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xbrigmorewitch · 7 days

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Guilty as Sin

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton asks you to accompany him to his private studio, to show you some of the art he's been working on. You find a little more than you were expecting.

Length: 3k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), Penetrative sex, Unprotected sex.

a/n: find pt 2 here!

Bridgerton master list

"Good evening, y/n," A proud voice echoed behind you, discovering your hiding spot in the darkest corner, admiring Lady Danbury's art to appear busy. You didn't bother to turn and greet him, he always seemed to find you at these social events, even if you weren't outwardly interested in him, he persisted. Benedict Bridgerton slid into the space next to you as if it were designed for him, cheekily scanning you face for a reaction.

You met at Lady Danbury's ball 3 seasons previous. Your brother was holding out hope for a match this season, ignoring your contentedness for your own company. Benedict had never shown any interest in any young lady - he did, however, find amusement in torturing you this way.

"Bridgerton," You barely mumbled a response, hoping he would find another to bother this evening. Yet there he remained, exchanging his attention for the painting you were looking at.

"There are far better paintings in this ballroom" He remarked, a little scoff sounding off.

"Yes, I am sure there are. However, this one is positioned perfectly" Still, you avoided eye contact and angled your body away from him. He was definitely not the same as the other Bridgerton men. Benedict was frivolous and artistic, lost in his own hedonistic world of luxury and pleasure. Perhaps it was jealousy that ruled your opinion of Benedict.

"Ah, yes. I truly have never seen a damp, dark corner without you in it, you know?" He chuckled, "Why do you pretend to be interested in art, when you could be watching whatever is unfolding behind you? I'm sure the numerous scandals and embarrassing events you would witness would be far more interesting" He asked, there was even a hint of genuine curiosity in his words.

You paused for a moment, contemplating even continuing this conversation or leaving to find your brother or mother.

"Actually, I rather enjoy art. I am more interested in sculpture or ceramics, but I will endure whatever I have to to get through this evening and every other evening like it this season" You spilled. Benedict was stunned, his eyebrows raised and his blinks steady in shock.

"I didn't know you had a like for such things" Benedict said serenely.

"Of course not, I am certain you thought my only interests were embroidery or pianoforte, like every other simpering mess in this ballroom" You thought your snarky remark was under your breath, but Benedict did manage to hear. He breathed a heady laugh through his nose and took a sip of his lemonade.

"Would you be interested in viewing some of my works?" Benedict pondered aloud, finally dragging your eyes to meet his. It seemed sincere - which was not something you often saw from him. Whilst he was a shameless flirt, you never indulged him like some of the other young ladies. It was obvious that he viewed you as some sort of challenge, but you would never give in.

"Is that a serious invitation?" You asked, taken aback.

"Yes, absolutely. Art is potentially the only thing I do take seriously. I would love to show you, if you would like to see it" He almost bowed, as if the pursuit of his art was the most noble thing about him. This shift in his personality made him less repulsive, it intrigued you. Turning to face him, for the first time in so many months, throwing off his balance slightly, you held your hand out for him to take.

"You would like to see it now?" His brow furrowed, eyes asking permission to take your hand and lead you out to the carriages.

"Why not? We've been to this ball numerous times before, it will not be getting any more interesting" With the softest of smiles decorating your normally sour face, Benedict took your hand and began walking outside with you, watching nervously as people ignored your presence.

"Will this not be damning to your marriage prospects?" Benedict leaned over to whisper in your ear, an element of concern riding along his words.

You gave him a pitiful smile, "What prospects?". Not a single soul noticed the two of you leaving the ball. Benedict held the carriage door open for you and held your hand as you stepped up into it.

"I've never slipped out of an event quite like that" He remarked, closing the door, sitting opposite you.

"Well, in truth, I thought perhaps someone might have stopped us, just because of you… But, I suppose, my power of invisibility is shared with the person I am escaping with" Your eyebrows flicked up. Benedict could not discern whether you were happy or not to fly out of the view of the ton. While it was a blessing most days, you were afforded your privacy and peace. Perfect silence. There were many other days filled with loneliness, the madness of having to hear your own voice in your head just to fill the quiet.

