbalized with a veil of mischief over his face as he spread your legs apart as a result pushing the tip of his cock-head inside you. But before now, he would jock down to kiss you,  suckle at your nipples, and play with your hair but his cock would still be rubbing against the outer folds of your pussy, and truth be told, it was good, it was okay you felt satisfied but the moment you felt his cock inside you, even just the tip, it made you want all of him. “Let me know if I hurt you, okay?”. He isn’t; if anything he is diluting your self-control by pushing himself in you in small doses.

Sylus smiles as he cups your cheek, rubbing his thumb over it. He sees it the way you keep swallowing, gasping for breath, biting your lip, touching yourself — you do that when you want something yet can not ask for it. As you half-lay on the bed, with elbows resting on the mattress creating dips under the influence of your pressure Sylus leans towards you his hands still intact on your knees, spreading them further as a result of which he sinks more into you; you gasp followed by a moan feeling almost half of him inside you. With a crease amongst your eyes, eyes closed, chest heaving up and down while the night robe is barely covering your breasts you look divine under the dim light of the room.

You can feel how aroused you are. It would merely take a few thrusts to make you cum. He can feel that too yet dares to ask, “Do you want me to move?” Since he asked so nicely you decide to play into his little game. Wrapping one of your arms around his nape, you pull him into a strong, yearnful kiss. He can tell. He can certainly tell how much you want him now. As you slowly feel his hands under your waist locking in, your legs start to curl around his hips The lights go dead when you pull away from the kiss to take a breather and he pushes all of him into you adjusting you in his lap. A gasp of a high note blesses Sylus’s ears followed by a trail of short quick huffs as if he ran fingers along the piano keys. Even with the lights out, when you glimpse his eyes on yours a hot wave of embarrassment washes over you. 

The lights are alive again when you bury your face in his chest. 

“Kitten, you doing good?” He asks that with the whole of him inside you despite knowing how such soul staring gaze while having sex makes you nervous. He walks into a different room in that position carrying you where two mirrors are placed opposite to each other. 

You barely peep seeing him through the mirror at first and then look into his eyes, commanding, “Fuck me as you hate me Sylus.”

A throaty chuckle escapes from his chest as he says, “Y’know I can’t do that.” As he puts you on the bathroom sink. “However, I shall not disappoint my queen.” placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

◈ XAVIER.

Xavier claims that he is not much fond of the idea of punishments in general but he has never denied yours. In fact, he has enjoyed them thoroughly till the end. He has never been the one to ask things right away and always ends up taking detours after detours observing your expressions so minutely, so intently since it sends an ample amount of electric thrill in his heart for a few seconds — the way you look away when he makes advances on you, the way you quickly lick your bottom lip before dismissing his approaches or the quickening of your breaths, the flustered look— even if it is just for a mere few seconds — it’s all worth it in the end when you just give in, doing all those innuendos, craving your walking path only to him and him alone. 

But, this time you decided to try tackling him from a different angle. You did not resist like you usually do when he slowly started to cave into you. In fact, you agreed with him right away. Both of your stress would just sublime especially if you two took a quickie break together. Ah! The look on his face— was priceless: with one of his eyebrows pitched higher than the other as a small crescent appears along his lips: he is so confused. Even if Xavier can not quite navigate your thoughts he is not backing out and you know he won’t.

As you sit on the nightstand crossing your legs, one upon the other with your heels still intact you summon him with your arm raised, all the fingers lightly curled into a fist except your index finger that moved to and fro for him, while Xavier stands at an arm's length from you. He walked towards you but stood, waiting for your next move. You loosen his tie and pull it away from his collar with a swish. He leans into you but stops midway as he feels your pointed nails digging into his chest. 

“Turn around,” you utter with a grave tone. It is so odd to see you like this that Xavier can not help but be pulled into this intimidating daze of yours. After you tie his hands at the back he turns around and then the fun begins. Xavier loses his mind for a good minute when he sees you taking his cock out of his trousers, jocking down with lips forming an unfamiliar pout, only to spit on it, stroking his length all over, coating your saliva on his cock. He groans loudly enough for you to look at him. Is he okay? With his head tipped backward you fail to gauge his expressions so you spit on your hand to use it as a lube for his cock.

Xavier tips his head forward as he feels his cock being surrounded by something, but only a part of it. There is a gap in between your cross-legged sitting posture: the gap between the end of your knee and the apex of your calf muscle with your other knee underneath. 

“You don’t mean — Xavier stammers— that I—

“Yes. I mean exactly what you’re thinking.” You exclaim with a firm tone by keeping your fingertips underneath your hand, elbow rested over your knee as you wait for his move. As he starts to move he can understand how much he has to work for himself to cum and you are just staring at him. It drives him insane, really. With his hand tied at the back, he can only do so much so you decide to help him— out of pity of course. After you unbutton his shirt one by one, you hold his hard nipple with your sharp nails and pinch it; Xavier has to fight the urge to hold himself back from latching his lips on your warm skin.

As your hands move upwards, caressing his cheeks, thumb abusing his lips. He glances before he takes your thumb into his mouth while his hips are in constant motion. “Go ahead. Get yourself off.” Yeah! He doesn’t need to be reminded of that. You watch his face contort, your thumb pressed in between his teeth making you wince as he peaks his orgasm. He pulls out his cock and the exhaustion is heavy on his muscles. 

Inserting a finger into the gap between his belt and trousers, you pull him towards yourself, whispering, “Good boy ”over his lips before kissing him. He moans while kissing and surrenders as you untie the knot of his hands which immediately clamp around your shoulder heads. Well, aren't you an angel for showing kindness to him?

“More. . . more . . . I want more. . .” Xavier mumbles taking a quick breather before diving back to one more kiss and this time he is rougher than usual. 

◈ ZAYNE.

Zayne has been teasing you for . . . ah ! You do know how long has it been since he pushed you over the pool table. His cock is still inside his pants, intact but awake. Although the only view you have is the ceiling and sometimes his face when he rubs the clit folds by running his thumb roughly over them while the rest of the finger rests against your inner thigh. He has unbuttoned your dress shirt enough to have a view of a slice of your supple skin. Every time he presses your bud, followed by a rough rub towards the apex of your cunt he sees your navel sink. It turns him on, too much for him to ignore the attention that his cock has been begging. Your palms lay flat on the green of the pool table yet every time he jocks down to have a taste of your arousal your nails dig into the corase of the table. 

As Zayne stands up again, you whimper before saying, “Stop teasing, me. just put it in already. ” The tip of his nose glistens. Does he know that? He licks his lips before responding, “But I haven’t even. . . he trails off because part of him does not wanna scare you by bringing the thought into light that how he has not taken out his cock yet. He has been touching your folds, lapping over your arousal once in a while. You can not see but only hear the lewdity now while Zayne can see that you are so wet that the moss green of the pool table has become dark green. You don’t need to know that, not now.

“Have a little trust in yourself, I know you can take it.” Zayne supplies in a tart manner but actually, he is reminding himself not to cross the thin boundaries too much otherwise he won’t be able to keep his urges at bay. He is under the influence of the same pain as you yet you are so whiny about it which only makes it harder for him to refuse you in this vulnerable needy state. He was just teasing you, flirting ever so slightly to get you comfortable and now he is in deep trenches of pleasuring you. 

But, there is pain underneath. Your body tells him that you want more but he is not sure about himself how long he can keep at it.

Fuck. He can’t. Not anymore. In a series of rough and messy movements, he has his cock out of his pants, aligning to your entrance. One glance and the moment he is inside you he can feel your cunt clench around his cock while your legs wrap around his hips. He can hear the click of your heels as he leans over you, his face in the nook of your neck, not moving but still adjusting to the feeling of your gummy walls wrapped around him but you are so impatient. He feels your wet suck of the lip over his collarbones which denotes his desire for you. As he starts to buck his hips against you, you suddenly think how the design of the ceiling is not boring anymore.

[kissitbttr]

nobody understands how you did it.

how you managed to swept him off his feet, breaking the walls he had built pieces by pieces, how the fuck did you get him to be comfortable with you? to be open with you? and only with you.

‘never seen him this happy or loose in a long time, lass. what’s your trick, eh?’ the captain pulls a joke, making the rest of the team laugh. ‘i think I speak for everyone when i say, he never brings a girl out. let alone introducing her to us.’

that one is true. years of being friends with ghost, the captain nor his closest friend ‘soap’ has ever seen him out on a date. they encouraged him though, since there have been so many women tried their ways to get close with the big guy, yet none of them succeed.

the masked men would often just shrug them off and give one hard cold answer. they would back away immediately

“guess i just have my ways” is what you always say. even soap couldn’t register how it happened. he couldn’t figure it out himself, he knows the lad way longer than you do.

they don’t believe you. because there is no way in hell that all you did was to bat your lashes, show him your adorable giggle and he was in. there’s gotta be more to it.

so what is it about you that draws him close? what is it about you that makes ghost’s eyes light up each time you step into the room? what is it about you that makes ghost’s heart skip a beat every time he talks to you?

certainly not because how you’re so patient in getting to know with him, right? not because how you trace his scars ever so lightly and call them pretty every single time he’s doubtful about himself. not because how you console him with ‘I’ve got you, baby’ each night a nightmare comes back to haunt him while rubbing his back soothingly. not because how you shower him with soft, gentle kisses to remind him that your love for him is bigger than anyone could have offered. not because how you understand why he can’t say the three letter words to you, just yet. still, you stick around.

definitely not, right? there’s no way. he’s simon ghost riley. no one or nothing could ever be good enough to make this man come out of his shell. it’s impossible, right? you’ll need a miracle for that.

“love?” you hear a voice calls, along with the sound of keys being tossed into a ceramic bowl. heavy boots thumping against the marble floor,

you step out of the kitchen. long hair tied up into a messy updo, clear frame glasses perched on the bridge of your nose. dressed in one of his favorite sleeping gown as your eyes locked with his brown ones. the balaclava still attached to mask his handsome face.

scarred lips stretch into a smile the moment his beautiful fiancé emerges from the kitchen.

he drops his bag onto the floor, pulling the mask off of him slowly. revealing his disheveled blond hair as he takes slow steps towards you.

“hi, baby” your voice brings him home. no soul could ever take away from him. he longs for that angelic tone each time he gets deployed. three or six months without listening to you speak to him is just insanity.

he’d rather lose his hearing entirely than not having to hear you at all.

he’s quick to embrace you in his arms. your face hiding in the crook of his neck, inhaling that signature scent of his that you had missed, dearly.

“what are you making?” he mumbles into the crown of your hair, giving it a peck before pulling away slightly to take a good look at you. “it smells good”

“your favorite” you kiss his chin, causing his cheeks to redden at the affection. “i even bought those lumpias down the 112th street. i know how much you love them. pretzels bites from the deli for snacks aaand, black pepper beef with rice for your dinner. sounds good?”

simon leans against the doorway as he watches you plate everything. rambling about everything. his smile widens even more at your domestic antics. the way you talk with your hands as you mention another annoying co-worker that keeps bugging you and the way you roll your eyes when a splash of gravy spill from the plate.

truly is a sight.

“why are you looking at me like that?” your lips raise into a curious smile, finger moving a dark lock that sticks into your forehead,

he gives you a small shrug. gaze not leaving you neither does his smile.

“you’re just so beautiful”

something so simple yet it makes your stomach fills with butterflies.

you chew on your lower lip to prevent you from smiling too much, but a hint of blush is dusting your cheeks betrays you.

