#femme like you fanfic

[malina-33]

Femme like you - Chapter 1

Summary: You are the new tour manager for Arctic Monkeys during The Car era. You are practically the only girl in the team, also younger than the rest (27), so your skills are immediately called into question. In particular, by the frontman who is not used to being led by a woman.

Word count: 3,1k

Warning: age gap

A/N: Hi, you all!!! I'm so thrilled and excited to do this kind of stuff, but it feels like I'm making my dream come true. This series won't be very long even though I have an eye-watering number of moments I want to release in this fic, but English isn't my first language and it's pretty tough to write in it (so if you find any mistakes don't be afraid to text me and correct). I spent a lot of time to write this small opening chapter, that’s why following parts won't appear regularly, but I promise to uptade them every 2-3 weeks! They will definitely be longer that the opener😉

I read a lot of works with Alex, 'cause my addiction doesn't seem to disappear, so this idea just popped in my head and I couldn't resist. Never thought that I would be an author, not a reader in Tumblr, but voila - here I am. I really expect you to love it❤️

And yes, I know that their current tour manager is Steven Champan, but for the story I changed it slightly, hope you won't mind :)

“James, seriously?” Alex looked away in bewilderment from the bottle of Hennessy to Ford.

“More than you can imagine” producer chuckled. “I will be with my family in Scotland, I haven’t seen them in a while, and she will replace me for the UK and European parts only, it’s about one and a half months”.

Turner looked him up and down with a displeased look, still sitting on the couch with a bottle in his hands “That’s ridiculous. She has never worked with us! She will break into all our well-established processes, not knowing the specifics of the work and will only interfere. We'll make it on our own, not the first time, man, huh?” Alex decided to soften his tone a little to appease his friend and cutely knitted his eyebrows.

“Al, you are being childish. C’mon, we have already agreed on everything, she is a good specialist, don't let yourself be deceived by her appearance” Ford threw a jacket over his shoulders, silently saying that the conversation is over.

“Just because she's your friend's daughter doesn't mean she's good!” The singer spat out the last argument hoping to reach out to the conscience of their producer.

“Give her a chance, you won't be disappointed” James said mysteriously, closing the door quietly behind him and leaving the disgruntled frontman alone with his obsessive thoughts.

***

You sat in your car in the parking lot in front of the Domino Records headquarters, nervously clutching a Starbucks cup. There were still 20 minutes before the meeting, but you arrived early. All the documents had already been signed, the agreements had been discussed, but the most thrilling moment remained - the meeting with the group itself and the technical crew.

When James Ford, your father's old friend from university and at the same time music producer for Arctic Monkeys, called you several weeks ago with an unusual request, you simply didn't have a chance to refuse. You've been dreaming of working in this industry since 16, especially since you adored this group and were at their concerts six times. Being their manager for one part of the 7th album tour sounded like a fantasy, but here you are, sitting in front of their label building, where you have a meeting with the musicians. If you caught the lucky girl syndrome, then you definitely didn’t want to let it go. At least not now.

From the trance into which you plunged by shaking coffee in the cup, you were brought out by the deafening creak of tires on asphalt. You immediately snapped out and looked in the rearview mirror. An elegant Cadillac whistled and stopped 3 parking lots away from you just passing the dividing line.

You weren't stupid not to realize whose car it was. The passenger got out, slamming the door sharply. He was wearing a beige trousers and matching jacket with black vest underneath, translucent red aviators were on despite a cloudy day. Paying no attention to your car and not even bothering to close his, a man quickly walked inside the building.

You followed the door closed behind Alex Turner itself with a blank look, finished your coffee in one gulp and also got out of the car, taking your purse from the passenger seat. Having heard about his "punctuality", you assumed that everyone else had already arrived, so you walked to the building as well. "There's no point in delaying this moment, let's start early" you bravely told yourself.

The studio in southwest London wasn't as big as you expected it to be. The guard pointed you to room 14, saying that you were already awaited. Inside, the bright corridors were hung with rare photographs, including images of early Monkeys' concerts. You smiled slightly as you looked at the photos of four young people laughing with their hands in their pockets. "Nice time" you thought.

You didn't really understand why you were so inflamed. You are all adults, lads have been warned about the change in management in advance so it won’t be a surprise for them, what could be the problem? You had enough work experience to know what to do, you were excellently good-looking and successful, then why did your palms sweat? Immersed in your thoughts you didn’t notice that you had reached the end of the corridor and stopped at the half-open door, from behind which quiet voices could be heard.

“Oi, she better buy me a bottle of beer on the way, my head hurts after yesterday. Why did I come so early, gosh?”

“It's been 5 minutes since you've been here, and you've already blown my mind’’. Seemed that it was Matt.

"I prefer to come sober to meetings scheduled in advance, but for the future I will keep in mind to see you no earlier than Tuesday, Mr. Turner”. Maybe it wasn’t the best greeting phrase, but you just couldn't resist. When you entered the room with these words, 7 surprised pairs of eyes met your figure. Alex, Matt and Nick were sitting on a leather sofa in the center of the room, Jamie was pouring water into a glass at a side table, Steven was sitting in a chair talking to Ben, who was reclining on the arm of this chair, behind them was a man whose name you didn’t know.

"I'm sorry," you quickly became embarrassed, realizing how inappropriate those words sounded. Silence reigned in the room for a few seconds, but was quickly interrupted by the awkward coughing of that same unfamiliar man. "Um guys, this is your new tour manager for these two months, Y/N Y/S" He said softly enough, stepping out from behind the chair and holding out his hand for you. "I'm Marcus, James' assistant, the rest you should know".

"Yeah, right, he told me about you, I'm very glad to meet you," and carefully shifting your gaze to the others you added "everyone".

You stood in your knee-length leather boots, denim shorts and an oversized cream-colored jacket not knowing what to do with the burning eyes on your persona.

"Actually, I brought a homemade cider as an ice-breaker, it's in my trunk, so after the official part of the meeting we can try it. Not beer, but still tasty," you said with an apologetic smile, trying your last attempt to ease the conversation. The room froze in silence once again, and in this moment Matt laughed out loud, slapping his knee and throwing head back on the headboard. Jamie and Nick joined him, smiling broadly, while Ben, Steven, and Marcus chuckled hoarsely as they looked at each other. Only Alex remained frowning as he continued to scan your figure.

"I like her already! Great move, miss Y/S" Matt said, obviously being amazed.

You breathed a sigh of relief as you sat down in the chair Marcus offered you. He was noticeably younger than the others, near your age, which immediately made you sympathize with him.

"Well, when we finally got to know each other, let's get down to business. As you all know James is on an unscheduled vacation due to family circumstances. Hence we are going to work with Miss Y/S in UK and Europe festivals, while I will assist her. I know that Y/N discussed with James all the main points about dates, places and stuff, but now we have to delve into details of the organization process itself. Ben and I will explain the tech part and the lads will share their preferences" Steven began the discussion by leaning a little closer to the center of your improvised circle. He seemed to be a very wise and at the same time charismatic man. Attractive, but platonically.