The carriage ride was slightly uncomfortable, the two of you had never had to be alone like this. You were delivered to Benedict's college where he had been studying art and he led you towards his private studio. Benedict's hand reached out for the door handle, stopping short, and spinning to look at you, back pressed against the door.

"I presume you understand I don't bring people here," He paused, his demeanour was soft and vulnerable, "Be gentle with me". He waited for acknowledgment on what he was saying, and with a nod of promise from you, he opened the door. You both walked inside in sweet silence as you took in the most beautiful sight. The room was littered with parchment, sketches, canvases. Drabs of colour, charcoal and lead lit only by low candlelight as Benedict struck the match. This was the most personal gesture of friendship you had ever experienced, it was like peering through window into Benedict Bridgerton's mind - a place he only has the keys to. Several desks were patterned around the room, a small platform in the centre of the room, drying racks on the far left. You were surprised by this unapologetically intimate space, and even more impressed by the immense talent you were witnessing.

"What are you working on currently?" You did not mean for the excitement of the room to fill you up so keenly. Benedict had such a hard time trying to read your reaction, your manner and tone were thrilling to him.

"Oh, please" He gestured towards a far table, where an easel stood facing the window, "I am learning about portraiture this semester. This is something I am doing for my youngest brother, Gregory, for his birthday" His hand sailed past your lower back, shuffling you both around. A deliciously electric pulse passed over your body, goose bumps erupting in a rolling wave quickly trailing behind.

"Benedict, this is incredible" You gasped, your hands covering your mouth with astonishment.

Oddly, he stepped back from you and placed his hand on his heart.

"What did I say?" You smiled uncomfortably.

His face softened, his eyes fluttering peacefully, "My name. That is the first time, you have ever said my name" A flash of teeth in his grin made your heart jump its next beat. There was a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks, your eyes flicked between Benedict's and the floor.

"I apologise" Admittedly, you had never given him a chance to show how utterly human he was. When he had asked you to come to the studio, you wondered whether the room would be filled to the brim of paintings of naked women. How wrong you were - finding yourself surrounded by paintings and scrawling's of every member of his family. You dug around, flicking through sketchbooks, diaries.

"Have you found a favourite?" He meandered around the room after you, hands tucked behind his back like a gentleman, observing.

"This one, is my favourite" You held up a side profile of Violet Bridgerton, done entirely in variants and shades of their family colours.

"I am yet to show her that one, do you think I should?" He asked, and you sensed he truly valued your opinion here.

"Yes! If I had half your talent, I would have filled my family's home with my work" You chuckled, laying the canvas down on the current desk you were visiting.

You moved around the other side of the room, noticing a section of the room more damp, and darkly lit, compared to the rest of the studio. There stood an easel with a large drape thrown over it, and several canvases stacked betwixt it and the wall. This struck a chord of curiosity in you that could not be contained, you almost dashed forward to pull the drape down.

"No! Wait, not those!" Benedict rasped, darting forward to try and stop you. It was too late, the cream-coloured drape had coiled to the floor and revealed what Benedict did not want you to see.

Brow furrowing, you stood back, taking in what you were seeing for the first time. Here, on the easel, an unfinished portrait, of you.

"That's -- That's private" Benedict cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Is this… me?" You didn't know whether to be flattered, impressed, or worried. Had he done this from memory? That was when it occurred to you to look down. Picking up, and flicking through the canvases, they were all you. There were maybe six or seven of them, all in different poses, of differing angles. Had he taken such notice of you to be able to do this from memory? The detail in your face, your hair and even dresses you had worn in past seasons.

"This is…" You shook your head, placing the canvases back. Benedict stood behind you, leaving a distance so as not to make this more uncomfortable than it already was. His hands were pressed together at his lips as if he were praying, wearily hanging on for your next words.

"No one has ever seen me like this, or rather, at all" You sighed.

"I see you as you are" Benedict replied too quickly.

"And how is that?"

There was a long pause, an internal struggle between what he wanted to say and what he should.

"I see… the raw soulfulness of your gaze. The divine sway in your walk. The sensual ruthlessness of your words. The confidence of your acceptance. I have watched, and waited, and wallowed in avaricious longing" Benedict heaved in a deep breath, "Every line, every curve, every shade I fear is a figment of my imagination until I see you again, just so that I might commit a little more to memory".

