#velvet x eleanor

[crimson-camellia]

I miss Tales of Berseria. I love the cast and the story is one the best. The Velvet x Eleanor ship just sneaks up on me at times and I then I want to draw them.

[andstuffsketches]

[sketchy digital drawing of Eleanor and Velvet from Berseria. Eleanor's hands are folded in prayer, draped over Velvet's shoulders. She looks down at her with a worried expression, tears rolling down her cheeks. Velvet looks up at her impassively, lightly clutching Eleanor's forearms with bloody hands, more blood dripping down her face and from her mouth. Light shines from above them, and red clouds fade in from below]

here, kitty kitty there's too much demon blood in these self-appointed angels

[toxic-yuri-poll]

ROUND TWO

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Request: How about some jealousy headcannons for Velvet , Eleanor, and Magilou?

(Tales of Berseria) Velvet, Eleanor, Magilou Jealousy HC's

Honestly, I was waiting until I had access to the skit sprites, and now that I have, it's time to UNLEASH the Berseria asks that's been laying dormant for nearly a year.

Velvet's jealousy is quiet, and very terrifying.

Thinking about it logically, she really shouldn't be that angry about S/O simply talking to other people than her.

She was a Daemon after all. And yet, S/O chose to stay with her despite that.

And right now, they were doing anything but that.

It takes a long while for the jealousy to build up, but it's nearly ready to blow up.

S/O notices her glaring at them, and the person they're talking to.

After a few moments, Velvet realizes she's staring and quickly looks away, acting like nothing is happening.

S/O walks after her, with Velvet continuing to walk despite her name being called.

(S/O) "Velvet?"

(Velvet) "What?"

(S/O) "Are you alright?"

She stops walking and glares at them again.

(Velvet) "Fine. Why?"

(S/O) "You...just looked a little angry is all-"

Her eyes narrow as her fists clench.

(Velvet) "A little?"

(S/O) "O-Okay, really angry! I'm sorry I haven't had much time for you lately, I've just been trying to get supplies and-"

(Velvet) "I said it's fine. Better for us to be stocked up anyway than wasting time."

She tries to play it off, but S/O knows her better than anyone at this point.

(S/O) "Well, I could use your help carrying some of it back to our rooms. And...I'd like to have some time alone with you, actually. There's this pretty spot near the inn we can sit down at!"

Velvet simply sighs and her shoulders relax a little.

Choosing to not mention the blush on her cheeks, S/O gently grabs her hand and squeezes it for reassurance.

Velvet says nothing else and lets them hold it for a few more seconds before slowly letting go.

(Velvet) "Come on, show me where we're putting the supplies."

Eleanor feels guilty for even thinking about being jealous.

The two of them were busy, especially on a journey like this, romance was almost impossible. She knew this, and yet...

Eleanor pouts when she sees S/O speaking to the other members of the group and goes off to be alone for a moment.

Maybe some fresh air would clear her head.

The sun was about to set, watching it glisten along the coastline they were on.

(Eleanor) "Maybe during the voyage, we could...-"

(S/O) "Eleanor?"

Eleanor nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears S/O voice come from behind.

(S/O) "Are you okay? You look upset."

(Eleanor) "A-Ah...Don't worry I-..."

Eleanor thought S/O was too busy to notice her lately, yet the fact they noticed her leaving in a crowded inn made her guilt grow.

She cuts herself off before simply sighing and clearing her throat.

(Eleanor) "I'd like to get dinner with you, if you don't mind."

(S/O) "Oh, sure. I can grab the others and-"

S/O immediately noticed Eleanor's body posture change, both her hands going behind her back.

S/O gently smiles at her before nodding.

(S/O) "There's nothing wrong with being a little selfish. Where do you want to go? My treat, tonight."

Eleanor smiled back and nodded.

(Eleanor) "I recall seeing an interesting food stand in town. Perhaps they're still open?"

Magilou doesn't really get that jealous.

She knows when people are lying or being serious.

She also is very much aware of herself, and how she truly feels.

Not to mention the incredible circumstances she and S/O found themselves in, going to assassinate a world leader.

With that being said, it would be remiss of her to not embarrass her S/O at every opportunity.

That was a sign of true love!

S/O is simply talking to Eizen regarding the Van Eltia.

And that was the time to strike.

(Magilou) "S/OOOOOOOOOOO!"

Magilou called out for S/O's name as she extended her hands and nearly tackling them to the floor.

Barely fending Magilou off of them, S/O stared at Magilou who began flailing at them.

Eizen gives Magilou an extremely unamused look while S/O tries to shut her up, with everyone looking at their direction.

The crew, port workers, the rest of the group, everyone's attention was on them.

(S/O) "W-What are you doing, Magilou?!"

(Magilou) "You barely spend time with me at all lately! As your beloved, I demand that you give me attention too!"

(S/O) "We were literally just talking ten minutes ago!"

(Magilou) "It's not enough!"

(Eizen) "Are you done? S/O has to get the supplies on the ship before sunset."

(Magilou) "This is a matter of the heart, Eizen! You wouldn't understand, for you do not possess a maiden of your own!"

(S/O) "I'll talk with you once I'm done, Magi! Just give me a few-"

(Magilou) "UGH! You wound me, S/O!"

(Velvet) "I'm about to give you a wound if you keep this noise up."

(Magilou) "Believe me, you'll understand my feelings once you have someone to call your own!"

[touchoffleece]

In hindsight

G Witch was so gay I forgot Bandai's track record of "just good friends" with it's franchises.

[raindear-a]

I love the magnet couple🥺💖🧲

A handsome himbo with an absolute Queen

the positive side pulls the negative side of the magnet

Dog personality and a cat personality

And this is a cry baby exorcist and a gloomy reaper pirate.

[fayes-fics]

Upper Hand [Drabble]

2k Celebration Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Who wins in a game of dirty talk?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. dirty talk, talk of cunnilingus and blowjobs.

Word Count: 536 (ah well)

Authors Note: Sixth of my 2k follower celebration drabble request fills for @queen-of-the-misfit-toys (ask here). Prompt: "if we weren't in public, I'd have my head between your legs". I have actually used this prompt before for a regency drabble, so I went modern this time. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3

“If we weren't in public, I would have my head between your legs.”

It takes all of your abilities not to spit out, or indeed choke on, the olive you just popped in your mouth. You have to roll it between your molars and take a deep breath before you can do anything, your mind haunted by the spectre of a head of wavy chestnut hair framed by your thighs, strong large hands wrapped around your thighs, holding your hips down forcefully as he feasts on your body.

“Stop it! Your mother is right there!” you hiss indignantly, looking around the large table you are gathered at in a sophisticated London restaurant.

“You don't think she had her fair share of such moments? I do have seven brothers and sisters, you know,” he points out dryly, a hand landing heavily on your hemline, mid-thigh.

“Yes, but maybe not in front of her parents?” you contend, your temperature notching up as that hand travels further up your thigh.

He just chuckles, the sound rich in your ear. “Let’s not talk of my family, shall we? Not when all of my thoughts are of sucking on your clit, until you grab my hair in that way you do. Almost suffocating me with your gorgeous little cunt, grinding just so hard. I didn't shave before coming out this evening, just for you, so I have that little bit of stubble I know you like right on my upper lip; that really sends you over the edge, doesn't it, my sweet girl?”

Perhaps to those around the table, you look like a young couple in love, heads together, whispering sweet nothings. Not attempting to school your expression in the face of the utter filth he is spouting.

“Benedict,” you murmur, trying to sound disapproving, but it's far too husky.

“Yes?” his hand is under your hem now, toying with the soft skin between your legs, leaving little ticklish trails that burn so hot. “We can go out the alley if you need a little preview?” his offer smooth like velvet.

Deciding that is all you can handle, your body just so alight and needy, you know the only way to get the upper hand is to give him a taste of his own medicine. You twist your head slightly so that your lips are right next to his ear, and you wait for him to pick up his glass before you exact your revenge.

“I don't see how you will be able to do that when I'm going to be on my knees choking on your cock in about two minutes,” you lobby back.  

You can't help the triumphant smirk as he splutters and chokes on the mouthful of wine he just took, having to apologise to his family for distracting their attention. 