“Sorry, may I interrupt before we start” It sounded more like a statement from Alex. “How old are you, once again?"

"I'm 27, Mr. Turner. And let's make it clear, since this still raises questions. Yes, I'm quite young relative to you and indeed a stranger to your team. But I've known James for a long time, as well as your work, whose main fan I have been since 18. I have been in show business for 7 years now and worked with Maneskin at the very beginning of their career. It’s not difficult for me to provide my CV if necessary, but I’m here because I sincerely want to help my father's friend and ensure that you have the most comfortable atmosphere during your stay in Europe. I have an idea what it's like to be on tour for a year, I understand how tired you are, and that you need conditions for rest and creation. So I'll let you do your job without the interference and you’ll give me freedom to do my work properly, I'm sure we both do it very well, especially since you are not the only one, Mr. Turner, who can make a show out of nothing”. At these words the drummer whistled, turning to the gloomy vocalist, but you continued “I’m really extremely happy to be a part of Arctic Monkeys team, for me this is a great opportunity to test myself and work with such big people like you. So I don't see any problems in our interaction, taking into account that I'm here temporarily.

You glanced at the men with a soft, but tenacious look, catching your breath “Didn't seem to miss anything at this point, deal?”

Steven was the first to answer, smiling paternally at you and accepting your little speech. You also noticed that Turner shook his head, but smirked to himself, which relaxed your muscles a bit. If you didn't get along from the first sentence, then at least you can establish a normal business relationship. You understood that the nature of a rock star is unpredictable, following the development of the group and the change in the image of the frontman for many years, but you couldn't imagine that he would talk so irritably to new people. Yes, he certainly behaved ugly, but you also started the dialogue with a caustic comment. Apparently, you deserve each other.

After the temperature in the room dropped and everyone took a more relaxed posture, you began to discuss current tasks. Your first gig will be in Bristol on May 29th, so you have two weeks to get ready. In fact, everything has already been done even before the start of the whole tour. Now your duty is only to coordinate the setlists with the guys for each performance, to make sure that all agreements with venues are fulfilled, the rider is completed, the equipment is working properly, the buses are ordered, the hotels have confirmed the reservation, and the whole team has arrived safe and sound. Okay, maybe it's not so little, but you're ready for any challenge. This is your passion after all.

You will ride in a separate minivan with the management team, and not with the guys, which in general wasn’t a big surprise for you, but in hotels you will be provided with a separate room, unlike the rest of the staff, who live in double suits. You didn't know what caused such generosity, but you were pleased anyway. You talked for about an hour, agreeing to meet again at the sound check in a week, and then only before leaving for Bristol. During this time you will have to study all the venues, call the transport company and confirm the details of the trips.

Your meeting ended on a positive note, the guys were asking you about your life, your education and hobbies, you said that you had been dancing professionally for many years and even took up drumming at the university, to which Matt happily promised to give you lessons, triumphant that he finally met someone who doesn't play the guitar, but the drums.

“Be careful, Matthew, if it turns out that she is more talented than you, we’ll replace you without any hesitation. She looks better” Nick joked and immediately got the middle finger in response from the drummer. Even Alex genuinely smiled, looking back at the friend.

"Oh, don't worry, it's unlikely. But as for the cider I wasn't joking, at least I'm definitely good at that"

"Wait, did you make it yourself?" surprised Ben.

"Yes, I live in the suburbs of London and have my own small garden, I make cider for friends during the season"

"You know what, I'm already tired of this stuffy room, you say it's in your trunk?" Matt, confirming his status as the most talkative member of the group, stood up impatiently, stretching his stiff limbs.

"Yes, let's go and give it a try" you said, also getting up from your chair. “Who is with us?” you raised an eyebrow in question and the answer was six men who rose to their feet.

"Definitely need a smoke” murmured Alex in addition, patting his pockets for a pack of cigarettes.

“Damn, where did James find her?” you heard Jamie's question addressed to Steven as you left the room with Matt and couldn’t hold back a short, but self-satisfied smirk. "That's not the last ace in the hole, Jamie" flashed through your head.

"I'm asking the same question" but instead of Champan, the voice was given by Alex.

"Al, will you calm down today or not? Did yesterday's booze give you such a headache?" Cook hissed almost angrily.

But you didn’t hear the answer, moving away along the corridor to the exit.

***

When all the lads came out from the studio, you and Matt had already taken a wooden case with 12 bottles of cider out of the trunk of your white Range Rover and put it on the hood. Coming closer, Alex threw a jacket over his shoulders and took out cigarettes, offering you one.

"I don't smoke, thanks," you replied calmly. He arched an eyebrow in surprise and took a pipe of tobacco between his lips. “You better start, darling” He took a quick puff, blowing smoke in your face, and looked intently from under his eyelashes. Despite the sweet name, from his lips it sounded somehow humiliating. You didn't answer, turning around and taking one of the bottles, silently passing it to him. He thanked you, and you gave each man a bottle as well. "For the new leg of the tour! Cheers!" Steven exclaimed, raising the bottle in the air and you all clinked glasses together.

The eight of you stood in the parking lot next to your car. You and Marcus leaned on the hood, Chapman nestled next to your right, and the guys were in front of you. You stayed in pleasant silence, interrupted by the chirping of birds from a nearby square and breezes of the wind that swayed your styling. Satisfied sigh followed by Marcus and Jamie, which made you laugh cutely.

"Enjoy?" you asked playfully, taking a sip.

"Y/N, that's amazing! I’ve never thought our team would feel so acutely short of a personal alcohol supplier" Jamie savored the taste, taking small sips.

"It's only 6% alcohol, I brought this one on purpose, knowing that you will most likely be driving. But there is also 12% sort in my basement, so in case of anything, you know where to find me"

"Actually not, but for the sake of such a case, we will definitely get your address from James" Nick answered cheerfully.

You spent 20 more minutes talking about the process of making an apple brew and sharing your alcohol tastes. “What a topic to discuss” you hummed to yourself. Eventually you gave Ben, Marcus, Jamie, and Matt one more bottle, promising to bring more of 12% sort to the concert, and you were about to leave when suddenly your phone rang. A dark and mystical tune played from the back pocket of your shorts.

"Woah, that’s pretty old one" Alex said with unexpected liveliness.

"One of my favorites from yours" you replied quickly, pulling out the device. It was James. You decided to call him back when you would be alone, so you dropped the call, texting him that you would call back later.

"Hey Al, we haven't played it in a while. What do you think, mate?" Matt asked conspiratorially, giving him a little nudge on the shoulder.

"We’ll see, I think it's possible. NME will especially rejoice at this, still considering it insanely vulgar" the singer rolled his eyes, but couldn't help smiling.