Benedict's eye cast low, his discomposure becoming more and more apparent. You were not to know that the one person you had been avoiding for the past several seasons had been perceiving you exactly as you had always dreamed. Perhaps it was not Benedict's personality that made you keep him at arm’s length, but rather your own.

You bound forward, slightly tripping on your gown, throwing yourself in the second Bridgerton brother's arms. In the instant he caught you, you planted the shyest of kisses on his unsuspecting lips. Benedict chuckled sweetly, lifting you to stand on your own two feet again, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into to a longer, more fervent kiss. His lips were much softer than you were anticipating, gentle and cool against your own. Benedict's tongue dipped into yours, his kiss still passionately intoxicating. You parted for a moment, both of you breathing a little heavier now. Benedict took a step back, straightening his dress clothes and composing himself.

"I apologise, miss y/n"

"Why do you apologise? I am the one who owes you" You stammered.

"I am just glad that no one saw us, I will not have you ruined. I will not be the one that ruins you" Benedict stumbled over his words, words filled with such consideration and respect for you and your standing in society.

Panting still, bosom heaving over the corset, you thought about what he was saying. You thought about your "prospects".

Taking one large step forward, pressing your body against his, you leaned up as if to kiss Mr Bridgerton's cheek goodbye.

"Ruin me" You breathed, begged, into his ear, hands wrapping around his neck, your breath hitching in your throat as Benedict swooped you into his arms, carrying you to the nearest desk. He placed your behind on the edge of the desk, moving to sweep every piece of art clattering to the floor before turning his attention back to you. Your legs wrapped around his thighs, his lips crashing into you, his tongue fiercely caressing yours. Much to Benedict's surprise, you slipped your arms out of your dress, pushing the fabric down around your hips.

Stunned and dramatic shock shot across his face as he looked upon your upper body in your corset. Benedict blinked furiously, as if trying to regain control of his sense.

"May I?" He took hold of the fabric around your waist, pulling it out from under you as you lifted yourself slightly, signalling a loud yes. Sitting in your undergarments, Benedict wrapped his arms around your body, expertly fiddling with the laces as you nodded fervently into his delectable kisses. You grinned into his mouth, feeling the corset loosen quickly – he had done this before. Your fingers fumbled along the seam of his pants, unfurling the tucked fabric of his dress shirt, fiddling with the buttons of his overcoat.

Benedict stopped, throwing his coat across the room and removing his dress shirt as frantically as possible. It took only seconds for his eyes to widen at your naked body, sitting on the desk before him.

"Holy God" He exhaled, lunging forward, thrusting his hand into your hair, pulling you into a devilish kiss. His hands curved under your behind, lifting you forward to the very edge of the table before falling to his knees before you as if you were divine, and he, a devout worshipper at the altar. Littering kisses down your inner thigh, his nose nestling into the soft nest of hair at your mound, he breathed heavily, groaning with pleasure. Benedict's tongue slipped between your folds, circling the most sensitive spot on your body, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling gently as his pace quickened and steadied in a repetitive manner. Never had you felt so safe and yet so powerful, holding Benedict's head in place between your thighs. Letting out soft, melodic moans, tangling your fingers amongst his hair, finding your hips having a mind of their own as they ground against him. The sheer coarseness of Benedict's dawning facial hair and the soft, warmth of his darting tongue were plenty enough to push your mind to the edge of the human experience. Your head turned dreamy, light, whilst your body convulsed and squeezed Benedict's head between your thighs.

Panting softly, Benedict remained, placing delicate kisses where his tongue had just performed. As your body relaxed into him again, Benedict appeared from the floor, kissing you again, to lay you backward on the table, your own sweetness on your tongue now. He stood before you, bare torso, undoing his dress pants. Excitement pulsed through you, propping yourself onto your elbows to watch. You had heard other ladies discuss this in the depths of their personal conversations but had never really learned anything from them. It was a topic of great interest.

Freeing himself before you, your enlarging eyes took in his length as he held himself in his hand. "Allow me?" Benedict looked down at you, sordid passion aflame in his eyes. You gave a clear, concise nod. Benedict moved closer between your thighs, adjusting your legs, and placing himself at your entrance. With both hands sprawled over the space between your belly and your hips, Benedict slowly pushed forward, eliciting guttural moans from your lips. But he never looked away from you, he never closed his eyes for more than a half-second. His desire burned out of him, his eyes searing down on you and in helplessness, you exuded wanton need in return.