“come, papi… don’t want the food to get cold now, do we?” you change the subject while you nod your head towards the empty seat across. “eat with me”

the two of you sit there while making a small talk. stealing glances every second. feeding each other’s food. soft laughs fall upon both of your mouths when one make a terrible joke.

something you’d see when two people are in love. c

so yes, the answer to that question. it is possible. because you made it possible. you made it possible for him to love again. even if he had to start all over. you made it possible for him to be vulnerable. you gave him a purpose the moment he thought things were looking bad for him.

he found a solace within your existence.

only you made it possible to bring the simon in him.

vbecause you. are his home

[harrysfolklore]

Harry Styles Answers the Web's Most Searched Questions | WIRED

this was posted on my patreon a few months ago, enjoy ! MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

"Hi I'm Harry Styles and this is the Wired Autocomplete Interview."

Harry introduced himself to the camera and you smiled, you were currently at WIRED Studios for Harry's long awaited autocomplete interview that he finally agreed to do thanks to yours and his fans persistence.

You were sitting behind the camera with the rest of the crew, watching him with a small smile.

A crew member passed the first board to him, he looked at it confusedly for a minute before speaking.

"Okay so. I'm answering what I think or what?"

Everyone in the studio laughed and the director quickly explained to him how the game worked once again, you rolled your eyes with affection and he sent a wink your way.

"Alright, how is Harry Styles?" he said after taking the little piece of paper off the board, "I'm good, I'm really enjoying being home in London, I was away for a while on tour and I'm going to stay here for a bit so that's exciting."

"How did Harry Styles," he paused to rip the next paper and reveal the rest of the question, "Become famous? Well, when I was sixteen years old I auditioned for a singing show called The X Factor, I got put in a band with four lads and we didn't win but we put out a song called What Makes You Beautiful," he smiled for a second, "that one put us on the map, we released a bunch of albums and now I'm here."

"How did Harry Styles meet his wife?" at this, he turned his gaze to you to give you a big smile, you immediately mirrored his and nodded your head, signaling that you were okay with him talking about it.

"We could say that it was basically a blind date, we had a friend in common who thought we would be a good match and set us up, we had an amazing first date but then I had to travel to Los Angeles for work so we couldn't really see each other after that but once I was back in London we hung out all the time, and now we're married."

He smiled at you again and you couldn't help but feel your heart melt, you had been married for 6 months now but the married life was still new for the both of you, and everything he called you his wife butterflies made its way to your stomach.

"How is Harry Styles still alive?" his eyes widened in surprise and he looked around the room, making a few present laugh, "Um, that's a weird thing to search on the internet, but I guess, I don't know if I can answer that, I don't think anyone can answer that we're just lucky to still be around and enjoy life."

He gave the camera one of his infamous "frog smiles" and handed the board to a crew member who was ready with the next one.

"Does Harry Styles have tattoos?" he revealed the first question of the new board, "Yes, he does. I have a lot of tattoos actually, they're basically all over my body. The most recent one is right here," he pointed at the back of his right arm, "It's my wedding date, actually, everyone might call me a sap but I was reserving this arm for tattoos about my wife a and future kids, so I guess it's finally time to fill it."

It was safe to say that  fans watching at home and everyone in the studio absolutely melted, especially you.

"Does Harry Styles have siblings? I do I have a sister, she's older than me and her name is Gemma. A lot of people claim she's cooler than me for some reason but I don't thing that's true," he shrugged and revealed the next question, "Does Harry Styles speak Italian? I would like to think that I do, I spend a lot of time there and I've learned how to communicate pretty decently."

"Is Harry Styles an actor?" he said after peeling the first sticker of the new board, "He tries to be an actor that's for sure," he laughed and everyone in the room did as well, "I mean, I've been in a couple of movies, I've auditioned for a bunch of roles and my agent has sent me scripts to go through," he shrugged "So I can say that makes me an actor."

"Is Harry Styles american?" he shook his head at that one, "He is not! He's Britain, born and raised okay? He's very proud of it."

"What's Harry Styles BeReal? I don't have a BeReal, but if I did I wouldn't tell you," he pointed to the camera jokingly, "What are Harry Styles fans called? I think they are referred to as Harries, but I don't like to speak on behalf of them, you should ask them."

"What was Harry Styles first song? My first song was Sign Of The Times, I wrote it with friends that I love, and that is my wife's favorite song I've ever written, right love?"

"That's correct." you said from your spot, pretty audible so you know it would make it to the final cut of the interview.

"What are Harry Styles songs about?" he peeled the last sticker of the board, "They're about a lot of things, life, friends, love, my wife," he shrugged, "I even have one about the female orgasm."

You quietly giggled, knowing that his fans would go crazy over that last sentence.

"Did Harry Styles go to college? He did not, he became a singer."

"Did Harry Styles win a Grammy? He somehow won Album Of The Year last year, which is absolutely insane if you ask him."

"Did Harry Styles finish high school? Oh I'm glad the internet asks," he laughed, "Contrary to popular belief I did finish high school, I completed my GCES and I graduated, I don't know why there's a rumor there that I didn't finish high school tho."

"Anyway, last one!" he comically threw the board to the floor and grabbed the final board a crew member was handling him, "Who is Harry Styles best friend? Um, I have a ton of best friends. Jeff who's also my manager, Mitch who plays in my band, my childhood best friend's name is Johnny, so yeah, I'm very lucky in the friends department, I love my friends."

"Who does Harry Styles look like? My mom, I would say. A lot of people point out that we have the same smile," he shrugged, "My mom is a beautiful woman so I'm flattered."

"Who did Harry Styles write Love Of My Life about? My wife and London."

"And final question," he slowly peeled off the sticker for dramatic effect, "Who does Harry Styles love? Okay, that's cute that people search for that on the internet, um, I love my family and friends, I love my wife that's for sure, I love making music and performing," he listed with his fingers, "And love love, yeah, love is great."

He smiled to the camera and put the board aside to say his goodbyes.

"I thought my Google searches were much more appropriate that I expected. I was fun to see what people wonder about me, so yeah thank you WIRED for having me."

[gay-dorito-dust]

Love both your Cannibal + Reader series and your Benjicot Blackwood fics, and had an idea for combining them. Someone insults or threatens Reader and Benji goes absolutely feral, like full on Bloody Ben. And Cannibal’s just like ‘okay, so maybe this one isn’t that bad.’

This is probably my longest piece ever to date, so be warned that this will take a bit to get through.

It wasn’t necessarily easy to travel anywhere in the seven kingdoms when you rode a dragon like Cannibal, everyone could see you from miles away due to how big he was that even from a far off distance he was still quite easy to spot. So when you and Cannibal landed in the Riverlands for a moment of rest, you were quickly spotted by three young lads who were sword training in the clearing, the lord of house Blackwood Benjicot Blackwood and Oscar and Kermit Tully.

While scared stiff at first and a lengthy discussion in regards of your reasoning for being in the Riverlands, Oscar, Kermit and Benjicot were more then okay with you staying for a few days whilst Cannibal rested up, with Benjicot even going as far as to offer up Raventree Hall as your temporary accommodation until then.

‘I couldn’t lord Blackwood, that’s far too-‘

‘I insist.’ He said as Cannibal looked at him suspiciously, for the dragon had seen that same look upon the young lords face copied on countless others during your trip across Westeros, you had yet again gained the attention another lord unwillingly; much to cannibal’s dismay as the behemoth huffed smoke from his nose in some form of a indignant snort.

This was going to be a long few days for Cannibal, that was for certain.

And a long few days it was as for the next couple of days you and Benjicot had grown quite close to each other during this time, always being seen together no matter where you went as the young lord showed you everything Raventree had; from the shooting ranges, stables, library and more but your favourite place would have to be the Weirwood and it seemed that Benjicot felt the same as he would always accompany you there, arm in arm as though you were a couple of betrotheds, a thought that had became more and more louder the more time you spent with the sweet and somewhat awkward Blackwood lord.

You even got the pleasure of meeting his aunt, Alysanne Blackwood, someone you thought wouldn’t like you but her eyes pretty much light up upon seeing you both as a smile spreads across her face. ‘It is nice to finally meet you, rider of the infamous Cannibal, my nephew here has spoken quite a bit about you as of recently.’ she said as she looks over at Benjicot, who now had a face as bright and red as the ripest cherries.

‘He has?’ You asked as you too now looked at Benji as he refused to meet your eyes, aware of the fact that Cannibal’s head was poking out to look at him dangerously. Benjicot knew of dragons and their bond with their riders was unlike any other but Benjicot was certain that Cannibal was beyond overprotective of you, making him skeptical of anyone and everyone who showed you the slightest bit of interest.

‘Oh he has and in such vivid detail too.’ Alysanne replied as she smirked at the halfhearted glare her nephew gave her. He had always been too easily read when it came to his poorly concealed feelings for you during your time at Raventree, seeing as she often caught him staring at you with wonder while you looked elsewhere. There was an added softness in Benjicot that was only reserved for you and you alone, and that alone made Alysanne want to get to know you better, to understand what her nephew saw in you to be so captivated in such a short span of time.

‘I believe that’s enough from you dear Aunt.’ Benjicot said as he tried to softly ease you into following him back to the Weirwood, somewhere where he wouldn’t be teased for something he had admitted to in private. Why he ever thought that his aunt would ever choose to keep quiet about this over teasing him -and in front of you no less- he’ll never know but what he did know was that he was on borrowed time before you and Cannibal leave Raventree, leave him and the Riverlands for good. So if he wanted to say anything to you before then, he had to act fast but there was one issue; cannibal.

Cannibal didn’t like anyone from what you’ve told him of the countless stories of your journey across Westeros in search of a peaceful place for you and your dragon both, a place far away from the grasp of the war to come, and so far Cannibal hated every last lord and lady that you had met as he found them unworthy of you and your trust.

‘Cannibal doesn’t believe either side of this war is worth saving? And you’re just going to trust his judgment like that?’ Benjicot asked, curious as to how you hadn’t picked a side unlike him, whose mind was made up almost within immediate effect.

‘I am common born Benji,’ you reminded him, ‘and as far as am aware we are the ones who suffer the most during turbulent times liked these, so why should I be forced to choose a side when all they really want is a wild card to call upon when they’re at a disadvantage.’ You looked over at Cannibal and sighed. ‘All they want is control over him and I’m the key, but if they found a way to do so without me, they’d kill me in an instant.’

Benjicot bristled, anger bubbling in his veins as he then said. ‘I wouldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let them so much as lay a hand on you, I swear it.’ He promised and he truly meant it but much like your dragon, you’ve grown to become distrusting of any word that left a lord or ladies mouth, for they always told the sweetest of lies that you don’t realise until it was far too late.

You smiled bittersweetly at him as you reached over to hold his hand, causing his breath to hitch in his throat. ‘I want to believe you Benji, truly I do, but I just can’t.’ You confessed to him as you stood up with Benjicot following suit. ‘Far too many people have used similar words but haven’t been true to them even in the slightest. I know you’re a honourable man, but I’ve learnt to never give out my trust to those until they’ve earned it.’ You added as you pressed a kiss to his cheek, wanting him to know that he still has some reign over your heart as you took a step back from him, leaving him to realise that this was you saying goodbye; he had ran out of time sooner then he had expected.

‘I’m sorry lord Blackwood, but my time at Raventree hall has come to an end and I thank you for your hospitality but it is time that me and Cannibal leave.’ You were just as sad to leave Benjicot for you finally felt something for someone else that you haven’t experienced in a while, you had fallen for him and that had frightened you and so you’d rather leave and let him find someone else to hold in his heart, despite how painful that would be to witness but you didn’t want to be less astray; not ever again.

And then without another word, you left Benjicot standing under the Weirwood tree, unsure of whether this was actually happening and that he was watching his happiness walk away without him putting up the slightest bit of a fight. He may not fall in love but he knew that when he did he loved hard, and he doesn’t believe that he’ll ever love someone as hard he did you, even if he didn’t say it but Benjicot was certain you knew but were afraid to say it.