"Isn't that right, Mr. Turner? Whose propeller is it then?" you grinned as you took an empty box and returned it to the trunk of the jeep.

"Miss Y/S, don't make me doubt your foresight as well" to your surprise, he came over to help you close the tailgate. You dusted your hands and shifted awkwardly from one foot to another, being locked between the car and the frontman. You could literally see wrinkles around his eyes and cider-wet lips that now were gently stirring.

"Who called?" the man asked more quietly than usual. "Uh, James, I think I should call him as soon as possible"

"Yeah, most likely" Turner reluctantly backed away from you, letting you through, and you walked to the driver's door.

"Well, guys, I was very glad to see you, I'm sure fruitful work awaits us!" you smiled reassuringly, swaying from heel to toe from jitters and excitement from upcoming events.

"See you in a bit, Miss Y/S, I will send you all our numbers and other necessary contacts tonight. Sleep enough these days, you will soon miss it" Steven winked and extended his hand to you for a handshake, so you answered him willingly.

“Goodbye, guys, see ya!” you only waved at other lads as you climbed onto the running board and sat inside the car. The Rover started with a pleasant growl, vibrating under your hands. You drove off, leaving the men in the parking lot, but noticing one fixed look of chocolate eyes in the rearview mirror. You attributed the recognition of the color of his eyes to a million views of concert photos on the Internet, but not to those few seconds near the trunk when you smelled his cigarette breath on your face.

That will be a roller-coaster indeed

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

A/N: Please, let me know what do you think about this duo, what are you expecting from them, what do you want to read in the next chapter? Let's get to know each other better in comments - how long are you in fandom, what are your favorite type of fics and etc? Your feedback is my force to write, love you and stay tuned - a big adventure is going to happen 🤭❣️

I also publish the work on AO3:

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner imagine #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #alex turner x reader #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x you #am7 tour #the car #the car era #am7 era #matt helders #miles kane #jamie cook #nick o malley #alex turner fanfiction #femme like you fanfic

[tiktaalic]

Not all women would be happier if they were lesbians. But Taylor swift would be.

#rip Taylor you would have looooved writing shitty pop that ends up on playlists called sapphiccore. #you would have LOVED saying vaguely gender essentialist things about women under the guise of and this is why lesbianism rocks. #you know the like. fanfic paragraph about man kissing a man for the first time. she would get so much mileage out of fanfic paragraph about #a woman kissing a woman for the first time. #this train of thought. brought to you by. going. girl is your new man intellectually stimulating you? don’t you miss the weirdo mind games? #then going. why am I estimating Taylor swifts floor for intellectual stimulation to be a High Number. #THEN going she would love to say pseudo intellectual shit about dating women. and the woman in question is every tiktok normie femme lesbian #you’ve ever seen #femme doing a lot of work here. I mean Notmal Worman

[bubblegumfrosting]

Cherries and Vanilla

Pairing: Chrissy Cunningham x Fem!Reader

Type: Fluff

Summary: You’ve been best friends with Chrissy since freshman year but recently you couldn’t ignore your true feelings for her.

Warnings: Mentions of homophobia, mentions of bulimia

A/n: As a femme bisexual who is attracted to femmes this warms my heart!! I love writing girly stuff and this fic is so adorable!!

Chrissy is your best friend and it’s been that way since freshman year. The two of you do everything together, she’s so easy to get along with and she makes you feel appreciated. You were the only person she opened up to about her bulimia and you never left her side.

Junior year is the year you discovered your feelings for Chrissy extended that of friendship. You’d always get distracted at cheer practice because you couldn’t help but admire her. Every time she twirled the air was filled with her sweet vanilla perfume, the one you gave her for her birthday. The way she did your makeup before a game leaves you yearning to feel more of her touch. How your heart would skip a beat when she put her head on your lap. This is how you knew you were in love with your best friend.

You knew others who were attracted to the same sex like your friend Robin but it didn’t make your situation any less stressful. You knew how people would look at you if they found out. How would she look at you?

To make matters worse, she’s dating Jason, Hawkins High’s very own stereotypical jock. They are the it couple of the school and everyone is jealous of their relationship, everyone including you.

What did she see in that douche? He’s always out with his friends or at basketball practice. Jason never makes time for Chrissy, she deserves better, she deserves someone who appreciates her like how you appreciate her. But if Jason ever found out how you felt about Chrissy he’d never let her see you again.

So here you were comforting Chrissy who was crying because Jason bailed on her again, “He promised Y/n!”, she sobbed as you held her in your arms.

You were in Chrissy’s room sitting on her floral duvet as Blondie plays softly in the background, “I’m so sorry Chris, you don’t deserve this.”, your fingers brush through her blonde hair.

She pulls away and wipes her tears, how could she be so pretty even when she cries, “Let’s go out.”, she sniffles.

“Hmm..Dairy Queen?”, you asked.

“You know me so well Y/n/n!”, she smiled and grabbed your hand dragging you down the stairs and out of the house.

The two of you giggled and laughed as you walked towards the destination. The once solemn atmosphere was replaced by a warm glow, a glow only she could create.

By the time you guys arrived at Dairy Queen it was late and the sun was barley in the sky. No one else was there, just you and her. In order to save money Chrissy got one large sundae to share. Seeing her eat make you happy.

Since Dairy Queen only has an outdoor patio you shivered under the cold breeze. Chrissy scooted closer to you and put her head on your shoulder, “I feel like you’re the only person who’s there for me.”, she said and grabbed you hand to interlock it with hers.

You set the sundae down next to you, “Don’t say that Chris, so many people love you and care for you.”, she nuzzled her head closer into you.

“But no one cares about me as much as you do.”, you blushed at her words and she continued, “I’d rather be dating you than Jason.”.

You froze, did she just say that in a “you’re my best friend and I love you” sorta way or “I romantically like you” sorta way?

“Wh-what do you mean by that?”, you said in a hushed voice. Chrissy looked up at you and suddenly you felt her soft lips on yours. You tasted her cherry lipgloss and reminisce of vanilla ice cream. You both melted into the kiss, melted into each other.

She pulled back, “Is this okay?”,.

“More than okay.”, you smiled and pulled her into another kiss, it was gentle yet heated. Her hand rested just under your skirt on your exposed thigh, your arms draped over her shoulders and met each other behind her neck.

When the kiss ended you got the courage to speak up, “Chrissy, I like you…romantically.”, she brushed your hair to the side.

“I know, I’ve been too nervous to say anything.”, she looked up at the stars and you did the same.

“So do you feel the same way? Or did our friendship become really awkward?”, you said the last part under your breath.

Chrissy grabbed your chin to look at her, “Of course I feel the same way, how could I not fall in love with you.”. She stood up and you followed her.

“What about Jason?”, she laughed and rolled her eyes.

