#my tipple

[honnie-bunni]

These guys! Oh, they're my favourites!

[helianskies]

WAAA HAPPY B-DAY!!! Sorry I only saw it now but I hope you had/have one of the best days of your life, full of presents, happiness and cake!! :DD

aww thank you qwq i had a very good day! lots of cake was eaten i promise :'D

[elliesgaythoughts]

birthday ellie head😏-cannons

warnings: oral & fingering e!receiving, use of the nickname mama

fluff and smut

The first words out her mouth when she corners you in your room studying, leaning against the doorframe smugly and holding up the phone screen to you showing the time and before you can even say happy birthday she speaks her mind “birthday sex?” as to which you tell her to “fuck off” because you both are so madly in love.

bday!ellie that wakes up to the smell of pancakes and you struggling to get through the room door “g’morning babe” as she rubs her eyes, jumping out from under the covers, only wearing her dino boxers and a white vest, to help you like the little golden retriever she is “sit down baby” you huff “lemme spoil my girl”

bday!ellie that goes into a silent mood at how much you’re doing for her “let me driveee, please babe” your palm turns the steering wheel, taking you both outta the driveway then lands softly, resting on her thigh “nuh uh, you’re my passenger princess for today” she feints a sigh but the little excited giggle she fails to hide doesn’t go unnoticed.

bday!ellie that finally gets her way, having took her bags from you and waddling behind you through the mall.

bday!ellie that drags you into the Lego store only to disappear a few minutes later and reappearing to dangle a little lego you and her on a keychain that melts your heart “for you babe” she smiles softly, blushing like it’s your first date together all over again.

bday!ellie that can’t tell the difference between a day that’s supposed to be all about her and a day that should be spent spoiling you.

bday!ellie that doesn’t care if its her birthday she still drags you into a side boutique buying you a pretty pink pair of stilettos the second you turn your back “they’re not for you they’re for meee” she whines as you subtlety tell her off, she squeezes your hand tighter and nudges your shoulder with her as you both walk down the street, towards her beat up car to dump off her purchases “but I’ll give you a shot if you’d like” she shoot’s you a wink and you giggle under your breath at the thought of her trying to walk in them.

bday!ellie that practically makes your jaw drop as she walks out your shared bathroom in a black suit with a white button up on, open all the way down to her navel, the freckles on her chest taking your breath away as she mindlessly tweaks her cuff links, pretending to avoid your eyes practically fucking her as she gets ready for your dinner date.

bday!ellie that bursts into a nervous fit of giggles, blushing and dragging her chair closer to you, practically hiding being you as she spots a waiter bringing out a sparking chocolate cake and singing. “babeee” she praises as you nod a thank you to the worker “hm?” you scoop a piece with your spoon and she gladly takes it into her mouth, faking thought as she chews and swallows “it’s perfect, thank you” you lean forward, pressing your lips all over her precious face, inbetween your kisses you promise her “you deserve it” another kiss “and more” your hands are holding her flushed face “I love you, ellie” and she breathes a soft breath through her pout, calming herself before she speaks, she nods softly, holding, her ivy eyes meeting with yours “I know” teary as they are, they never leave yours “i love you too, angel”

bday!ellie that also has a little too much to drink stumbling out the taxi with you, hand in hand with you as you open your front door for her, guiding her inside as she drags you in with her, the taste of her wine on your tongue instantly.

bday!ellie that somehow strips faster than you, both your hands roaming each others warm flesh, tippling onto her mattress, tongues tasting one another’s flesh and soft breaths filling each others ears, making the heat between her thighs grow desperately.

bday!ellies that has her fingers in your messy hair as she spreads her thighs further, your breath on her clit and tongue running through her folds, the taste of her satisfying your every need yet making you insatiable.

bday!ellie that whispers “gonna cum” her voice high and the plush of her thighs squeezing your face, wanting to keep you there forever “im gonna cum mama” she squeaks, eyes closed and back arching “ma-uhh” and with your finger tips playing through her folds and lips wrapped around her shes filled with euphoria, sinking her own nails into the skin of her thighs, pushing herself over the edge and gasping at your fingertip pushing into her.

bday!ellie that’s clamps down onto your finger, throbbing as she coats you in her essence, her heavy eyelids squeezing shut as her face twists in pleasure.

bday!ellie that smiles lazily as she watches you lick up every drop of her like a starved woman, her pussy still throbbing contently.

bday!ellie that hides her face behind her freckled hands as you give a sloppy kiss to her puffy clit, a peck to her thigh and crawl up her body, her limbs encasing you and your arm around her shoulder as you play with her auburn head of hair “happy birthday my love”

bday!ellie that will never forget this birthday hums a sleepy hum of acknowledgement as her fingers trail your bare spine “G’night mama”

@dinaissoprettyoml thanks for the idea like 3 months ago😭🫶

@williamellieslilho @yourelliewillms @bready101 @moonalumi @heygrimace @pascals-doll @infiniteinquiries

[fayes-fics]

It's That Time Of Year

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: It's that time of year... when you could use a fake boyfriend.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex, dirty talk, hand as gag, quiet sex, sex in childhood bedroom. Fake dating, family dynamics, lots of feelings, friends to lovers.

Word Count: 11.3 k (eek Im sorry)

Authors Note: Here's my tropetacular winter 2023 Benepic! Request fill for @broooookiecrisp (HERE), who wanted fake boyfriend trope with Benedict accompanying the reader to the USA to spend Christmas with her family. I hope you like it, my dear. Thanks to @colettebronte for the read-through. Enjoy and happy holidays! 🎄

December 20th 

“Thank you,” Benedict clinks his champagne glass against yours, “for everything.”

You blush and look down from his intense blue-eyed gaze, staring instead at the untied bowtie around his collar that seems almost more attractive than when fastened.

“It was nothing,” you demure.

“It was not nothing!” he scoffs, giving you a gentle shoulder bump as you both lean on the high-top table.

“Alright, it was my job then,” you modify, giving him a modest smile as you hotch slightly - beautiful though they are, you cannot wait to take off these high-heels.

“And you are excellent at your job,” he asserts before downing the rest of his champagne and refilling both glasses from the bottle before you. 

He is lingering much longer than you thought he might, long after all his family and all the guests have left. The event was over a while ago, and all around you, the venue staff are clearing tables and stacking chairs.

Tonight was indeed a rousing success. Your first-time event managing the end-of-year fundraising gala for the Bridgerton Family Foundation, they hit a new record amount raised. Standing next to you is the newly minted CEO of that organisation, Benedict Bridgerton, looking far too dashing in his custom-fitted tuxedo. Empathetic and naturally in tune with the needs of others, he is indeed the perfect replacement to run the charitable arm of the family business now that his mother has decided to retire. In previous years, you both took deputy roles - him to his mother, you to your old boss - this was the first year you both stepped up to the plate to run things, and if you do say so yourself, you have both done an excellent job of it. A delightful working partnership built on years of friendship since meeting at university as an exchange student.

“You deserve a long Christmas break after this,” he breezes.

“Going home to the States in a couple of days,” you nod. “I’m both looking forward to it and dreading it in equal measure, to be honest,” you confess, this second glass of champagne acting like a truth serum. You didn't want to or even get the chance to drink earlier, but a little tipple to round off the rewarding night is lovely, especially in present company.

“How come?” he seems genuinely curious, his forehead knitting adorably. Of course, he wouldn't understand; he comes from an idyllic family.

“I am very much the black sheep,” you shrug, twirling a finger absent-mindedly around the rim of your glass. “Being childless, unmarried and single at thirty-three in a midwestern family is unheard of and thus the subject of much ridicule.”

“Wow,” his eyebrows shoot up, “that's…,” he hesitates.

“Judgemental? Parochial? Small-minded?” you supply dryly on his behalf.

“I was going to say traditional… but sure, those work too,” he chuckles.

You giggle a little, then sigh. “So a mixed blessing, really. It's nice to see them all; I just wish they were a bit less them, you know?” you gesture vaguely into the air.

“A boyfriend would really take the heat off?” he queries.

“Hah!” you can’t contain the bubble of amusement at the mere thought. “Chance would be a fine thing. But, yes, that likely would take the edge off the worst of their barbs.” 

“Well, I’m at a loose end,” he comments, seemingly changing the subject. “The family is spread to the four corners of the globe this Christmas. Mum is going to Costa Rica for a retired ladies' trip with Lady D. Don't ask,” he adds amusingly, holding up his hands. “Kate and Ant are taking their kids to Lapland, and my various siblings are travelling or staying with partners. Weirdly, it’ll be our first Christmas apart. At least we will all reunite for New Year's at Aubrey Hall.”

“Aww, that sounds nice,” you offer neutrally.

“What I'm saying, y/n, is…,” he continues slowly as if waiting for the penny to drop, “if you need a fake boyfriend, I am available. It’s the very least I can do after all of this,” he explains, gesturing around the room. “Plus, it might be novel to experience a typical American Christmas,” he shrugs casually.

You can’t help it; you gape at him. Completely floored. The idea is utterly left-of-field and yet so exciting your heart pounds. If there is one downside to working so closely with Benedict these last few months, it has been the exponential growth of your inappropriate feelings for him. He is so sweet and handsome; no one would be immune, frankly. It was bad enough when you were at university together; now, well, it’s slightly lethal. Your mind boggles at him playing the role of a doting boyfriend; your body, however, seems very enthused, a warm flush creeping over your skin at the mere thought.

He chuckles nervously, a likely reaction to your stunned silence. “Listen, it was just a silly suggestion; you don’t have t-” 

“Yes!” you squeak, interrupting and grabbing his jacket cuff boldly when he seems to be withdrawing. “Please,” you add almost as an afterthought, unsure how to thank someone for such a generous offer.

His face breaks out into the most handsome grin.

“Excellent! Then, it's a date!” he exclaims, tilting his glass towards yours again. “Well, a fake date,” he amends with a lopsided grin that makes your stomach flip.

Oh god. What am I letting myself in for?!

___

December 23rd

“Are you sure about this? You can still back out...” you offer, fidgeting in the bag-drop queue at Heathrow three days later. 

“Please. What else am I going to do? Sit around my flat, billy-no-mates, and eat a sad M&S ready meal?! You are literally rescuing me,” he counters, probably exaggerating for your amusement.

Very much following the motto of not looking a gift horse in the mouth, you had texted Benedict your flight details that same night, and he has made it all happen in the hours since. Somehow, he managed to wave the Brigerton magic wand and secure what was probably the last seat on your direct flight two days before Christmas. Unluckily for him, he has to slum it in economy with the rest of the plebs like yourself. He couldn't even get a seat near you; he's stuck down the back, in the middle, near the galley.

“How about we swap seats at least?” you offer, guilt creeping in, looking at your printed boarding pass. Not only is Benedict doing you a favour, but he’s also pretzelling his tall self into an uncomfortable seat. The least you can do is offer him your aisle seat.

“I’ll be fine,” he dismisses, waving a hand and fishing out his passport as you are called to the desk.

“Travelling together?” the pretty, painted lady breezes at you, holding out a perfectly manicured hand to take your passport and ticket. Then you watch her practically melt as she claps eyes on Benedict.

Tsk. Typical.

“Not exactl…” you begin.

“Yes,” he cuts in with a winning smile. “Sadly, we couldn't get seats together, though,” he pouts a touch theatrically.

“Oh! Well, let me see what I can do about that… It is Christmas, after all,” she winks at him conspiratorially, then taps on her keyboard.

A few minutes later, your bags are checked in, and you are upgraded to Premium Economy. The lady was apologetic that you still couldn't get seats together but a row apart instead. You are pretty sure if there was space, the handsome bastard would have gotten you upgraded to business without even trying.

Oh, to be a pretty Bridgerton.

___

Twelve hours later, you are in a taxi, tired but grateful for the additional legroom on the flight, even managing a few hours of light napping. Benedict is similarly sleepy, both of your heads lolling around as the car zips down the road. By the time you reach your family home, it’s evening, but to your body clocks, it's the middle of the night.

As you slide out of the taxi, a long arm wraps around your shoulders, and you startle.

“Best to look convincing from the off,” Benedict mutters as he throws his duffle bag on top of your suitcase and trundles them up the path with his other hand.

You nod and dutifully wrap your arm around his waist over his puffer coat, slightly annoyed at how good it feels, as if your arm belongs there. 

“This is so American it's almost a cliche,” he jests, looking up at your parents' house, holiday string lights twinkling in the dusk.

You giggle at his remark and bump him with your hip, quickly escalating into a friendly tussle. He hauls you into his arms and swings you in front of him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, your limbic system alive at the feel of him pressed into you even behind heavy coats.

“Just go with it,” he responds with an easy confidence and that dazzling smile. As if in slow motion, his lips descend, and you reel as they lightly brush yours, an explosion behind your ribs at this passing touch.

Over your shoulder, you hear the front door opening and realise it’s for show, for a particular audience. You are grateful for the forethought but completely discombobulated from this partial kiss.

How am I going to survive a week of this?

“Mrs y/l/n, Mr y/l/n,” he calls as you linger in his arms, not wanting to turn around just yet.

“Well, hello there. This must be the famous Mr Bridgerton,” your dad's opening line. “We have heard so very little about you. Before yesterday anyway,” he adds, already twisting the knife in early as you pull up to the porch.

“That may well be because I asked her not to,” Benedict rebuts smoothly, releasing you to give a firm handshake. “I love the element of surprise,” he adds with a smile you have seen him deploy before, a weapon’s grade charm offensive.

Your mother’s face is a picture. “Well, well, we certainly didn't expect someone quite so handsome to accompany our daughter,” she drawls, verging on flirtatious. 

Benedict drapes his arm around your shoulders and nuzzles your hair. “Whyever not? She is simply wonderful,” he sighs, his hot breath tickling your scalp before letting you go again.

Damn, he is good at this.

“Hello, mom, dad…” you greet politely before moving in for a short hug from both.

“Happy holidays, darling. Let's get inside,” your mother fusses.

Within a few minutes, after some casual pleasantries are exchanged as you remove coats, you watch your mother give Benedict a tour of their home, including, to your chagrin, your childhood bedroom, which is a time capsule from your teen years. At least the dog-eared band posters have been taken down. As you drift back to the living room, Christmas music plays from a speaker behind the tree. Your family loves to go all out on the holiday decorating. It does feel festive and cosy, though.