Benji knew that he couldn’t keep you here with him in Raventree and while he wanted that to be reality, he knew that reality could be often disappointing and that it would be better to let you and cannibal leave as planned, but he was better off calling himself a coward for the rest of his life if he didn’t at least let you know how he felt. So without a second thought Benjicot bolted down the way you went in hopes of catching up to you in time, pushing himself to go as fast as he could towards the clearing where you first met, all the while his mind raced with all the words he wished to say when he had the chance.

Unfortunately for him it seemed as though the Brackens had gotten to you and Cannibal first, which didn’t help but make him mad, as he saw that cannibal was more then ready to set the Riverlands aflame while you stood in front of him in a protective manner despite the swords being pointed at you.

You were protecting Cannibal at the expense of yourself for you believed that he held more value than you did, whereas Benjicot thought that you were just as valuable as your dragon companion.

‘Bracken!’ Benjicot shouted, causing everyone to look at him as he drew his sword, a crazed look in his eye.

‘Benji?’ You whispered as you watched him take a stand in front of you, shielding you from the very people who had been threatening you into giving up Cannibal, all the while looking like a man possessed by anger and a need for bloodshed.

‘Blackwood.’ The man with brunette hair spat as he trained his sword at Benjicot’s throat, forgetting you and cannibal almost immediately. ‘This business has nothing to do with so.’ Benji scoffed as he took a step forward, allowing for the tip of his rivals blade to be but a hairs breath from piercing his skin. ‘This is Blackwood land.’ he sneered, caring about nothing else but keeping you safe from harm. ‘So of fucking course this is my business, considering that it looks to me that you were about to harm them and their dragon.’

You couldn’t help but watch on helplessly as the tension grew heavy the longer this tense stand off continued between rivalling houses, you could tell through your bond that Cannibal was curious, calm even as he wanted to see who spills the others blood first; the Bracken boy with the brunette hair or Benjicot.

Cannibal do something, anything. You said telepathically to your dragon.

He’s fighting for your honour little one and it would be a dishonour if I were to intervene. Cannibal responded.

You groan you only want to watch the bloodbath and eat who’s leftover. You replied disgruntled.

While that may be a reason but watch young Blackwood closely my dear, for his next move may surprise you as well as I. Cannibal said as you head his words and watched as the Bracken try to attack Benji first, only for Benji to intercept the attack with one of his own that sent the man you now knew as Aeron staggering backwards, all the while Benjicot ran his tongue over his teeth as he smiled chaotically.

It was something that shouldn’t have elicit a reaction out of you but the sight of this side of Benjicot definitely had its..effect over you as you tried to stop the heat from spreading across your cheeks.

. ‘Is that half assed attempt all you got?’ He scoffed, ‘I’m not in surprised, you Brackens fight like a bunch of pussies.’ He continue to goads Aeron, who only scowls and tries to attack Benjicot again but fails as the young Blackwood lord side stepped him before bringing the pommel of his sword down on the Brackens back, causing him to fall pathetically to the ground as his sword fell out of his reach.

‘What’s so important about this bitch and their overgrown reptile that makes you pick up the sword Blackwood.’ Aeron spat as he struggled to get back up. His words seemed to have angered Benji more as he was quick to grab Aeron by the cloak he wore, and then threw him one handedly so that he was forced to look up at Benji, just as he puts his foot on his chest and leans in close with his sword pointed at Aeron’s neck and nicking the skin there.

‘They mean more to me than you’ll ever understand.’ Benjicot said lowly. ‘Their life is worth your more than everyone in house Bracken combined, and I don’t take lightly to when they’re being threatened by the likes of craven little cunts like you.’ He finished before lifting his foot up and brining it down on Aeron’s head, knocking him out completely before looking at you with the soft expression that you were most familiar with, dropping his sword and holding your face between his calloused hands.

‘Are you okay?’ He asked but you were paying more attention to what Cannibal said.

He’s not so bad, little one. The behemoth tells you with pride. Quite the fighter with an insatiable lust for bloodshed, he’s a worthy suitor for your hand.

‘Yeah,’ you tell him, smiling as you held your hands over his own, ‘I’m fine, we both are thanks to you.’ You add and Benjicot smiles as he instinctively pressed a kiss to your forehead without a second thought before resting his head there afterwards, closing his eyes as he sighed in relief. ‘Good. I’m glad.’ He whispered.

‘Benji?’ You asked softly.

‘Yeah?’ He replied, wanting to stay in this moment for a little while longer.

‘I trust you.’ You tell him wholeheartedly, causing him open his eyes to look at you.

‘Really?’ He asks, hoping that this wasn’t a dream.

‘Yes Benji, I trust you-‘ before you could finish those words, Benji had already leaned in for a kiss, which you quickly melted into as you reciprocated his feelings by returning his passion with your own, lips weaving against one another and hot tongues pressing against hot tongues messily.

Everything was perfect until you heard Cannibal speak inside you head.

Little one if you wanted to fuck him, you need only ask for me to leave for a while.

Needless to say cannibal ruined the mood.

‘Cockblocker.’ Benjicot muttered as cannibal huffed smoke at him.

Carful little bird, I can still eat you.

[clairdelunelove]

badges of honor

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

genre: fluff! (sticker drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, protective!ghost

synopsis: ghost doesn't understand the appeal of receiving stickers, a tangible reward, after the completion of successful missions. never thought it was necessary for his efforts. however, his mindset changes when he finds out you're the one handing them out–

a.n. just a silly lil blurb that floated around in my mind for some time! decided I'd write it and I'm thinking about writing something similar for könig too! hope you're all well! and if you wish to show more support here's my kofi! <3

-

-

-

holding onto the belief that ghost would stubbornly swallow his pride and allow you to decorate him in cutesy unnecessary stickers.

-

it starts with price’s recommendation of implementing a routine of handing out stickers after successful missions. he insists it’s a great way to dial into intrinsic motivation. to keep the task force motivated to dedicate their best into every operation. a way to recognize positive behavior. a byproduct of hoping for the most favorable outcome in war where the only images are bloodshed, conflict, and hostility. it’s a stark difference. “who knows,” price’s shoulders lift into a casual shrug as he addresses the fierce group settled around him, “it might just help you lads.” it’s a harmless and cost-efficient idea to justify the boxes of tangible reinforcements that are shipped to the base. literal cartons of sticker books that range from the traditional ‘great work!’ to ‘prized soldier!’ and the notion seems childish (disguised to be more of a scheme, in all honesty). that is, until the pieces of sticky, illustrated adhesives start working– boosting the soldiers’ determination for the taste of victory– because you’re the one handing out the affordable versions of chest candy. they adore saccharine treats. and over time, so does ghost. 

ghost who initially loathes the new process that price endorses. he’s good at his job. knows he’s an expert in clandestine tradecraft. doesn’t need a miniature label tapped on his chest to recognize that no one does a better service in infiltrations or sabotages in risky environments than he does. he’s in and out like a gust of wind. well, more similar to a grim reaper that takes and punishes whoever he deems fit. a brutish force not to be reckoned with. and he reasons that this little sticker ceremony ultimately wastes time. precious alone time that ghost exploits to catch up on some well-deserved rest or exercise. because training after an intense mission totally makes sense to the lieutenant. yet, he’ll doggedly line up with the rest of the task force and await getting crowned with the bane of his existence. doesn’t wish to stir the pot with price and sit through being lectured. so he stays. and he’s a bit taken aback when he catches a glimpse of you handing out the stickers; a beaming smile on your lips while you press an overly exaggerated thumbs-up design onto the front of a soldier’s vest. 

ghost who rasps, “I’ll pass,” before your fingers can pin the sticker onto him. unaware that his voice would come out grainy from the weeklong mission and, involuntarily, blunt. brash. the complete opposite of how he wished to sound towards you. notices the surprise in your eyes due to the acidity of his voice and how you instinctively shrink from him. he shifts, straight away, and hastily tries to take back his tone of voice. to right his wrongs. to atone for his mistake. however, your nervous movement is swiftly replaced with your usual upbeat nature as you plaster on a grin and dramatically bring the back of your hand to your forehead to mimic a fall, “woe is me.” you exhale pointedly while mentioning, “whatever shall I do with all these stickers then?” and ghost understands that it’s so typical of you to hide your hurt with witticism. you’re too considerate. too bright. a touch of color to his monochrome soul. venturing a step closer to you, he lightly scoffs at your melodramatic behavior and remarks, “woe is most definitely not you. now get up, pup.” and before you can comprehend, his gloved hand wraps around your wrist to gently pry it away from your face. “changed my mind,” he murmurs while indicating to the book of stickers that you casted aside, “pick one f’ me, will ya.” 

ghost who refuses to comment on your shaky fingers to save you from embarrassment. it’s endearing that despite the layers of heavy clothing, you’re still hesitant to touch any part of him. “you’re all set,” you quickly chirp before stepping back to admire your handiwork. or so you tell yourself that excuse. in reality, you’re teetering on the edge of becoming distracted by the heat that he radiates. and he savors how your gaze dances across his masked face but evades his intense eyes. the most profound part of him that reduces you to stumbling on your words like a drunk. intoxicated by him. it’s like he’s drinking you in and allowing himself a selfish taste of your beauty. a thought that causes you to heavily gulp. to take your mind off of the blatant yearning, you teasingly raise the sticker book up to him, “how about I add another one? this one has glitter—” “that’ll do,” ghost interjects and turns to leave. his immediate answer and retreat brings about a genuine laugh from your lips. it’s music to his ears. wagering a glance to his chest, he notes the sticker you chose for him. cursive letters twisting into ‘you’re a star!’ followed by a smiling gold star draws his attention. you don’t spot it but as he leaves, his gloved fingers reach up to smooth the sticker over his vest. to pat it down so it stays a while longer. 

ghost who attempts to convince himself that his disinterest toward the small slips of adhesive paper is still the truth. they’re just for show, right? no one really pays attention to how some of the stickers varied in size. they’re all mature adults. and it was completely unrelated how there’s regular bickering amongst various recruits that compared their hard-earned rewards. doesn’t admit that his chest visibly swells with pride whenever the other soldiers point out that ghost always receives the biggest sticker. purposefully taunts them by stating, “get better then, yeah?” he also fails to acknowledge that you’ve coerced and conditioned him to accept them like a pavlov experiment. after all, your unwillingness to comment on how he noticeably leans over so you can put stickers wherever you wished must mean that it doesn’t happen. and in the scenario where it could perhaps occur, you shouldn’t blame him because ghost was certain no one else had the willpower to brush you away. you with gentle fingers and an angelic voice. singing him a siren song whenever you mutter, “for your excellent work, lieutenant,” as you smooth on another ridiculous sticker. his heart stutters in his chest when he feels how your hand tentatively flattens against his chest. the broad muscle causing you to hum appreciatively before gracing him with a coy smile. an interaction that replays in his mind whenever he’s awake and follows him to sleep. 

ghost who clenches his fist so tightly that his blunt nails bite into his own palm when he overhears a lowly recruit outrightly insult the implemented routine. hears them utter (when you’re out of earshot of course because goodness forbid that they have courage) ‘bullshit’ and how you were ‘off your rocker for putting up with this waste of time.’ and ghost isn’t usually responsive in situations like this. he’s got a covert operation to focus on in about 15 minutes. a level-headed person was far more intimidating and efficient during classified matters. now, however, his heavy boots thud against the floorboards when he stalks toward the recruit. an abrupt wave of darkness and unabridged horror before the recruit is face-to-face with ghost. “problem?” he asks challenges, voice dead and devoid of sympathy. his head slowly tilts and the action creates a dismal shadow over the eye sockets of his mask. ominous and menacing. everything that ghost is infamous for. knows he’s won when the recruit’s apology is nasally and on the verge of crying but their reaction isn’t his personal interest. what he does undertake as his responsibility, though, is when he’s called into price’s office for a debrief. he pockets some of the miscellaneous sticker books that sit on the superior’s desk. wordlessly hands them to you when you’re both briefly passing each other in the hallway. and while you profusely thank him for the additional sets (vaguely wondering what caused the change in his behavior), you playfully press a sticker above the lower portion of his mask– right where his lips are. somewhere new. you leave him rooted to the spot, the sweet gesture sending him into a stupor, and call over your shoulder, “compensation for the stickers!” he watches as you hurriedly dart away before he can react but there’s no need. he unabashedly smuggles more stickers from price’s office in hopes of reaping a similar repayment again.