He is still gawping at you, absolutely flabbergasted, as you excuse yourself on the pretence of the bathrooms. But you pass by that door and turn around, still in his eye line, his stare blistering. You tilt your head at the emergency exit sign with a raised eyebrow.

He almost trips over his own coat on the back of his chair in the rush to get up.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu

[nelyastudies]

intro post since i've gained many new friends 😊🌻

name : nell (as in, eleanor from hill house or nelyafinwë from the tolkien books). you can call me by my older nickname too

age/gender: mid-20s / girl i think

currently studying: medicine, in clerkship

hobbies: reading, singing, listening to music, cycling, swimming

this blog serves as a logbook, mini journal, and to do list for me. sometimes i will put some hobbies stuff on the dash (listed under the cut). i hope in this community we can support each other and win our goals together 🥰

🌼 biarkan ilmu memuliakanmu 🌼

beloved media of mineee

books: we have always lived in the castle, shirley jackson. the silmarillion and the lord of the rings, jrr tolkien. rebecca, daphne du maurier. giovanni's room, james baldwin. a thousand splendid suns, khaled hosseini. i am the messenger, markus zusak. picture of dorian gray, oscar wilde

movies: everything everyone all at once, gampang cuan, lord of the rings, nagabonar, crimson peak

musicians: onew🌻, aespa, jonghyun, taemin, dua lipa, the weeknd, lucky daye, kaytranada, chrisye🌻, KLa project, franky&jane, gita gutawa🌻, dato' siti nurhaliza, janet jackson, shinee, florence and the machine🌻, hozier, marina, red velvet, gg, f(x)

musicals: elisabeth das musical, rebecca das musical, der besuch der alten dame, next to normal, mozart l'opera rock

scents: matcha latte, mykonos. forbidden garden, layr perfumery

[soulofapatrick]

Starstruck - Pedro Pascal x reader/OC

Summary: Y//N plays Eleanor Winchester in Supernatural and is on the red carpet for season 13 where she spots her heartthrob: Pedro Pascal. 

SORT OF LINKS TO Terrible at Secrets

Words: 1.3K 

Warnings: anxiety (?)

Notes: request by @princessmermaid1289​ and photos of dress and hair at the bottom. 

Y/N’s POV:

Being part of such a big show like Supernatural is always breathtaking, especially getting to meet all the other big stars and my fans. I never expected to have such an impact or make a family with J2M. Jared and Jensen immediately took me under their wings when I joined in season seven as Sam and Dean’s little sister - Eleanor aka. Nell

Being anxious and an actor is always something interesting but I have such an amazing family backing me and getting rid of any awkward questions aimed my way during conventions. I love conventions and red carpets, being able to meet my own idols of which I have plenty. I find it so much fun talking to them and getting the fans opinions on everything. My fans are my biggest critics and they’re how I improve. 

Tonights a red carpet for our season 13 with Alexander Calvert. He’s very cute and bubbly and I love him like a little brother and the fans seem to love him even more. He’s going to be big, I just know it, especially when the fans scream at him wrapping his arms around my waist and hugging me as the cameras flash.

“Heyyy Y/N,” Jensen appears at my other side, elbowing me and leans down enough he can whisper quiet enough the cameras and paparazzi don’t catch it, “Your man crush is over there, go say hi.” 

I follow his gaze to see the one and only Pedro Pascal. He guest starred in an episode but sadly I never got to see or meet him as it wasn’t with me. My character was off with Kelly and Castiel while Pedro was with Jensen and Jared and I will admit it broke my heart a little as I have always had a huge crush on the sweetheart. He looks drop dead in that crisp white suit and black bowtie. His hair is so fluffy and I just wanna run my hands through it from here. 

“Go!” Alex is agreeing and I’m being pushed in Pedro’s direction so lightly jog over, trying not to trip over my dress. It’s a beautiful thing, not my personal choice but I have to admit it looks beautiful and it makes me feel beautiful when I’m quite a rough and tough person having been around J2M for pretty much eight years. It’s black and flows, making me feel like a character from a fairytale, the sleeves off the shoulder and it sparkles in the flash of the cameras. I think it’s made from a mixture of satin and lace with how light it is despite how heavy and full it looks. It seems my stylist was going for a vintage look as my strawberry blonde hair is pinned back in light curls, it reminds me a longer version of Susan Pevensie’s hair from the last movie where Lucy becomes Susan. I feel beautiful. 

“Hi,” I place a trembling hand on Pedro’s shoulder, causing him to turn to see me. His face breaks into that contagious grin as he looks me up and down with no abash. It has me flushing a bright red, especially when he makes room for me, wrapping a large hand around my waist. 

“Hi there mama,” Pedro’s voice is like velvet and has me weak at the knees. He’s pulling me flush against the side and begin to pose for the paparazzi again, a huge grin on his face so I compose myself and do the same, putting my arm around his back. He’s a lot taller than I realise so it’s easy for me to rest my head on his shoulder and I think I’m going to go deaf at the sound that erupts from the fans as Pedro glances down at me with a look that makes me balling his jacket in the hand that’s around his back. He lips are suddenly near my ear as he whispers “Easy darlin,” while his thumb rubs soothingly at my hip. 

We have move on so Jared and Gen can take our stops and I prepare to go back to Alex as Misha has Vicki and Jensen has Danneel but Pedro grasps my hand in his calloused one. I stumble slightly but he steadies me and my mind races because this is going to be big news and everyone is going to realise I have the biggest crush on Pedro Pascal… who is leading me to the next photo spot. 

The cameras continue to blind me and I have to grip Pedro’s hand tighter as I can feel my anxiety bubbling. I usually try to do the red carpets quickly and usually Jensen; Jared and Misha there to ground me. This beautiful man beside seems to understand what’s happening and is sending one last wave at the cameras before he’s leading me towards the Entertainment Weekly interviewer. 

“Hello there mommy and daddy,” She greets us and feel myself flush again as this never happens to me. I can’t remember her name as I was meant to only talk to a tiktoker turning interviewer as I’m not as big as my on screen brothers. 

“Hey there,” Pedro sends her an amusing smile, keeping a tight grip on my waist. 

“Well this is a nice surprise, I’m a little star stuck right now,” The interviewer turns her attention to me, “I have to admit I’m a huge fan of you and your character, Eleanor Winchester for those who don’t know.” She glances back at the camera and I’m subconsciously grabbing Pedro’s free hand, hoping the camera doesn’t pick up on. 

“Oh! Well, thank you.” I’m laughing nervously, “I’m also star stuck!”

“You’re the star here,” Pedro nudges me and I can just hear all the fan edits about to be spamming my social media feeds in the morning but I don’t care because I’m currently pressed against the Pedro Pascal and he’s acting like I’m the big star, not him. Somehow I feel like royalty, even when the interviewer gets on with her planned interview with Pedro and I’ve never felt like this. I just alternate between watching the way Pedro throws his head back in a hearty laugh every time the interview flirts with me and the way the cameras are flashing blindingly. I should be panicked and breathless right now but that hand on my hip is flexing every so often and somehow it keeps me grounded and this is probably the first red carpet I’ve been able to breathe.

“Well, here’s the question I think most will be asking in the morning, is there something here?” The interviewer is asking, her question making my head snapping round so fast I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash, watching Pedro to see what he says as I try to slow my breathing. 

“I wouldn’t mind having a date with miss Y/N here but we’ll have to see.” He’s sending her wink then pulling me even closer to him and I just look at the camera and fake swoon, laughing lightly in shock. 

“I think I’m hallucinating,” I tell her and it causing everyone in earshot to break into laughter as Pedro presses a kiss to my cheek, the light drag of his beard taking the air from my lungs, “Definitely hallucinating.” 

“She says yes,” Jared’s towering frame appears behind us both, patting Pedro on the shoulders, “Of course she wants to go on a date with Pedro.” 

“A date it is it seems.” Pedro’s grin seems to get wider and I’m not really sure what’s happening right now. I might have a date with the Pedro Pascal and my two older brother figures may have set me up it seems, especially from the way Jared and Jensen high five as they walk away and the way Gen sends me a wink. 

Oh my fucking god. I’m going on a date with Pedro Pascal. 

[balladofsallyrose]

THE CAKE You Can Have Him

Their debut performance on national TV was also nothing if not attention-grabbing. They had been booked to perform on an October 1967 taping of The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, an irreverent and oft-times scathing weekly sketch show on CBS that drew a tuned-in young audience.