“It will be a full house with all of our kids and their spouses staying tonight. So there are no spare rooms. You are on the sofabed in the den, Mr Bridgerton,” your dad comments, gesturing to the room next door; the message very clear.

“That's fine,” Benedict huffs genially, “and please, call me Ben.” 

“I might actually head to bed now,” you admit over a stifled yawn. “My body thinks it's 2am.”

“Same,” Benedict chimes.

“Oh, you should stay up, try to get into the timezone,” your mother clucks, always with an opinion about how you are not doing things how she would. “Ben has not yet been introduced to Tucker, Travis, Tegan and their spouses. They are all still out at dinner…” she indicates, listing your siblings and looking most perturbed at your decision.

“Tomorrow, Mom,” you assure.

“Alright,” she capitulates with a sigh, mostly when she sees Benedict yawn behind his hand. 

“Goodnight…” you offer to all and go to leave the room, but as you get to the door, Benedict stops you with an arm shooting out.

“Don't I get a goodnight kiss, my love?” he pouts.

At first, you look up at him shocked, then a flick of his eyes over your shoulder makes you realise he is continuing the ruse. 

“Maybe,” you flirt back, jetlag somehow making you daring. An ideal excuse to be coquettish, even though your parents likely can't hear your exchange above the music playing. They can certainly see your body language, though.

“Oh, I see. What do I have to do to earn it?” Benedict plays along, a dangerous smile and a large hand low on your lumbar spine, pulling you into him. 

“Tell me you will miss not sleeping next to me,” you boldly request, a little cheeky smile tugging at your lips to see how far he will let you push this.

A long finger swipes a tendril of hair out of your face and behind your ear, a thumb curling under your chin.

“Every night I'm not sleeping next to you is my misfortune,” he replies, sounding wistful, his eyes seeming to burn with something approaching sincerity. It makes your stomach swoop like you are standing on a cliff edge on a windy day.

“Good answer,” you stumble in acknowledgement, pushing up onto your tip toes, heart in your mouth.

“I do what I can,” he answers against your lips and then draws you into a slow, plush kiss. 

His mouth doesn't open, but it doesn't matter; the hint of wetness on his pursed lips has your body reacting, a charge ripping through your being. A sudden yearning for him to push you against the wall and plunder your mouth with his tongue. When he withdraws, you know your pupils are blown wide, but you are taken aback that his are, too; the dampness on his lip shines in the glow of the Christmas tree. 

Your father pointedly clearing his throat breaks the spell, and you jump apart as if burned.

“Sorry,” you both mumble and Benedict pulls the most adorable ‘oopsie, my bad’ face. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says tacitly.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

As you climb the stairs slowly, exhaling the breath it feels like you have been holding since he grabbed your arm, you know that kiss will be replaying in your head for weeks. If he keeps this up, you may well combust. 

This was a fantastically bad idea.

___

December 24th

You awaken on Christmas Eve when it’s still dark outside. A glance at your phone says it’s right after 4:30am. Already knowing you won’t get any more sleep, you throw open your case and grab slippers and a hoodie, deciding to head down to make a coffee.

You almost jump out of your skin when you see a silhouette sitting at the kitchen table.

“Sorry,” Benedict atones as he sees you clutching your chest, “time zones.”

“Same… coffee?”

“Please…”

As you potter around, making a pot as quiet as possible, he scrolls on his phone. You join him once it’s brewing.

“How is the sofa bed?” you ask, wincing guiltily.

“I've slept on worse,” he obfuscates jovially. 

“Sorry, if I’d known there wouldn't be a spare bed, I would have booked a hotel,” you apologise, rubbing your temples.

“No, it’s tradition to stay with family at Christmas,” he rebukes with a smile.

“Thank you again for all this,” you mutter, shoving your hands into your hoodie pockets. “Have you done this fake boyfriend thing before?” your question is only partially in jest.

“No, what makes you say that?” he huffs bemused.

“You, uhh, have been doing an excellent acting job,” you shrug. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think they quite believe I could land you, but I’d argue you have been very convincing regardless….”

“Don't say that,” he frowns, cutting in. 

“You don’t think they buy it?” concerned things may not be working as well as you believed.

“Not that,” he waves a dismissive hand, “the other thing. Why wouldn’t they believe you could ‘land me’?” he rounds off with a quotation gesture.

You bark a laugh. “Have you seen you?  

“Stop,” he seems genuinely ticked. “That is all shit. I would be lucky to have you,” he mumbles, not meeting your eye, staring out of the French doors into the inky blackness. It won’t be sunrise for another three hours this time of year. “I am lucky, in fact, to have you as a friend,” he adds, his thoughts sounding far away.

“Well, same. I still have no idea how to repay you for all of this…” you admit.

“I already said, none needed. Why would I not choose a little foreign adventure with a good friend when the alternative is Christmas alone?!” he scoffs as the coffee machine beeps.

Unsure quite what to say, you get up to make a cup, knowing without asking how he takes his. Retaking your seat, you pick at the idea again.

“I think we should strategise…” you mutter into your mug.

“About what?”

“The plan. Now you have some inkling of what they are like, maybe we should talk tactics…?” you trail off, not sure even yourself where you are going with this.

“It's simple, isn't it?” he counters, taking a gulp of coffee. “We hold hands, hug and kiss occasionally, you know, act like a couple….” he shrugs as if it's the simplest thing in the world. Maybe it is to him; his heart probably doesn't pound when you so much as touch.

“Okay, well, I guess we can improvise. But let me know if it all gets too much. Send me a secret code or something,” you offer.

“Like a safe word?” he chuckles.

“Something like that,” you allow, trying to mask the heat you feel creeping up your sternum at the very thought.

Just then, his phone vibrates on the table.

“Sorry, it's Ant. I should probably take this,” he apologises, standing up.

You swallow a sip of your coffee, trying not to think too hard about anything, when suddenly he leans over your shoulder from behind, the phone still buzzing in his hand.

“By the way, my safeword is Byron,” he rumbles silkily into your ear. “Not that I’ll ever need it,” he adds, walking away casually while you try to bring your heart rate back to normal.

Dear God, this man is going to kill me.

___

You take your coffee back to bed when Benedict doesn't reappear after a few minutes and end up passing out again for a couple of hours. By the time you are awake again, the house is a hive of noise and activity. You pass Kallie, your oldest brother's wife, in the hallway, and she punches your arm lightly.

“Welcome home, and well fucking done!” she winks, and you frown, confused what she’s talking about. She jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “That delicious slice of Britishness in there,” she elucidates. 

Shit! It just occurs to you that by falling back asleep, you left Benedict alone to fend for himself in the melee of your family. The poor man must be mauled alive by now.

So when you enter the kitchen, the last thing you expect to see is the sight before you. Benedict, with an apron on, tossing American-style pancakes like a pro on the hotplate while your family chatters around him, applauding as he serves up another perfect-looking batch.

“Darling!” he calls when he sees you. “Come here!” he exclaims warmly, holding out his arms.

Unsure what else to do and powerless to resist the opportunity, you walk over and allow yourself to be swept into his arms. He presses a kiss onto your cheek. He smells like butter and syrup, and you want to burrow into him.

“Sorry I left you alone in the lion's den,” you say close to his ear so only he can hear.

He smiles into your hair. “They are fine, honestly; I can handle it,” he assures mutely.

You pull back and swipe a tiny fleck of batter from his face, enjoying the round of his cheekbone as you do. What makes an odd weight land on your ribs is how his pupils dilate fractionally as you lick the dot off your thumb.

“Delicious, Mr Bridgerton,” again, unable to stop yourself from flirting with him now you have the excuse.

Something in him looks almost wild as your gaze locks.

“Get a room!” your brother, Tucker, jeers from the table.

Part of you wants to sass back some version of ‘apparently we’re not allowed’ and ‘I wish’, but all you can do is smile at Benedict as he mirrors your expression.

“More, please, Mr Brid-un,” your youngest nephew toddles over, holding up his plate expectantly.

Benedict finally looks away and ruffles the little kid’s hair. “Certainly, Brandon,” he offers warmly.

“What I find fascinating is how a proper British gentleman knows how to make good old-fashioned American pancakes,” your mother pipes up from her seat at the kitchen island.

“Oh, my nanny was an American,” Benedict waves the spatula as he pours more batter onto the hotplate and begins a new batch.

“Your grandmother was from the colonies?” Travis mocks, feigning outrage.

“Oh no… not that sort. My umm nanny nanny, as in the lady who looked after us as kids,” he explains, looking somewhat sheepish.

“Shhiittttt,” your sister Teegan drawls, looking up from her phone for the first time. “You’re like actual rich, huh?”

“Language Tee!” your mother warns from across the room.

Teegan pulls a face and then turns her attention back to Benedict, awaiting his response.

“Please, can you all not be so… y/l/n,” you cut in, holding up your hands to the gathered family. “For once, can you all just…?” you taper off, hoping they will read between the lines.

“How’d you two meet?” Dean, Teegan’s husband, calls out, ignoring your plea completely.

“We actually met at university many years ago,” Benedict explains, flipping the pancakes as they bubble. “But we started working together last year on various projects, and well, we grew much closer.” 

So far, so truthful.

“Then, well, one memorable day, when we successfully wrapped up a project we had worked on so hard together, I realised she meant so much more to me than a friend,” Benedict continues, sounding so sincere you almost believe it yourself. A tiny flutter in your chest that the project he refers to could be the Gala. “I kept it to myself for a while, but late one night, I couldn't resist, and I confessed my feelings. I am the luckiest man alive because it turns out she felt the same. And, well… here we are,” he concludes, shooting you a look so loaded you forget it's a yarn for a few seconds.

“Friends-to-lovers, I stan,” Claire, your other sister-in-law, comments. She always has her head stuck in some romance book.

As Benedict serves the next batch, the focus of the room is pulled to your nieces and nephews as they overload their pancakes with toppings, and you are grateful to be out of the glare of the family spotlight temporarily.

“How did I do?” Benedict murmurs into your ear as he sidles up next to you, wrapping an arm around your back. There's a tinge of pride in his voice. He knows he has them eating out the palm of his hand, and fuck if it isn't so attractive.

“I should tip you…” you joke, not wanting to give away quite how flustered you are.

“I accept payment in kisses,” he breathes, his smouldering stare sliding down to your lips as you crane your head to look up at him. 

It's only a few minutes later, as you grab a pancake from the stack that you realise he didn't say that at volume anyone else could hear… it was purely for you. And you have no earthly idea what to do with that thought.

___

The rest of Christmas Eve passes with your family’s usual rituals, with Benedict beside you, playing the doting boyfriend to perfection. Each brush of his makes your adrenaline spike—a divine torture. 

While dinner is cooking in the afternoon, your parents usher most of you out of the house for a walk in the bracing cold to build up an appetite. And so you stroll, Benedict’s gloved hand in yours.

“So Ben, is everyone in London not married with kids, or is it only my sister who can't seem to figure it out despite her old age?” your sister Teegan digs as she pushes the buggy next to you.

“Well, we are a similar age, and I'm not married with kids either,” he points out breezily.

“Yeah, but…” she halts, realising there is no response she can think of. “Wait, why don't you have kids yet? Don’t you want a family? I thought you said you had lots of brothers and sisters?”

“I do come from a big family, yes. And I suppose one day, yes, I do want kids of my own,” he adds, seemingly honest as you listen intently, your heartbeat in your ears, “but I feel no rush yet.”

“So you’re not knocking this one up anytime soon then?” your brother Tucker stirs, checking your shoulder roughly from the other side.

You can't help but feel a blush darken your cheeks at that and refuse to look up at Benedict. You open your mouth to tell Tucker to shut up, but Benedict cuts across you.

“If anyone has come close to being someone I would consider having kids with, it's your sister,” he admits casually, as if talking about the weather. But for you, it feels like you are back on that proverbial cliff edge about to dive over, heart racing. It takes every fibre of your being to keep walking and acting naturally, grateful for the gloves between your joined hands; not sure you could handle his skin touching yours as he says such things.

“Ooooooo,” Tucker singsongs, “going to the chapel, and they’re gonna get mar...”

“Cut it out!” you grouse.

He peels a laugh, then jogs on ahead to catch up with Dean.

“I’m sorry about that,” your apology hushed as you keep walking, Teegan falling behind you to deal with one of her kids' tantrums.

“Why? It's an inevitable question when you meet your other half’s family,” he points out, squeezing your hand reassuringly as you wander as a pair.

“Yes, but… it's a bit much, considering they just met you hours ago. They are intentionally stirring the pot. Trying to scare you off,” you frown, realising what they are doing as you say it aloud.

Benedict stops walking, and it makes you halt, too. “Nothing could scare me off,” he assures, his face soft with understanding as he cups your jaw. His cold, damp glove is a balm to your flushed, embarrassed face.

“Right,” you nod, “cos this is all fake…” you add quietly, trying to hide the defeated tone.

“Anyone who knows how great you are would not be scared off by the idea of a future with you,” Benedict says soothingly, a thumb stroking your cheekbone.

“Well, when you meet a candidate who fits that bill, send them over to me, yeah?” you quip brittly as you look off into the distance, unable to meet his hazy, sincere eyes.

His response is interrupted by your niece tugging on his coat.

“Uncle Ben, can I sit on your shoulders? Please? Daddy already has Brandon, and my feet are so tired,” she whines in that dramatic way only little ones do.

Benedict laughs and releases you. “Certainly, Sofia,” he smiles as he hauls her onto his shoulders, uncaring of the mess her little boots smear onto his coat as he does so.

“Faster! Go faster!” she orders, and genially, Benedict obeys, moving ahead and breaking into a light jog as she giggles loudly and holds onto his chin.

You try to ignore the flutter in your chest at the sight of him with a kid on his shoulders, as if he were born to do so.

This was such a mistake…

___

“When are you moving home, y/n?”

You knew this was likely coming. The question your mum has to ask every time you visit. And every year, your answer is the same.

“I don't think I will be, Mom,” you explain calmly as you pass the plate of peas to your sister, not wanting to look at Benedict, who sits opposite you at the long table. “I love London. It feels like home,” you add with a shrug.

“Yes, but this living abroad thing is supposed to be a phase—a young person thing. You are mid-thirties now. It's time you settled down,” she frowns.