You wished this act were eternal, completely unending. Every thrust an indiscreet attempt at conveying his affections for you. His hand found its way to caressing your cheek, his teeth nipping at your neck as you moaned his name.

“Benedict” You sighed without inhibition. The sound of your voice sent Benedict into a frenzy, his thrusts harder now and full-fledged. His sinful grunts, echoing across the studio, came to a hot, explicit apex as he buried himself as deeply as possible inside of you.

He looked down at you dreamily, his eyes heavy with pleasure, running his thumb over your bottom lip. Benedict stepped away, reaching for his dress pants, and sitting on to the ground in front of you – you moved to sit next to him, surrounded by the tables previous contents.

“You are wonderful. I could never capture such an essence, in any art form. You are transcendent” Benedict’s words were slow, the ruse of his silly exterior worn away.

“I much prefer this version of you” You gave a smug smile, both of you avoiding eye contact.

“As I do you” He retorted, chortling alongside you. The long, comfortable tired silence between you was broken only when Benedict cleared his throat.

“Y/n,” Benedict spoke up, “I think—No, I am quite certain, I love you” He admitted, holding his hand out, bridging the space between your mostly naked bodies, waiting for you to take it.

“I do believe I too am guilty of loving you” You responded, laying your hand gently in his. Leaning to meet in the middle, sharing a sentimental, sweet kiss and smiling into each other. Benedict jumped up, pants still undone around his waist, he pulled you to your feet.

“Come, I should like to draw you” He posed you naturally on the platform in the centre of the room. You watched him scramble about the room, looking for his implements.

“Like this!?” You gestured to yourself, completely nude on the dais.

“Yes, precisely like this” Benedict growled ardently, putting his pencil to his parchment.

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If you would like to be tagged in any upcoming Bridgerton fanfictions written by me, please let me know and I will add you to a taglist!

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xbrigmorewitch · 24 days

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so does anyone else think that portrait of charles is giving delilah portrait or…?

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xbrigmorewitch · 24 days

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I think there should be a Dishonored TV show.

Imagine this: The Series follows several POV characters: Corvo (duh, probably in a low chaos run with some deaths), Emily (duh, little girl and the horrible no good very bad day, we see how she deals with the conspiracy and it can give some background on the villains), Daud (big regrets, has his whole Delilah story which, for TV reasons, happens at the same time as Corvo's revenge plot so the series can cut between them), and lastly Billie (lovestory with Delilah, betrayal of Daud, mercy in the end)

There can be amazing parallels between Corvo's low chaos revenge and Daud's quest for redemption, with a tense confrontation in Episode 8/9. Delilah as this secret foil that Corvo doesn't even know about, for dramatic purposes Daud has to defeat her in the last episode, so there can be a moment where the audience doesn't quite know if the Emily Corvo just rescued is still Emily. (For dramatic purposes this also needs to be the high chaos ending where Emily almost falls to her death, even though we're in mostly low chaos)

The Series (rough draft):

Episode 1: Corvo returns from his trip. Jess is murdered, Emily abducted. Title Screen. 6 months later. Corvo is being tortured in Coldridge. Daud is depressed and guiltridden. Billie is unimpressed. Episode ends with Corvo breaking out of Coldridge.

Episode 2: Corvo meets the Loyalists. Daud meets the Outsider who gives him the name "Delilah". Also he turns down contracts. Billie expresses her disapproval (again) and leaves the hideout to cool off. Emily is being held captive by the Pendletons who are being creepy and she tries to find a way out. Corvo gains the Mark of the Outsider and the Heart.

Episode 3: Corvo goes after Campbell, rescuing Martin along the way. Daud starts investigating (slaughterhouse). Billie is angry and leaves the hideout, meeting up with a lover who is afterwards revealed to be Delilah (her first appearance). Emily almost gets away from her captors, but is caught at the last second.

Episode 4: Corvo goes to the Golden Cat to rescue Emily. Daud investigates the Timshs. Billie scemes with Delilah to overthrow Daud. Episode ends with Corvo reuniting with Emily.