ghost who reasons that stickers aren’t that bad if you’re the one giving them out. he organizes himself with the rest of the force, a brooding figure that patiently waits in the back of the line. favors being the last one because you’re able to utter more than a few words of encouragement to him. if he’s lucky then you converse and excitedly share your day with him– like you currently are. “want me all to yourself, do you?” you heartily tease him upon noticing that he’s consistently been last in line for the third time in a row. he shifts on his feet, makes a show of looking around at his fellow team members that are filtering out of the room, and deliberately concedes, “‘suppose so.” his frank answer is followed by a flustered roll of your eyes but it’s the genuineness that causes your heart to flip. you force yourself to concentrate on the task at hand– giving out prizes. unsteady fingers lifting at the sticker page, you skim the options before spotting a perfect one. your teeth catch the edge of your bottom lip as you can’t help but question, “you say that to everyone, simon?” his real name on your glossy lips. a prayer that he desires to hear being chanted over and over as he holds you in his arms. the gaze he wraps you in is burning. tempting. exhilarating. you push yourself up on your toes to reach out and place a sticker on his cheek. on the hard shell of his skull mask that you’ve learned will ultimately end in halfhearted chiding because the adhesive is difficult to remove off of it. ghost catches a glimpse of the sticker that you’ve picked. the bolded words of ‘#1 lieutenant’ flashes at him. and the sticker is like a brand you’ve adorned him in. an embellishment that he proudly displays and wears because it’s what you’ve given him. he hums, dark and inquiring, when he leans to graze his masked lips against your inner wrist. his eyes are heady and half-lidded. clouded with a violent craving for you– always you. visibly strains to make contact with your exposed skin by tilting his head to place another chaste kiss on your hand while murmuring, “just to the sweet ‘n pretty ones that I fancy.” 

[b4kuch1n]

I do: fuck around

I have: find out

[lovifie]

Hiii 🩷

I really loved your ‘Mr & Mrs. Price’ story where his partner he is marrying is younger than him! I was wondering if you had anymore of those stories?

If not, I was wondering if you could write a little after they get married sort of thing. Like would they have kids right away, etc.

Thank you!!

Hi love!! 🩷🩷 Thank you for asking so nicely 💕

At the moment I don't have anything else written for Price and her younger wife, so I'll write you a little bit of what I thought would happen after the wedding.

A continuation to Mr. & Mrs. Price

Suggestive | 730 words | Back to Masterlist

The first thing would be the honeymoon, and Price gives me the vibes to go somewhere cold, like the Norwegian Fjords (? I don't know why, he just does. Constantly clinging to his wife like: "I'm cold, dear. Can't you see?" Only to sneaky get his hands under your clothes.

Friends and family complain about how little photos you took, but it's just because most of what you took, were taken inside your room. So many, so many pictures of his hand on your body, the gold band on his finger shining on all of them.

So much fluffy/dirty talk. "My dear, wifey... See? I told you I was going to marry you one day, and look at you, Mrs.Price... so fucking beautiful under me..."

Neither of you are surprised when a couple of months later you get a positive pregnancy test.

"We used protection..." Price says, as if that would change something.

"Yeah... Until we run out, Mr. I Pulled Out." You say.

Having a child so quickly after the wedding was neither of your plans, but Price was already talking about taking a step back from the dangerous mission and for some reason neither of you were panicking after the news.

It was a weird feeling, at first at least. But on the doctor appointment, when you hear the little alien's heartbeat it was set. Price's hand holding yours, the whole way back home.

He did step back from the dangerous mission, working at base helping the recruits and helping on the small missions, not wanting to be far from you. So he spent his working hours at base, and one day he forgot some documents at home and asked if you could bring them to him.

So you did.

You grabbed the folder, and drove your pregnant self to base.

Ghost was the one who saw you first, almost as you stepped off the car. And he was immediately on your side, stunned when he saw your belly.

"Are you..." He asked, not wanting to be rude; looking from your stomach to your face.

You quickly nod, the man's eyebrows disappearing under his mask. He took the folder from your hands, as if it was a heavy piece of furniture you were holding making you laugh. "Congratulations... That's what people say, right?"

You nod again, holding onto his arm to ease his mind as you walk towards Price's office. Small talk about how you were planning a baby shower and if he would like to assist, the panic clear on his face making you chuckle again.

"I'm pulling your leg, Simon. I'll send you a message with the important news." You say, patting his arm.

"And I will be forever grateful for it." He says, slowly falling in a comfortable chat with you.

Gaz and Soap walk out of Price's office just as you turn the corner. Both their expression of shock.

"Captain!" Soap calls him, annoyed with just finding out. "Ye got yer missus pregnant already? Ye filthy dog."

Price furrows his eyebrows, walking out and smiling widely. Quickly walking to you to give a kiss on the lips, his hands resting on your tummy.

"How are my girls doing, sweetheart?" He asks, Simon hearing it perfectly.

"Girls? You are having a baby girl?" He asks, making Gaz and Soap repeat it as echo.

You chuckle again, taking the fold from Ghost's hand and handing it to Price. "We are doing great today, John. Here's the documents, Simon wouldn't let me hold them myself."

"Good lad." He says, nodding at the mancunian making you shake your head.

Unlike Ghost, Gaz actually asks you about the baby shower and if he can assist. Price doesn't say anything, but he is really glad he offered; having now a familiar face at the party.

And even though only Gaz assists in person, he brings a present. "From Ghost, Soap and I, hope the girly likes it. Whenever she uses it."

He says that because the gift is a bright pink toy car for the baby to drive around.

Price complains about the safety of it, but later at night when everyone is gone he sits on the sofa, looking at you drive the car yourself talking about how you always wanted one as a kid. And Price is not sure how he got this lucky in life.

[revasserium]

In case you hadn’t noticed I utterly ADORE your LaDS fics 🫣 You write the boys so well I squeal when I read them!

Can I request prompts 27 and 142 from the prompt lists for our boy Raf? Could it be nsfw? 👉👈

Eagerly awaiting all of your fics about Raf and Xavier especially!

send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble

eventide (27. follow me + 142. in the still of the night)

rafayel; 2,413; nsfw !!!, lvl 55 spoilers, piv sex, fem!reader, no "y/n", riding, heat??? adjacent sex???, smut with feelings, fluff and smut, pwp-ish

summary: "my life? what if you just take it instead?" said the sailor to the mermaid.

a/n: this is probably the best i've felt about a smut piece i've written. that ebb & flow lvl 55 story has me in a chokehold, i tell you.

“Maybe from the start… it was all a trap. Maybe the mermaid was after the sailor’s life all along.”

You reach forward to press your palm to the side of Rafayel’s face, feeling the heat of his skin burning against yours. Gently, you run your knuckles along the sparkling scales dotting the tops of his cheeks like so many pieces of a misplaced sea. You see his eyes go wide, feel his breath quicken impossibly in his chest.

“Okay.”

Rafayel blinks, and the barest hint of a frown creases his eyebrows as he turns to look at you.

“Okay?”

You smile, leaning forward with a soft sigh, letting your fingers trail down to his neck, where his pulse beats hummingbird fast beneath your touch.

“Mhm… you were saying earlier that you’d be so weak tonight that I could take your life if I wanted it…” you slowly shift your leg, one and then the other, over till you’re straddling Rafayel’s lap, both your hands resting on his shoulders. Fish-tail flashes of emotions flicker behind his eyes as he holds his breath, his fingers trembling as he reaches up to catch your wrists; he holds them tight, but he makes no move to either pull you closer or push you away.

You can feel his uncertainty thrumming in the air between you, static — electric.

“I — did…”

You let your head fall sideways as you flash him a sweet, helpless smile, “Then… if it were all a trap for my life… I’m saying that you can have it.”

You lean forward, and like this, your eye line is just a bit higher than his, forcing him to crane his head upwards to keep ahold of your gaze.

He is so warm beneath you that for a moment, you wonder if he’s activated his Evol by accident.

“I can…” for a moment, he seems confused, even drunk as he stares up at you, and then, the flicker of something behind his eyes as he goes stiff beneath you. Then, his fingers are digging into your hips and his breath is nearly searing across your lips. Your newly released wrists burn where his grip had been just seconds before, and you slowly sink your fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean — or make promises you’ve no intention of keeping.” There’s a razor’s edge glinting beneath the soft hiss of his voice as he glares at you, a longing as deep as the sea roiling behind his gaze.

You steel yourself, shifting slightly in his lap, your cheeks warming as you feel him quivering beneath you. He’s still hot, too hot, but he holds impossibly still as you lean in, your lips ghosting over his in a phantom kiss.

“Please…” it comes out as a ragged plea, and you’ve never known him to sound so desperate or so utterly broken, “if you don’t — if you’re not —“

You run your thumb along his jaw as you force him to look at you.

“Rafayel… kiss me.”

It is a breaking dam, a cresting wave, crashing against the crumbling edges of his self-restraint — his lips on yours, his tongue pressing, hungry and demanding, into your mouth as he surges up to kiss you. It’s all you can do to cling to him, your hands looping behind his neck as he crushes you to him, his hands suddenly everywhere as he tugs at the hem of your clothes, rucking them up just to press his palm to the bare skin of your waist, your back, to trail them up the ridges of your spine.

He tastes of salt and desire as he groans against your mouth, your fingers tangling in his foam-soft hair, heat tingling through you as he forces your hips against his and you feel him — hot and hard. A soft whine escapes your lips as he pulls back, panting, his eyes misty and dark as he watches you with a wildness that chases shivers down your spine.

“Are you scared?” he asks, his voice low and just a little breathless, “do you regret staying?”

You swallow and shake your head, trailing your fingers down into the already-opened front of his shirt, grazing your nails along the skin there. A delicious, heart-rending anticipation sizzles through you at the way his stomach flexes, and the next moment, he’s dropping his lips to your shoulder, his teeth sinking into the bare skin there even as he grabs your hand and forces it lower — and then lower.

Heat pulses through you as your palm meets his clothed cock and his head drops back with a moan. Like this, the scales on his neck and jaw are even more pronounced, glimmering in the dim, moonless night. You loosen his belt with one hand before tugging it down with the other, but before you can reach for him, he catches your wrists and pulls you bodily back up the length of his torso.

You almost yelp, shocked by his strength and the ease with which he’d hauled you over his lap once more. There’s an intensity to his hooded eyes, so much darker than their usual lost-treasure brightness, but he smirks as he sees the obvious blush marring your cheeks.

“Already embarrassed? Didn’t you say you were going to give me your life?”

You purse your lips, “I — I am.”

A strange expression crosses his face as he scoffs, “I told you… don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

And then he’s kissing you again, harsh and hungering, a ravenousness carving through him into the hollow of you as you roll your clothed core down over his throbbing cock with a loud, hapless moan.

“S-says who I don’t plan on keeping them?” you ask, breathless and panting as he lifts your hips with a hiss and literally tears away your underwear. Shivers shake through you at this blatant display of strength — you’d always known he was strong, stronger than he lets on but you hadn’t expected this. It caves your stomach and curves your spine as a want so carnal it sears your mind threatens to take you over.