“I am settled,” you reply neutrally, “I have a place of my own that I love.”

“Yes, but an apartment, sorry ‘flat’,” she self-corrects sarcastically, “that’s not a real home. A home is a house with a garden in a safe town with good schools for your children,” she lectures.

This line of discussion used to annoy and rile you up, but you have become weary of it over the years. The rest of your family is tucking into their food but listening smugly, having towed the traditional family line.

“I think home can be many things,” Benedict pipes up from across the table. “A home is about where you feel safe and secure, surely Mrs y/l/n?”

“Well, yes…” your mother falters, slightly taken aback by his interruption but still charmed by his effortless congeniality.

“Then I would say your daughter’s home is London,” he smiles disarmingly. “You should see her there; I encourage you to visit sometime. She has a home she has made beautiful. She has many friends, and she is amazing at her job. She is happy. I, for one, cannot imagine her anywhere else.”

Again, you can feel your heart beating at his sweet words, even knowing they are all for show; it's lovely that someone has your back for once, defending your choices.

“But what of the schools, Mr Bridgerton?” your dad piles in, “I have heard nightmares of the school system in the inner cities, in this country and yours,” he shudders.

“My family has always gone to a superb prep school in Chelsea. I see no reason why our children could not do the same when the time comes,” Benedict responds with a winning smile.

You almost drop the corn casserole at that line.

Plonking it heavily on the table and taking a deep breath, you finally pluck the courage to look over at him. Looking back at you is a playful smile and a wink. And suddenly, you know what he is doing. It likely appears genuine to others, but you know him too well; you know all his facial tells. He is doing this for sport. To entertain you. The kaleidoscope of emotions you feel is near exhausting, relief mixed with a tang of disappointment that it's all for show.

“Well, that's wonderful news, Benedict,” your mother squeaks. “I cannot wait to hear more once you are engaged,” never failing to find an opportunity to take a dig.

“You will be the first to hear, I promise,” he smiles winningly and takes a bite of food. “This is delicious, by the way,” he adds, “I hope you will share the recipe with me, seeing as we will likely be family one day...”

And just like that, he expertly manoeuvres your mother onto the only topic she loves more than marriage - cooking. As if he could intuit how to steer the conversation. Relieved, you sit back and finally take a deep breath, then a bite of your admittedly delicious plate. You are even grateful he manages to distract them long enough that there are no jibes about your weight.

Maybe this wasn't such a mistake…

___

A few hours later, with the little ones tucked up in bed, the adults gather around the tree with the fireplace roaring and the festive music softly playing. It's time for gift exchange, a family tradition away from the hubbub of Christmas morning with the focus on the children ripping through all the gifts Santa left for them.

You are enjoying the buzz a second large glass of wine provides when the focus turns to you. Benedict sits beside you and slides a hand onto your knee. Still, your body reacts, but you attempt to act as if it doesn't make your blood pump hard in your head.

“Benedict, we didn't know you were coming, so I'm sorry we have no gift for you to open,” your mother says sheepishly, “and y/n, we have done as you always ask; we have sent you a gift card over email,” she explains, “which makes me sad as you have no gift to unwrap….”

“That's fine, Mom, thank you. And don't worry, I don't need a gift,” you assure, taking another swig.

“Actually….” Benedict clears his throat, “I have a gift for my girlfriend if that is okay?”

You look agog at him.

“But… I didn't get you anything,” you splutter, even as he moves his hand from you and reaches behind his back, revealing a small navy velvet box.

“Don't worry. It's nothing really, just something small,” Benedict assures, even as you can feel everyone’s eyes on you as you reluctantly let him place it in your hands.

Slowly, you pull at the tail of the lovely soft gold ribbon until it relents. With your heart in your mouth, you snap open the box. Nestled in more navy velvet is a tiny, beautiful crystal penguin, your favourite animal.

“Ben…” you are lost for all other words, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

“I remember you loved the larger one my mum had on her desk,” he explains lowly as you stare transfixed by all the facets catching the twinkling light. “Every time we had a meeting, you would stare at it or play with it. So I knew I had to get you one too, for your desk… or wherever you want to put it,” he modifies sweetly.

You can't help it - the swell of emotions makes you throw your arms around him as you clutch the precious item. It's like he has managed to distil everything you could want from a Christmas gift - something personal, tailored to you, nothing too extravagant but small, elegant and beautiful. And that he had the forethought to bring it across the Atlantic with him makes your heart burst even more. He is possibly the best friend you could ever have. You fervently wish he was so much more.

“I can't believe you remember that,” you mumble. “This is perfect and beautiful. Thank you, Ben, thank you so much.”

“Merry Christmas, my love,” he says into your hair at a volume you know is designed to be heard by the room.

“Merry Christmas,” you return quieter, only for him.

Vaguely, you hear your mother moving on to hand a gift to another, perhaps embarrassed by the display of affection between you. Grateful that the family focus seems to have shifted to someone else, you go to pull away from the embrace, but Benedict draws you tighter into him. 

“Lovers don't let go so quickly,” he whispers. “Now I'm going to kiss you again if that is okay…”

Your tummy flips. “Okay…” you barely struggle out the word.

Then his hand is on your cheek, and time seems to slow like treacle; his eyes burn into yours as he moves in, then flutter closed as his lips meet yours. Again, it is like a rollercoaster, a thrilling plunge as his lips move over yours. It's like the previous night, respectful with a closed mouth but so sweet and promising, so much more a whole ripple runs through your body. You need more, so much more, desperate to climb into his lap and demand a real kiss, audience be damned.  When you part, he tilts his forehead against yours and smiles gently, licking his lip as if savouring the taste.

“I'm glad you like it. The gift that is,” he clarifies, a sweet mumble.

You giggle. “I love it, Ben, thank you. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything; I feel terrible.”

“Being here with you is gift enough,” he assures in a voice that melts your insides, which you assume is for the audience.

My god, this man will be the death of me.

The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant fog of wine, your siblings holding court and telling stories as you listen, feeling the weight of Benedict’s hand again on your leg as he sips on a whiskey. Once again, you feel the creeping of jetlag and decide to turn in around 10pm. You give Benedict a peck on the cheek before he can draw you into another confounding kiss and make your escape upstairs with a glass of eggnog and your book.

As you settle into bed, you try not to let your thoughts spiral as you catch sight of the crystal penguin in its box. Instead, you tell yourself he is a good friend and rich; it's likely nothing to him, and not to read too much into it.

___

December 25th 

At some point, you drift off to sleep, book in hand, the timezone still catching you out. You only realise it when you are awoken suddenly around 2am by a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you croak, sitting up and rubbing your eyes to adjust to the light; you had fallen asleep with the bedside lamp on low while reading.

The door opens ajar, and Benedict’s handsome face pops in. “I saw your light on…” he says softly, “just wanted to check on you.”

You put your book aside, pull the covers around your neck and feel an odd flutter as he closes the door behind him. He looks cosy in long tartan pyjama bottoms and a soft dark t-shirt.

“I'm sure your dad would kill me if he knew I were here,” he jests as he hovers a few feet away.

“Come sit,” you pat the bed next to you, even as you feel strange about him being here, dead of night on Christmas Day. 

He nods gratefully and perches on the edge of your bed. It's a full-size mattress, bigger than a twin, but not a double bed. You can feel his weight tugging the bedding tight over your thighs.

“Thank you again for my gift, truly,” you gesture to the box on your bedside table.

“I had to. I couldn't think of anything more… you...” Benedict smiles that demure smile with downcast eyes that always makes you want to shake him and tell him to stop looking so fucking adorable. Or mount him. Or both. You have to bite your lip to stop blurting out your errant thoughts.

“But still to buy me such a wonderful gift and put up with my family… I mean… you deserve a medal,” you shrug.

A hand clamps onto your knee through the bedding, but it still surprises you. 

“Stop it,” he gruffs. “I'm going to need you to stop. Seriously. I chose to come here. It's been fun. Something different. Yes, your family is a bit… intense, but everyone’s is. Each has its own special blend of crazy. You’ve seen the Bridgerton brand of dysfunctional up close,” he points out, knowing without saying more how much you have watched them bicker over the years.

“But you’ve said all those lovely things, made up all these amazing believable stories…” you argue back weakly.

“Every single thing I have said to your family has been the truth,” he responds solemnly.

You replay a few choice record-scratch moments in your head. “But what about the stuff about me being the person you could see yourself having kids with and where these imaginary kids would go to school…” you point out, wincing as you do.

“I told no lies,” he answers each syllable enunciated slowly, staring you down.

It feels like your whole world tilts when he utters those words.

“What are you saying?” you query, breathier than you mean to sound but needing him to spell it out.

He sighs, but a mischievous grin twitches the corner of his mouth. “You are much smarter than this; don't be obtuse now, y/n,” he rumbles, something in the challenging way he says it catches a fire behind your ribs.

“Ben…” you warn, so many contradictory feelings at once.

“You are all the things I said and more, and you must know how amazing you are,” he offers softly as you feel your eyes misting.

“Please don't,” your last vestige of resistance, still not believing what he says can possibly be true, too close to a festive miracle. Part of you thinks that at any moment, you will wake up alone and bereft.

His fingertips brush your cheek, and you inhale sharply and look up to see him inches from your face.

“Fine, if you don't somehow believe my words, maybe you’ll believe my deeds…”

It's the last few words out of his mouth before his lips meet yours.

This time, it's not for an audience; it's just for the two of you, and it almost stops your heart. A hesitant, soft, sweet brush that becomes more as he leans in and deepens the kiss. His lips part yours as your mind grinds to a halt, tentatively following his lead, kissing him back… the catalyst, the permission he needs. A large hand rounds behind your head and pulls you forward. Suddenly, it's a tidal wave, his tongue rolling greedily over yours, becoming hungry, urgent, desperate, your body awash with chemicals, scarcely able to believe Benedict, the star of every one of your spicy dreams, is here in your childhood bedroom, kissing the very life out of you in the early hours of Christmas Day.

“Lay down,” he murmurs into your skin as his lips glide over your cheek, and you follow his order without thought, shuffling down obediently until you lie flat and stare up at him transfixed. 

It’s as if he’s taken your disbelief as a challenge to prove how very real this is. With one hand, he tosses aside the covers and crawls over you until he is engulfing you, surrounding you with his scent that makes your mouth water. His lips are hot on your neck as his hands map your body, lingering in places you are self-conscious about. 

“Do you have any idea how sexy you are?” he sighs as if disputing your internal monologue, his breath ghosting warm over your collarbone. 

“Stop…” you demure, wriggling under him, feeling bashful.

“No..” his crooked smile is lethal as his head pops up from worrying your throat with a little edge of his teeth. His hand skates your clothed breast, and on instinct, you push up into it, your nipple hardening as the heat of his palm seeps through your nightshirt. “Please take off your top,” he implores, his mouth finding your lips again. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamt of touching your naked body.”

“I can’t believe this…” you mutter, shaky, confounded that it could be true—the man you desire desiring you back just as wantonly. He lowers his body between your legs, surging his hips so you feel something insistent inside his pyjamas.

“Now, do you believe me?” he dusks into your ear.

“Benedict…” falls from your lips as an excited shudder.

“Say my name again, please,” he huffs right against your cheekbone, pinning you under him with his pelvis.

“Benedict,” you repeat, revelling in the effect it seems to have on him.

It gives you the courage to whip off your top. The noise he makes as he realises you are naked underneath it is a beeline right between your legs.

“Shh,” you hush, giggling, a rush through your veins, not wanting anyone to disturb this, as he slides his lips down over your skin towards your breasts.

“I cannot,” he remarks gleefully,  “not with such a bounty beneath me.” 

His lips clamp onto your left nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Might wake fam…” you stumble out, impressed you can even do that.

He pulls up, his biceps in tense relief as he balances on his fists curled on either side of your waist. “Then lock your damn door,” he growls in a way that has you clenching.

“No lock…” you squeak, wishing beyond belief you had one.

“Shit, really?” he sighs, leaning back down to kiss over your sternum. “I’m not sure I can be quiet; I’ve wanted this for too long…”

You go to query that statement, but he moves to your other breast and does the same, so the only sound you are capable of is a guttural moan.

“Shh,” he hushes you back cheekily, tilting his head up from your chest, eyes sparkling and face so achingly handsome you still can barely believe this is happening,

“We really do have to be quiet…” you point out reluctantly.

“I know,” he sighs into your breastbone, dropping a soft kiss there. “I want to tell you so many things….” 

“Whisper them to me…” you beseech, running your fingers through his lush, thick head of hair, tilting your breast back up to his mouth.

He smirks and catches your unsubtle hint, once again using his talented mouth to make you shudder under him. He runs a finger down your centre line to your belly. 

“Your body is perfect,” he sighs. You go to protest, but he shoots you a disapproving look, so you bite back your words. “I could get lost for hours tracing your lines,” he hums, his featherlight touch tickling as it crosses under your belly button, making you giggle. “Hmm, a little ticklish too,” he sounds utterly captivated by that discovery, throwing you a very troublesome expression.

“Don't use it against me…” you warn, knowing he will ignore you, a fizzy feeling at this playfulness.

“Oh, I just might…” he chuckles as he runs his tongue lower over your torso, a hot, damp line that leaves fluttering in his wake. “I could do this all night…your skin is so soft,” he purrs, inhaling deeply, nuzzling his nose above the line of your pyjama bottoms. “You always smell so fantastic,” he sighs, using his teeth to tug on the ribbon. 

You’ve never had someone be this vocal during intimacy. It makes you feel reassured but also slightly bewildered by just how aroused you are getting, Benedict’s resonant voice skittering compliments over your skin, making you embarrassingly wet. Your hands greedily pull at his t-shirt, hoping he will get the hint.

“If you want something from me, you have to say it,” he teases as he switches to using his fingers to undo the bow on your pyjamas. 

“Please take off your top, Ben,” you mewl, even as your heart pounds at the idea you will soon be naked under him.

“I will,” he promises, “in a minute…” 

As if sensing your apprehension about removing your last item of clothing, he leaves it in place, shuffling lower and stretching your legs wide with his shoulders. You gasp loudly as his mouth, hot through the thin cotton protecting your modesty, sucks insistently over your slit. A large hand curling around your hip to stop you canting off the bed. Your clit throbs, and your pussy leaks copiously down your bottom.