Episode 5: The Whaler hideout is overrun by Overseers. Billie reveals her betrayal, fights Daud and escapes. Corvo has a nice bonding moment with Emily. Corvo kidnaps Sokolov. Emily talks with the loyalists and gets the vibes that something is not right here.

Episode 6: The Boyle's party. Corvo identifies the right Boyle Lady and deals with her. Billie returns to Delilah who comforts her about having failed to kill Daud. Daud recovers from her betrayal. Emily has nightmares about Corvo dying.

Episode 7: Corvo goes to dispatch Burrows. Emily listens in on the Loyalists and their plans. Daud goes looking for a boat, and then for Lizzy Stride. Delilah reveals the beginning of her painting to Billie. Corvo returns to the Hounds Pit Pub and Emily tries to warn him, but is held back and locked in her room. Corvo is poisoned, Episode ends on him passing out.

Episode 8: Samuel drops Corvo in the Flooded District. Daud returns and finds Corvo. Emily is angry and ready to throw hands with the "loyalists", gets threatened. Bille and Delilah prepare for the ritual, Delilah tells Billie that afterwards she can go and kill Daud for real this time. Corvo wakes up and confronts Daud. They duel, Daud loses, asks for his life, Corvo doesn't say anything, but doesn't kill him. Corvo returns to the Pub.

Episode 9: Emily feels all alone in a cruel world, believing Corvo to be dead. Corvo and Daud both prepare for their final missions in a cool montage. Corvo infiltrates the Fort/Lighthouse and deals with Pendleton and Martin. Daud arrives at Brigmore manor, infiltrates it and finds the entrance to the void. Corvo goes on to search for Emily, her room is empty. Daud talks to the Outsider and confronts Billie and Delilah. Corvo finds Emily and Havelock. Daud fights Billie while Delilah (almost) completes her ritual. Corvo shoots Havelock and catches Emily. Daud injures Billie and goes to stop Delilah, bright flash of light. Emily looks up at Corvo with a strange smile. Delilah has vanished. Daud asks Billie if she's done it. Billie is angry as Delilah is gone, but has a heart to heart with Daud where they leave on relatively okay terms. Daud breathes a sigh of relief. Emily smiles and hugs Corvo, it's clear that she's still herself. Epilogue narration that everything turned out fine. End credit scene of Delilah very angry, but also very alive, in the Void.

Why 9 episodes, you ask? Well because I was trying for 10 but my planning which I came up with just now only wanted 9. 8 or 10 would make more sense from a TV standpoint though. I just think this would be such a cool series...

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xbrigmorewitch · 1 month

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Okay so..what if to get ratings up and people to buy issues of the Publick Occurrences..Piper did like a “Commonwealth’s sexiest man alive” thing every once in a while- but the twist is it’s just Deacon in different disguises.

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xbrigmorewitch · 1 month

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Fallout Season 1's Behind the Scene

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xbrigmorewitch · 1 month

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zevran cooking for the camp the first time (closely monitored by like everyone) and then alistair is volunteered to test it and he starts hacking and coughing and everyone’s getting nervous thinkin he did poison it but it turns out that zev just used like. actual spices and alistair’s gentle ferelden palate can’t take it.

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xbrigmorewitch · 1 month

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— drinkin’ in sunshine

cooper howard / the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

Tags: softer!cooper, love-at-first-sight, bounty hunting, alcohol, brief sexual harassment, seduction with ulterior motives, manual restraints, semi-public PiV

Request: a sweet request by @victoria-grimesss - ‘the theme of the song “Orange Colored Sky” like love at first sight maybe she’s a bounty hunter too?’

A/N: based on an idea where Cooper would like to visit old bars, a small habit left from the man he used to be

You find yourself having to rethink your strategy, when you’re suddenly struck with feeling for the man you’re supposed to be hunting down.

The bar you find yourself in might be one of least favorite you’ve been in. A dingy sign marking the entrance, cast in shades of orange with the dip of the evening sun.

It's dark inside - flickering bulbs and oil lamps. Near the fringes of town, the murmur of voices and low jazz notes slipping through what remained of the glass-cracked windows.