“Mm — fuck —”

He swears as he shoves down his own pants and his cock springs free, thick and leaking as it slaps against the tight muscle of his lower abdomen. You can’t help the way your eyes wide or your breath hitches at the sight — your mouth waters, your throat tightens.

Heat pulses between your thighs as you press your lips and reach down to wrap your fingers around his base, giving him a soft, experimental tug.

The low, guttural moan that spills from you threatens to steal your sanity from you entirely. And suddenly, it’s not only him feeling the effects of the eventide night — you too start to wonder if there’s something in the thick heat of the air, in dark moonless skies.

“Come here, princess —” Rafayel’s fingers dig into your arms as he jerks you up again, pulling you up till you’re hovering over his weeping cock, your core throbbing with want, the nickname somehow sending another thrill tingling through you. You wonder if you had been a princess in another life — if Rafayel had known you then too — if you’d also wanted each other as you do now —

“R-Raf — ay — yel — ah!” you brace your arms against his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself over him, both of your eyes caught on the intoxicating sight of him sinking into you, inch by inch, thick and unrelenting, until finally you’re seated fully in his lap again, your breaths coming in quick, harsh gasps as you try to adjust to the sting, the stretch.

“H-hey…” Rafayel strokes a hand along your cheek, his own chest heaving even as he checks in on you, “how — how do you feel?”

You keen, rolling your hips down over him just to watch him shudder, “G-good — ah — fuck — there —!”

You plant your palms on his chest and lift yourself up a few inches before sinking down again. The friction nearly drives all coherence from your brain as Rafayel’s hands fall to your hips, his nails digging crescent moon marks into the plush above your ass.

He groans, “Y-you’re squeezing m-me so… so tight — ngh — fuck fuck fuck — do — do you feel that — right — right there?”

He lets out a panting breath as he forces your hips forward and back as he flicks his eyes down at the place where his cock is disappearing into your cunt over and over, a ring of sticky white collecting round the base as he watches, his eyes glazed over with want.

“Yes — yes — I f-feel it —” you force your thighs to go faster, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades as you try to ride him harder, keening when he dips down to catch one of your nipples between his lips, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh, his tongue circling your sensitive nub. Fire chases down the length of your spine as pleasure explodes in your lower belly as Rafayel rucks up into you faster and faster, reaching up a hand to squeeze at your other breast, thumb kneading at the sensitive nipple till you’re twitching, falling forward into his embrace.

“You really — really like it when I fuck you deep like this, hm?” and he’s just as breathless as he should be, there’s sweat beading at his brow, an almost crazed, unfocused look in his eyes as he pulls back to look up at you, but it only serves you spur you on as you ride him faster and harder, tossing your head back, slamming your hips down into his to chase your own high as you cry out before falling forward against his feverish skin.

He shifts his hips and you go rigid above him, the tip of his cock hitting a particular place inside you that makes the entire world go fuzzy around the edges. Once, twice, three times — and then you’re collapsing, shaking and shuddering as you come undone around him, and he’s swearing beneath you, squeezing you to him with a thick, bitten-off groan.

“Fuck — i-if you keep — squeezing — around me l-like that — ah-ah-hah…!”

You let out a soft whine as you feel him spilling hot inside you, his cock twitching as he shivers, his forehead falling against your shoulder as he sighs.

“Mm… how… how do you… feel?” you ask, your voice hazy with tiredness as you pull back, grinning lazily down at him, twisting your fingers absently through the hairs at the nape of his neck. Rafayel peers up at you after a second, half-reproachful, half-amazed.

“You… really have no idea… do you?”

“No idea… of what?” you ask, cocking your head to the side even as he tugs you in, his softening cock still sheathed inside you, the sticky heat of your juices cooling against your skin.

“Don’t you know what it means to have sex with a Lemurian?”

You laugh, shaking your head, leaning forward to nuzzle into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You rest your head against the sofa and dig your nose into his skin.

“No… tell me.”

Rafayel’s arms wrap around you, sweet and solid, even as a soft squishing sound alerts you both to the mess you’ve undoubtedly made on his artisanal couch. Neither of you pay it much mind.

“It means that you’re tied to me forever — for this lifetime at least, and that… if you ever try to have sex with anyone else…” Rafayel drops his voice, murmuring into the shell of your ear as you shy away at giggle, “You’ll suffer dire consequences.”

You laugh, shaking your head, “Well, good thing I wasn’t planning on having sex with anyone else then. In this lifetime… or the next.”

Rafayel goes still beneath you. And for a second, it’s just you and him and the catching of lost breaths, the remembering of things once forgotten, lives once lived and yet to be lived again.

“Haven’t I told you? Don’t say things you don’t mean…”

You lift your head to look at him, a soft smile lifting your cheeks as you sigh.

“You keep saying that… but I’ve meant everything I said,” you say, trailing your fingers along the high of his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. You feel his skin burn fire-hot beneath the pads of your thumbs as you run them along his bottom lip.

“Promise you’re not lying,” he says, and he’s not indignant any longer, but reverent and eager, almost anxious.

“I promise.”

“Can your promises be trusted?”

You smile before leaning in to run your lips along his neck, tracing his pulse all the way up to his lips with a light, lingering kiss.

“You tell me, sly merman… weren’t you just saying that the mermaid of legend had set a clever trap for the sailor? So tell me, clever, clever merman… if you’ve bound me to you forever… what power would I have to lie to you, hm?”

Rafayel scoffs, pouting as he looks away, “Unbelievable.”

You laugh, lying your cheek back against his chest with a small sigh, “You should learn to believe it… I mean, I did just willingly give you my life.”

Rafayel makes a soft tsk-ing noise as he pinches you lightly on the thigh, “You really don’t know what you’re saying, do you?”

You shake your head, “No… I know exactly what I’m saying.”

Rafayel grunts, though you know by the sound of his voice that he’s grinning, even as he turns to face away from you. You fancy you can feel the heat as it kisses pink the tips of his ears. You reach up to run a finger along the bright scales still pressing up from beneath his skin as he lets out a soft hiss, turning back to look at you.

“You might not believe me but… at least… I have the rest of my life to prove it to you.”

[apomaro-mellow]

Steve’s parents are in a cult and sacrifice him for their own gains. Yall can thank @whoevenknowsdude for giving me the motivation not to give up on this version.

The party was going on as usual. Steve had been to many of them before. The earliest he remembered was being five and led around by his mother’s hand, then eventually being handed off to a nanny for the rest of the evening. It was always some sort of parade. As a young child, he was the cute baby version of his father. Something for the women to coo at.

Around 11 he was a growing lad who was expected to cause a little trouble. Then at 14 he was a young man with a promising future. 

Growing up, there was one part he was always dreading. The point where people tried to set him up with their daughters, or granddaughters, or nieces. He heard pieces of such transactions all the time. 

‘Oh you must meet my daughter.’ 

‘You know Celia is about your age...’ 

‘So have you got a girlfriend?’

Steve caught glimpses of the older boys either politely rebuffing or ending up engaged with someone. This was a very insular crowd, he knew that. Still, he hoped he’d have something resembling a choice when the time came.

And yet, as he got older, no one rushed to introduce him to anyone. It confused him to no end. He had no trouble attracting girls at school and all of his parents’ friends thought he was charming. He came from good stock. Why did no one want him to marry their daughter?

He tried not to feel so offended by it. But it was just so bizarre. 

But back to tonight. It was going like it always did. Steve spent most of it by his parents’ sides, only occasionally going off on his own. He made nice conversation, had a drink or two, despite being nineteen, and kept the Harrington name good and golden.

As the hour got late though, it got to the point where most of the men split off to have cigars. Steve was usually excused at this point but this time his father put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the next room. He took part in more conversation about his prospects (not going to school but who needed to when he was planning on succeeding his father) and drank some brandy.

“Steve, it’s time we discussed your future”, his father said, letting out a puff of cigar smoke.

“What about it...exactly?”, Steve asked.

“That sometimes we must defer to a higher power.”

“....Right...”

“Steven”, one of the other men started. “You ever take one for the team?”

“Yeah, plenty of times. But what are you guys talking about what’s going on?”, Steve asked.

“Come with me, son.”

Steve got up and followed his father. The other men came along down the stairs into the basement of the clubhouse. But then it went deeper.

“History is filled with ambitious figures, Steve. People who did whatever it took to reach their goals. Tonight it’s up to you to take us even higher.”

“Up to me? What do you want me to do?”

They came to the bottom of the stairs. His mother was already waiting, along with the other women. There was a large stone slab with restraints on it and Steve felt his stomach drop at the implication. But he didn’t want to believe it. It was too crazy.

“Mom, Dad...what are we doing here?”

“The higher power we worship will give us fortune beyond what we could dream of”, his father said. “But everything has its price.”

Before Steve could utter another question, he felt hands on him, gripping and pushing him towards the slab. He struggled and screamed for both of his parents. For some kind of explanation. For something that made sense. But he could feel his sanity slipping as they got him on the altar and tied his limbs down.

Lawrence, 50, with an unconvincing hairpiece stood over him. Steve never liked Lawrence. He always looked at him weird and his touches lingered like he was inspecting a piece of meat.

He was doing it now, trailing a hand up his tied up arm.

“I can’t thank you enough for your sacrifice, Steven. And your parents for bringing up such good stock. I have no doubt he will be pleased with you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on but there’s no way you’re going to kill me for-for what? More money?”

His mother came into view, her expression mournful and Steve wanted to vomit.

“Steve, my love, we won’t be killing you. We could never do that. We just need a bit of your blood. After that....well after that....”

“Our lord will do what he wants with you. And with their lot I can only imagine he will want to devour your soul”, his father finished.

“So you are killing me.”

“We won’t be dealing the killing blow”, his father said. “And who is to say you won’t survive?”

Steve took a deep breath through his nose. This was insane. But it seemed like they at least didn’t plan to put a stake through his heart. He’d lose a bit of blood, they’d probably chant, and then when their demon lord didn’t show up, he could get a shower and then maybe disown his parents.

That didn’t make this situation any less shitty though.

Then someone ripped open his jacket and shirt, exposing his chest. Both of his parents were given knives. The knowledge that they didn’t intend to kill him quell that instinctual fear. Steve had always been a good kid. But sometimes good wasn’t enough. Sometimes he wondered if his parents regretted having him. So his current view wasn’t helping at all in that regard.

They both cut a slit right in the center of his palms and he hissed. They then took his blood and drew a symbol on his stomach. 

There was indeed chanting but between the alcohol, his bleeding hands, and the general delirium, Steve couldn’t make it out. God, he just wanted this to be over. He just wanted normal parents who didn’t sacrifice their own son to the devil.  He wanted a lot of things but it seemed like life would disappoint him one last time.

“Whoa! You’ve got a real party going on here”, a voice said, coming down the stairs.

“Who the hell are you?”, one of the chanters demanded.

Steve craned his neck to see....some guy. It was just some guy, in a black tank top and ripped jeans.

“Who? Me?”, he came to the bottom of the steps and looked around. “Was I not summoned? I thought I heard my name.”

“Someone get this fool out of here!”

“Oh, I see what the issue is. I’m not in the proper attire. My bad.” He took a few more steps forward, right into the range of the men who had advanced on him. Then flames erupted from his body, burning them in an instant. When the fire dissipated, Steve let out a gasp and started to actually pull against his restraints.

This was real! Fuck this was real! A real demon with horns and claws and fangs and shit-were those wings?! He had to get out of here, even if that meant ripping his hands and feet off to escape.

Turned out that was the wrong move. In seconds, the demon crossed the room on all fours and climbed atop the slab to hover over Steve.