“What about him? I don’t need him now that I have the prettiest girl in the whole school.”, your heart quickened at that statement.

“I think we both know you’re the prettiest.”, you teased.

Chrissy stole a quick kiss on your lips, “Race you home?”.

“Oh you’re on, and don’t expect me to go easy on you because you’re cute.”, Chrissy started running and you followed close behind.

Both you and Chrissy could be heard laughing and yelling by everyone as you ran back to her home. People may see you as friends but you both know you’re lovers.

#chrissy cunningham #chrissy cunningham x reader #chrissy cunningham x y/n #chrissy x reader #Chrissy x y/n #wlw #chrissy deserved better #chrissy this is for you #strangerthings oneshot #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things #lesbian #femme #girls like girls #Chrissy cunningham/reader

[starswallowingsea]

I've been thinking about this because of the shitty ads for contemporary YA romance going around and the way books are marketed using an extreme amount of fanfiction tropes and almost nothing else. Like yes tropes ARE a part of literature and can be used to help catalogue books and movies in archives and such but they aren't supposed to be supplements for summaries and plot.

Like if you tell me something is contemporary YA which follows a businesswoman struggling at her job and trying to figure out why she's unhappy slowly getting closer to the local cafe barista when she stops in over the course of the novel and she goes on a journey of self discovery and etc etc that would at least tell me what the book is about. I probably wouldn't read it or like it if I read it because I don't like contemporary YA romance but I at least know what it's about and would be able to recommend it to someone if they were looking for something similar.

But if you took that same book and ONLY told me it was contemporary YA romance, slowburn, and coffee shop, that doesn't really tell me anything about the characters or why I should care. These are original characters I can't just look at ao3 tags and be like "oh yeah I like these characters already I want to see them in this specific scenario" these are original characters and you have to give me a reason to care. When I'm looking for a book to read I'm looking for a book, not a fanfiction for something I already like. If I wanted to read fanfiction I would read it. Publishing fanfiction doesn't not make it fanfiction and describing books exclusively in fanfiction tropes and nothing else does not a good book advertisement make. They are not a replacement for an actual summary, they are a tool that can help quickly identify books in a catalogue or archive if someone is looking for something to read.

This isn't to dunk on fanfiction! I write and read fanfic but it's more akin to the junk food of the literature world. It's good and yummy and can fill in a specific niche in internet communities, but it shouldn't make up your entire literature consumption, yknow?

Also for fucks sake, stop describing classical literature with fanfiction tropes you are doing a severe disservice to them and completely missing the point of literally all those books. If I have to see one more person describe Pride and Prejudice as "enemies to lovers" I will scream.

#shay speaks #bookblr #booktok #using both those tags bc i think this is a discussion that needs to be had #tropes are things in books and same with character archetypes #HOWEVER book tropes and fanfic tropes are not the same thing #books have tropes based on their genres like femme fatale for example #like they're not a wholly bad thing its the oversaturation of them in the market and advertising that i think is the bigger issue #it also feels like when this happens to books the books themselves dont have much of an identity outside of those tropes #bc they feel like they have to fit them instead of taking a chance and breaking them or doing something new with them #its very cookie cutter writing i think (having read several of these books. they're pretty much the same thing slightly reskinned) #also im not saying this is like THE take on tropes if you have different thoughts i'd love to hear them just #be respectful? and i will return it. i think these topics need multiple viewpoints and aren't wholly black and white #okay im done tag rambling now #ok2rb

[theliterarywolf]

To be fair, Futanari can go either way. Especially these days. Mini-rant: Kinda tired of reading fanfics, and the guy is described with a basically completely female physique, just with a dick, but no tits. "His wide hips, tiny waist, and narrow shoulders. (more detail etc etc)" Especially the times it was accompanied by a drawing, and then having him stand next to a dude who's actually drawn as a man. I mean, you do your fetish, but don't pretend this isn't just a no-tiddy futa.

Anon, how could you?! What you're describing isn't a 'no-tiddy futa'!

It's your average male omega! Get your fetish tropes right, gosh!

#no but in reality #it is a firm reminder of how many gay fics are just 'm/f but swap out the f for another male and have them #act the same even though you can tell' #and I'm down for reading femme characters #but I am also very much appreciative at the fact that more fanfic writers are realizing that #just because a character is a bottom doesn't mean they have to act like the female support #in a shonen manga

[deviousdayz]

It’s unfortunate I spent so much time trying to perform femininity

I genuinely cannot stand to see most of my old pictures because I was basically in costume.

The big earrings and long necklaces, the lip gloss. The earthy nature aesthetic because that’s what girls did. That’s how black femmes, especially the gay ones, dress in Houston, it’s as GIRL as I could get.

I felt good for a while, finally in girly clothes. I figured my parents and friends would be happy and they were! I got so many compliments after I started trying to be fem but like that’s the problem. I had to TRY. Like really fucking hard.

I didn’t even know being butch was a fucking option 😭 i didn’t even really know what that WAS. People would say it to me as an insult, saying I looked too butch. I just thought they were calling me ugly.

But like now I KNOW. It’s this mix of gender expression and sexuality and gender identity. And like, that’s definitely me. I never have to TRY to be butch or more masc I just kind of am :)

#a big’n #I’m not kidding when I say arcane helped a fuck ton with my gender expression n identity #the fanfic/fandom helped me realize that like. #I didn’t have to perform as femme to be seen as attractive or anything #and that I didn’t have to be a super stud either #but I remember when i posted a picture of me and it was as girly as I could get #and someone still said ‘look at you in your stud era!’ #even at the girliest I could fucking get I was still giving butch/stud #shoulda figured it out then but better late than never #butch

[cranberryjuice-posts]

-Kisses-

Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x Femme! Reader

An - ik this is short im time crunching my Valentine’s Day clarisse and Abby fanfics 😭😭

An - no godly parent is listen but reader is super girly

Camp Halfblood was no exception of dumb teenage boys ranking who the “hottest” girl was at camp.

After half an hour of clarisses brothers laughing and arguing about who the top three girls were clarisse got fed up. Setting her half polished spear down she walked over to where her brothers sat taking the paper from them “dude clarisse give that back!” One of the boys shouted.

Clarisse however just ignored them. Glancing over the list she saw at the top ‘ hottest girls at camp’ . “Really we’re ranking girls at camp now? This is so fucking stupid” she scoffed.

Taking a look at the paper the ranking went —

Silena beauregard

Y/n l/n

Katie gardener

Yara smith

Ashley Knowles

—

By that point in the list clarisse ripped the paper apart before throwing it away. “She’s just mad she didn’t rank top three” a Dionysus kid laughed. Clarisse looked back at the boy giving him a harsh glare making him shut up.

“Everyone who isn’t an areas kid needs to leave now and everyone who is.. be ready to work your asses off tomorrow morning got it!” She ordered, the non ares boys left without another word with her brothers complaining and trying to argue with their councilor just to be met with more punishments.