“Fuck I can tell how wet you are even through this fabric,” he stutters.

“I'm sorry...” you squirm, embarrassed.

He surges upright, grabs your hands from around his head and cages them on the mattress beside your hips.

“Let's get two things very clear,” his voice stern but achingly seductive. “One, your body is incredible, and you should know by now how much I desire you. Two, if you ever apologise again for being turned on, I will be annoyed. Do you know how proud I am? That I can do this to you? How absolutely rigid this makes me?” rutting his hard cock against your left calf to prove his point. “I want your desire running down to your knees. I want you mindless and trembling with need for me.” 

“O-okay,” you stumble out, entranced. This filthy poetry and feralness is beyond anything you could imagine him capable of. You have seen hints of his menacing potential, but full force, it’s breathtaking.

“Good,” he smiles crookedly, releasing your hands. “Now lift your hips so I can get you properly naked,” the slightly bossy rejoinder really working for you.

Mutely, you do as bidden, his fingertips trailing fire down your hips as he tugs the material over your thighs, impatiently pulling them from around your ankles and tossing them over his shoulder, his gaze locked onto your body. He groans a curse, and you again find yourself clenching around nothing at his untamed response.

Whispering his name is a reflex, your fingers carding again into his hair as he lowers his mouth and suckles the skin of your hip before slowly, almost torturously, winding his way lower towards your centre. Every place he touches feels alive and fluttering, him whispering reassurance and praise into your flesh, like a sensual requiem that catches your breath. By the time he trails his nose down the crease where your thigh meets your body, you are panting, eyes screwed shut, head tilted back, anticipation knotting your guts.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, his face framed by your thighs as you gulp and look down the plane of your body to him. “Don’t look away; I want to see your eyes when I do this,” his breath hot on your slit.

He unfurls his tongue and ploughs through your wet flesh, making your toes and fingers curl. You have to bite your lip and curse behind your teeth, the sensation overwhelming, his eye flashing fire in his blown pupils at your bodily reaction. You hiss loudly, needing to call out so bad your lungs ache. You twist your pillow to bite down on a corner but keep your eyes on him as told. He chuckles pridefully, the sensation shooting up your pelvis, then keeps going. Teasing around your clit with a lathing action that is nothing like you've had before, devouring, using his whole face, strong arms wrapping your thighs in a vice-like grip, held lewdly open It feels so good that within moments you are panting. Still, part of you is tense, scared about your ability to be silent.

“Relax,” he breathes, shaking your hip gently in his grip, sensing the tension in your being. 

“I'm worried I won't be able to stay quiet enough,” you admit, muffled around the pillowcase, looking away to stare at the ceiling as he busses a soft kiss onto your inner thigh.  

“One moment…” he withdraws and hops off the bed. You watch, vaguely dazed, as he drags a heavy chair against the door and wedges it under the handle so it can’t be opened. “There, now we should get some warning.”.

When he turns back around, you instinctively pull the cover over yourself to hide your naked body, even as you can’t help but stare at the tent in his pyjama bottoms, mouth watering at visions of what lies beneath.

“Don’t do that,” he reproaches softly, “show yourself to me.”

Reluctantly, you push the sheet away again, squirming slightly as his eyes roam your body lasciviously as he prowls over to you, stripping off his t-shirt as he does. His naked torso is perfect, toned and honed, and as he crawls over you, you are hypnotised by the view. 

“You are so beautiful,” he sighs, dropping a kiss on the tip of your nose, the scent of your arousal on his face. “Never cover yourself in front of me; you should be proud of your body.”

You’ve never had someone say that before, and your insides are molten, a need for him that burns so bright, an inferno purely of his making.

“Tell me what you want,” he proposes, lacing your fingers with his, kissing your fingertips, then sucking them into his mouth, looking at you expectantly as you stutter at his warm, wet, talented tongue lathing over your fingertips.

“Everything…” you blurt out honestly. “Anything. This is all wonderful… Can I return the favour for you?” you deflect, brushing your other hand tentatively over his bulge as he hovers over you.

“Yes, you bloody can,” he growls, releasing your fingers from his lips as his eyes flash dark. But he grabs your hand away from his cock, calming his tone. “But not tonight. Another time…”

“Another time?” you echo, temporarily stunned by the idea this isn't a never-to-be-repeated Christmas miracle.

“Yes. Why would you think this a one-time thing?” his brow knits as he drops a kiss on your cheek. “What about my actions and words tonight suggest that?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” you concede, “just history…”

He cups your jaw. “The past is the past. This is now and me,” he states clearly, running a thumb tenderly over your lip. “I will do whatever you want. If you tell me to leave this room right now, I will, and I won't think any less of you…”

“Don't you dare,” it's a snarl from some dark recess deep inside you, your legs twining around his to lock him in place.

“There she is…” he chuckles, that lopsided grin taking over his face before kissing a line down your throat. “Now tell me what you want, y/n.”

“I want you inside me,” you confess, running your hands over his naked back, loving the play of muscles under warm skin.

He groans at your words, an edge of teeth on your jugular, making you ripen, feel daring. If he wants to know just how wild he makes you, you are going to show it. You grab his face and drag it up until he is over you again, his pupils blown and his hair a mess from your tugging.

“Fuck me, right now, Ben,” you demand hotly, pushing your body up into his and delving a hand inside the back of his pyjamas to grab his shapely rear, keen for him to be as naked as you.

He snarls and pins your arms beside your head on the pillow.

“Do you have any condoms?” he breathes hot in your ear.

“Ah shit,” your head thumps back, chastising yourself for not planning better. But then this seemed like such an unlikely outcome, frankly miraculous; why on earth would you have?

“Good thing I came prepared then,” he teases, releasing his grip to produce a small packet from the pocket of his pyjamas.

“You….” you scold, equal parts impressed and irked, running your fingers around his waistband. 

“It was a sincere wish, not an expected conclusion,” he smiles bashfully, his lips meeting yours for a searing kiss as he slips off the last of his clothing.

A shiver runs down your spine as he bears you into the mattress, naked, his rigid cock brandishing the inside of your thigh. He keeps kissing you over and over until your lips feel tingly from the slight hint of stubble around his. You wrap all of your limbs around him, craving for your bodies to be melded.

When he pushes up slightly to rip open the packet, you glance down and see, nestled in a patch of trimmed hair, a sizeable but very pretty cock. You can’t resist reaching out and touching it, loving the feel of steely strength under the silky texture; his soft groan is like music to your ears. Sighing his name, you are impatient for him to be inside you, already knowing it will feel wonderful, part of you craving skin on skin. 

Again he wears that demure smile, looking up at you through his lashes, so you take over, eagerly rolling the condom onto that pretty cock and then pulling him down on top of you forcefully.

“I like it when you are just a little bossy,” he confesses into your mouth, one hand pulling the cover over you both, then sliding between your bodies to guide himself towards you.

“I like it when you are a little bossy,” you counter, but then all your words die out as his cock slides insistently into you.

Your eyes roll back as he inches inside, so much heat and girth, your body stretching to accommodate his invasion. You both seem to utter a curse, and your hands grasp each other tight.

“You feel amazing…” he murmurs as he bottoms out, the feeling of fullness so perfect.

You whisper your agreement as he withdraws and surges back in, your feet curling around his legs, toes sliding into the light fuzz on the back of his calves. There are soft sighs, both of you trying to muffle your sounds as he sets a languid pace, your body rolling with his; each push has your walls clinging to him, your breasts squashing against his broad chest. What strikes you most as you move together is that nothing is awkward; it all feels natural, predestined, an easy intimacy that suggests months or even years together rather than a first time.

He feels so good moving inside you, so perfect; all you can do is cling to him, trying to convey with your eyes what you dare not voice. Afraid that if you open your mouth, you will release the noises you are fighting to hold in, blazing in your lungs. His stare is blistering, too, a blush across his face that speaks of desire and denied words, his neck corded, a pulse beating wildly in his prominent vein, a sheen gathering on his forehead as he pushes into you over and over.

His breath is hot on your temple as he shifts, dropping a shoulder and reaching down, looping your leg into the crook of his arm, the sheet pulling taut around your knee as he does. He hits a new spot deep inside with his next thrust, which has you digging your nails into his back and whimpering behind your sealed lips. It's as if he is doing his damnedest to break you, make you cry out, and it's the best torture you have ever known.

You huff out of your nose as he does the same, both sounding winded, as he picks up the pace, your teenage bed starting to squeak in protest.

“Shhh,” you plead with the furniture as much as him.

He stops moving, buried in you, and reaches above, stuffing a throw pillow between the bedframe and the wall, his arms flexing deliciously right over your face, the scent of his body spiking your need. It makes you grasp your thighs around his hips and flip him over, landing with a bounce, him still inside as you are on top of him now.

“Wow, that was…” he looks both astounded and exhilarated.

“Surprising?” you supply with a triumphant crooked smile of your own, your hands tracing the lines of his pectorals.

“Wonderful,” he clarifies, his hands grasping your hips as you start to ride him. The way he looks up at you, with dark pupils and a bitten lip, makes you fearless. Starting a leisurely pace, you place your hands over his on your hips, fingers lacing as his eyes slip from yours briefly, transfixed by his cock disappearing into you.

He groans low, undulating beneath you, pushing up as you sink down, his eyes back to your face, a prideful expression as your mouth drops open, his cock nudging deeper than ever before, almost a dull ache that you need, moving faster now, chasing that hit with every downstroke. You can feel your body flushing hot from the exertion, your thigh muscles burning slightly. Still, you don't waver, too addicted to that feeling of being so utterly filled, his cock dragging all the right places inside that switch off your brain and forget everything, every doubt, every uncertainty about yourself and your body, and just chase pleasure. 

“My god, you are beautiful,” he gasps, “I love to see you like this, so untamed, so free…” 

The compliments just drip like whispered jewels from his tongue as he guides your joined hands up to your breasts and grabs them with a force that fans the heavy, hot feeling in your pelvis, his knuckles snagging your sensitive buds. It makes you want to ride him forever, your clit throbbing each time you sink down, tugging temptingly but not enough to quite tip you over. The clawing sensation of being so close makes you drag your fingernails down his torso and clench around his cock. He stutters and looks at you hungrily, possessed, and then, before you know it, the room tilts as he rolls you back under him, again never leaving your body.

He withdraws and thrusts back into you with such force the wind is knocked out of your lungs, the pillow muffling the thud against the wall. Something in the atmosphere shifts; an urgency, like the heat that has been simmering, is now boiling over for both of you. He grabs your knees and encourages you to wrap your legs high around his torso, tilting your pelvis to a new angle, and when he moves, you cry loudly behind your lips, his body glancing at your clit.

He hushes you with a prideful chuckle. So you grab one of his hands and place it over your mouth, knowing you cannot trust yourself to stay quiet now. The hitch in his breath as you gag yourself with his palm is like poetry. 

Oh, Ben, you have no idea what I may want from you one day…

Your errant thoughts run to your darker fantasies, things you’ve never done before but are intrigued by, and in every one of them, it's him. Treating you just a little rough while you beg for more.

“Whatever you are thinking,” he gusts into your ear, moving faster now, “I hope it involves me.”

You nod, feeling his fingers flex across your face.

“Good, I can't wait for you to tell me,” he rasps lowly.

A bead of sweat forms along his hairline as the whole bed rocks now, the trapped pillow muffling the sound, his punishing pace pushing you ever closer to orgasm, pleasure spiking with each thrust. His hand grips your jaw; something about that pressure and the sweet words he murmurs is a contradiction of primal and tender. Sex before has always been one or the other for you; blended together, it's a potent elixir.

He takes you hard, without mercy, and you silently beg him with your eyes for just that; his cock feels so hot and rigid, pounding into you as your cries are muffled by his tangy palm. The onslaught is perfect, and you are teetering on the edge just as he pleads roughly with you to come with him. So you let yourself go, your mind blanks out, your body bucking under his violently. Shuddering convulsions fanning out from your pussy, gripping tight around him and racing through every ounce of your being, muscles taut, eyes screwed shut, a scream trapped in your lungs. He stills above you, his hand releasing your mouth as that bead of sweat splashes down onto your nose. He curls around you, coming hard, huffing gulps of air and twitching almost violently with tiny aftershocks.

After a pause filled with panted breaths and strokes on overheated skin, he carefully withdraws and discards the condom.

“Merry Christmas,” you giggle into his neck as you collapse together.

He hauls you into his embrace, tucking you under his arm and kissing your dewy forehead. 

“Merry Christmas indeed,” his answer ragged, wrapped in a warm laugh.

And that is how you both drift off - exhausted, sated bodies entwined, damp skin pressed together.

___

A few hours later, you are awakened by overexcited nieces and nephews thundering down the stairs, eager to see what Santa has brought them. It takes a moment to recall what transpired overnight, a telltale delicious residual pang between your legs, followed by the realisation you are alone. Part of you relieved Benedict has snuck back to the safety of the den, but a larger part sad not to be waking up in his arms. Sighing, you roll over and spy a jaunty cartoon penguin Christmas card propped up on your bedside table. Upon opening, you beam, immediately recognising the beautiful, looped handwriting.

Y/n 

Thank you for the most magical night. Leaving this bed might be the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be on Christmas Day or, indeed, any other day of the year. But I don't want your father to be angry with me. I have a lifetime to disappoint him… if you will let me. 

I can't wait to see you downstairs.

Merry Christmas,

B xx

P.S. I may have just booked a hotel for the rest of our stay. I think we deserve some privacy ;)

You giggle, elated; the exciting prospect of nights in a hotel and the pledge of a lifetime ahead makes your stomach leap—this could be the start of something. You momentarily clutch the card to your chest, revelling in your joy, before burying it into your book for safekeeping and going to take a shower.

When you descend the stairs, out of the picture window, you see most of the family gathered on the street with the kids circling on their new bikes. But as you round into the living room, a sight melts your heart. Benedict sitting cross-legged on the floor with Sofia, a novelty Santa hat perched on his head, surrounded by shreds of wrapping paper, festive music playing in the background as he puts batteries in some loud plastic toy that will no doubt drive everyone up the wall for the rest of the day. 