“My lord”, Steve’s father said in an impressively even tone. “We offer you our greatest sacrifice-” He was cut off with a deep growl, one that Steve felt in his bones, being this close.

“You...haven’t...sacrificed....anything.” The demon turned its gaze to Steve, lying under him. “But you still have so much to give.” He touched a clawed hand to Steve’s stomach where the bloody symbol was. “Will you give it to me?”

Steve let out a breath. He was going to die. He was going to die and what did he have to show for it? Actually....what did he have to show for it if he lived tonight? Maybe it would be painless, this soul sucking. He just wanted to be done.

“Just take it”, Steve said. “Take whatever you want.”

The demon laughed darkly. “I always do.” He smeared a clawed hand against Steve’s torso, messing up what was drawn there. He sniffed his hand and let out a sigh. 

“Steve!”, his mother shrieked and he wondered if she had just realized what she was giving him up for.

“They spilt your blood for their own gains. Now to me, that doesn’t seem fair”, the demon said. “Don’t you think they should have to give something up? Don’t you want them dead?”

Steve dared to look the demon in his face. The eyes betrayed nothing. Just a blank, red void. But there was something about his expression anyway. Something in the quirk of his lip, the tilt of his head. Steve wondered if he actually would kill everyone in this room if he asked. As for himself, well, despite everything Steve couldn’t ask that of him. He really only wanted one thing and this might be his single chance to voice it out loud.

“I just want to be free.”

“Now see here”, Lawrence said, wagging a finger. “We have been your loyal servants. Our wishes-cckhk!”

He was cut off when the demon’s tail wrapped around his neck, dragging him closer. The demon brought him over until they were eye to eye.

“I would go ahead and count the blessings I already have. You all get to live another day.” He dropped Lawrence, ignoring his gasps for breath as he looked back down at Steve. “And you’re coming with me.”

Flames swirled around them but Steve didn’t feel any heat. Just a rush of warm wind as his restraints disappeared. The light got too bright though and he closed his eyes. When he no longer felt the light behind them, he opened them up, expecting the fires of hell, or a dark abyss of a pit. Maybe even some combination of the two.

Instead he found that he was in a….cramped apartment. The demon was back to the tank top and jeans and Steve wondered if someone had slipped something into a drink.

“You live here?”

The demon stuck his hands in his back pockets. “Whenever I come topside, yeah. And for the time being, so do you.”

“Me?”

“Don’t tell me you wanna go back to those assholes. Not after they-” He stopped speaking and his nostrils flared. Then he looked down.

Steve followed his gaze and saw that his hands were dripping blood onto the floor. “Ah, shit, sorry I-” He was about to wipe it on his ruined shirt when the demon grabbed a wrist, freezing him in place. His words were caught in his throat when the demon took a long sniff at the blood still slowly dripping out of his palm. He looked Steve in the eye as he slowly licked it clean. When the blood was gone, Steve saw his hand was completely healed.

The demon took his other hand and did the same, but somehow went even slower. The licks were punctuated with what could have been open mouth kisses but Steve wasn’t sure. Either the demon was making out with his hand or trying to eat him with little success.

When that one was finished, the demon looked at him and Steve was taken with how blown his eyes were. Like Steve’s blood was top shelf.

“B-buy a guy dinner first, huh?”

The demon came back into himself and took a step back, releasing Steve’s hand. “Yeah, sorry it’s just-yeah…” He cleared his throat and then turned, going deeper into the apartment. “So my home is your home, until you figure out exactly what you wanna do. Um, bathroom’s over there I’m sure you wanna get the rest of that blood off.”

He looked almost nervous to have Steve here. And the absurdity of that made Steve let out a chuckle. And then everything came crashing down on him and he started to laugh in earnest. The demon’s anxious stance just made more laughter bubble forth. What the fuck had his life become?

“Are you okay?”

“I just realized why none of them wanted me to date their daughters.” Steve pushed his hair out of his face. “They knew they’d be giving me to you.” As he laughed the tears started to fall. The demon looked even more shocked but then he came over and wrapped his arms around Steve.

“I don’t know why I’m laughing. Or why I’m crying.”

“Because it’s fucked up man. Like hilariously fucked up. And sometimes you gotta laugh about that crap.” The demon pulled away just enough to look Steve in the eye. “But you’re better than what you just left behind. You proved that by letting them live.”

Steve wiped at his eyes. “Well you already burned a couple of them. Wait, you killed them!”

“Collateral damage when I let my flames loose. I don’t like being touched.” He seemed to realize he was doing just that and raised his hands in the air before taking two steps away from Steve.

“I don’t even know your name. And you would’ve actually killed them for me?”

“Oh I go by Eddie nowadays.” He turned and looked like he was trying to make himself busy by picking things up and putting them down.

“Eddie? Just Eddie?”

“Short for Edifice. Um, did you want that shower?”

“I….” Steve still had questions. But he felt barely functioning right now. Like if he got one more bit of information his brain would explode.

“Steve….You’re free now. That was what you asked for.” The demon, no, Eddie, his name was Eddie, was smiling at him.

“I want….to go to sleep.”

Eddie started to walk away and Steve followed. He led him to a room where the bed took up most of the space.

“It’s yours for tonight. And tomorrow, well it’s all up to you now.”

Steve collapsed against the bed. He vaguely registered his shoes being taken off but soon fell into oblivion.

Part 2

[murdockparker]

Foolish Endeavor - Part 8

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: To be, or not to be (a Bridgerton), that is the question. One that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton has yet to ask.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Mentions of sex, no actual smut, angst

A/N: it's a happy-sad chapter. that's all I gotta say mad lads

first part - previous part - next part

__

She hadn’t felt very well rested, not even the tiniest bit. No matter how tired she felt after last night’s escapades, the excitement that lingered in the air coursed through her veins, keeping her alert and awake for the entirety of the night. He hadn’t kept it much of a secret, not really.

Benedict Bridgerton was proposing. 

Today. 

While he practically proposed last night, bodies tangled together in a sweaty embrace, she knew a more formal question was coming later this morning or afternoon. It was only a matter of time before Benedict asked for her company, asked for her hand. She imagined he already discussed the details of their engagement, dowry and the like with her father before their visit to Aubrey Hall. Seeing as how her father couldn’t accompany them for the week and knowing how formal Benedict could be about situations just as this one.

A soft knock rang through the spacious room, followed by the entrance of Agnes, her lady’s maid. She was carrying a pitcher of fresh water and a rag, smiling lightly at the girl rolling in bed. 

“Good morning, miss,” Agnes said lovingly. She set the pitcher down on the desk, draping the cloth over the back of the chair. “I trust you slept well?”

“Of course,” she lied. “The beds here are divine, I reckon they’re stuffed with only the finest.”

“Oh yes,” Agnes nodded. “I’m sure the viscount has only the best in his home.”

“Did you sleep well, Agnes?”

“I slept just fine, my lady,” the maid said sweetly. “The staff’s lodgings are quite elegant. If I had half a mind, I would mention something to your mother…”

(Y/N) giggled, the sound dampening against the plushness of the bedding. “Consider it done, I’ll bring it up over tea.”

Agnes’ eyes lit up like a candle in the night—bright and ever glowing. She nodded softly before floating over to her lady’s bed to assist in her dressing. “I drew you a bath for this morning, I figured you may wish to take one after the exhausting day that was yesterday.” (Y/N)’s entire face flushed, the color creeping up from her neck. Surely the staff couldn’t have possibly heard anything from the study last eve, could they? “The carriage ride was much too hot for my liking, I myself washed up last evening.”

“Oh,” she coughed, patting her chest lightly. “Yes, I agree. Traveling in the summer months is always a hassle.”

“Should I set out your dressings for when you return, my lady?”

“Of course. That would be lovely.”

“Which one do you fancy for this morning?” Agnes asked, opening the wardrobe, now fitted out with the various silks and outfits they had packed for the week. Her eyes danced across the rainbow of colors before placing her hand on one. “I reckon Mr. Bridgerton will quite like this one."

“Agnes!” (Y/N) chided, suppressing a laugh.

“I’ll set it aside,” the maid hummed knowingly, placing the selected dress on the door to the wardrobe.

—

The dress Agnes had picked out was quite the stunning piece, the fanciest of the day dresses they had packed. The sleeves were almost entirely a thick lace, meeting the crook of her elbow with grace. Colored to match the sky on a summer’s day, the gown had matching white accents one could nearly mistake for clouds, a slightly darker azure pulled everything together on the bodice. It was the epitome of class, the finest handiwork once could find in the ton.

He thought she was breathtaking. 

He normally thought so, of course. This morning, however, she looked nearly as radiant as the sun. His sun. He knew it was going to be a good day, with her smiling as sweetly as she was. He had to restrain himself from reaching into his pocket and falling to his knee immediately, his better judgment getting the best of him. 

“Lady (Y/N),” Benedict greeted her, bowing lightly to appease the other eyes following them in the room. 

“Benedict,” she curtsied back. 

“Might you do me the honor of accompanying me on a promenade this morning?” He asked, brow arched up, his lovesick smirk ever apparent.

“Of course,” she nodded before turning to her side. “Though, we will need to find a chaperone—” 

“I’ll join you.”

“A walk could do me some good.”

Both the countess and dowager viscountess spoke in the same breath, flustered at the sudden attention on themselves. They both seemed too eager to join the happy couple this afternoon, for no reason in particular.

“You are both free to join us,” Benedict nearly laughed. “We are set to promenade around the gardens, I wish to enjoy your lovely flowers, Mother.”

“Oh yes,” (Y/N) nodded enthusiastically. “Lady Bridgerton, your gardens are quite the spectacle.”

Violet waved them off, nearly embarrassed. “Oh you two flatter me so terribly.”

“Oh but I have to agree, Violet. You simply must tell me where you found your florist,” the countess smiled. “Theodore would love the blooms you have out here.”

“Well, I hardly think they’re a secret,” Violet said, voice dropping to a murmur before leaning into the countess’ side. “But I’ll extend their information to you posthaste.”

The women giggled, both taken at the joy of the afternoon—Benedict and (Y/N) still in their own little world.

“Pall-mall is this afternoon,” Benedict said thoughtfully, extending his arm for his beloved to take. “I recall your proficiency at the game, has that changed?”

(Y/N) shook her head, beginning to walk with Benedict towards the gardens, mamas in tow. “No, of course not. If anything I simply have gotten even better than you recall.”

He let out a laugh, warm and thick like honey. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Anthony suggested the match a day or so prior to your arrival, something about fond memories from childhood—” 

“Really? You’re sure he doesn’t wish to try and best his family to look good for his future bride?”

“Ah, the viscount would never dare use his family as a pawn for his marriage,” Benedict said seriously. “But, trying to best Daphne will be his greatest feat.”

“The duchess is joining us?” She asked, allowing Benedict to open the garden gate for her. He hummed.

“She would never dare miss an opportunity to lay claim to her rightful place as the best Bridgerton pall-mall player,” Benedict chuckled. “Well, I suppose she also wished to meet Miss Sharma, should Anthony get off of his sorry behind and actually propose…”

Violet Bridgerton loved her garden in Kent—her and her husband had a rather fondness to the country—leaving her gardens to be quite the sight to behold. The young couple spent many a day in the gardens in their youth, playing and chasing the other around. Last year, Anthony had commissioned a small fountain to be added for their mother's birthday, it was the new jewel of the grounds. 

It was the perfect place, Benedict had decided.

“Why do you think our mamas are following us so closely?” (Y/N) asked quietly, tightening her grip on Benedict’s arm.

“They’re pretending to be interested in the roses,” Benedict whispered, turning to look back at his mother and the countess. The women seemed flushed, their attention drawn a bit too closely at the blooms. “But I believe they’re waiting with bated breath for something extraordinary to happen."