Dressed in tailored velvet trouser suits trimmed with lace, the girls emerged to the opening strains of "You Can Have Him" from within a giant Dali-esque revolving birthday cake, formed from melted struts and decorated with flaming green candles. While Barbara and Eleanor skated, dipped and weaved to the rhythm, Jeanette stood stock still to their left, looking detached and aloof, holding her microphone down by her waist. When she did finally raise it to her mouth, she purposefully lip-synched the words rather than sing them.

Everyone assumed it was just part of their shtick. "Yeah, that was her gimmick," agrees Rodney Bingenheimer. Barbara recalls Greene and Stone also saying, "Yeah, it’s different. Keep it!"

But Eleanor thinks there was another reason. "Everybody said, 'Why does she just stand there?’ Most of the time Greene and Stone would have her mic turned off because she couldn’t sing R&B. She felt left out. I didn’t notice that was happening because I was overpowered by Charlie Greene." {x}

[angelasscribbles]

Friendship

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Constantine x Eleanor, Jackson x Bianca, but really it's about the beginning of Liam and Drake's friendship.

Rating: G

Warnings for this chapter: None

Word Count: 1,894

A/N: I had written the first couple of paragraphs over a year ago then put it away with no real idea where it was going. Then @kingliamappreciationweek happened and I decided to dust this off and finish it for childhood/family and friendships/relationships. I'm late, but here it is.

My other stuff: Master List.

Liam was a serious child. Even as a toddler, people would remark about his solemn expression. It wasn’t that he never smiled, he did. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy, he was. There had just always been an aura of thoughtfulness surrounding him. The portrait his mother had commissioned of him for his second birthday showed a somber child. He sat in an elaborate Baroque throne chair with dark red crushed velvet upholstery and a gold leaf finish. He was dressed in a toddler suit with short pants, showing his legs, still chubby with baby fat, his ebony hair brushed back from his face as he gazed solemnly out at the photographer.

Despite that, he was a friendly child who learned by the age of four that being charming got him whatever he wanted from the nannies and the kitchen staff.

A heartfelt, “Please?” netted him cookies, cakes, candies, and plenty of baklava. No one could withstand the cuteness of the little prince. Especially his mother.

His first smiles, at three months old, were for Eleanor. As he grew into a toddler and preschooler, she remained his favorite person, that somber expression turning into a wide faced grin at the sound of her voice or the sight of her face.

She read to him, she played with him, she took him on walks in the garden. She was the antidote to his father’s seriousness.

By the age of six, Liam had learned that his father’s affections were less frequent and harder earned. The bulk of Constantine’s attention went to Liam’s older brother, because Leo was going to be king, and Liam was not. He was only the spare.

Liam never resented Leo for it. He loved him. Leo was his second favorite person in the world, after Eleanor. He started toddling along behind him as soon as he could walk. Leo was older, cooler, and knew all the best games.

Leo was also a frequent rule breaker, while Liam was not. On this particular day, Leo and Olivia had decided to sneak away from the nannies and play in the woods behind the palace.

Leo had read to him until he bored of it. Pushing the stack of books away he exclaimed, “I can’t stand being inside for another moment! Let’s go out to play!”

“Finally!” Olivia cast the copy of Little Women she’d been reading to the side as she jumped up from the oversized beanbag in the corner of the library.

“I want to come too!” Liam scrambled quickly to his feet. He had learned the hard way that if he didn’t keep up with the older kids, he’d be left behind.

 “Sure,” Leo shrugged, “but you have to be quiet until we get past the hedge maze.”

“Past the hedge maze?” Liam asked in alarm, “We aren’t supposed to go past the hedge maze! Father said-“

“Father doesn’t have to know, does he?”

“Maybe you should stay here, Liam,” Olivia said sagely, “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Liam thought for a moment, taking in Leo’s amusement and Olivia’s smug sureness that he would stay behind. He drew in a deep breath and squared his shoulders, “No. I’ll go!”

“Are you sure, Li?” Leo asked with a laugh, “Last time you got caught breaking the rules, you cried.”

Liam flushed with embarrassment. Father had been so angry. He didn’t like to make anyone angry, “I didn’t mean to break the vase.”

“Hey,” the amusement disappeared from Leo’s face, replaced with sympathy, “It’s okay! It wasn’t even your fault, I’m the one that talked you into playing football in the great room!”

“It’s okay, Liam,” Olivia placed a hand on his shoulder as she leaned down, “but I heard there’s fresh baklava in the kitchen. You should go get some!”

“Yeah…okay….” He agreed half-heartedly.

He picked up an illustrated copy of Where the Wild Things Are with a sigh as he watched Leo and Olivia sneak giggling down the hallway toward the garden doors.

Thirty minutes later he was perched on a stool at one of the marble counters in the place kitchen, shoving baklava into his mouth as he turned the pages of his book when he heard unfamiliar voices.

He turned away from his book in interest as the head of the King’s Guard entered the room with a man and a woman Liam had never seen before. Trailing behind the adults were two children.

Liam’s eyes widened as he took in the new arrivals. A little girl with dark curls and wide eyes took in everything around her in wonder. A boy that looked to be about the same age as himself kept his gaze trained on the floor indifferently, a shock of chestnut hair falling into his eyes; hands stuffed into his pockets.

Liam twisted back and forth on the stool in excitement, nearly tumbling out of it as he did.

“Careful there young master!” The pastry chef caught him before he could fall.

“Sorry!” Liam exclaimed as he twisted out of her grasp, his head spinning to keep track of the children, “Who are they? I want to go say hi! Can I?”

“Certainly!” She laughed as she released him and watched as he sprinted across the travertine tile.

The group had moved into the formal dining room when Liam caught up with them, skidding around a corner and colliding directly with the head of the King’s Guard. “Ooof! Sorry!”

“It’s alright,” Captain Sullivan helped him to his feet, “What’s the big hurry?”

“I wanted to meet the kids!” Liam ducked his head, suddenly a little shy, “Who are they? What are they doing here?”

“Okay, okay, slow down!” The captain laughed, “I’ll introduce you! Your Highness, this is the newest member of the guard, Jackson Walker, his wife Bianca and their children, Drake and Savannah. Everyone, this is Prince Liam.”

Liam sucked in a breath of surprise; he knew that some members of the guard lived at the palace. He felt like he was about to explode with excitement. Please let them live here, he prayed furiously. Out loud he said, “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“And we’re very pleased to meet you,” Jackson shook his hand.

The girl shoved her way in front of her parents, a look of awe on her face, “Are you an honest to God, real life prince?”

“I am.” Liam grinned at her.

“It’s nice to meet you Liam,” Bianca told him before pushing the boy forward, “Isn’t it Drake? Can you say hi to the prince?”

Drake shuffled forward awkwardly, lifted his eyes to Liam’s face for a moment then dropped them as he mumbled, “Hi.”

“Can they come play with me?” Liam directed the question to the adults, lacing the fingers of both hands through each other as he pleaded, “Pleeeeease?”

“Oh, yes!” Savannah squealed, clapping her hands as she jumped up and down, adding her pleas to his, “Can we please?”

“I think that would be okay,” Jackson replied, “What you think, son? Would you like to go play with Liam?”

The sullen faced little boy lifted his copper and gold flecked eyes again and found Liam’s face. Drake’s determination to hate everything about this new place faltered a little as saw the genuine excitement bubbling over in the other child. “I guess that would be okay. What do you want to do?”

“Yes!” Liam jumped up into the air with joy, “We can play whatever you want! Hide and seek, or tag in the gardens, we have board games, video games, we could ride bicycles if we get the nannies to supervise us or we could play sword fighting-“

“You have swords?” Drake’s eyes widened with interest.

“Wooden ones but-“

“Can I dad?” Drake turned to Jackson hopefully.

“Yes, go on. We’ll come find you later.” Jackson squeezed Bianca’s hand as they watched their children scurry down the hall with the prince. Relief flooded his wife’s features, mirroring his own. Drake had been the child they had been most worried about adjusting to the move, but he seemed to be warming to the place already.

“What’s it like being a prince and living in a palace?” Savannah asked as she hurried to keep up with the older boys.

“Boring,” came the instant reply.

“Really?” Savannah sounded disappointed.