She whoops with delight as the toy noisily springs to life and runs away to play with it. That's when he looks up and sees you watching from the doorway, his face lighting up. Slowly, he gets to his feet, and then you gasp as he wordlessly pulls you into his arms, brings your hand to his face and kisses your knuckles before starting to waltz.

“I didn't know you could dance like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you tease, impressed, allowing him to lead you around, dodging haphazard toys and boxes.

“Oh, there are so many, many things you have yet to learn about me, Ms y/l/n,” he proclaims alluringly as Frank Sinatra croons from the speaker.

♫ It's that time of year  When the world falls in love Every song you hear seems to say Merry Christmas May your New Year's dreams come true. ♫

“I hope you don't have plans for New Year's,” he whispers into your hair as he brings you to a halt. “I would very much like you to accompany me to Aubrey Hall. As my girlfriend,” he explains, grinning. “Not fake,” he adds drolly after a pause.

You laugh, feeling lightheaded and giddy, but just as you go to answer, you are both interrupted by a little hand tugging on his jeans. 

“Uncle Ben, you are my favouritist,” Sofia declares solemnly. “Will you visit every Christmas?”

Meeting your gaze, his expression contains multitudes. 

“It would be my greatest honour, Sofia,” he replies to her, even though his eyes never stray from yours.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies

Lights divider by @/saradika [x]

[hazelfoureyes]

HAZEL IT'S MY BIRTHDAY 🎉🎂🎂!!!

Happy birthday from the hazbin babies I’m capable of writing for! 🎉

💚Alastor💚

A quiet moment alone, his long legs allowed his feet to rest on either side of one of your own as you sat across from him. Comfy reading chairs, a heatless fire. You didn’t notice him watching you from over his paper. Then one of those purposely placed feet knocked against yours and stole your attention. He pointed to the garish cuckoo clock above the fireplace and let his grin soften. As the bird sprung out to begin its 12 chirps, he’d set the paper down fully and pull your chair closer to him with his shadow. “Happy Birthday.”

💛Lucifer💛

From the moment you woke up, he was staring at you with stars in his eyes. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Sang into your hair the second you lifted your head from the pillow. As he pulled your through Lu Lu Land after hours he’d grip your hand tightly and run to the Ferris wheel. When the car reached the top, he’d direct your attention to the window behind you. The fireworks would erupt and light up the otherwise shadow-filled space gently rocking you both front and back. You’d turn to ask if this was all for you, but be stopped by the shining lights staring back at you from his eyes. He’d kiss your nose, and smile wide. Of course it was.

🩷Angel🩷

He knew exactly what you needed and was eager to provide. The blindfold made you nervous, naturally. He could remove it to reveal you were in Consent or he was spread naked on a table covered in sushi and purring. Not that it hadn’t been a fun Thanksgiving. All were fine just not what you had been hoping for. But the walk from door to the surprise was quick and the smell of lavender and roses met you before your eyes were uncovered. “I know you’ve been real busy…” he said it almost meekly, as if he was worried this wasn’t enough, “and we never get much time together.” He let the blindfold fall to the bathroom floor. A large tub full of rose petals, long stem glasses and lavender candles in the sides, and two soft robes neatly folded on the counter. “No interruptions! No phone! I’ll keep all my appendages to myself!” He raised his arms, “unless you say otherwise.” A wink. “Happy Birthday pookie?” He tried to read your face in the darkness. You immediately began undressing, desperate to sink under the petals and just melt, “The happiest of birthdays, Angie.”

❤️Charlie❤️

You knew it’d be a surprise party, as Charlie was as predictable as people came. You hadn’t expected it to be off hotel grounds though. Charlie held her hands over your eyes as the car came to a stop, keeping them there as she directed you into the establishment. You could hear whispers then shuffling of feet and scooting of chairs. “Sit right heeeeere,” she adjusted the seat after you were settled, trying to get it into the best spot.

A pop song began to play, then clapping and hollering from more people than you were sure you knew. As she pulled her hands back and rose them into the air, a chorus of “Happy Birthday!”s rang out from friends and loved ones. And a special someone, already on stage.

“Charlie— is this?”

“You mentioned you’d never seen her show before and so I pulled a few strings.” You looked down at the table to see a pile of ones, the sight of Luci on them a little odd as you looked back up to see Hell’s top drag queen and Lucifer impersonator, Queen Loose For Sure, holding her hat out for a tip.

🤍Husk🤍

A speakeasy was unnecessary in Hell, given that having a tipple was encouraged. But you knew Husk dug the vibes. Though he risked running into Alastor, he offered to take you. You were more than thrown off guard when you were handed a menu and at the top of the cocktail list was your name. ‘An extra special, one day only concoction” was the description, no price listed. “Well what’ll it be?” Husk didn’t make eye contact, but his smirk and wagging tail made it crystal clear he was behind the new drink. “I think I have to try the one day only cocktail, it’s got my name on it after all…”, you looked at the bartender and Husk tapped the bar twice. Husk slid the napkin under the drink as it was set before you, a handwritten “Happy Birthday” across the red paper.

🩶Vaggie🩶

The cursing in Spanish was all Vaggie left available for you to figure out what was going on. It was food related, given she had banned you from the kitchen. But Vaggie wasn’t known to cook. This knowledge coupled with the swearing didn’t put you at ease. It was hell though, what were the chances you could get food poisoning when you were already dead? To your delight (and relief), she emerged with the ugliest cake you’d ever seen. “H-happy birthday, babe…,” she set it down in front of you, candles alight. “Handmade. Mostly.”

💙Vox💙

You knew it was love because he took off the entire day for you. Even his phone was set to vibrate. Which was a big deal for him. The most expensive restaurant, table by the window to see all of the Pride Ring. He clinked your glasses and toasted to you. And as you shared a large piece of cake, and looked out onto the city, you didn’t notice him staring at you with eyes of adoration when be said, “Happy birthday, darling.”

💜Valentino💜

Anything that wasn’t sexual or violent was a shocker from the tall moth overlord. But he had a third passion that didn’t involve blood or nudity. Not traditionally, anyway. A secret he only let a few see him indulge in. As he spun you around again and again to the live cumbia beats, he whispered the kinds of things only Val would think of mid-dance. But as the music ended and you leaned into him for a breather, his hands found your hips and pressed into you, “A very happy birthday, princesa.”

💖A much dirtier menu of hazbin stories💖

[cloveroctobers]

JOEY/ANA LUCIA CRUZ — Spring Writings 🩵

A/N: because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t get inspired by a horror film. This isn’t anything big since I’m “supposed” to be on a writing break but I’ve been in the mood for something domestic lately so here you go 🙂‍↔️

PROMPT is from HERE & I’m using: 2.       “Why did I let you remodel the bathroom?”

.☘︎ ݁˖⚘‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ .☘︎ ݁˖⚘‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ .☘︎ ݁˖⚘‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ .☘︎ ݁˖⚘‎₊˚

Joey’s in a mood.

When she wakes up, she’s already aware of the type of time she was on. The room feels like it’s spinning even when she’s laying in bed, the light from her phone to check the time only makes her head feel heavier, and when she pushes herself up into a sitting position in bed she feels as if she’s going to tipple right over onto the floor.

She figures she’s been coming down with something these past few days but did all the proper care the minute she felt unwell. She was a medic, she knows what to do and what her body should feel like. She also didn’t want her sickness to interfere with any time she got to spend with her son. It was baby steps bonding with her son and not to mention her hard-ass of a mother but Joey made a promise to herself to put in the work.

Giving herself time, she’s out of bed and making her way down the hallway which feels like one of those walkthroughs with the strobe lights at the museum. Now that she’s on her feet, she feels as if her body is about to cave in from rattling against the cold. Her shoulders are turned inwards as she uses the wall for leverage to make it to the bathroom. Joey doesn’t bother to feel for the light and just wants to find the toilet, which isn’t far from the entrance, but she doesn’t see the pair of feet stretched out that sends her flying through the bathroom towards where the shower wall should be, that her hands have to reach out for support as she slams to the floor.

She’s hissing at the pain that radiates from her hip and down her femur. Through half lidded eyes she glances around, fingers pressed into her forehead in aggravation as well as discomfort. “Y/n?! Are you fucking serious? Why are you on the floor in the dark?!”

You’re sitting up now, “I see better in the dark remember? That fall looked like it hurt, you good?”

Joey scoffs, “no! I’m not good, I just busted my ass because of what?”

She listens carefully as you clink a wrench against the side of the toilet and her blood feels like it’s simmering as she recalls the reason for your actions, “…Why did I let you remodel the bathroom?”

“To save us money, duh.” You respond as you get up to head over to the brunette.

You hold out your hand, waiting for Joey to find your hand in the dark so you can pull her up. It’s much quicker than anticipated but you help her to her feet anyway. Now she’s moving around you to flick the dim lighting of the room on and gets a good look of the small space. The tub was no longer a tub—being broken down and leaving a mess all along the floor, there were multiple paint swatches on the wall, the mirror above the sink was still in tact along with the toilet.

Joey blinks, “aren’t vampires supposed to be wealthy? Why not have someone else do it for you?”

You cackle, which always sounds like windchimes.

“My carpenter of a father didn’t leave shit behind for us and always expected us to work for our own…just imagine how disappointed he was to hear that his eldest daughter wanted to be a cellist for a living—which was somewhat satisfactory centuries ago. Then my mother? A complete gambler? it would be a miracle for us siblings to even see a hundred dollars. I have the skill so I can do it and you’ll thank me later once my craft leaves you stunned.” You bounced on your toes with a grin while Joey just shook her head.

She never thought after what happened at the manor that she would ever interact with vampires again. Foolish woman. Yet you came along months later when Joey was trying to get her life together and all of a sudden she had a new roommate. Who happened to be a damn vampire! You tricked her and although her guard should have been up, you swore you didn’t want to drink her dry—stating that you weren’t a fan of AB negative blood—you still threw that threat around that you would although it happened to be a empty threat.

Joey was still aware of the strength that you had. And living with a vampire wasn’t so bad until now, with you renovating and her forgetting the crime scene you committed days ago in this same bathroom. You liked to keep the hunts outside of the apartment since the clean up took up quite a lot of time and the stench stained your nails that you had to stop seeing your manicurist and do it yourself! To put it simply, matters went left that night all because of your fling Klaus and Joey came home a lot sooner than expected! You’ve noticed that Joey’s been under the weather a lot lately, being in a brain fog that she seemed to be forgetting things, cold, and sleeping a lot more.

She didn’t relapse, which was great considering everything she told you one late night when she couldn’t sleep. The pack of lollipops were commonly on the list to pick up but as long as she kept up with her meetings and dentist appointments then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about, right?

I know you didn’t believe that.

“Every time you say that, that always equals another outcome,” Joey’s gripping the sides of the sink now and exhales.

You twist your body back and forth as you innocently say, “not sure what you mean buttercup—

“Ugh, shut up! Don’t do the pet names, it makes me nauseous.”

You lightly ask, “Are you pregnant?”

“What the hell did you just say?” Joey is baffled as her head whips to where you stand.

“Just a thought.” You lift your shoulders, “i thought you hit it off with…shit I’m so bad with names.”

“The guy that you forgot to mention was a fucking mutant? I don’t even know what’s worse a mutant or a vampire?!” Joey growled before taking a deep breath after glancing at you pouting at her, “You don’t need to worry about my love life, what you need to worry about is us having a functioning bathroom!”

You point the wrench in the direction of the said item, “the toilet and sink still work. I didn’t mess with the pipes yet! And as your roommate and best friend you’ve ever had or only had—it’s my job to make sure you’re spicing things up.”

Joey lifts a brow, “you think I need a man of a mutant to do that?”

“…if that’s what you prefer, unless you state otherwise…” you place your hand on your hip in anticipation.

Joey huffs, “I’m not doing this with you this morning—

“It’s one pm.” You inform but pull your lips together as Joey glares at you with her dark downturned eyes.

“Could you leave the bathroom so I can actually use it?” Joey manages to get out, feeling a chill and a turn of her stomach wash over her body.

You nod, “sure! Do you think it’s roughly going to be a five minute sesh or forty five because I can get started on dinner or brunch?”

Joey picks at the back of your shirt, actually lifting you off your feet to walk you out of the bathroom, tossing you a bit into the adjacent hallway wall, before slamming the door behind you.

“That wasn’t pleasant,” you sharply exhale as you fix your shirt and make your way down the hallway.

You pass by the kitchen, through the living room to your bedroom which you leave the door open just a crack as you plop down onto your bed belly first. Reaching for the copper rotary, your fingers rotate against the numbers before the ringing begins in your ear.

“Hammy! How are ya? Are we still on for dinner tonight? My friend is getting worse and could really use your help.” You keep your voice leveled just in cause those senses kicked in too.

No matter what Joey thought, you were friends and you only wanted what was best for her.

This life was just not that, in your opinion.

You had to prepare for the worst before she was even aware of what this all was. However tonight with the visit of Abraham, would open her eyes some more unfortunately.

.☘︎ ݁˖⚘‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ .☘︎ ݁˖⚘‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ .☘︎ ݁˖⚘‎₊˚⊹ 𐦍༘⋆₊ ⊹ .☘︎ ݁˖⚘‎₊˚

[daceydeath]

Screeching Tires and Blood Stains

Pairing: Mafia Jongho x Reader Word Count: 3k Genre: Mafia Romance Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Swearing, Violence, Blood, Dangerous Driving, Explicit Activities, Drinking

Coming face to face with the realities of Jongho's criminal life had not been how you expected your night out together to go.

"Where is Jongho?" you begged, gripping the seatbelt so tightly that your knuckles were beginning to turn white.

"He'll be fine" Yunho stressed his eyes firmly on the road "you will be too I'll get you back safely".

"I'm not scared for me Yunho" you whimpered, not being able to focus on anything outside of the car, the scenery passing too fast for you to focus on. Jongho had ordered Yunho to get you in another car and get you back to a safe house as fast as possible. You hadn't even had a second to ask what was happening or even kiss him goodbye. Now you weren't sure if you were ever going to see your fiance again. The last sound you had heard other than the screeching tires as Yunho floored the engine was the sound of a scream which made your blood run cold.