Floors stained by god knows what, the bartop sticky against your elbow as your chin props on your palm. Full of all kinds of folk that would like to sink their teeth into you. Tear you from limb to limb.

But, they said you'd find him here. The him still undetermined, but for the amount of caps they're paying you, you were willing to take a leap of faith.

“Know 'em when you seem 'em," The man grunted. Giving you an appraising once-over, arms crossing over his chest, "Hard to miss. Black hat and a long coat. Five hundred caps for 'im dead. Boss don't want him alive."

You pick apart that detail in your head.

Reading between the lines. Either your target pissed someone off real bad, or he was too dangerous to be brought in.

Neither bode well for you, but you've been in this game long enough that you have a few tricks up your sleeve.

The scattering of tables look like campfires out on the open plains. Pockets of light, your eyes squinting - trying to find your quarry. Trying not to look too interested, not wanting to draw attention to yourself. No good could come from a gunfight here.

Eventually you catch him, from the corner of an eye. A tipped-down hat, a hint of that black coat and a leather vest from the bit of light from the table next to him. The dregs of something dark left swimming in a dull glass, the cut edges worn down from years of use.

You send another his way, a sweet smile for the bartender and a couple extra caps to make sure it makes it there.

Easier to get the job done at close range.

A drink paired with another doe-eyed smile. A murmured, well-placed “let’s get out of here” - and he’d be yours. Always worked like a charm, in a place like this.

Nursing your own drink as your legs cross, the collar of your jacket turned up. Shielding your face, as you do a quick check - loosening the snap on your holster. The sheath hidden at the small of your back.

When you look again, a jolt rings through you when you realize his eyes are already on you.

Almost as if he’d noticed you first - his gaze dark under the brim of his hat. The flip of his hand on the table - palm upright, two fingers crooking.

Beckoning you to him.

There’s something about him that you can sense from even here. Hairs on the back of your neck standing up, a stutter of your heartbeat.

You could still run. Cut ties and pass on through to the next town. Tell them it didn't shake out, if you ever have to take a bounty here again.

But you're drawn to him. Curious. It's been a while since a bounty has piqued your interest. It was always the same-old.

Raider with a chem problem. Man who stole something. A no-good scoundrel who ran off with a rich man's wife.

It has you moving. Slipping from the stool. Making your way through the dim room, to where a lean leg extends, kicking out the chair in front of them.

Three tables away and suddenly there's a hand darting out, pinching hard at your elbow. Sending you off balance as you grasp at their hand, nails sinking into their wrist. Your lip curling in a snarl, as you're tugged towards the man that sits, thighs spread wide.

"Been a while since somethin’ as pretty as you's been here." You can smell the sweat that clings to him, layered with the stench of watered-down beer, "What say you spend some time with us?"

His companion leers, and your pulse spikes. A hand drifting carefully towards your gun, the grit of your jaw as your mind races through your options.

There's a shadow behind you. Catching you in it, as the man’s eyes flicker to something above your shoulder.

"This one's mine, " The stranger drawls, “Why don’t you fellas find another toy to play with?”

A flash of something silver at his hip that has the man letting go.

Their eyes shifting away uneasily as you snatch your arm back. Turning to face the stranger, the grateful “thank you” already on the tip of your tongue.

But as you free it, his head tilts. Face catching the light, and you realize your savior isn't a stranger after all.

He's your target.

And... he's a ghoul.

The Ghoul, to be precise. He has to be - no one else talks like him, that old-world drawl. His reputation preceding him, you had heard time again just how efficient and ruthless he could be.

For a moment, you’re transfixed. Stuck staring up at him - across the cut of his cheekbones and the hollow of his eyes. A low flip in your stomach, for more than one reason. Something going soft, and then low and warm inside you.

Oh. You might just be over your head.

“Huh.” His eyes narrow, as he regards you. Doing their own slow sweep, from the top of your head down to the dust on your boots.

Something must have piqued his interest as well - there’s a slow jerk of his head towards the table, though he does not move.

Making you squeeze past him - your hips brushing up against his to pass by.

The drink still sits, untouched. An arm slung across the back of the booth that lines the back wall, as you fold into the chair opposite.

It’s only here that you get a real good look at him. The pulled-tight skin, reddened with radiation. The dark cavern of his nose.