Drake laughed and Liam’s smile broadened at the sound as he elaborated, “The other kids in the palace are all older than me and no one ever wants to play.”

He was lonely.

“Drake comes up with all the best games,” Savannah told him.

“Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Drake agreed, “Where is this playroom you’re taking us to?”

“Fifth door on the left,” Liam pointed down a long hallway.

“Race you,” Drake grinned at him, “Winner gets to pick his sword first!”

“Okay-“ Liam started to agree but Drake was already sprinting down the hall. It only took a second for Liam to realize what was happening and tear off after him.

The three children tumbled through the playroom door panting and shrieking with laughter.

Drake collapsed onto the floor in purposeful exaggeration as he gasped, “I’m dying….but I won!”

“You cheated you mean!” Liam laughed as he dropped onto the ground next to him.

“It wasn’t cheating,” Drake corrected him, “It’s called gaining a tactical advantage!”

Liam was used to other children being awkward around him, letting him win games or actively trying to avoid playing with him, because of his status. The young prince was absolutely delighted by this new playmate’s utter lack of concern about his title.

Drake had been convinced that the princes would be stuffy, stuck up and boorish. He was thrilled to be proven wrong. He hadn’t wanted to move, yet again. He hadn’t wanted to give up his friends, yet again. His father had promised that this duty station was more permanent. He had been determined not to get attached to anything or anyone, but as they staged epic battles with the wooden swords, of which Liam had let him claim the best one, he found the heaviness that had sat in his chest since his parent’s had announced this move starting to loosen.

The boys quickly became inseparable.

In the weeks and months that followed, Liam became less somber, at least around Drake. He was still a serious, thoughtful child, but he had a quicker smile as Drake drew out his playful side. Drake became less guarded, at least around Liam. He was still a slow to warm up child, but he turned outward a little more as Liam gained his trust.

“Drake seems to be adjusting well,” Eleanor remarked as a maid set the tea service in front of her.

“He is!” Bianca agreed happily, “It’s been four months and he seems completely back to normal! I think it’s because of Liam, honestly.”

Eleanor nodded with a smile on her lips as she blew on her tea to cool it, “Liam is so happy to have a playmate of his own. He’s a different child now. I think this friendship is good for both of them.”

The two women turned to watch as the boys raced through the gardens, shouts and laughter filtering through the late morning air. It was a beautiful day, the children were happy and for the moment, all was well in Cordonia.

[linearao3]

(Companion piece to the fic chapter I just published)

So I mentioned before that for the dresses in Serves You Right and Served Me Well, I tend to take inspiration from art and historical costumes of the 1880s, by which I mean that I swipe stuff and add details I think are fun. I totally stole Inej's black opera-going dress from Madame X, as noted.

Madame X (Madame Pierre Gautreau), John Singer Sargent, 1883-4. (Gown from Maison Félix).

I changed the shoulder straps a little and added some blood-spatter beading, but basically, yeah, that's the dress.

(The main thing I change, in all these dresses, is that most fancy dresses from this period (a) required a bustle, and (b) had trains. I don't know that the management of either would be intuitive to Inej, so I just sort of... erase them.)

Another straight theft: the blue dress of Marya's Kaz has altered for Inej to wear on the first visit to court. You may note (though it's a little hard to tell in digital copy especially) that the woman in the portrait has red hair.

Portrait of Madame Paul Escudier (Louise Lefevre), John Singer Sargent, 1882.

As for what Marya actually wears herself, I imagine most days it's something like this:

Portrait of Mrs. Eleanor Chapman, John Singer Sargent, 1881.

Like you can see a visual kinship to the big lace collars you get in Dutch Masters' paintings, but it's more 19th Century.

The Grand Duchess Durnova's purple dress is sort of a mash-up, as most of the other dresses are:

Coronation Portrait of Tzarina Maria Feodorovna, Vladimir Makovsky, 1885.

Maria Grigorievna Rayevskaya, artist and date unknown.

Inej's blood-orange velvet dress from Serves You Right has a lot of invented details, but the basic shape comes from another dress in a Sargent portrait:

Portrait of Mrs. Charles E. Inches (Louise Pomeroy), John Singer Sargent, 1887

The dress itself, which was altered for a second wearer.

Obviously, I snipped off the arm ribbons and moved them to the gold dress, which is largely inspired by this bodice, designed by famous French design establishment, Maison Worth/House of Worth:

House of Worth, 1890s, seen on the Fripperies and Fobs blog

I love the split bodice, which has various suggestive readings (which, trust me, I will get to). I admit I don't really love the sleeves, though (they loved a goofy sleeve in the 1890s), and the color seemed a little lackluster. Hence: gold watered silk, aka moiré. Moiré is notoriously hard to photograph, since it shifts with the light. But this is a contemporary garment (from Saudi boutique Aetelier Heyakat) which shows off the effect pretty well by having long, uninterrupted lines.

For the Grand Duchess's gold dress, I was thinking more of something yellower, like this:

Attributed to Liberty & Co. of London, 1880s.

Anyway, there will probably be more dresses so I will try to make another post if there's anything cool to show.

[toxic-yuri-poll]

send asks with your favorite Actually Toxic yuri <3 inbox is OPEN

check tags for ships already on the list by default

RULES/FAQ:

- has to be a relationship that if you saw this in real life you'd be Concerned for their Well-being*

- if you send minor/adult my friends and i are killing you with hammers

- it counts if they're toxic to the people around them

- if I can't fill enough space I'm putting in natural disasters

- *to expand on this I mean they gotta have something critically wrong that would make a normal person concerned

this post will be edited**

*it's been edited with a few more pairings. will be sorting through everything soon so the potential bracket is incoming

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Request: Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou with a shy S/O who is trying to hide the hickeys their girl friend gave them.

(Tales of Berseria) Velvet, Eleanor, and Magilou's S/O trying to hide their hickeys

Gotta say for all three of them, ow.

Velvet's S/O struggles to look at her directly, one hand gently rubbing their neck.

Velvet has a smug grin as she crosses her arms.

(Velvet) "I think that looks good on you, personally."

(S/O) "I-It's really obvious where they are!"

(Velvet) "I'm pretty sure that's the whole point of a hickey. Besides showing you're mine anyway-"

Honestly, she doesn't really care what anyone thought about the marks. And seeing S/O get this flustered over them was pretty amusing.

But there was one problem with her carefree attitude about it.

(Laphicet) "S/O? What happened to your neck?"

(S/O) "O-Oh! Well, t-that's!-"

(Eizen) "Why are you that flustered about-...Oh."

Eizen sighs, making Eleanor walk over to the group and realize what happened.

(Eleanor) "Oh my-VELVET!"

She gives Eleanor a glance, raising an eyebrow.

(Velvet) "What?"

(Eleanor) "It's...just so indecent! Why did you-"

(Laphicet) "Did Velvet do something to S/O?"

(Eizen) "No boy, don't ask questions about it. You'll learn when you're older."

(Laphicet) "...Huh?"

S/O had their face buried in their hands, making Laphicet even more confused.

Eleanor crossed her arms and looked extremely disgusted.

(Eleanor) "I cannot believe you two would-"

(Velvet) "S/O, go wash those marks off your neck. And Laphicet, it was from bug bites."

(Laphicet) "What kind of bug would...?-"

(Eizen) "One you shouldn't ask about. Here, let's ask Rokurou about it, and leave the ladies at...this."

Eizen quickly rushed away Laphicet from S/O, Velvet, and Eleanor.

(S/O) "I want to die..."

(Eleanor) "Well...at least wear a scarf!"

(Velvet) sigh "Pride still intact, S/O?"

(S/O) "No..."

Eleanor may have...gotten carried away in the moment.

Truthfully, if she had hickeys on herself, she would absolutely panic.

So to see that she had caused very noticeable ones on S/O's neck and shoulders.

(Eleanor) "...Oh my-..."

Eleanor and S/O struggle to look each other in the eye, both blushing a scarlet red.

(Eleanor) "I am so sorry...L-Let me find you something to cover it up! Or at least some makeup!"

Despite her best efforts, it is extremely noticeable.

(Rokurou) "Hey, S/O? Think ya got something on your neck."

(S/O) "D-D-Do I?!"

(Rokurou) "Yeah, looks like bite ma-...Oh."