“And what, pray tell, would they be waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?” Her heart began to pound, surely the small babbling of the fountain did nothing to hide it.

A grin spread across his face, one that was lopsided and all-too-sweet, his gaze warm enough to set aflame. “Perhaps they’re waiting for…this?” He removed his arm from (Y/N)’s grip, slinking down to one knee. Benedict thanked any God who would listen he had the bright idea to practice the gesture before this moment, as it hopefully looked as graceful as it felt. With only a slightly shaking hand, he took her own.    

“Oh!” Lady Kent squealed from behind. Lady Bridgerton was quick to pull her close—as if to not ruin the moment. 

“Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N), you have been a constant at my side. Your friendship has been a balm on my worried heart for the many years I have had the pleasure of knowing you,” Benedict began, trying to keep his voice steady. “How lucky am I, to have found such a partner in my greatest friend? How lucky would I be, if that partner agreed to spend the rest of her days with me?”

“Benedict…” She had begun to cry. She had known he was proposing today, and yet, she still begun to cry.

“(Y/N),” Benedict repeated her name like a prayer, “will you do me the honor of making me half of the happiest pair the universe has ever seen? Will you marry me?”

A box suddenly appeared in his other hand, a glittering ring shining in the morning sun. It surely wasn’t a family ring, no, it looked to be brand new, like he had it made especially for her. Benedict had asked Lady Bridgerton about family rings but never quite found one that spoke to him—so he took matters into his own hands. 

A delicate cluster of pearls with shining sapphires, all adorned like a flower in bloom. He had been torn on the sapphires, but secretly, a part of him wished for her to have the staple Bridgerton color, blue, with her always. A small claim, a slightly possessive way for him to show she is his at all times. 

If she didn’t already have her answer before this moment, seeing Benedict on the ground, bearing his heart out to her in front of a beautiful scene—and their mamas—it couldn’t have come any easier. 

“Yes!” She squealed, falling to the ground to meet Benedict in an amorous embrace—dress be damned, society be damned.

He nearly fell over, arm steadily snaking its way around her waist, holding her tight against him. He knew he was close to tears, but seeing his love on the same precipice nearly sent him over the edge. “If our mamas weren’t looking…” Benedict whispered into her ear, holding her tight against him, his words a secret to her alone. 

“I simply don’t care,” (Y/N) murmured, turning his face towards her own, lips nearly attacking his. What started as a passionate celebration had melted into something more substantial—a far cry from any other kiss they had shared before. This was not just a kiss from a friend, a kiss from a lover, no, this was a kiss between a husband and wife. The passion was not lost on them, but it took perhaps a second too long to fully realize that their mothers were still very much watching.

“Ehem!” Lady Kent cleared her throat, cheeks rosy as the blooms beside her.

“Relax Mama,” (Y/N) giggled, pulling herself to her feet, assisting Benedict to reaching his own as well. “What is the worst thing to happen? Force us to marry faster?”

“I rather like the sound of that,” Benedict murmured, dusting off his pants. 

“Er, no, I suppose there’s nothing—” Lady Kent sighed, turning to Violet. “Should we petition for a speedy ceremony?”

“Oh hush,” Violet admonished, laughing lightly. “One kiss between betrothed is not a ruin. However,” she looked at the newly affianced couple with a narrow gaze, the one of a strict mother, “I would not make it a habit until you are wed.”

“Of course, Mother,” Benedict nodded, trying his very best to not laugh out loud. 

“My lady,” a butler had come up from behind the proud mothers. “The duchess has arrived.”

“Oh! Splendid,” Violet cooed. “Benedict, do see to it that you and your fiancée greet your sister, I am sure she would be most pleased at your news.”

“We shall inform the family before pall-mall,” Benedict said decidedly. “Just another reason to celebrate.”

“Just think,” Lady Kent sighed, turning to walk with Lady Bridgerton back to the estate. “By the end of the week you will have two sons set to be wed! A joyous celebration indeed.”

“If Anthony is truly engaged at the end of the week,” Benedict said quietly, words only meant for his fiancée to hear, “then the world has turned upside down.”

They both laughed. 

—

“Is Anthony still attached to the black mallet?” (Y/N) asked, arm in arm with her new fiancé. “I recall a near bloodbath for it the last time I played pall-mall with your family.”

“Far more than one would realize,” Benedict nodded. “One would suspect he carried and birthed the bloody thing…”

“Funny,” (Y/N) said. “He birthed the mallet? Here I thought he still had a stick up his—”

“(Y/N)!”

“What? I will not apologize for saying what I was thinking—and if I knew any better, you were too.”

“He’s been… a bit un-agreeable the last few weeks, regarding the whole notion of Miss Sharma and whatnot,” Benedict sighed.

“So you do not disagree.”

“He is my brother,” Benedict stated.

“Indeed,” (Y/N) hummed.

Even having descended these steps only two hours prior to their inevitable engagement, the yard had completely transformed. Shade and snacks had been put up for the spectators, hoops were currently being put in the ground and staff were carrying out the dreaded mallet container.

“What a lovely afternoon for pall-mall,” Lady Mary said.

“And a lovely afternoon to celebrate an engagement,” Lady Bridgerton added, looking directly at the happy couple. 

“Oh yes,” Lady Mary smiled. “Congratulations on the engagement, Lady Bridgerton, Lady Kent.”

“Save your congratulations for the ball in the next few days,” Lady Kent laughed. “I suspect it will be the talk of the ton anyhow.”

The older ladies laughed with one another. The younger adults began their trek to the mallet box, determination in each of their eyes. 

“Eloise, are you sure you do not wish to play?” Colin asked, turning to his younger sister.

“I have other matters to deal with,” she said sitting from the steps, nose in her book. “Besides, someone had to sit out so our guests could play…”

“I could have sat out—” Colin began.

“And the sky is green, Brother,” Benedict said, clapping his younger brother’s back. “Everyone knows you would’ve been a worse spoilsport if you sat out instead.”

“Perhaps Lady (Y/N) could have sat out, then?”

“You’d make my fiancée sit out?” Benedict gasped, clearly jesting. “She is to be your sister soon, Colin. It’s preposterous that you would even suggest such a thing!”

“Ben,” (Y/N) giggled, hand placed gently on his shoulder. “I do not think Colin truly meant it.”

“Congratulations, again,” Colin nodded towards the to-be-Bridgerton. “Why you wish to marry into this family is beyond me.”

“I fear I am still asking myself such a question,” she hummed, plainly ignoring Benedict’s souring expression. “But I am sure I’ll be reminded during our spirited game of pall-mall.”

“Reminded of what?” Daphne asked, walking with the Sharma sisters. She had been explaining the game in earnest to them.

“How much fun our family has playing a rousing game of pall-mall,” Colin said, shit-eating grin on his face. Anthony tried his best to ignore it, taking his attentions to Miss Sharma—the younger, not the elder.

“Shall we begin?” Anthony coughed, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“I shall pick first,” Colin said, reaching for the black mallet.

“No!” Anthony practically yelled, causing a shock to the group. “I-I mean, we pick based on alphabetical order.”

“So, by Bridgerton standards, eldest to youngest?” (Y/N) mused. Benedict huffed a laugh as his brothers began to fight.

“The only fair thing to do,” Daphne spoke up, ever the voice of reason, “is to let our invited guests choose their mallets and strike first.”

“Please, take your pick, Miss Edwina,” Anthony conceded, bowing to the younger Sharma. Edwina looked carefully over the mallets, eyes scanning over every color—almost as if she was afraid to pick the wrong one. She pointed decidedly to the blue one, Anthony grabbing it for her with haste. “An excellent choice.”

Kate wasted no time in choosing her mallet—black and foreboding. The mallet of death. 

“Would you look at that, Brother?” Benedict sniggered, clearly amused by Anthony’s annoyance. 

“Is this yours?” Kate asked. 

“Not at all. You’re welcome to it,” Anthony sighed.

“You near threatened to beat me the last time I touched—”

“You exaggerate,” Anthony fumed, eyes like daggers towards Colin.

“Are you the superstitious sort, Lord Bridgerton?” Kate asked, twirling the mallet like a prized trophy. “I know some men cannot perform without their familiar tools. Like a child with a blanket.”

“Oh I like her,” (Y/N) said softly, her words nearly lost amongst the guffaw of the Bridgerton family.

“I can play perfectly well with any mallet,” Anthony said.

“My sun, I do believe it is your pick,” Benedict said, clearing the laugh from his throat. She nodded, taking her claim on the lavender mallet. It seemed the most appealing and an easy color to spot from the grass. “Lavender is a fine color for you.”

“Shall we dilly dawdle all afternoon?” Colin sighed. “Or shall we…” 

It was like a hunt. Each of the playing Bridgertons tried to stake their claim on a mallet, all avoiding one in particular. Benedict grabbed a golden yellow, Colin choose green, Daphne a nice seafoam color, leaving Anthony with the pastel pink. 

“To the field of combat!” Daphne exclaimed, holding her mallet straight up in the air. 

Combat was an accurate descriptor. While it had been years since she had played pall-mall, even longer since she had played it with the Bridgertons, Lady (Y/N) found it refreshing. It nearly made her wonder if this could have been her life growing up—a lively life with siblings to bicker with and pick on. 

Regardless, it will be her life now, as soon as she marries Benedict. Soon she’d be a Bridgerton. Soon she’d have the family she’d always dreamt of. Siblings, children, the whole lot.

“I say, that was a good shot Lady (Y/N)!” Colin cheered, clapping politely at her latest hit. She had managed to knock Daphne’s ball near a cluster of bushes. “Always a win in my book to best Daph.”

“Oh hush,” Daphne rolled her eyes. “It was a bold move, I will concede to that, well done (Y/N).”

“Dropping her title, are we?” Benedict asked, stepping beside his sister. “You of all people know better etiquette, Your Grace.”

“And what is better etiquette than calling my newest sister by her given name?” Daphne sang, hopping along to her ball. She may be married and a new mother with one on the way, but she still was very much a girl at heart. 

“I truly don’t mind, Benedict,” (Y/N) insisted. “It won’t matter in a few weeks, anyhow.”

“Perhaps you won’t mind this, then?” Colin said. In a blink of an eye, her purple ball went flying towards Daphne’s. 

“Not at all, Colin,” (Y/N) curtsied. “You only made the game more fun, I would have been crestfallen if you were taking it easy on me.”

“Never,” he scoffed. 

“Exactly right,” (Y/N) said, following Daphne over to her ball.

“I’m happy for you. She’s a catch, Ben,” Anthony said, pulling his younger brother out of his love-sick daze. Benedict nodded, not fully listening. “Everyone suspected it to happen, since we were young.”

“I wish someone would have told me sooner,” Benedict jested, “it would have saved us both some time, I manage.”

“I believe Father had made a joke about it once before,” Anthony said. “But, I assume your head was too stuck in the clouds to hear it.”

“Father did, truly?” Benedict’s brow raised. “He was rather observant, I suppose I do not doubt it.”

“You know, I must hand it to you, Brother,” Colin said, cutting in with his brothers. “Courting Lady (Y/N) was a feat I’m surprised you pulled off.”

“Do you not think we are a suited match?” Benedict asked. “Am I not charming enough? Not handsome enough?”

“You are a Bridgerton, of course you are enough,” Colin said.

“I think he means he is just surprised you managed to snag the daughter of an earl,” Anthony said simply. “You are a second son, it is nearly unheard of.”

“She is more than that—”  

“Of course she is,” Anthony said, raising his hand in defense, the other on his pink mallet. “She is your greatest friend and soon to be your wife—of course she is more than just the earl’s daughter.”

“She is my sun,” Benedict said simply. 

Anthony and Colin gave each other a look. “Ever the poet,” Colin chuckled. “You could have stopped at ‘she’s more than that’.”