——

The following morning as you finished your makeup and hair for the day clarisse walked into your cabin.

A few of your sisters were still hanging out went silent at the sight of the ares girl “uh hey I’ll catch up with you guys later ok” you smiled at your sisters “go get breakfast oh! And save me some strawberries”

Once they were gone you gave a sarcastic smile to clarisse. “Hey stranger”

“Yeah hi” she defensively spoke, grabbing your face she left a small kiss on your lips before leaning against the desk that was placed beside your bunk. “Heyy what’s wrong, did. something happen?” You placed a hand on the girls leg.

“Fucking brothers— they made this dumbass list ranking the hottest girls at camp and no denying silena is beautiful but you should of been number one also the way they talk about you and your body on the paper was disgusting..” Clarisses paused, calming down once she saw your amused smile.

“It’s so cute how protective you get”

“I’m not cute”

“Sure you are babe, you just don’t wanna admit it”

Clarisse crossed her arms not wanting to give in to your antics. Standing up you placed your hands on clarisses cheeks After reapplying your lipstick. Bringing her down you started to leave kiss marks all along her face, eyes, cheeks, nose, forehead, anywhere you could get. Leaving one final kiss on the girls lips .

She groaned playfully pulling away, just before clarisse could wipe the marks off her face you grabbed her hands. Kissing her quickly once again you smiled. “Leave them on ok”

“You realize that me walking out of your cabin with kiss marks on my face people are gonna know we’re together”

You leaned onto clarisse fiddling with her camp necklace. “So what” the stronger girl looked down at younfonfused “so what?”

“Yeah so what it they know, it’ll keep the guys at camp from talking about me in ways you don’t like and I don’t have to hide about how much I tolerate you”

“You tolerate me” she spoke unamused

Nodding you continued the innocent act. “Yup, only just a little bit though”

“You’re a dumbass”

“Yeah but I’m Your dumbass so it all works out”

——

#lesbian #wlw #clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #clarisse x reader #percy jackson fanfiction #clarisse larue #clarisse my beloved #clarisse x female reader #butch clarisse #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x you #percy jackson show #pjo show #pjo fandom

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Romance Novel

Stepdad!Anakin Skywalker x femme reader Oneshot

18+ MDNI

Warnings: unprotected PiV, oral (female receiving), inappropriate relationships, scent kink? panty kink? Anakin is freaky idk, L-bomb, accidental cumming inside you

Info: Anakin is your stepdad, you’re in college, he LOVES to embarrass/tease you; so of course he can’t miss the opportunity to read your filthy little romance novel!!! Sweet n’ tender, alittle mushy ❤️ low key making fun of myself/fanfic writers just alittle with the book Ani teases you about (hehehhehehe)

"That's better," Anakin mutters in satisfaction, wrapping an arm around around you as you tucked yourself against his side.

"So, what have you been reading?" He asks, taking a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly.

"Oh, just some romance novel," you mumbled, trying to sound casual. Knowing we would tease you about it.

Anakin chuckled lowly, his deep baritone reverberating through the room. "Aww, a little romance, huh? Do tell me more about these knights and their damsels in distress." He teased, kissing the top of your head.

“Anakin.” You groaned, your face getting pink with embarrassment.

"Those college boys really so bad you had to turn to books?” He chuckled, grabbing the book from the coffee table.

“Jesus… this is raunchy.” He laughed, a glint of something dark in his eyes as he looked over at you. “you like this stuff?”

“I mean… yeah?” You giggled nervously “I’m reading it aren’t I?”

"I knew it," Anakin smirked, setting aside the cigarette in the ashtray and flipping through the pages again. "You're not as innocent as you let on."

“Wow.” He chuckled, a wide grin on his face as he read over a paragraph.

“Maybe I should be your narrator for a minute. Just to see you blush.” He teased, pinching your thigh lightly as he cleared his throat.

“No!” You yelped trying to grab the book from his hands. “Oh my god no, please I’d rather die.”

"Well, I’ll make sure they play your favorite song at your funeral.” He grinned wide and devilish.

Anakin started to read out loud, his deep voice flowing like honey. His hand slowly crept upwards, tracing along your thigh until it reached the hemline of your skirt.

"The hero, strong and muscular, towering over the petite damsel... ohh, she feels his hands caressing her delicate curves..." He said mockingly, his fingers brushed against your waist.

“She closes her eyes, surrendering to his touch..." He wiggled his eyebrows at you, a smarmy expression on his face.

“Really?” You huffed, rolling your eyes and pretending this wasn’t doing anything for you. Nothing at all.

“Gods… this is-“ He cleared his throat, not-so-subtly adjusting himself through his sweatpants.

“He dipped his tongue into her dripping hole, devouring her slicked cunt with lewd slurping noises.” He glanced over at you to gauge your reaction.

“Anakin!” You gasped, covering your face with your hands. You were getting flustered, panties dampening just at the thought of Anakin doing those things to you. It was even worse that he was saying them out loud to you.

“Hmm. Let’s see… gonna skip ahead just a bit.” He hummed, obviously having a wonderful time embarrassing you.

"Ah, yes... the climax," Anakin chuckled, his voice husky as he continued reading. “The hero thrusts his massive cock into her tight, virgin entrance, filling her up to the brim..."

"She cried out in pain and pleasure alike, begging for more..." He paused, his eyes locked onto yours.

You knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing. What he was trying to convey through his beautiful blue eyes. His want. His need for you.

You’d known for a while about his secret obsession. He spoiled you, treated you like a true princess, hell he was more attentive to you than your mom… his wife. Since they married last year, they’ve done nothing but argue. Anakin is so sweet and caring, he deserves better than her. Maybe he deserves you instead.

“Anakin…” You whispered. Your cheeks red as you chewed your lip and squeezed your thighs tightly together to get some pressure on your throbbing clit.

"What is it doll?" He asked softly, reaching over to stroke your hair in a comforting manner.

“I-I just…” You stuttered, flustered and embarrassed by the situation. You’d always found Anakin attractive, just as he did you. But this was not right. You shouldn’t be wet at the thought of your stepdad, it’s wrong…. Right?

“Take your time sweet girl.” He whispered, pulling you closer, wrapping a strong muscular arm around you while he gently rubbed your lower back.

“I want to give you what you want.” He mumbled, his lips pressed against your temple. “But you have to be the one to ask for it.”

You sighed, furrowing your brows in thought as you buried your head into his shoulder.

“Please.” You whispered. “Don’t make me say it.”

He shook his head. Giving you the answer you didn’t want. You knew he needed to hear it from you. To know he wasn’t crazy for thinking this way, to know you felt something too. To have it said aloud.

You lifted your head and looked up at him. Seeing the same hunger in his eyes that you knew were in your own.