Velvet turns around to both Eleanor and S/O, noticing both their expressions.

(Velvet) "Should've just let that lie, Rokurou."

(Rokurou) "Yeeaaaah, didn't realize till it was too late. But hey, didn't think you had it in ya, Eleanor!"

Eleanor facepalmed and swore under her breath, making S/O stare at the ground even harder.

(Velvet) "It's becoming our business when we can hear you two clear as day."

(S/O & Eleanor) "WHAT?!"

(Rokurou) "They're already dead, Velvet. No need to drive the dagger further."

Magilou did that shit on purpose.

Sure, there were other ways of saying that S/O and Magilou were a couple.

But those ways are a lot less interesting and hot.

And Magilou bit hard.

(S/O) "M-Magilou, I'm covered in bites!"

(Magilou) "That you are. And?"

(S/O) "AND?! I CAN'T GO OUT LIKE THIS!"

(Magilou) "Sure ya can! Here, let's go show the others right now!"

(S/O) "N-NO NO NO! WAIT-"

Magilou does not help with S/O's flustered reactions at all, in fact she made it worse.

The first people to see them was Velvet and Eleanor.

(Eleanor) "Good morn-..."

Eleanor's voice was caught in her throat as her eyes widened, looking at S/O's neck.

(Velvet) "...I'm even more glad I had my room far away from you two."

(Magilou) "Come now, you should be rejoicing at the healthy love blossoming between your two companions!"

Both Eleanor and Velvet's glance turned to S/O, who was on the floor, arms in their knees, and face in hands.

Accompanied by a noise that either sounded like a whine of agony, muffled screaming, or a mixture of both.

Then, the two looked back to Magilou.

(Eleanor) "Ugh, too much information."

(Velvet) "Doubt she really cares about that."

(Magilou) "I don't!~"

[sentofight]

ooc. me replying? nah. i will make a ship thingie post for my muses wahahaha.

bold (prefers it) italics (can happen) cross (needs building but could happen)

This list will not be naming the ships i have but the name of characters in the muse's franchise (if i have interactions in other verses might add characters i see my muse clicking with in that verse.) Though i will add if the character named is taken or not.

Eight

cater

jack

kurasame

king

machina

ace

Machina

rem

deuce (taken by @/oursongofhealing)

ace

kurasame

qator

King

seven

nine

eight

Zack

aerith

cissnei

kunsel

tsung

tifa

Edea

Ringabell

Alternis

Tiz

Agnes

Einheria

Tiz

Agnes

Edea

Rokurou

Velvet

Eleanor

Eizen

Magilou

Senel

Chloe

Shirley

Jay

Norma

Balan

honestly he is probably one of the few muses i can't put a name just some ideas of who can be compatible with him.

intelligent

decisive

strong willed

willing to accept that he is not a romantic person and will see his job as important as you? and maybe more because he is pragmatic person

can compromise to some extent, but never that be conflicting with the person or their interest

Victor

Lara Mel Marta

Fractured Milla

Jude Mathis

L.indow

Sakuya

Tressa

Leon

Cyrus

Therion

Ali

Lucina

Laurent

Gerome

Owain

Severa

Inigo

Kjelle

Brady

Gaius

Cordelia

Maribelle

Sully

Chrom

Olivia

Tharja

Lissa

Avatar/ Robin m/f

Panne

Lon'qu

Sully

Lissa

Cordelia

Avatar f/m

Panne

Olivia

Say'ri

Lissa

Lon'qu

Gaius

Vaike

Stahl

Maribelle

Avatar f/m

ricken

Lyndis

Mark ( taken by @/rcdhotnight)

Hector

Kent

Rath

Matthew

Shutaro

someone kind and understanding of his 'vampire dilemma'

idk what else to write he is not that demanding he is a sweet child sobs

A.kihiko

Mitsuru

MC f/m

Fuuka

ryoji

shinji (im putting him despite not being one of my favs for personal reasons but i cant ignore that he is part of aki's life and ngl i like the trio mitsu x aki x shinji but haha we dont talk about that cuz some d.umblr ding dong people are fossils with ideas)

Kaname

Hitomi

Boss

Raquel

Arnaud

Forte

MC

Margaret

Aldo

Amy

Guildna

probably more but thinking

Kula

K'

Edward

Winry

Xiaoshi

Lu Guang

====

OCs

Einar

Can't think of someone compatible with his in the TYPE0 world, but Emina can and might ruffle his feathers a little bit. idk.

ngl Aki Minahara could have a chance if she is a little bit older dlfkjsdkfs

anyway he looks for someone serious about the relationship.

he wants a family not just one night stand but he is afraid of making said family because of the crystal and dying and getting people's memories wiped clean.

basically, he does not want to be forgotten ...

uuh he can cook so he is not expecting the whole 'gender role thing'. as long as you are good in the things you like to do, then sure fine. tbh he prefers to cook. he is not big on eating other people's food. though he wont stop you from cooking. surprise him.

cats. tbh it is not something he can give up on for a partner???? because for him feeding and looking after the stray cats is an important part of his life. silly as it sounds but he takes it seriously.

he can compromise a little bit with the cat thing but don't expect him to stop going out to feed them.

Roland

laugh tracks but sure. I feel like Severa would be fun to see her bicker with him. they can judge their parents together lol

Thomas

Kjelle

Severa

Maria

Brady

Inigo

Gerome

Chloe

---she's younger than the 2nd generation.

Amina

---she's old than most of the cast.

someone who can understand her past is not something she is proud of and wants to change

Feiruz

HAPPINESS.

SELF ESTEEME

SELF CARE

LOVING SELF

DETERMINATION

ACCEPTING

Ren

Licca (big crush she's older than him but he does not understand)

Sohrab

in lore

---TBA

in awakening verse

Lissa

Cordelia

Stahl

Gaius

Frederick

Avatar f/m

Jokull

in lore

--tba

[fayes-fics]

Succour

Double Bind Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Follow on to Reprimand. Benedict soothes your pain and Anthony makes a bold choice.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), vaginal sex, massage, aftercare. Affection, emotions, confessions and proposals. Mildly angsty maybe (?)

Word Count: 5.7 k

Authors Note: Last planned fic in this series. Thank you to @colettebronte for betaing. Requested by and dedicated to @eleanor-bradstreet, who framed most of the last three fics in this series. I errr hope everyone likes this. Enjoy(?) <3

The next evening you steal away to Benedict’s lodging under cover of darkness, paying your footman some pin money to take you there in a carriage after dinner.  

You managed to avoid your family for the day, hiding in your room and claiming you had a headache as a way to disguise your discomfort. Anthony’s harsh treatment, which at the time felt like penance, absolution, even, now feels tender. Blooms on your skin that you can hide from everyone… except the man you have arranged to see tonight. You consider not going through with the plan to meet until you are healed, but you can’t resist him any more than you can his older brother. 

You hide behind a large velvet hooded cloak as you step down from the carriage and bustle to the door already opening before you get to it. It’s not the valet that greets you, as you expect, but the man himself.

“Y/n,” Benedict greets and, glancing around the deserted street, closes the door. You both know no one comes for art instruction after 10 pm; if you are seen, there will be talk.

“He knows Benedict!” you lament the instant the door closes, removing your heavy cloak. “Anthony. He called at my house while I was here two days ago; he knows we were together. Oh god. I have no idea what to do!!!” 

All day you had managed to keep a lid on your simmering anxiety about what transpired with Anthony, primarily through denial. But seeing his brother, it all comes tumbling out of you.

“Shhh, shhh,” he soothes and places his hands on your shoulders as if considering taking you into an embrace but deciding against it. “All will be well. He only knows that you were here, not what we got up to,” he tries to reason.

“Benedict, you left teeth marks on my inner thigh!” you bemoan. “He's not stupid. I tried to claim it was something else, but, dear god, your brother is not that obtuse… I honestly don't know what he will do,” you fret. “He looked so hurt and sent me away last night.”

“He has no claim of exclusivity over you,” Benedict points out, very much wanting that to be true as much as it may be objectively questionable. 

“He told me, in no uncertain terms, that he thought it was clear he is the only one I should be with.”

“And has he made similar promises to you? Because if not, that feels distinctly unfair. For all you know, he could be with another.”