You had known the life he led was dangerous, you had cleaned blood from his clothes more times than you could count and changed dressings on wounds at least once a month, but this was the first time you had actually come face to face with the danger he surrounded himself with everyday. Yunho often acted as your bodyguard. He was a gentle giant when it came to you and his loyalty to Jongho was unwavering so naturally Jongho trusted him to protect what he deemed most precious to him, you.

"I know, Jongho is going to be fine, he's a tough fucker" Yunho smiled wryly finally slowing the car now that he deemed it safe. "It's always a bigger deal if you are with us when something happens".

You hummed in understanding but the fear was still firmly entrenched in your chest like a lump of ice freezing you from the inside. The scenery was still passing your window in a blur, Yunho's foot still firmly on the accelerator not taking any chance that someone would follow you back to Jongho's apartment. The tire screech that followed you into the undercover parking garage was almost deafening no doubt leaving rubber in a thick layer on the smooth concrete as he finally hit the brakes before lifting you from the car and running into the waiting elevator only placing you on your own two feet when it started it's climb to the penthouse floor. He led you into the hallway nodding silently to the two men who guarded the entrance to the actual apartment, the message you didn't know officially but you had an inkling just watching the two men tense and take a more aggressive stance.

"I'll get you something to drink" Yunho smiled tightly, sitting you on the sofa and moving towards the drinks cart to grab you your standard tipple of choice.

"You're making me drinks? How bad is tonight going to be?" You sighed bitterly, your heart in your throat, looking into Yunho's eyes hoping he could see that you were demanding the truth from him.

"It could be really bad" he frowned, sitting down opposite you, pulling his hand gun from its holster and laying it on the coffee table "Jongho didn't see this coming tonight, I don't know what will happen". His candor was unusual. Normally he would soften news for you to prevent you panicking.

"You should be out there with him Yunho" you urged chewing your lip nervously "I'll be fine here, there's guys out the front and Jongho taught me to shoot" you looked at him knowing that if you could get him to go back your man was more likely to come home to you.

"He ordered me to stay with you so I will" he reminded you kindly before moving to take your hand  in his. "If this goes to shit you will be looked after. I gave Jongho my word and he's given clear instructions".

"What the fuck does that mean?" You refuted angrily pulling your hand away from his as you heard loud yelling from the hallway outside. Whipping your head towards the sound with wide eyes, before a heartbeat later you found yourself pressed face first into the plush carpet Yunho pressed against your back, his long arm extended pointing his gun towards the sound. The front door burst open revealing Mingi and San, two of Jongho's enforcers, dragging a blood soaked Jongho into the apartment swearing loudly and still shouting at someone behind them.

"Fuck Yunho" San shouted as he spotted Yunho's gun trained on them “we don't need anyone else getting trigger happy tonight”.

"What happened?" Yunho grunted standing quickly, pulling you up with him, and moving to help haul Jongho's pained form onto the dining table making him breath heavily and grunt in protest.

“Were you followed Yunho? Did they see where you brought her?” Jongho growled looking at his friend.

“I got her away clean, man, you know I will keep her safe for you” Yunho replied solemnly.

"We were double crossed" Mingi spat through his clenched teeth, helping to get Jongho's shirt off of him while you stood motionless in shock beside the couch. "One of the soldiers was a plant".

"Was? I'm taking you fixed that problem?" Yunho smirked, helping to hold Jongho still while Mingi got his shirt and tie off the blood still flowing from his arm now running into the floor beneath the table staining the carpet bright vermillion. The front door once again opened as a man you know only as Doc rushed in followed by another man carrying a large medical crate.

"Is it a through and through?" Lee barked, opening one of Jongho's eyes wide to check his pupils, then felt for the pulse in his neck.

"Yeah doc, he's lost a lot of blood but he's still breathing" San replied swiftly, tying a tourniquet around Jongho's upper arm to stem the bleeding once more.

"Right get a needle in him and get some blood started" he ordered as the nameless man did as he was told.

"Will he be alright?" You finally managed to ask your voice faltering. Jongho hissed as the first needle entered the vein in his opposite arm and doc began probing the open wound in his upper arm.

"Of course" San reassured you "Doc will get him sorted out then if needed we will get him to a hospital but it's just a bullet wound" his smile was tight but he was trying his hardest to sound calm and in control. Jongho met your eyes for the first time since he had just about thrown you at Yunho screaming at him to get you out of there.

"San has got a few scratches on him. How about you help clean those up and get some clean clothes for me?" Jongho urged nodding at San and Mingi who nodded back in an unspoken agreement.

"Sure" you stuttered, walking towards the bedroom to get some clothes for at least Jongho and San. "I can do that".

San followed you, grabbing the clothes you offered him and heading into the bathroom to clean himself up, while you sat on the bed opening the first aid kit that you kept in the bedroom. San returned a few minutes later wearing sweatpants and no shirt, the small wound on his arm obvious but insignificant. 

"Sit San" you tried your hardest to not let the shake in your voice obvious, following your wishes he did, letting you tend to the small graze that he didn't even seem to have noticed before Jongho had sent him with you.

"You're doing great" he murmured, pulling on a T-shirt and placing his hand on top of your head. "I'll swap with Mingi and you can look after anything that's on him". San picked up the clothes for your boyfriend and left to fetch Mingi.

Being left alone you took the chance to quickly change your own clothes, dropping the brand new dress you had worn onto the pile of clothes San had left on the bathroom floor. You would have to make sure they were incinerated later but for now you would wait for Mingi to change to another set of sweats and shirt sitting beside you on the bed.

"Ready for me?" Mingi asked softly trying to not startle you as he stepped into the room.

"Go clean up and I'll clean up anything you have that needs tending" you nodded letting him step into the bathroom with the clothes you had given him. You couldn't stop thinking about the sight of Jongho lying covered in blood on the table, how murderous he had looked being dragged by his friends into the apartment and what Yunho had said. What would you do if it did go badly? you weren't sure you could live without Jongho and would you even be allowed to just continue with life with all the things you knew and had seen in your time with him.

"Your thinking too hard" Mingi sighed sitting beside you on the bed "he's going to be fine, it's not life threatening" he gave you a small smile as you stood looking him over. Mingi has three small cuts that didn't even need dressing and a dozen bruises coming up so you carefully put some ointment on him before allowing him to finish dressing himself.

"Can I come out and see him again?" You asked meekly, putting away the first aid supplies.

"Course, docs got him hooked up to blood and saline so he should be back to normal soon anyway" Mingi grinned, escorting you out to where they were. You could hear hushed whispers as you stepped out of your shared bedroom but with Mingi's hand on your shoulder you continued to where they were still treating Jongho only he was now sitting in one of the dining chairs whilst Yunho cleaned the blood from the table.

"My love" Jongho sighed, his voice hoarse but still definitely loud enough for you to hear properly.

"Jongho" you sobbed, taking the hand closest to you and squeezing it.

"Hey love, no tears I'm fine" he tried to chuckle.

"Fine? You were just dragged onto your apartment and put on the dining table with blood pouring out of you!" you scoffed emotionally trying to not let the tears in your eyes escape your waterline and trying your hardest to resist slapping his shoulder.

"Doc has patched me up" Jongho smiled cupping your face with his other hand not noticing the dried blood all over it until it was against your skin.

"You scared me half to death" you pouted watching his eyes crinkle in a soft smile and doc removed the cannula that was no longer needed from his arm.

“That's why you love me though'' he grinned cheekily knowing you wouldn't argue you were just happy that he was fine. “You boys go home, get some rest and we will reconvene tomorrow to sort out what needs to be done”. You watched them all nod and one by one leave with Yunho being the last to go, his hand squeezing Jongho’s shoulder firmly before he let himself out.

“I'm sorry your pretty dress is ruined my love” he apologized genuinely, taking both your hands in his and kissing each of your fingers. “I'll buy you ten more to replace it”.

“Let me get you into bed first” you chewed your lip tiredly “you need rest”. He stood up easily, letting you pull him carefully behind you to his bedroom, sitting him down on his side of the bed letting him get comfortable against the headboard before you went back out to turn off all the lights. You returned to him smiling crookedly at you, his hair tousled from running his hand through it. Slipping the sweatpants you had put on off you were left in just one of his oversized t-shirts and your underwear.

“Do you need help getting into bed handsome?” You tilted your head as you crossed the room to him, noticing his eyes roaming up and down your body.

“No but I have had a thought” he started his soft eyes meeting yours while he cupped your cheek with his hand “I want you to move in here with me, I want to come home to you, I want to know you’re always safe”.

“I thought you wanted me to keep one step away from this life?” you furrowed your brows slightly even though the corners of your lips turned upward.

“I did but now I want you with me always” he admitted pulling you in to kiss you passionately, even in his injured state he easily maneuvered you into his lap pressing you against him and holding you in place with his hand on the nape of your neck.

“We can’t you’re hurt” you whispered against his lips, feeling his hard chest against your own, your hands bunching up his shirt to expose his flesh to you.

“I’m not that injured my love” he murmured back lowering one of his hands to squeeze and tease your tits making you whimper and shuffle in his lap “please let me touch you” he continued pressing his hips up against your barely covered crotch, you dropped your forehead against his shoulder letting him do whatever he wanted in that moment letting small noises leave your lips with each movement of his hands. Kissing his neck softly you felt the vibrations from his quiet groan through his skin encouraging you to keep kissing him.

“You’re so amazing letting me touch you, letting me love you” he rasped, swallowing hard and moving his attention to your hips, gripping them tightly and pressing you against his hardening dick helping you grid against him the way he wanted. “You going to let me fuck you yeah?”.

“Yes Jongho” you whined, his fingers brushing against your covered clit only to pull away again to help you lift yourself enough for him to pull his now weeping cock from his pants so that there would be nothing but the flimsy material of your underwear between you. Continuing your grinding against him he let out a low groan from deep in his throat moving your underwear to the side to easily slip himself between your folds to cover his length with your essence before gradually entering your tight hole and allowing you to sink down at your own pace, splitting you open and stretching you until you were so full you didn’t think you could possibly take anymore of him. 

“Just a little bit more my love” he grunted, not moving his hips to let you control your own pace.

“So big Jongho” you moaned softly, not stopping your legs from sinking you down further on his cock. You heard him grunt as you finally pressed hips against his pelvis, the delicious mix of pleasure and almost pain making your head swim. Jongho’s head fell back against the bed frame with a soft thunk, his hands gripping your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. You began to roll your hips again unhurriedly enjoying the feeling of him inside you, his hands on you, his voice surrounding you as you began to find your leisurely pace. Your hands on his chest you leant forward to press your lips against his neck nipping and carefully sucking small love bites on his skin marking him lightly as yours and only yours as his grip on you tightened no doubt leaving his own marks on you for you to find in the morning.

“Fuck I’m so in love with you” He moaned his breath coming out in soft pants and grunts as you continued to ride him. 

“I love you” you mewled the pleasure flowing through you making you move more desperately his whimpers making you need more as the image of him still covered in blood entered your mind making you feel everything so much more intensely bringing tears to your eyes your rocking hips moving faster as your got more emotional “I love you Jongho”. The first tear falling from your eyes onto his neck mingling with his sweat and making his skin even saltier against your tongue.

“I got you love, I’m here” he grunted loudly his hands now moving your hips as you began to lose your rhythm his hips coming up slightly to meet yours “Fuck my love I’m here, I’ll always he here he ground out as your walls started to flutter wildly around him.

“Fuck Jongho…Jongho” you cried coming hard around him, your walls milking his seed from him as he followed you with his own release. Slumping against him you continued kissing his neck lazily breathing in his scent as your eyes began to droop slightly. You both sat in silence, your bodies still connected as you came down from your highs only moving when Jongho helped you to lay beside him, your thighs burning too much for you to move by yourself gracefully.

“I know I scared you tonight my love” he started brushing his fingers against your back as you laid curled up against him “I’m sorry”.

“I know it’s your life Jongho, I’ve known for almost as long as we have been together. It’s a risk I knew existed but I never thought would happen in front of me. Is that naive?” You asked honestly.

“There will be retribution for what happened tonight so hopefully it won't happen in front of you again but I can’t promise it will never happen again” he answered truthfully “But I will protect you always and Yunho will take care of you if anything ever happens to me so you will always be safe”.

“I love you Jongho, I’ll get my stuff together to move in at the weekend” you grinned against his chest. Feeling him silently chuckle.

“I’ll let the guys know they will be moving your stuff for you then”.

A/N: Thank you for reading as always your support means the world to me as always I appreciate every like, reblog and comment my beautiful lovelies xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar @tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie , @krishastumblernow , @mrsseals16 , @fawnpeaks @leeknowinggg @uno7 @tanzen-ist-gold

[thatswhywelovegermany]

The Werewolf of Ansbach (also known as the Wolf of Ansbach) was a supposedly man-eating wolf that is said to have attacked an unknown number of people in Neuses, now a part of the Franconian town of Ansbach, in 1685.

Probably due to a lack of game, the wolf began to attack people. Within a quarter of a year, throughout the summer of 1685, two or three children were killed. Some of the citizens of Ansbach believed that the deceased deceitful burgrave, Michael Leicht, had been turned into a wolf as punishment. It was said that he had watched his own funeral and would appear at night as a werewolf wrapped in a white cloth. In any case, the citizens were convinced that this animal was possessed by the devil.

While chasing a chicken, the wolf fell into a wolf pit, a well covered with brushwood, and was killed there by the townspeople. After the carcass was put on display, the wolf's fur was removed and stuffed. The head was covered with a human face made from cardboard, dressed up with a wig and cloak, and the stuffed fur was hung on a specially erected gallows on the Nuremberg Hill near Ansbach.

The wolf had gained such notoriety that poems were written about its life, which provide information about its misdeeds. This way, the wolf has become part of the regional mythology.

I, a wolf, a fierce beast and devourer of many children, / Which I valued far more than fat sheep and cattle, / A rooster killed me, a fountain was my death; / Now I hang on the gallows, to the mockery of all. / As a ghost and wolf together I tormented men, / How right it serves me that people now say: / Ha! you, accursed spirit, have fallen into the wolf, / Now hang on the gallows here adorned with human hair. / This is the true reward and well-deserved gift / That you have earned; the gallows is your grave. / I have this tipple for you, because you devoured human children, / Like a rage-filled beast and real torturer of men & others.