She had been trying to strategize how best to get her purple ball back to the next wicket. Colin had sent it rather far from the next target, but it was no matter. She was determined to get it back into play—to show the Bridgertons she could roll with the punches. A small wave was sent her direction, one attached to a rather love-sick man, tall and handsome with a wicked grin. 

She waved back, an equally lovesick smile on her lips. 

“How fortunate,” Anthony noted. “Now your son will inherit the earldom, yes?”

“I…” Benedict’s regard turned back to his brother. How easily he was distracted by Lady (Y/N). “Yes, I suppose that is what’s expected of our union, what her parents expect of us.”

“Just think,” Colin said boisterously, “two titles in one family!”

“A viscount and an earl, both Bridgertons,” Anthony cooed, much like a child. “Well done brother! What a success for our family—Father would be proud.”

“I understand the sudden interest in Lady (Y/N) now, Brother,” Colin said, balancing on his mallet. “It rather makes sense, does it not?” 

“I think Father would be more proud that I am marrying for love,” Benedict corrected, growing a bit annoyed at his brothers jesting. 

“Love? Oh yes,” Anthony waved. “Sure, sure. But the earldom? How lucky you’ve bagged her, Brother. Bridgerton, Earl of Kent!”

Benedict forced a laugh. 

“Well, that is not—” 

A purple ball rolled next to his feet, stopping just before his toes. 

She had looked like she had seen a ghost, Lady (Y/N). Her grip tightened on her mallet, white gloves contrast to the purple. “I think I shall cut out for the day.”

The Bridgerton brothers were silent, Benedict inching towards her.

“(Y/N)—”

“I am in need of a respite,” she said, not looking back. “Too much sun.”

Benedict felt his blood run cold, his hand glued to the air. Every sense of his was fleeting, his sight blurring, his mouth running dry. 

“You dolt,” Daphne admonished, smacking her second eldest brother as she came upon them. “You must talk to her.”

“I-I will,” Benedict nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“Well not now,” Daphne sighed. “Give her a moment to collect her thoughts. A conversation now could be… explosive.”

“Is the game finished, my lord?” Edwina pranced over, brows furrowed.

“Ah, yes,” Anthony cleared his throat. “Well, no. Lady (Y/N) and Benedict have cut out, isn’t that right?”

Benedict nodded numbly, dropping his mallet to the grass.

“The game is still set—minus yellow and purple,” Anthony said stoically, rightfully ignoring his brother heading towards the estate. 

Feet like lead, every step he took felt like a death sentence, a man on his way to execution.

Somehow, he much preferred that thought.

__

He knocked at her door, three hours later. 

For two hours he sobbed and for an hour he drank, trying to wrap his head around how he’d approach this, how he’d approach her. He had pressed a wet rag to his face. Helps with the puffiness, a staff member told him. He hoped for it to be true. 

He knocked again.

“Go away.”

Benedict sighed, leaning up against the wood. “I’m afraid that’s unlikely. We must speak.”

“I am not opening the door.”

“And I am not leaving.”

A pause. 

Then, the lock clicked. 

The man took a deep breath, preparing for every possible outcome. He was never much of a planner, but in this very instance? He wish he had clairvoyance, a crystal ball perhaps, to see how this would end. Benedict could only hope it ended with them at the end of the aisle, hand in hand at the altar. 

“You would have stayed out there all night,” she said simply as he entered the room. She had resigned herself to standing in the dead center of the bedchambers, her arms crossed.

“Yes,” Benedict said. “I would have.”

“Stubborn,” she scoffed, turning towards the window. 

He took the moment to shut the door—they were engaged, no need for propriety now. “We are expected at dinner this evening,” Benedict said quietly. “To celebrate the engagement.”

“Naturally.”

“You do not wish to go to dinner,” Benedict surmised.

“Naturally,” she repeated, her shoulders tensing.

“You must eat—” 

“I would rather starve.”

“That is a bit ridiculous,” Benedict scoffed. “Surely you are not that angry.”

“You do not get to tell me how angry I am allowed to be,” (Y/N) said, finally turning around. “If I do not wish to show face at dinner, I will not show face.”

Benedict’s gaze softened on her, finally seeing her face. He would never assume anything about her, it would make for a terrible habit for the years to come, but if he had to make an educated guess, she had been crying just as much as he had.

He wished he had a rag to offer.

“I apologize—”

“For which instance?” (Y/N) asked cooly. “For earlier? For dictating my feelings?”

“The first—both, I suppose,” Benedict ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps he was losing strands from the stress. “Look, (Y/N)—” 

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“What?”

“You have known me for many years,” (Y/N) said. “Do you take me for a fool?”

He had the fleeting thought of mentioning how poorly she played cards, how foolish her tactics were. The only time he’d ever call her a fool. He decided he’d be more the fool if he so much as loosened his lips on that thought. “No.”

“I do not need you to explain yourself, you and your brothers made it quite clear this afternoon,” (Y/N) tightened her arms, nearly folding in on herself. “Quite clear on your true intentions with the earldom.”

“My true intentions? My only intention is and ever was to marry you. Absolutely none of this came from the title.”

“Is that why you suddenly had an interest in me? To secure another title of nobility for your family’s lineage?”

“Of course not! I have loved you since I knew what love truly was, (Y/N). It did not happen overnight.”

Frustrated, she began to pace about the room, fire crackling nearly in time with her beating heart. The air was tense, thick. Shadows begun dancing from the flames, painting themselves onto the bookshelves with ease and without hesitation. Their furrowed brows were prominent against the flickering, set in stone. 

“‘Did not happen overnight’,” (Y/N) scoffed. “You had the opportunity when I debuted seasons ago, why now? Why not then?”

“I was fooling myself,” Benedict pressed a hand against his chest. “I know how this may look, my sun—”

“You,” she cut him off, eyes hardened. “Do not get to call me that. Not right now.”

Benedict took a step back. She was dead serious. He could only recall one other time in their lives that she had such a ferocity to her character—it had involved her father discarding a handful of books from her own personal collection, resulting in her not speaking to him for the better part of a month. If he thought her looks could kill then, Benedict Bridgerton was expecting to have his funeral by the end of the night.

“You misunderstand,” Benedict began carefully, as if to not break any eggshells. “My brothers—you know how they are. Anthony was merely making a joke.”

“It was in poor taste.”

“I agree!” Benedict exclaimed. “My laughter then, it was one of the forced kind, one I save only for the deeply unpleasant conversations I tend to have during the season.”

She stood silent for a moment.

“Yet you laughed."

“I… did. My su—love, I apologize from the deepest parts of me. I wish to marry you, earldom or not. Titles mean nothing, but you? Darling, you mean everything to me."

“So it was just a coincidence that you decided to show up at my door the morning after I shared the truth of my family’s wishes for my future match? Surely you do not take me for a fool.”

Benedict sighed, feeling the anger bubbling in his chest. “While you may have shared that information, the only thing I could even begin to think about since you had left that afternoon was that I had a chance!”

She blinked. 

“Imagine, loving your best friend, watching her and admiring her from afar, knowing she’s destined to be with and marry another. Marry some… some duke or titled man, someone every mama would be floored to have pair with their daughter,” Benedict felt as if he were on stage, his only audience watching him intently. “But to fathom you’d ever marry me? A second son? Surely you could consider me mad for ever entertaining that, for even ever dreaming of it.”

“You have no idea the type of man I wished to have married,” (Y/N) said, her voice cooler than ice. Calculated, perhaps. “Had you been honest from the start—”

“And ruin our friendship?” Benedict laughed, no humor found in his voice. “Lose you? The greatest thing to come of my time on this planet? No. Perish the thought.”

“You’re a fine actor,” (Y/N) said slowly, trying to keep her composure. “Because from the way I see it? You found a way to ensure a new title for the Bridgerton name—woo your ‘greatest friend’ and effectively ruin her by taking her on your brother’s desk!”

“Do not make it seem like you had no say in the matter—”

“I loved you!” (Y/N) screamed, finally reaching her breaking point. “I thought you would be the man I would marry! I wanted you, Benedict, more than I ever wanted anyone.”

“Loved…?” Benedict felt smaller than dirt. “You do not mean—”

“I will still marry you,” (Y/N) continued. “Only because you have effectively trapped me—what if I am to be with child?” She nearly laughed at the absurdity. “Seeing as you had the grace to not only ruin me, but finish in me—”

“Is that what you think?” Benedict broke, his voice quavering. “You think that I tried to trap you into a marriage to ensure my family a new title? That I had the thought—the foresight—to try and make you with child to give you no other options? In no way you could think so little of me—”   

“And yet here we are,” her voice was like venom. "Perhaps you will have your Bridgerton earl after all."

He dared not speak a word.

“I need some time to think. Mother and I are going back to Mayfair—do not follow us.” (Y/N) left the room, slamming the door so hard one might have assumed it cracked. 

Much like his heart.

__

TAGLIST

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[pfctipper]

Martin Taylor, ed. Lads: Love Poetry of the Trenches (1989) on the relationship between officers and their men during the First World War (+ HBO war extracts that I can't stop thinking about in relation under the cut)

Letter from Floyd Talbert, dated 1945: 'Dick that is the reason you are loved and will never be forgotten by any soldier that ever served under you, or I might say with you; because that is the way I felt ... you are the best friend I ever had and I only wish we could have been on a different basis. You were my ideal, and motor in combat ... Well you know now why I would follow you into hell.'

Bill Sloan, Brotherhood of Heroes: The Marines at Peleliu (2005): ‘[Dick] Higgins got back to the command post and saw Haldane’s gear piled where he’d hurriedly dumped it before going up on the ridge. Then, without warning, Higgins went to pieces. He fell to the ground, screaming, swearing, and sobbing uncontrollably. “All at once, it hit me, and I totally lost it. They sent me to sick bay for four days, and the doctors advised me not to go back on duty even then, but I insisted. It was better to be doing something than just sitting there.”

Eugene Sledge, With the Old Breed: At Peleliu and Okinawa (1981): 'As I struggled along feeling chilled and forlorn and trying to keep my balance in the mud, a big man came striding from the rear of the column. He walked with the ease of a pedestrian on a city sidewalk. As he pulled abreast of me, the man looked at me and said, “Lovely weather, isn’t it, son?” I grinned at Haldane and said, “Not exactly, sir" ... He wanted to know all about my family, home, and education. As we talked the gloom seemed to disappear, and I felt warm inside. Finally he told me it wouldn’t rain forever, and we could get dry soon. He moved along the column talking to other men as he had to me. His sincere interest in each of us as a human being helped to dispel the feeling that we were just animals training to fight.'

Larry Alexander, Biggest Brother: The Life Of Major Dick Winters (2005): Winters' philosophy of dealing with his men and keeping up morale and fighting spirit was to move among them. One damp, dreary morning he noticed Private Clarence S. Howell manning a machine gun outpost and looking thoroughly miserable. The men had been marching and fighting mock battles for twenty-four hours nonstop. Howell, like the rest, was tired, wet, cold and hungry. As Winters watched, Howell fished a photograph from a pocket and stared down at it. "How's it going, Shep?" Winters asked, kneeling next to the young soldier. "Fine, sir," he replied, still looking at the photo. "What's that?" Winters asked. "A picture from home?" "Yes, sir," Howell said, showing it to Winters. It was a young woman. "My girl," he added, as if he felt he had to explain. "She's very pretty, Shep," Winters said, examining the smiling young face. "You must miss her. Are you two planning to tie the knot?" "Yes, sir," he answered, studying the photo again. "I was just wondering how long it'll be until I can get back to her, or even if I'll ever see her again." "You will," Winters said, patting the man's shoulder. "Just keep your mind focused on your job. You're a good man, Shep. Hang tough."