You pause for a moment. Benedict is right. Anthony made no such claim of devotion, merely that you should only be with him, not that he should only be with you also.

“He did not,” you admit.

Benedict curls the arms on your shoulders and draws you into his embrace. His scent, the one that makes your mouth water, surrounds you as your cheek is crushed onto his breastbone. Instead of just arousing, tonight it is also comforting. Safe. You band your arms around his waist and take a deep breath, burrowing into him—taking refuge.

“My girl. I cannot speak for him, but I would devote myself to you wholly. I would never be with another as long as you give me the word that is what you desire,” the words vibrate against your jaw as they rumble in his chest.

You know that Benedict is trying to twist the situation to his advantage, but nonetheless, you believe him and appreciate the honesty behind his words. It’s just not something you want to contemplate tonight.

“Do not, Benedict,” you warn. “Please. I cannot think of the future right now,” you pull back and look pleadingly into his eyes. “I just wish to live for the now, for tonight. I need touch, kisses….” you trail off in a whisper.

He nods in understanding and wordlessly takes your hand, pulling you into his drawing room, where the heavy velvet drapes are already helpfully closed, and a fire is roaring. It feels like a place of comfort.

But when the arm he wraps around your waist makes you wince, a cloud of concern flits over his face.

“What did he do to you?”

“He reprimanded me,” you answer simply. “And I let him. I wanted it. I needed it.”

Benedict shoots you a sorrowful look.

“I do not want your pity Benedict,” you state fiercely, “I choose this.”

“But, my darling girl, there’s a difference between punishment and pain. You appear to be in pain, and it hurts me to see you hurting. Come here,” he pulls you into his arms in a loose embrace, surprisingly sweet. “Let me soothe you,” he murmurs into your hair, placing a kiss on your forehead.

This is not the commanding Benedict he was the last time you met; his tone and touch are gentle. He backs you towards the fireplace, where you feel the warmth from the crackling flames. 

It’s there that he undresses you. He doesn’t tell you to strip. He doesn’t tear your dress off. No, he stands behind you, delicate fingers brushing your spine as he slowly unbuttons between your shoulder blades: just slow breathing and the hiss and pops of sap boiling in those wooden logs. Your dress hits the floor, and he reaches around in front wordlessly to loosen the strings of your chemise until it gapes enough to slip over your shoulders. The second it joins your dress around your ankles, he sucks in a breath.

“Oh, my darling girl, what did he do to you?” He sounds almost tremulous as there are gossamer caresses over the marks where the rope tied you around the waist onto the bench and the flecks on your skin from the riding crop.

“I chose it, Benedict,” you remind, your jaw set defiantly, looking at the flames in the hearth.

“I know you did,” he placates, dropping a featherlight kiss onto your shoulder that makes your heart skip, “but you shouldn’t choose physical pain to alleviate your guilt. Especially not for me,” he adds.

Your eyes raise and dart to him. “That’s not….” Your words of protest die out, trapped by his hazy blue stare, heavy with something unspoken.

He’s right. 

You chose to let yourself be punished more harshly than ever because of how bad you feel for being torn between these two men—these two incredible but so different brothers.

Those gentle hands are at your stays, unwinding the lace through each hole. Intentionally slow, calming, letting you breathe and sigh and relax into the moment. Then when you sway backwards into him, he instantly pauses, and his lips land warm on your neck, sucking so attentively you moan, just soft heat and dampness. No force, no bite, just lucious sensation.

Your hand shoots back into his hair, scraping your nails over his scalp, revelling in the shiver you feel running through his body. You want to give him an indulgent sensual experience too. Your moan is gauzy as your eyes flutter shut, and you tilt your head, pushing your neck up into his mouth for more. He indulges it, warm wet lips kissing your pulse point, taking you to an almost trance-like state, pliant in his arms. 

“Darling, darling girl,” he whispers, then purses his lips and blows warm air over your skin, damp with his saliva, and you shiver from the tenderness. 

So slowly you barely feel it, he peels away your stays until you are topless. 

“Lay down,” he exhales, gesturing to a pile of oversized pillows gathered on the rug in front of the fireplace.

You sink onto them, their warmth from the fire and plush stuffing a wondrous place to be. You sigh deeply and look up at him as he gazes down at you. His eyes covetously roam your breasts.

“Roll over onto your front,” he asks quietly, and you do so, confused why he might want that. He drops to his knees and covers your body with his. You moan lightly as he drops a kiss on the inside of your left arm. He moves and does the same to your right arm. It’s then you realise he is kissing the spots where you have marks. 

Gently, his wet lips trace down over your shoulder to your mid back catching each mark there. You sigh, feeling yourself grow almost drowsy with the heat of the fire and his delicate damp lips. He shuffles lower and spends time mapping the line where the rope lashed you down. Bussing the abrasions softly, your eyes flutter closed, resting your cheek on your joined hands as he salves your skin. 

Time slows when he starts unlooping the tiny buttons at your hip for your silk underwear, carefully pulling the material over the swell of your bottom and slipping it down your legs. Hence, you are entirely naked save your stockings, held by ribbons tied just above your knees.

His name is a breathy sigh on your lips as his open mouth traces warm and wet over your bottom, damply kissing each mark. His tongue lathing gently, swirling motions designed to soothe. Moving down further to the back of your thighs, you start to quiver a little. Wondering if he will push your legs open and drink from your body the way you are desperate for him to do. He spends time kissing the sensitive spots on your inner thighs, his breathing a little ragged, and you know he can smell and see your arousal, your legs open as they are. But he does not touch you there. He crawls back up over your prone body, his voice suddenly right by your ear.

“Does that help, my sweet girl?” he inquires sotto voce, and you nod, floating on a cloud of lush sensation—his saliva drying in patches, evaporating in the warm room. “I want to make you feel so much better,” he intones the genial sincerity so beguiling.

“You have,” you assure, twisting to give him a gentle smile.

“Wait here, do not move an inch,” he advises, dropping a kiss on your temple before standing up and walking out of the room briskly.

You are momentarily confused but too drowsy to be concerned, just closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth and crackle of the fire next to you and the comfort and slight velvet tickle of the cushions under you. You hear him re-enter the room but just ghost a smile without reopening your eyes. He chuckles warmly, and you feel a dip in the cushions as he rejoins you.

“I would like to relieve your ache with a massage, my darling girl.”

“I've never had a massage before,” you answer honestly.

“I will pour oil on your skin and rub my hands over you,” he details, “it will make you feel blissful, I promise.”

“Then go ahead,” you smile, eyes still closed.

He hums, and then there is more movement. Suddenly two warm naked thighs straddle yours, the downy hairs tickling your skin, and your lips part in surprise.

“When did you get undressed, Mr Bridgerton?” 

“I came back into this room naked, but sadly you missed it,” he teases.

Your eyes fly open, and you twist to look at him over your shoulder. “I demand an encore. Get back out there and walk in again,” you order with a slanted pout.

He laughs loudly this time, a sparkly sheen of bemusement over his enlarged pupils. “Sorry, you missed the show. It was a one-time thing,” he peals lighthearted.

Something in the air feels so soft, so sweet, so safe that you feel a pang of yearning that perhaps this could be your life. Living in this lovely cosy townhouse with this caring man who, when you ask, will tie you to the bed and fuck you so hard you scream the house down… but will also do this. Kiss every inch of your skin better. Lay with you in easy loving intimacy.

“I could get used to this, Mr Bridgerton,” you sigh.

“This could be your life,” he responds liltingly, “please choose me.”

“Benedict….” you warn.

“I know, I know,” he exhales, a touch defeated. “I would indeed rather have a part of you than none at all,” he confesses as you feel him place a sheet down next to you, and he opens a small glass bottle.

The air fills with the comforting aroma of calendula and oil. “This herb is good for healing. A number of my friends swear by it for their boxing injuries,” he explains as he rubs the oil into his hands to warm it. “Lay flat,” he advises, and you twist back, arranging your hands under your forehead and closing your eyes.

He begins at your neck, running lines over the tension you carry there. You cannot stop the noise you make as his talented, strong fingers knead at the knots there until they relent. It feels blissful, and all the tension you have carried since Aburey Hall melts away. He moves to your left, then right shoulder and does the same; your whole upper back turns to putty in his arms. His name is a ragged sigh escaping your lips.