[horsefigureoftheday]

Convinced my mom to go to the flea market she hates (it's full of old oddballs who want to tell you their life story) and I'm so glad I did!! Spotted a lot of horses and got the deal of a lifetime:

Three composition horses (the big one appears to be a genuine Pfeiffer/Tipple-Topple, while the foals might be Tipple-Topple bootlegs) and two Playmobil boars for (drumroll please)..... 55 DKK. That's like $8 USD.

Patience and persistence pays off 💪

[biblooky]

Oh how I hope my DM doesnt see this kgdhdksh

D&D campaign that I am secretly making into a hermitcraft themed campaign-

So, my character is based on Grian. And I told my DM that for the start of the narrative, he was on his way to see one of his friends. My DM asked if they could decide who the friend was, and I said sure, since I couldn't decide which hermit I wanted it to be (keep in mind, the DM has no idea of my HC goals, they only vaguely know what HC is).

Session 2 rolls around, the party gets into town, and I'm told I spot my friend. They tell me that the friend is an artificer named Tipple [I forget the last name, H-something, not important], who works making little gadgets and weapons...

So my DM made Tango without even realizing it, my little guy ran up to him and started calling him Tipple Top 😊🥰

[malarign]

midnight kiss

(celebrating new year’s eve together)

contains: bf!Sunghoon x fem!reader | genre: fluff |tw! party, alcohol consumption, making out, slightly suggestive if you squint, sunghoon is getting bold! | wc: 1,2k

reblogs, likes and comments are highly appreciated!!!

author’s note: the corniest and cliche trope ✌️ also, i know new year’s eve was almost like 3 months but i don’t care 🤷🏻‍♀️

Arriving at one of your friend’s place you couldn’t help but think about your boyfriend. This was going to be the first time he’ll meet your friends from high school, and knowing how shy and introverted he was, especially around freshly met people you were wondering if staying at home with him wouldn’t have been a better idea. But to your surprise, he agreed on going to your friend’s almost in a heartbeat. You were glad he wanted to meet your close ones, but still, all that sudden wave of confidence somehow worried you.

You brushed off your thoughts when the front door opened widely showing your best friend and a host of today, New Year’s Eve party, Sumi.

“Y/nie! How I missed you!” she squealed pulling you into her overwhelming hug. Not letting you get a word in edgewise, she extended her hand in Sunghoon’s direction. “You must be Sunghoon, right?” she asked.

“That’s right.” He smiled and shook her hand, his usual shyness not visible, maybe not even present.

Now you only hoped the number of people in her house wouldn’t overwhelm Sunghoon. But it seemed like he will never fail to surprise you. Not even a glimpse of anxiousness or nervousness was contained in his eyes, just like they used to in previous events like that party.

After greeting everybody you knew and a few people you didn’t alongside introducing Sunghoon to your friends, both of you sat on a sofa, drinks in your hands.

“Park Sunghoon, I’m stunned,” you spoke as you looked up at him, his arm draping over yours.

“And why is that?” he asked raising his eyebrow cockily to which you faked a shocked gasp.

“Who are you and what have you done to my cute and timid boyfriend?” You couldn’t help but smile. You couldn’t lie but you liked this side of Sunghoon, but not more than his usual self.

He laughed heartily at your dramatic reaction. “He’s long gone. You’re mine now,” he announced after putting his drink on a trolley, reaching to your sides to tickle you mercilessly.

You laughed and contorted your body managing to gasp out: “Hoonie, stop, I’m gonna spill my drink!” Thankfully he stopped, thinking only about starting the war again after you finish your beverage.

Soon all the young people present at the party felt the urge to dance. Music started to get more lively and multiple loud voices started singing along to the lyrics. That’s when one of your friends pulled you off the couch to the middle of the dance floor. You quickly glanced at your boyfriend and saw him mouth simple: “Go” with a gentle smile decorating his face. You smiled at this view and went along your friend to dance.

After what seemed like hours in the crowd formed in the middle of the living room you left your friend to drink some water after knackering dancing. The view you found in the kitchen somehow warmed your heart even though the action itself was far from being endearing. What you saw was your lovely boyfriend with pretty low alcohol tolerance gulping a shot of high percentage tipple, all while locking arms with one of your male friends. He made a wry face at a taste of a drink eyes widening at another round of shots prepared by another guy. You couldn’t help but laugh. You took the small glass out of his hand before he could proceed your presence. He didn’t protest against your action so you just poured its content to bigger glass in order to make yourself another drink. He made his way to your side to wrap his hand around your waist.

“I see you’re having fun,” you said leading out of the kitchen into the almost empty hallway.

“Sorry, do you think I should stop drinking for now?” he asked worried.

“Hoonie, as long as you’re not crossing your limits, do what you want,” you said cupping his cheeks leaning to give him a kiss. It was slow, yet somehow rough, taste of your drink and vodka he just had drunk mixing on your lips. His hands steadily gripped your waist bringing you closer and closer to him. Maybe a little bit to close.

“Sunghoon,” you warned him before your actions led to something what would be hard to get out of.

“Sorry, got a little bit carried away.” He smiled sheepishly.

You lighlty smacked his arm at his words and grabbed his hands. You walked to the sofa you had sat on before drinking the last sips of soda mixed with alcohol. You pulled his left hand and looked at his wrist watch. 11:40. You could swear it felt like you greeted Sumi justa while ago, not 3 hours. But that’s not what you cared about at that moment. All you thought about was a midnight kiss with Sunghoon. In a little over a month you’ll celebrate one year anniversary, meaning you didn’t have the oppourtunity to share this specific moment with him. And even though you never were into that cheesy stuff, midnight kiss was something you wanted to do with Sunghoon.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” Sunghoon asked seeing how lost in thoughts you were.

“About a midnight kiss,” you blurted out before filtering what you wanted to say.

“What about it?” He raised his eyebrow nonchalanty, making you smile at his unaware cuteness.

“I just want it to be special,” you expressed somewhat shyly.

“Don’t worry, princess, I’ll make sure it’ll be special,” he assured you, bringing you closer by your chin and smashing his lips on your. Moving ever so gently only to bite your upper lip. You felt drunk just by this short kiss, wanting more. “For the foretaste,” he said while pulling out.

“Oh, Hoonie, I’m pretty sure you can do better than that,” you teased.

He smiled, his dimple on a display. “Then I guess you’ll have to wait, princess.”

After sweet bants you decided to participate in last rounds of games your friends played teaming against your boyfriend, who showcased his elevated competetiveness. Just before the end of a game some girl screamed: “5 minutes!”. You looked at Sunghoon, and showed him your pointer finger telling him to wait. You quickly went to the toilet. That’s how determined you were. Nothing is going to ruin that kiss, especially not your peanut sized bladder.

You joined Sunghoon outside just 2 minutes before midnight. The night wasn’t as cold as you expected from the beginning of the winter. Yet you were met with your boyfriends scolding tone: “Are you crazy? Where is your jacket?” he said while pulling his blazer over your shoulders.

You didn’t answear his question, instead you looked into his deep brown eyes, which softened when he noticed how full of love and admiration your stare was. Some people aroun you started counting, midnight was closer and closer, just like Sunghoon’s face was getting closer and closer. Just when all people shouted “One!” your lips met in a intimate kiss. You tangled your fingers into his soft locks as his held you against his body. His gentle and delicate lips surrounded your upper lip, as you focused on his lower. Alcohol intoxication long gone, now only dazed with each other presence and delightful kiss. Both of you pulled away, breathless, foreheads touching.

“I wish to start every year like this.”

thank you for reading! back to the masterlist

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The public transport is alive.

Gotta be real, the first thing I thought of was the cat bus from Totoro :)) Y'know, this fella:

But knowing you, you meant horror, so one slice of that coming right up!

Let me tell you: Do. Not. Take. The. Last. Train. I'm deathly serious here. Wait- No, stop! Don't walk away! It's almost midnight, don't get on the red line! Please, you have to believe me. Take a cab home tonight. Or better yet: Walk! Stretch your legs. 

Oi! You just walked away. Why would you do that? I know you think I'm high on drugs or something, but I swear I'm telling you the truth!

…And you're walking away. Damn it. You're not even gonna ask me what happened to make me say that? No? Alright, I guess I'll just talk to the wall, then.

So, it all started on a dark and stormy night. I was visiting my sister, see? She lives two towns over, and she'd just gotten a promotion. She's a manager now, believe it or not. My little old Susie, the district manager of all the Walmarts ‘round here! 

So we broke out the celebratory Jack Daniel's and had a good tipple. Well, it was more of a glugging session, really. I was righty wasted by the time she'd sent me back to the station.

It was emptier than our bottle of whiskey, even though the last train had yet to pull in. I smoked a couple while I was waiting, and thanked God that the night wasn't too cold. It was misty though, enough so that I couldn't make out the outline of my puke on the train tracks.

When the train finally arrived, it was midnight. My ride home was a rusty old thing, screeching to a halt like the screams of a thousand damned souls. That description was more accurate than I'd liked.

I stumbled abroad and onto the seat, eyes half closed. It sure did feel softer than usual, plush and squishy and… warm?

The realisation only hit me as the doors closed. My drink-addled reflexes did nothing to save me from being trapped in a warm-blooded train. In fact, they confirmed my suspicions, when I slipped and fell onto fleshy floor, outstretched fingers just short of the door.

I lay there, in a stupor, as the train rumbled to life beneath me. A heart warmer than my wife's bosom pulsated in thump-thuds, shaking me to the core. I gotta be real honest with y'all. If I hadn't been drunk outta my wits at the time, I probably would have died. I would have panicked and screamed and been eaten by the things that lurked in that train.

As it was, I lay on the ground for the two-hour long trip home, dimly aware of slavering monsters dripping their bloodlust onto my hair, of slimes crawling over my semi-conscious body, of abominations with too many eyes. The floor was red like a heart, and I admired the bulging blood vessels beneath it, content to not consider what it all meant. The walls of the train grew tighter all the while, convulsing around me like intestines, dripping juices down my clothes, soaking me in acid death. At every stop, a million motherly mouths announced the station. Now, I haven't gone to church since Maud left me, but that's the sorta thing that makes a man wear a cross ‘round everywhere.

Not that I needed to, in the end. God— or something close enough to it, anyway— sent me an angel. An angel with a gas mask, reeking of ammonia and motor oil, a woman with eyes like a thousand grinding gears in a grand factory and wings of the sort of oil that made fish float to the surface in droves. She stepped onto that train, and I felt it wither away. 

She was a congested highway, the bloat of eating too much fast food. When she picked me up, I felt grimy and polluted. Her sigh was like a mass layoff by a cruel multinational corporation. The angel of nature's death saved me, and I thanked her for it.

When I awoke, it was with an earsplitting headache, lying on the bench at the park closest to my house. My clothes were soiled with slime and oil and worse things besides, but I was alive, and that was all that mattered.

I- What do you mean, ‘are you sure it wasn't a bad dream'? Are you doubting me? I'll have you know, Mr Wall, that I, Pablo O'Hara, am no liar! Why, I used to be respected, back in my day. 

In fact, Mr Wall, I'll tell you the story. So, it all started on a dark and stormy night…

This, too, is taglist worthy:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @tragedycoded, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@xenascribbles, @unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[docholligay]

I'm not, as a shock to all, British, or, as the anon specifically mentions, English, not even in a "my great grandaddy came from Tipple-upon-Thorpington" way. In as much as I'm aware, I have only the legally mandated amount of ~Chilly Islands~ in me to be allowed to be a multi-generation Montanan.

But if I WERE, I think I would be insulted by the claim that the only thing we are bringing to the table, worldwide, is hereditary rule. No tourists will come, we will slip into obscurity, nothing else is interesting or valuable about the Uk, or even only England. It's JUST monarchy and peerage.

WHAT?

People are not into the House of Lords, they are into Downton Abbey. Every interesting thing about the whole system is on a historical level. Even aside from that, I cannot imagine thinking so little of the place to go, 'Welp! If I can't call someone My Lord I'm not into it" like tourists have never heard of Shakespeare, or Dickens, like York doesn't look like a fucking HOLLYWOOD SET BUT IT IS REAL, soccer matches don't have tourists CLAMBERING to get tickets for wildly inflated prices,* The Henges suck of course, the Blitz who?, afternoon tea is just some leafy water and a sandwich, nope, it's all fucking pointless. Kings and Lords or get the fuck out.

It's so insulting! It's so insulting. To declare that a weird system of quasi-celebrity is what MAKES this country. I'm not even a member and it makes me want to spit.

The antisemitic stuff is basically bog-standard stuff that I've received from time to time and, as ever: My family was shot into a ditch, get it straight. It IS weird, the ovens, thing and also, not incinerated...roasted. It does sound like they are preparing a meal. A choice, to be sure. I've been called worse by better, it was more annoying than anything.

The bragging about Dunkirk is a little curious, given the uh...result of Dunkirk, though it did have a pretty good Christopher Nolan movie made about it, so if you don't know anything about history, it might sound impressive. Maybe that's also why I thought they were American? Dunkirk might be the only battle most Americans know about that the Americans themselves were not involved in, so it lends an air of credulity, because why else would you not just say "Fought in WW2?" Dunkirk is, to be flippant and a little bit of an asshole, a majestic story of successfully running the fuck away.

Actually, that brings me to the other thing, now that I've thought about it. How OLD do you have to be for you GRANDFATHER to have fought in WW2? I'm not particularly young! My granddad was a mechanic in Korea and he went into the service immediately. I'm not even sure he finished high school. The only ww2 connection I have is my great-uncle? Or, what's the word for a great-grandfather's brother? Anyway, he died in ww2. So what, you're pushing 50 and sending hatemail on tumblr dot com? Good lord.

*if I go back, and if Jetty is to be believed, I will, I am just gonna...shell the money. I didn't this last time because it was for my mom's birthday and i did not see her wanting to go to a West ham game, though she'd have done it for my sake.