His eyes are pretty. A shade that makes you think of the weather when things grow cool, late in the year. The lingering green before the earth turns brown for the colder winter months.

You think you wouldn’t mind them on you.

Not at all.

The Ghoul's knuckles tap the glass, nudging it towards you - bringing you back from your swirl of thoughts. His gaze fixed on yours, with the rasp of his voice.

"Ladies first."

You blink at him, "I got this for you."

A way to distract him. To open a window of opportunity, a way to get close enough to slip a knife between his ribs.

Or, that had been the plan.

There's the ghost of a smile. The peek of teeth as his tongue runs across them, as his head cocks to the side. Those eyes narrowing.

"Only a few reasons why a lady like yourself would get a fella a drink."

The lightness of his tone is betrayed by the careful way he watches you, down to the minute furrow of your brow - how your tongue peeks out to wet your own lips, “Here for a job, or for something else.”

The mention of a job makes your stomach clench, until you realize he must think you’re there to strike one with him.

"Either way, be in my best interest to ensure it hasn't been... tampered with.”

Perhaps not.

Perhaps you’d have to work harder… though the tight tether you have on your plan has started to slip through your fingers.

"You think I'd be capable of something like that?" Your eyes go wide with feigned innocence. Only half-acting, now.

Elbows propped on the table - a lean that does wonders for the hint of cleavage hidden in the loosened buttons of your shirt.

"Still workin' that out," His eyes sweep over yours, before dipping down to your mouth. And then, lower, "But, I think I got a good idea."

His voice lowers then. "Drink."

And so, you do.

The liquor is harsh when it hits your tongue. Strong and bitter - his eyes trained on the column of your throat as you swallow. A hand extended as you pass the glass to him. Fingers brushing, your bare ones against his worn leather gloves.

It's lifted to his lips after. His tongue dragging over the rim, where your lips had been - before he's tipping the glass back. Taking half of the rest with a long swallow.

"Maybe I just wanted to show my appreciation." You coo, "Heard all about you, after all."

"Is that right?" There’s another smirk - before his head is tipping, appraising, “This the only way you show your… appreciation?”

Your heart races, as you give him your best winning smile.

"Well, let's say you and I find out?"

Your moan is ragged, teeth biting hard into your arm in an attempt to muffle the sound. Never making it further than the back-alley of the bar.

His voice had been low, as he followed you out the side door. A growled out, “We doin’ this?”

Eyes watching the twitch of your hands, his own tensed at his sides. Twin wires, strung tight.

Your mouth had tipped up to meet his, instead of your blade. Teeth and tongue and the wandering press of hands as he backed you against the building, your shoulders scraping against the worn brick in the darkness.

Would be a shame, you had thought. Not to find out what this was.

This something that almost had a physical weight - that dulled the sharp edge of your senses. Never expecting to feel this way, as desire crashes soundly over you.

You could always find him again after.

Tomorrow, maybe.

Finish the job then.

But that was before.

Before the bottom of your resolve fell out, with the press of his thigh, when it rocked against your core. His hip digging into yours, so you can feel how hard he is for you.

A whine in your throat, a knowing tone in his rough answer.

“’ve got you. Know just what you need.”

He had spun you around - your wrists caught in his hand, the brick biting into your skin where he pinned them.

Legs kicked wide with his boots, the soft clink of belts and spurs and the solid press of his chest into your back as you rocked back needily against him.

You let him take you apart.

Split you open on his cock, as he does nothing to quiet your sounds. Teeth bared - his own moan bitten back as he feels the way you clench down, wet and warm around him as his hips pound into you. Breath hot where it fans against your neck.

“And whose did I say you were?”

It has your eyes fluttering shut, as his hand curls around your hip - slipping between your thighs.

“Yours.” You gasp.

His breath is ragged in your ear, “That’s right.”

You keen when he circles your clit, his fingers slick with your arousal. Everything else fading, expect for how he buries himself deep with each thrust, the way he has you winding higher and higher.

That last grip of the tether inside you loosening, when you finally let go.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” The Ghoul rasps, when he feels how you tremble in his arms, “Don’t you worry, ‘cause when I’m through with you...”

“You’re gonna forget all about why you’re here.”