He huffs a laugh at your intoxicated state and continues, his hands working their magic. It feels like one hand could span your whole back as he splays his fingers wide and expertly assuages your aches. Mapping down your spine with the side of his hands with a pressure that makes you groan so loud, it sounds entirely wanton. 

“You make the most delightful noises,” he buzzes as he leans over you, his chest warm on your oiled back. 

“Please do not stop,” you slur, drowsy, floating, so relaxed and high on a sea of pleasant brain chemicals. 

“Do you want me to massage every inch of your body?” His voice is dark and sugary.

“Please…” 

An oiled hand slides heavy down your spine, mapping the dip of your waist, then crests over the slope of your bottom cheeks. It keeps going, trailing the cleft of your bum, and your breath catches as his fingers glide lower, between your thighs, over your folds, slick from an entirely different source.

“How about here?” He murmurs smokily. “Do you want me to massage here?”

“God, yes, yes,” you moan and push into his fingers that just rest lightly on your swollen clit, not moving.

“Mmm, I will,” he promises, but you whine as his fingers move away and sweep up the same path to your backbone.

“Don’t tease me,” your plea is a hushed thing as his hands squeeze your shoulders and run up your arms to your hands, where they rest under your chin.

He chuckles warmly, the noise low in his throat. “But it's one of life’s greatest pleasures,” he asserts, lacing his fingers with yours as again those lips are by your ear. “You so very needy and hungry for me is the best high there is,” he sighs, his teeth biting your earring and tugging gently. “I have plans to ensure you are floating on a cloud of wonderment before we…” he trails off with an uncharacteristic bashfulness.

“....fuck?” you supply.

“...make love,” he corrects. 

And something warm unfurls in your chest as he pulls up off your body, and those hands map your skin again, this time on your lumbar region, digging his thumbs in, to the point you cry out in relief and surprise. The unrealised tension you hold in your hips from being bent over that bench by Anthony seems to melt away as Benedict digs in and releases every knot you hold tight in your lower spine. The magic of his skilled hands has you docile and breathing slowly under his ministrations. Eyes closed and floating, just as he said. Your senses dialling back to a languid, almost tenuous hold on your surroundings, your experience rooted in your body and the newfound relaxation he brings to your being.

This time when his hand slips lower, you slowly suck in an anticipatory breath through your teeth that you do not release until his fingers swipe achingly light over your clit. You exhale raggedly as he finally takes pity on your weeping folds, and with a playful smirk you feel against your neck as he leans in to kiss there, he starts to circle your clit in a soft, expert tease.

You breathe his name, allowing him to fill your every thought, every fibre. Take over your body and direct it like a symphony, increasing the pressure of his touch and making you moan and bite down on your knuckles resting under your chin, pushing your pelvis into his hand.

“That is darling girl,” he encourages, his voice rich and resonant, seeming to vibrate through your very being.

“More,” you plead and grab the hand not between your legs, bringing it to your face and sliding your lips around two of his long, deft fingers, sucking them deep into your mouth, pulsing your tongue over the underside, tasting the massage oil and a flavour that is all him. It’s a catalyst that makes him groan and surge his naked body over you, all heated, toned flesh.

“Please,” your appeal garbled around his fingers that you suck as if it were his cock, deep pulls all the way down to his knuckles, and he growls and curls his fingers, hooking around the back of your lower teeth, his blunt nails digging into the sensitive flesh under your tongue. Something becomes more urgent between you as his rigid cock drags over your tailbone, his fingers curling around your clit more insistently as you instinctually spread your legs wider.

You whimper as he withdraws his fingers from between your legs and your mouth, and they crest your hip bones, painting your skin with your own arousal and saliva.

“Turn over, my girl,” he requests sotto voce, and you do so, rolling over so your oiled back is on the soft sheet he brought in. Your field of vision is filled with him—his face beaming down at you with a loving expression, his smooth chest and his skilled, soothing hands, which now move to cup your breasts as he settles between your legs, his cock brandishing your inner thigh. Greased fingers slide around your nipples, and you groan and push up, loving the slide and warmth.

“Kiss me,” he asks, his pupils blown and glittering, his lips an inviting sheen of pink.

Craning your head off the pillow to meet his lips, it's a tease for a few moments, and then you are hungrily devouring each other, tongues sweeping over one another, breathing shared air, swallowing the little noises you both make. As you kiss, your legs slip open wider until you feel him rocking the apex of your thighs, his public hair tickling your clit. The drawn-out tease makes your belly simmer with fire, ready to beg.

Then he is slipping down your body, his mouth hot and hungry on your nipples, making you pant and writhe as he uses an edge of teeth and then a swipe of tongue; a jolt right down to your clit. He moves lower; you know where he is headed, your clit pulsing and engorged as he heatedly glances up at you from your belly, a knowing crooked smile crowding over his handsome features.

When his nose trails into your thatch of hair and he inhales deeply, you can’t help clenching, your cunt so desperate for him, spellbound by his desire focussed so wholly on you. Almost aggressively, he manhandles your legs around his shoulders and, with no preamble, dives face-first into your folds, the noise and heat making you startle.

He has an almost vice-like grip on your thighs as his tongue parts your folds and unerringly finds your clit. He feasts on your body, even more than that night at Aubrey Hall when Anthony sat outside the room listening to you both. There was the frisson of being caught that gave that night an edge, but tonight feels different, more profound, and his efforts more meaningful but just as untamed. He gives long, languorous strokes with the flat of his tongue and sucks your labia into his mouth, tugging a fraction so you feel the pull in your throbbing clit. Then he spreads his mouth wide over that sensitive nub and sucks hard, a sudden stabbing sensation making your hands fly into his hair and push yourself into his face. 

He groans encouraging words, drinking from your body, swirling his tongue until he hits a spot that makes you squeak, your nails scraping hard on his scalp. His tongue rolls around in increasingly fervid motions, and you feel that hook deep inside, coiling for release, needing a little more to push you over. As if sensing it, he snarls and glances the edge of his teeth onto that most responsive pinpoint; you call out his name loudly, rapidly circling that pinnacle. 

“Please.” That one simple needy word from his lips has you undone.

A tide hitting you, that tension snapping inside. Strong waves emanate from your core, ecstasy racing through every inch of your body, your grip on his hair slackening as he drops gentle kisses onto your lower belly, making his way back up as your body shivers with aftershocks.

“Look into my eyes,” he implores quietly as he hovers over your face, your scent strong on his chin and lips.

You do, and while you are still fluttering from the orgasm, he slowly breaches your body, a solid mass stretching you open in that way that is so hypnotising. Your breath catches, and he growls as you pulsate around him. 

He utters a curse, dropping his head briefly. Then his head snaps back up, his gaze intense but full of something else, something fundamental, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat as he bottoms out inside you, letting out a shuddering breath before placing a doting kiss on the tip of your nose. 

“Tell me how you feel,” he hums over your cheekbone, his fingers trailing over your arms, shoulders, and neck, just holding still within you, letting you feel the way his cock holds you open, how you cling to him. 

“Wonderful,” you confess, your body thrumming and yet relaxed, all your muscles before so aching now revived and sated. 

With another kiss, he pulls back from within you and then pushes forward slowly, cupping your jaw, studying every inch of your face, watching your mouth form little noises as he takes you tenderly, slowly. He bends down and whispers inaudibly into your neck. It sounds like a foreign language, maybe French, but it’s so quiet under the crackle of the logs in the fire that you can’t decipher; you just let the sounds roll over you, into you, filling your heart. Distantly, you hear the patter of cleansing rain on the window behind the curtains, lending the room an even greater feeling of a haven, a cocoon from the outside world. 

Your body undulates under his as he takes more pronounced thrusts, building a slow but steady rhythm that feels carnal and ethereal, as if you are floating above yourself, being taken away on a wave of serenity. 

This isn't fucking; this is love-making. Something you have never really done before, something that feels too vulnerable and dangerous. But yet all you feel is safe and cared for, his eyes soft, his lips quirked in an affectionate smile. This is the succour your mind and body needed. To quell the turbulence and roiling guilt that has been clawing at your being. Torn between the man inside you now and his brother. So alike, so different, two sides of a coin you cannot choose heads or tails of. 