[allthedoorsareopennow]

ALRIGHT. LET’S INVESTIGATE THE UDAD PHOTOS. MUCH INFORMATION BELOW. SO MUCH

ok top left. brian is the oracle of delphi, of course in greek mythology the most prominent oracle

bottom left. for some reason the goddess artemis’ name seems to have been misspelled as artimes? I have no idea why. artemis is the olympian that features in actea and lyssa.

bottom right. seems to suggest marius’ lecture will take place in the aristotle institute - aristotle is a famous greek philosopher (among other things, grouped loosely as a polymath)

top right. as you likely know, these are military dog tags, usually intended to allow for the identification of corpses. an enomotarch is the commander of an enotomy, a division of 25-36 soldiers, bound together by oath. this seems to be a term originating in Sparta.

middle right. tipple seems to be a term for alcohol, consistent with the bottle top the term appears on. the toy soldier seems to have made its own liquor brand while in the city. (perhaps DB stands for dionysus bacchus, the greek and roman names respectively for the god of alcohol?)

right. a coin is shown, on one side reading ‘to speed the/journey down’. this likely is about the belief that the ferryman (charon) who takes the dead souls across the river acheron and into the underworld must be paid. virgil’s aeneid claims that if the deceased cannot afford to pay the ferryman, they must wander the shores of the styx (another underworld river, in some stories providing the same function as the acheron) for one hundred years before they are allowed to cross into the underworld. thus having this coin to give the ferryman would literally speed the journey down into the underworld in greek mythology. also depicted on this side is the logo of the acheron. on the other side of the coin is featured a headshot of ashes, with the text ‘a penny’ above (the smallest british unit of currency). I cannot discern the text below.

background. the blueprint for the aegis, which in homer’s iliad is a device carried by athena pr zeus, interpreted as either an animal skin or a shield, sometimes featuring the head of a gorgon, that symbolises protection.

the text on the left appears to read as follows:

‘…[ti]tanium…n for the…ens district…[lig]htning rod

‘spikes - they look badass

‘Durable Ti core

‘Moderator’

Ti is the chemical symbol for titanium. also depicted is a uranium fission reaction. a moderator is something else that is needed in a fission reactor core, so this must be a design for a fission reactor. ‘enriched to 90%’ refers to the uranium - uranium-235 is the most fissile isotope, so the more U-235 you have, the more fission you can achieve. for context, reactors often use uranium enriched to 3.5-4.5% - 90% is overkill by a long way for energy generation purposes. my guess is that this reactor core is designed to provide huge amounts of energy to operate sone kind of lightning device, likely intended for zeus (the god of lightning). it is signed by athena and raphaella la cognizi.

BRING FORTH THE NEXT IMAGE!

another acheron coin is shown. I'm not really sure what’s happening in most of this one.

ANOTHER!

more acheron coins and a half-visible toy soldier’s tipple bottle cap. the focus of this picture is a torn and blood-splattered coaster for Calypso’s, the bar from which the suits kidnapped ulysses.

NEXT!

now this is more like it

a zeus coin is depicted, showing five credits - presumably the official currency of the city

there is a gambling chip bearing the name hermes, perhaps referencing his role as a trickster god

the guitar pick is stamped with the name apollo, the greek god of music and song.

there is a fragment of a newspaper cover - we will get more shots of this later.

the emblem of poseidon is shown to be a trident, a weapon poseidon is often depicted as wielding, representing his status as god of the sea.

wow I wonder what name is on that card it’s mostly blocked I wonder if the next will have the name..

BEHOLD!

so that’s presumably an ID card for a security guard, whose name we can now see is Anippe ?aiad. Anippe in greek mythology is the egyptian daughter of the river god nilus, and is thus a naiad, so the name on the card is Anippe Naiad. I can find little information about her, other than that heracles killed her son.

we also get a look at ulysses here, the the text ‘//ALL POINTS FUGITIVE ALERT//‘ above their mugshot.

NEXT!

the text on the ulysses info that seems to be on some kind of old tablet reads

…1) COUNT THEFT:

…[CYCLO]PS - POSEIDON PROPERTY

…OR CAPTURE: DR-25000

…E BOUNTY

…S:

SPONSORED BY POSEIDON INDUSTRIES

CLICK TO LEARN MORE

this seems to be putting a bounty of ‘DR-25000’ (presumably a currency?) on ulysses’ head for the theft of the eye of the cyclops.

more newspaper.. shall we take a closer look?

across four different images, here is the newspaper:

TRANSCRIPT BEGINS

ALL THE NEWS ALL THE TIME

LARGEST HOME CIRCULATION

LARGEST ADVERTISING VOLUME

DELPHI 2374

The City Oracle Telephone Number

THE CITY ORACLE

IN THREE PARTS - 46 1…

PART 1 - GENERAL NEWS…

ORACLE OFFICE

292 West Hector Stree[t]

VOL. LVIII KRONOU MORNING, GAMELION 5, 12390 DAILY, 5 DRACH[MA]

OEDIPUS IN INCEST MARRIAGE SCANDAL

SHOCKING NEW REVELATIONS OVER IDENTITY OF HERO DOCTOR'S WIFE AND MOTHER

MAN WHO CURED THE SPHINX TRIES TO PLEAD IGNORANCE - WILL SEEK TO FIND REFUGE OFF WORLD

(columns on right):

INSIDE

NARCISSUS DENIES PLASTIC SURGERY CLAIMS

HERMES TO UNVEIL NEW HI-SPEED MAGLINES

FORTY DEAD IN SUB-LEVEL 54D EXPLOSIONS: WHO IS “GUNPOWDER TIM?”

TWENTY YEARS FROM ILIUM: WILL THE SCARS EVER HEAL?

Oedipus Rex, the doctor hailed as a hero after successfully curing the disease ravaging the sublevel slums, has been revealed to have been married to his own mother for the last eight years, in what is being hailed as the social scandal of the decade.

Mr. Rex previously claimed to have grown up in one of the City's most troubled orphanages. However, a source within the Acheron has claimed that Teiresias, one of the network's most trusted interfaces, revealed his true origins yesterday.

“I didn’t know,” Oedipus told The Oracle, “I’d always believed my parents to be dead. I had no way of knowing they were even alive, let alone…”

Oedipus’ wife and mother, Jocasta Rex, has been unavailable for comment. She was last seen boarding a transport line to Outer Thebes, an area known for the number of suicides it attracts.

It is known she had been married once before to Laius, Mayor of one of the Thebian districts at the centre of the Sphinx epidemic. It was repoterd that he disappeared shortly before the announcement of the cure, under circumstances described by City PD as ‘suspicious’.

CONTINUED PG.5

HERACLES ACQUITTED ON MISTRIAL TECHNICALITY

The City High Court finally came to a ruling today in the case of Heracles, the notorious figure at the centre of the murder trial which has gripped the City for the last four weeks.

Heracles, who worked for the House of Zeus as head security for fifty years before resigning under unknown circumstances last Theozenios, was found not guilty of the brutal slaying and dismemberment of his wife and two children.

According to sources familiar with the case, he was found lying unconscious in his home, surrounded by the bodies of his family, holding in his hand what was at first thought to be the murder weapon. However, forensic evidence regarding the blade was judged to have been inadmissible, and his insistence he was defending his family from an attacker swayed the jury.

Heracles has been unable to identify the assailant against which he was struggling. This is not the first time Heracles has been involved in accusations of violence. Rumours persist that he may have been the infamous “Thunderbolt of Zeus” while working with the company, despite no connection ever being proven between the Olympian patriarch and the unknown hitman.

CONTINUED PG.9

TRANSCRIPT ENDS

Delphi and the oracle are referenced several times.

A drachma is a greek unit of currency, hence why I have guessed that as the unit of price for the newspaper.

Teiresias, the one referenced as revealing Oedipus’ parentage, is a blind prophet of Apollo from Thebes, known for clairvoyance and being transformed into a woman for several years. he is referenced as being one of the first brains volunteered into the acheron in the fiction, and holds and manages all the knowledge of the acheron.

Theoxenia seems to be a descriptor for greek mythology stories in which characters show benevolence and hospitality to strangers who turn out to be disguised deities capable of reward. These stories encourage people to treat anyone they meet as potential disguised divinity.

ONWARD!

another oracle of delphi ad, the corner of the newspaper, and part of hades’ file on oedipus..

TRANSCRIPT BEGINS (pencil markings in orange)

Name: Oedipus Rex not given surname

Occupation: Doctor (Retired) Disgraced

Age: 52 No records- abandoned at birth. Estimate Height: 5’10” Weight: 132l[b]

Hair: Chestnut Eyes: N/A self-blind[ed]

District: Thebes

Abandoned by wealthy but paranoid parents at birth. Olympians secret[ly] pulled strings, used him as poster [child] for failing orphanage scheme. Notab[le] for successfully researching the cause/[…] for the Sphinx - exceptional intel[ligence] shown. Worthy candidate for "Trial [by] Wits". Currently seeking to leave T[he] City after publicised patricide and maternal relations; will likely pla[…] ball given ample funding. EXPLOIT

END TRANSCRIPT

the tab at the side reads WITS. as well as oedipus’ fingerprints, there is a dirty handprint in the top right of the document. the newspaper appears to be stained with rings of tea or coffee.

at first I thought the photo of oedipus featured in hades’ document was this one, but it doesn’t quite match. it’s a good photo anyway.

NEXT

gunpowder tim’s dog tags from earlier are visible at the base of the photo again. A different part of Oedipus’ file is shown, showing a handprint and the start of a date on the photo of Oedipus, beginning 08/12. a map is shown too, with crosses through two locations and a circle around another. from what I can see the streets seem to mostly have fairly generic names.

sadly I have now reached image limit. when I have made the next post, I will link it here.

update I realised some of the stuff guessing cut off words and such that I did is pointless because the full documents for a bunch of them are in the goddamn cd book thing. and I kind of can’t be bothered to finish cause it feels like half the stuff I did was pointless. if you would be interested say so and maybe I will do more. but otherwise. nah

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

reminders to my followers:

the soccer locker lotto typically tripically triples the bocker lotto tickles the box office take

the occer botto tapically tipples the socks loffice trick

the sauce triples the steak

[distantlaughter]

Nico Rosberg talks Pizza Guilt & AC/DC

Originally written 13 August 2015 by Marc Chacksfield for ShortList.com (x)

Mercedes F1 racer Nico Rosberg on pizza shame, pre-race rituals and having Muhammad Ali over for tea.

What’s your driving like in everyday life?

I take it easy – I have the race track to go crazy. I really like driving classic cars, and I have a 1970 [Mercedes] Pagoda at home. But driving a classic car fast is still within the speed limit – it just feels fast.

You’re German-born – what about on the autobahn?

I don’t spend much time in Germany, as I live in Monaco, but of course on the autobahn I’ll push it. I know for all car fans, one of their dreams is to go to Germany and go really fast on the autobahn.

What’s the best thing about living in Monaco?

[Nico’s agent] No tax! [Laughs] That’s not… well, that is the best thing, I suppose. But, equally as good is, erm… it’s just such a wonderful place to live. You’re right at the sea, the climate is great and the quality of life is amazing.

What music are you into?

I listen to whatever the current things are. For example, I went to a Coldplay concert last year at the Royal Albert Hall, which was amazing. Then I went to AC/DC. So it depends.

Any non-motoring hobbies we should know about?

I’m into fashion, whether clothes, jewellery or watches. Sports – I like cycling. And backgammon. I’ve played Bernie [Ecclestone]. He’s never beaten me, but we’ve only played two games.

Do you have a pre-race ritual?

I play soccer. Keepie-uppies with my physio. That gets me warmed up and ready to go.

Any superstitions?

Once in a while, whenever I’m wearing a charm bracelet, such as karma beads from Thomas Sabo, if I happen to be on pole when I’m wearing that, it becomes my lucky charm… until I don’t win.

What’s the F1 Christmas party like?

At our Christmas party there are 3,000 people. We have 1,300 employees and everybody brings family and friends. There’s music, live acts, shows. It’s incredible to see the amount of people involved building these two racing cars.

What’s your tipple?

Baileys. On the rocks. My labrador, Bailey, is named after it. Which flavour? Always original.

You’ve known your teammate Lewis Hamilton since you were kids racing go-karts. What can you tell us about him, aged 15?

He hasn’t changed much. His private life has changed, obviously, because he didn’t have the wealth he now has – as he came from quite a simple background. Other than that, there’s no difference.

He wasn’t dating a Pussycat Doll back then, though?

Well he’s not doing that now either, is he? [Laughs]

If you could go back, what advice would you give yourself?

To myself? Listen to my parents more. Because they’re always a good guide, and it’s difficult for teenagers to listen to them, but five years later you look back and think, “Ah, yes, my parents did say that. Damn, I should’ve listened.”

Aside from winning the F1 World Championship, what are your goals for this season?

A healthy daughter being born this month. It’s an exciting time for us.

Will you be on track by day, knee deep in nappies by night?

I’m gonna be hands-on. But how it’s gonna change my life, how much they’ll travel with me – I don’t know.

What’s your earliest memory?

Ayrton Senna driving through the tunnel on TV in Monaco – I could hear the sound as I was sleeping in my bed. It woke me up on the Saturday morning, and then switching on the TV and seeing him in his yellow helmet. It was 1988, I was three years old.

You’re pretty good at this driving lark, but if you could be a professional at another sport, what would it be?

Tennis or soccer. Or golf, actually. I was watching the British Open at St Andrews, and that was really fascinating. So at the moment I’d love to be good at golf.

What’s your favourite food?

Italian – pizza and stuff. Which I’m not allowed to eat, because I have to stay away from gluten. I’m on a permanent diet, so I can’t eat anything like that. Even off-season I can’t have it, as the diet’s increased my wellbeing – although, of course, I’ll have the odd day off and go for a pizza. It’s not 100 per cent strict.

Do you have any home comforts that are always in your suitcase?

I write in a diary, actually, adding any interesting discussions I’ve had throughout the day, or anything that comes into my mind. Just looking back three months, I think, “Wow! No way! I was doing that?”

Have you ever been mistaken for someone else?

Yep. Checking into a hotel in Geneva last year they said, “Hello Mr Hamilton.” I answered, “Actually I’m Rosberg, but I can understand – we look similar, so it’s easy to confuse us.”

Have you ever had a ‘normal’ job?

I enrolled to study aeronautics at Imperial College London. But then I took a gap year and didn’t go, because the racing was going so well. I also played tennis when I was young, for the Monaco team.

Finally, who’d be your dream guests at a dinner party?

I know the answers already: Muhammad Ali, Nelson Mandela, my wife and… Fangio. Juan Manuel Fangio, the Mercedes driver from the Fifties.