“Tell me what you need.” He softly commanded.

“I wanna kiss you… please?” You asked, voice shaking with nervousness.

He leaned in and tilted your chin just enough so that your noses were touching and whispered sweetly, honeyed and smooth. "You want me to kiss you?"

“Yes.” You said without hesitation, causing Anakin let out a puff of air in a breathy laugh.

“I’m proud of you baby… I’ve been waiting so patiently for you to ask.” He mumbled against your lips, making you wait a few seconds more before giving you what you both so desperately wanted.

The kiss was loving. His soft lips smoothed over yours, slotting together as though they were meant to be. Like two magnets that had finally been turned the right way, snapping into place the way nature intended. He wasn’t rushed, not like you were. He groaned and chuckled when you tried to lift your shirt over your head, his strong hands stopping you.

You should’ve felt embarrassed. Being so desperate for your stepfather’s touch, so needy for the man before you. But you weren’t, you couldn’t be. Not when he looked at you like that.

“No, no. I don’t want to rush this." Anakin spoke between breaks in the kiss, his thumbs teasing your bare stomach beneath your shirt, tracing circles around your bellybutton and downwards towards the waistband of your skirt.

He carefully slipped his tongue past your lips, massaging your tongue with his. The taste of him was so… right. Perfectly curated for your liking. Like the fancy wine he bought for you to share sometimes. You couldn’t help but moan in response, thinking of all those times you could’ve done this, thinking how clear it was… your attraction to each other, how foolish you’d both been to ignore it.

You moaned, needy and practically distraught over his lack of touch. “Please, I need more.”

He groaned, pulling you into his lap to straddle his thighs. His calloused hands slipping beneath the soft fabric of your skirt. Grabbing a handful of ass to guide you closer, pressing you against his chest.

“I will give you everything.” He whispered, his breath hot against your neck as he placed sloppy kisses there. “just let me take my time.”

“Mmmhhhmm.” You hummed in agreement, the feeling of his lips against your sensitive flesh was satisfying in a way you’d never felt before. Midas’s touch in the form of a kiss.

“Ani… th-that feels good.” You breathed out, your voice showing how much you really wanted him. If there was one thing you couldn’t control, it was that. The tone of your voice. Try your best and still, Anakin would always know what you really meant, how you really felt.

Anakin smiled, his lips moving downwards along your neck and collarbone, nibbling on the sensitive skin as he went. He wasn’t planning on speeding this up anytime soon, he was going to tenderly torture you by making you wait. Making you earn it.

“Anakin…” You whimpered, hips unintentionally grinding against the bulge in his sweat pants. “giving me goosebumps.”

Humming, his hand sliding beneath your ass and lifting you up slightly before setting you back down on his lap, now directly centered over his hard bulge. His lips traveled lower, kissing and sucking along the slope of your cleavage, stopping just short of the fleshy part you so badly wanted him to squeeze.

"Are you okay, doll?" He asked, his voice husky with desire.

“Yes.” You nodded, rolling your hips against him. It send a strike of lightning through your cunt, exiting your needy body in the form of a desperate whine.

“Please touch me.” You begged, arm around his neck, hand in his hair while your other fisted the hem of his shirt.* “please I can’t take much more.”

"Patience darlin’. I am not doing that out here, you deserve a real bed." He growled, standing up from the couch and pulling you with him. He carried you towards your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot.

Once inside, he placed you on the bed, crawling over top of you, pinning you down with his weight. His mouth returned to cradle yours, devouring you hungrily while his hands continued their relentless exploration of your body.

Anakin pulled away from the kiss, sitting up on his knees and pulling you against his chest to suckle on your neck again. Nipping your earlobe gently as he slowly slid his hands beneath your skirt again. His rough palms gliding over the backs of your smooth thighs. His fingers teasing the crease of your ass cheeks at the top of your thigh before following the line of your panties. He gently tugged it down until it pooled around your bent knees. You quickly kicked it off and out of the way.

Carefully he lifted your shirt up and over your head, as though he were unwrapping something delicate and breakable. The wind knocked out of him with the realization you weren’t wearing a bra. You giggled to yourself thinking ‘yeah, could’ve found that out earlier if you just would’ve touched me.’.

But if you were being honest, you preferred it this way. Being able to see his reaction to your body, the unobstructed view of his eyes as they widened. His pupils dilating in love and lust.

"Oh fuck..." His voice cracked as he looked down at your bare breasts, nipples hard and begging for attention. "You are beautiful..."

Anakin's hand cupped one breast, squeezing firmly, rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger while the other hand found its way to your waist.

“Ohh Ani.” You gasped at his touch, ‘finally’, you thought, ‘this was worth the wait.’. A fresh gush of arousal leaking out to form a wet spot on your panties.

“Anakin, please you’re torturing me.” You whined, desperate for more, anything more.

"I told you I'd give you everything, baby girl." Anakin purred, his hand moving up to tenderly trace your jaw. “but I’m not going to fuck you.” He whispered kissing you softly to quiet your attempt at protest.

“Shhh, I’m not gonna fuck you.” He pulled back, looking into your eyes with a depth of emotion you’d never seen before. He slowly lowered you back down onto the bed. Ensuring your comfort before kissing you again, licking down your jaw to find your earlobe and suck it between his teeth. He released it slowly, and whispered in a deliciously low rumble.* “I’m gonna make love to you.”

The wave of pure lust and arousal that washed over your body was almost painful in the way that it made every pore of your very being cry out for him. Willing you to beg for more, more, more.

He sucked one nipple into his mouth, resting his upper body weight on your stomach. It should’ve been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. It was actually kind of comforting? Keeping you grounded when all your mind wanted to do was float up to the clouds.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, his lips moving to give the other nipple the same love and attention.

You mewled, trying to buck your hips and squeeze your hand unoccupied with guiding his head on your breasts, down between you to give yourself some well deserved friction on your clit.

He didn’t stop you, nor did he speak, he just looked up at you from his work on your raw and red nipples with a disapproving expression. Reluctantly you returned the hand to its previous position of tracing invisible lines between his shoulder blades.

“That's a good girl." Anakin praised, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His lips trailed downwards, leaving a trail of fire along your stomach before reaching your panty-covered mound.

He gripped your hips and dragged you to the edge of the bed so he could kneel between your thighs. He kissed and nipped his way up your inner thigh, stopping to bury his face into the fabric of your soaked panties, inhaling deeply.

You squirmed, cheeks flushed and chest feeling hot. What was he doing? Your heart raced at the way he brazenly took in your scent, he looked completely unfazed, as though this was a normal thing that every man does. Maybe he thought they did, or should.

“Goddamnit.” He moaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he rested his forehead at the crease of your thigh, his lips still dangerously close to your cunt.

“M’taking these off dollface.” He whispered in a husky tone.