You push up into him, angling your pelvis so he hits a spot inside you that makes your eyes roll, and your mouth slacken, greedy for another high so soon. He kisses your lips, breathes your air, encourages you with mumbled words, moving to pepper little kisses over your cheeks, making your scalp tingle and ripples run down your limbs. Your hands run greedily over his flesh, mapping his back muscles, scraping your nails over the globe of his bottom, pressing your thumbs into his flesh, wordlessly asking for more. Always more.

He tilts and moves deep, a spear just the right side of painful, causing you to moan; there is a triumphant chuckle as he kisses your eyebrows. The easy intimacy of the moment is so enchanting and yet so visceral. Every sense heightened, every touch burning, as if he had taken ash from the fire and painted it over your skin. You plead with him, pulling your legs higher, wrapping around his hip bones, wanting him to be so deep inside you carry a physical reminder tomorrow. 

“My girl,” he whispers, the tone possessive and a hand slides between your head and the pillow, grasping and then twisting the hair at the nape of your neck between his strong fingers, a mild sting on your scalp as this take on a different more frenzied edge. You rasp his name, wanting nothing more right now than to be utterly owned by him under his thrall. 

“Bite me,” he begs, and you falter. “You heard me,” he gusts into your left ear, angling his neck by your mouth. “I marked you with my teeth, darling girl; it is only fair you do the same.”

Something about the nature of the offering, the way he sees you as an equal, makes you feral, and you pitch forward and sink your teeth into the sturdy column of his neck before you can even engage the higher logic part of your brain. He grunts and thrusts harder, hissing for you to take more, your teeth clamping down before backing off to lathe your tongue over the bite mark.

Pulling back and seeing the evidence of your mark on him makes you clench around his cock with such force he growls and begs you to do it again. You do, his cock feeling huge, steely, so invasive. He stills, buried to the root inside you, and shudders all over.

“I never want to be anywhere but right here,” he groans fervently, “inside you, please, god, please let me.” The tone tinged with desperation as he restarts, urgent, spiking, the hand in your hair tangled amongst the strands. And in this febrile moment, it’s what you want too—always to have him touching you somehow.

You cry out as his other hand slides heavily down your contours, and his fingers plough into your folds, finding your clit and spiralling you higher, his gaze burning you.

“Come apart for me again, please; I'm so close,” he confides, his hips slightly erratic.

It won't take much, your whole body in a tinder state, and he is quickly hurtling you towards a new peak, engulfing your senses, enclosing your body, feeling as if he is everywhere at once.

There are a few rapturous moments where your whole body tenses, circling that abyss, robbing your lungs of air, your eyes fluttering closed. Before one more nudge of his cock and fingers and you are tumbling, freefalling. Every synapse fires as your core clenches on him, squeezing so hard you distantly hear him making noises that are almost inhuman, and you cry out as he quickly withdraws from your body, still pulsing and wanting; he splashes his release over your thighs with a grunting shudder.

He collapses atop you, breathing heavily, and for a few moments, there is nothing but the sounds of your panting, the dying log on the fire and the steady drumbeat of rain outside. When he pulls up again, his mien is affectionate, untangling himself from you and arranging your bodies into a comfortable hold.

He grabs the corner of the sheet and dutifully cleanses your skin of his seed, kissing your temple, staring at you with a reverence that feels almost too claustrophobic now the maelstrom of desire has passed. You bite your lip, and in the rush of chemicals in your bloodstream, you are suddenly overwhelmed. By his devotion, by the magnitude of what you feel for him and for Anthony.

“This is impossible,” you lament, fiercely willing the tears welling in your eyes not to fall. He knows precisely what you are referring to without you having to say it. He twists you in his arms so you lay atop him.

“I never want you to be in turmoil because of me,” Benedict says, his eyes clouding with emotion. He grabs your hands and kisses the back of your knuckles with a hot press of his lips. “If it means you have peace, I will desist. Step away,” he offers chivalrously. “I will always, always hold what we have dear, but I cannot be a source of distress to you.”

Your stomach lurches at the thought of not being with him. 

“No, Benedict!” it’s a gut reaction from deep inside, a swoop in your stomach that feels like you are falling. “Please, do not. I….” words seem to fail on your tongue. “Just do not…,” you hiss. “You deserve me as much as your brother does. Fight for me,” you implore, knowing it is twisted to ask him to do this, to fight for you when you don't even know who to choose.

You swallow thickly as he looks at you through his lashes.

“I can picture it,” you say quietly, determined. “A life with you. Here, in this house. It’s wonderful, Benedict,” you answer honestly.

His eyes go soft and glassy, and you kiss his knuckles, echoing his gesture. And there is something bubbling up inside of you that feels decisive when….

There is a crash as the drawing-room door swings violently open.

And the bottom falls out of your world.

Anthony.

He stands in the doorway, his whole frame quaking, rain dripping from his jacket and the curls over his forehead.

Benedict startles and quickly grabs your chemise and his trousers, trying to conceal you both with the sheet the best he can. But it’s a pointless endeavour. It’s so very obvious what you have been doing, naked and entwined as you were on a pile of cushions in front of a fireplace with now glowing embers.

Anthony doesn’t say a word but strides into the room, breathing raggedly. As he draws closer, you see his face pinched, and his whole frame fizzles and crackles with energy. But it's not anger. It's something else, a nervousness that is verging on frantic.

“Don't,” his word is gruff and pained, screwing his eyes shut.

“Anthony,” you breathe.

“Please… don't… don't choose him,” he swallows and reopens his eyes. They are beseeching and desperate. “I’m not angry,” he adds, holding up a hand as if to explain, “I just… need you not to choose him.” You see the shake in his fingers as he lowers his hand. The hurt on his face makes your chest heave.

You hang your head as Benedict is silent next to you. Almost an equal in your shame. It was he who tempted you away from his brother in the first place; you can practically feel the guilt hanging heavily around his frame. In the silence, you quickly pull on your chemise and climb to your feet as Benedict pulls on his trousers and stays seated, curling in on himself, not looking up.

“This was tenderness, wasn’t it?” Anthony gestures to where you were lying, accurately surmising what happened from the surroundings and pacing slightly.

“Yes,” you whisper, almost ashamed, rooted to the spot.

“You… you never let me try that,” he utters; there is a world of hurt in that small voice, and he stops moving.

“I… I did not think you wanted to,” you decry, feeling a whiplash of confusion in your ribs. Anthony and lovemaking is not something you have ever considered; your dynamic always so much edgier, meeting your wilder needs.

“I believed I did not… until you,” those last two words whispered and lingering. “So much about you confounds me. Every time we are together, I’m left wanting more. Yearning for things I- I never thought I would. And now it feels like you are being stolen away…,” his Adam's Apple bobs hard. “I knew you would bond… with him. It’s why I begged you not to seek him out. I see your similarities… but… sometimes in life, we need someone different from ourselves. To be with someone who challenges us; that is a better balm for our souls. And so…”

The world seems to go into slow motion as Anthony drops to a knee before you.

“I want to humbly offer you me, my world,” you inhale a shocked gasp as he holds out a ring box. “Y/n, please be my wife?”

At your side, Benedict makes a forlorn noise, and he slides around in front of you on both of his knees.

“You asked me to fight for you, and by god, I will,” his pained appeal makes the ache in your chest spread wider, deeper. “I have no ring to offer you. I cannot offer you jewels and titles,” he winces slightly as he says it. “But I can offer you me and… and freedom. To pursue what you want in life, with me, as an equal, with no titles to burden you. All I can offer you is all we have experienced together. And my love. All my love. Always.” He holds up his hands almost in prayer and peers at you through heavy lashes, pleading his case.

“Titles are only a burden if you see them as such,” Anthony argues impassioned, his knuckles turning white as he grips the ring box. “As Viscountess, the world would be your oyster. And you deserve the world, y/n.”

“On that last point, I can agree; you do deserve the world” Benedict concedes.

Them steadfastly looking only at you but acknowledging each other’s points adds a weighted poignancy to the moment that almost hurts. Your head whips between the two. Both of these brothers, on their knees before you, their declarations sincere, their hearts on their sleeves. And yours beating wildly and torn in two different directions. An impossible conundrum. The very best and worse double bind.

You have no idea what on earth to do.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms

Anthony taglist who may be interested in the last few paragraphs lol: @queenofmean14 @elizah99 @debheart @amanda08319