He peeled your damp panties off, bunching them in his hand while his other teasingly dragged his fingers through the curly hairs between your legs. He brought the fabric to his face again and inhaled like he was oxygen starved. His voice rumbled in his throat as he removed his hand from its place of teasing to assist his other in unwadding the panties.

“Smells so goddamn good.” He growled, bringing them back up to his face; making eye contact as he dragged his tongue across the large wet patch on the fabric.

Oh. Oh, okay… so he’s kinky; you whimpered at the realization that he’d somehow gotten even harder just from your scent. You couldn’t help but be incredibly turned on at this unexpected moment. It was filthy, so filthy. But more importantly it was extremely fucking hot.

At devious thought occurred in this moment; ‘has he done this before? He’s done your laundry often… fuck, that would just make it even hotter.’

“Mmmhmm..." Anakin moaned and nodded his head as if to answer your unasked question, his eyes locked on yours as he tossed the panties behind him.

He slowly lowered his head to finally get a proper look at your wet and waiting cunt.

“Oh my poor girl.” He cooed, his eyebrows furrowed as he glanced up at you through hooded lids. “all swollen n’ red baby. I made you wait to long didn’t I?”

“Uh huh.” You nodded frantically. “need you Ani… please.“

You tried to wiggle your hips alittle closer to his mouth but his strong hands held you firmly in place, causing a whine of impatience to fall from your lips.

“Anakin please!” You begged without hesitation, without a second thought at how desperate you must sound. “please, please I can’t stand it anymore. It hurts.”

“Shh it’s alright sweetheart." He said, tracing slow circles around your entrance with his index finger, collecting more of your juices before bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean. “I’ll make it all better.”

He paused, his thumb pressed against your swollen, throbbing clit, teasing you mercilessly. "Is this where it hurts baby girl?"

“Gods yes.” You groaned through gritted teeth. Your hand fisting the sheets beside you while the other laced through his thick hair.

At your admission he slowly began to lick and suck your sensitive folds. Each stroke of his tongue sent wave after wave of pleasure to blanket your aching pussy in well earned attention.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, legs wrapped around him as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue delving deeper inside with each thrust. His fingers trailed along your collarbone before reaching up to caress your breast again, massaging it roughly while keeping eye contact.

"Perfect… such a pretty little pussy." He groaned, his voice almost broken by the intensity of desire in his tone.

His dirty words lit a fire in your stomach that burned hotter and hotter with each swirl of his tongue. Gently he inserting one long digit into your sopping hole, the vibration from the lustful rumble in his throat traveled straight to the coil wound tightly in your gut.

"That's it baby girl, you’re close already huh?." Anakin encouraged, his breath hot against your needy core.

Each thrust of his finger making your body shake and quiver. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your swollen and overwhelmed clit. The way he spoke, even with his face buried and his words muffled from your wet folds… it was beautiful. He was beautiful. His eyes looking up at you with love and devotion as he showered your most intimate place in pleasure.

“There it is… you can do it baby.” He panted.

He added another finger, spreading you wider apart, stretching gently but firmly. He brought his other hand down to pull and pinch your clit, holding it firmly while he viscously attacked it with his talented tongue and the suction of his plump lips. His two fingers relentlessly massaging the spongy front wall of your cunt.

“Anakin oh my god.” You gasped, white hot lightening shooting through you and practically blinding you with pleasure as your legs quivered, thighs clamping around his head.

“Cum-cumming oh fuck don’t stop!” You cried out his name in ecstasy. He took your pleas to heart, he never faltered in his strokes; only humming and moaning along with you as he greedily drank down every drop of your juices.

Anakin kept sucking and licking, his tongue tracing every inch of your sensitive folds until he felt you start to calm down. Only then did he slowly withdraw his fingers from your aching core, leaving you drenched and panting.

"That was beautiful, doll." He praised, wiping his face with the back of his hand before standing up to gaze down at you with a satisfied smirk. “You’re just a fucking Angel aren’t you?"

Without further ado, he pushed his pants and boxers down, freeing his thick, hardened member. It throbbed and leaked a bead of precum, glistening in the dim starlight that illuminated the room.

He helped you get settled back into the center of the bed, positioning himself over you, one hand caressing your red cheeks with his still wet and sticky fingers. Going behind the trail he’d left to lick it away, pulling back to make eye contact while he sucked his digits clean.

“Damn… th-that’s hot.” You whispered, eyes widened as you watched him throughly clean every trace of creamy juices from his fingers.

“You taste so fucking good." Anakin growled, his hand moving down to cup your breast again, squeezing and massaging it roughly while his thumb circled your nipple.

With his weight propped up on one forearm he leaned forward to capture your lips in a slow and loving embrace, his tongue tracing the seam, begging be let in.

You moaned, dropping your jaw slightly to allow him to explore the depths of your mouth as he pleased.

Breaking the kiss Anakin looked down at you, cupping your cheek in his hand. A look of something foreign and familiar in his icy blues. He looked like he wanted to say something, his plump lips parted slightly, tongue darting out to wet them. He closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his forehead to yours, rubbing his nose against yours in that odd affectionate way that he often did. When he pulled back, the look was still there, just dimmer, calmer.

“Let me show you what it feels like to be worshipped as you deserve to be.” He pleaded, positioning himself between your spread legs. Slowly, he lowered himself onto you, his thick cockhead pressing against your sensitive entrance.

"Tell me when you're ready, baby girl." He panted, his hips rocking back and forth teasingly, rubbing the head of his cock against your tight opening. Gathering your mixture of slick and his saliva to lube his cock. “I’ll be so gentle, I’ll make sure you feel good baby. This is all about you.”

“I’m ready.” You whispered, looking at him as his free hand soothed you with gentle caresses on your waist, over your navel and back again.

Anakin groaned, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pushed inside, inch by agonizingly slow inch. Each bit of his girthy cockhead sliding deeper into your tight, stretched passage.

You moaned, arching upwards towards him, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving small crescent marks in his skin.

He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the intrusion before resuming his pace. Each thrust was slower than the last, each one deeper, stretching you wider and wider until he finally bottomed out, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm.

"Relax sweetheart. Daddy’s got you." He groaned, his breath hot against your ear, teeth nipping lightly at your earlobe.

The growl in his voice, the gritty undertone of the one little word made you clench tightly around his cock, alittle ashamed at loving the way he called himself that. You’d been so caught up drowning in pleasure, you had practically forgotten Anakin was your stepfather, forgotten how wrong this was, forgotten that he wasn’t yours. The reminder almost brought you to tears, or maybe it was the way he circled his hips to hit every ridge and crevice in the depths of your pussy. Maybe it was the way he held you closely as he rocked into you, both his arms tucked underneath you, one hand cradling your head, the other had a firm grip on your ass.

Or perhaps it was the way he praised you, complimented you, put you up on a golden dais. When he said he wanted to worship you, he truly meant it. Every inch of your body felt surrounded by him, like you were fully blanketed in his tender attention.

His hand left your ass to grip your leg tightly, pushing it back and up to your side; anchoring himself as he buried his cock deeper inside with each thrust. Every time he pulled out, he trailed his cockhead along your sensitive folds, before plunging back in again, hitting your G-spot perfectly.

"You’re so fucking tight, baby girl." He groaned, his voice low and husky. "Oh goddamn, I'm close..."

The sensuality of it, the sloshing sound your unbelievably wet cunt was making each and every time he moved, the fact that I could feel your own arousal dripping down your legs, it was overwhelming.

You were so focused on everything you were feeling that you only registered Anakin’s next words after you heard him let out a reedy whimper.

“Fucking hell. You’re killing me here doll.” He groaned. “squeezing me s’tight, being so fucking loud.”

Loud? You were being loud? Oh shit… you were being loud.

“Moaning like a fucking pornstar.” He mumbled, his eyebrows pinched together in concentration.

You flew back to the present moment, suddenly aware of everything ten times more intensely. A roar of white noise deafened you as your eyes rolled back in your head. Your throat constricting as you let out an unholy scream of pure heaven-sent pleasure. Your legs shaking, hands finding purchase behind your head in the form of gripping the headboard.

You called out Anakin’s name over and over again as though it was the only word you knew, your orgasm flooded you in ecstasy coating his cock and thighs in squirt, soaking the bed beneath you.

Anakin groaned, his own orgasm threatening to crash over him like a tidal wave. His grip on your leg tightened to the point of bruising as he pounded into you harder, faster, fucking you so senseless that you were as limp as a rag doll in his arms, whining and moaning, tears of pleasure and overstimulation trickling down your cheeks.

He growled low in his throat, his voice hoarse with need. "Oh fuck... Oh goddamn..."

Anakin groaned, leaning back to watch his cock disappear into your well-fucked hole. His bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“Shhh-shit shit fuck oh…” His hips stuttered and you swear you saw goosebumps flare up on his arms as he scrunched his eyes shut and let out a low whine.

“Damnit, oh shit.” His breath hitched as he came, as though it took him by surprise. He quickly pulled out, watching his cock twitch as it prepared to shoot another load of sticky white cum. He lightly laughed at himself and looked down at you before pushing back in deeply, his cockhead brushing your cervix as he emptied the rest of his seed into you. “Fuck it I guess. Too late now.” He panted.

The feeling of him emptying himself inside you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It was hot, sticky, and somehow right. He remained buried deep, his breath steadying slowly, and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"That was... damn." He finally managed to pull out of you slowly, his cock still half-hard, drenched in your shared fluids.

“Ani.” You moaned softly, chasing after him as he flopped over onto his back. You crawled over and tucked yourself against his side, playing with the coarse hairs beneath his navel.

"Mmm... you okay baby girl?" Anakin asked, reaching over to run a finger down your back, tracing the line of sweat that had accumulated during your lovemaking.

"Uh huh." You murmured, snuggling closer to him, your hand moving up to trace circles on his chest. You felt oddly content in this position, nestled against him, bodies still joined together by the thin layer of sweat and cum.

"Good." He muttered, placing a gentle kiss on top of my head. After a moment of silence, he spoke up. "How about we go shower? And I’ll change the sheets if you’ll go get me my cigarettes from the living room.”

“Deal.” You sighed contendedly. Standing up on wobbly legs, shooting Anakin a glare when he laughed at your expense; grabbing your ass to ‘help’ steady you.

"My poor little princess." Anakin chuckled, watching you stumble toward the bathroom door. "I don't think you'll be able to walk straight for hours."

Once in the bathroom, he turned on the water and waited patiently for it to heat up before joining you under the showerhead.

"Use my soap," he instructed, passing you a bar of something resembling cedar. "I want you to smell like me." He added as he nipped your shoulder.

You giggled and did as you were told, letting him wash your hair while you rinsed the soap from your body.

After stepping out of the shower he wrapped you in a towel as well as himself. Then ushered you to the sink so he could brush the tangles from your hair, he did this often, but now it felt different, more intimate… special.

He patted your ass with the back of the hair brush to send you off to get his cigarettes while he made the bed with clean sheets.

You happily went about the task and brought the cigarettes as well as a cup of ice water. By the time you returned Anakin was straightening out the blankets.

"Thanks, doll." Anakin accepted the items with a nod and smile, handing you a clean pair of panties as he slipped into some fresh boxers. Once dressed, he motioned for you to lie down, while he walked over to plop himself in your beanbag chair.

“What’re you doing all the way over there?” You complained.

“Shhh.” He chuckled. “I’m not smoking in the bed. It’ll make the sheets reek.“

“Fine.” You huffed. Letting your arm hang over the side of the bed as you looked over at him, watching the smoke curl around his head.

“You’re staring sweetheart.” He chuckled.

“Mhm. I know.” You nodded. “just… like to look at you.”

Anakin took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke that drifted toward you. His eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite identify, possibly contentment mixed with a hint of something else.

"You're beautiful. Always." He murmured, taking another drag before setting aside the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand and putting out his cigarette in an empty water bottle on your nightstand. “I love to look at you too.”

You blushed, smiling as he crawled in beside you to pull you into a crushing embrace. Slowly releasing you to tilt up your chin for a slow and tender kiss.

“Is it… okay if I sleep in here with you?” He asked. Tracing your lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “I’d like that.”

"Good girl." Anakin smiled, rolling onto his side to spoon you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as he placed a soft kiss on the nape of your neck.

His hand drew patterns on your stomach, occasionally traveling up between the valley of your breasts.

His voice was low, almost inaudible as he spoke. “This- it feels right. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah… it does.” You agreed, in the same tentative tone. You weren’t sure where he was going with this conversation but you were hopeful that maybe it meant this wouldn’t be a one time thing. Maybe it meant he could be yours… maybe.

Anakin’s hand moved lower, tracing slow circles along your panty line before settling on your hip bone. His thumb massaged in a lazy circle, mirroring the rhythm of his breathing.

"This is probably a bad idea." He muttered, voice thick with emotion. “what I’m about to say.”

"But I can't fucking stop thinking about you. Everything about you... your smile, your laugh, the excited little clap you do when you’re happy.” He whispered.

“I would do anything to make sure you’re always that happy, that’s why I spoil you the way I do. You’re… you’re the most important person in this world to me.”

“Now that I’ve had you… your smell, your taste, how it feels to hold you. To kiss you.” You couldn’t see his face but knew he was on the verge of tears by the way his voice cracked.

“I don’t know what to do. I-you’re… you are everything I want.” He cleared his throat.

“I think…” He breathed deeply. “I think I’ve loved you in ways that I shouldn’t for a long time now.”

“You love me?” You asked quietly, heart leaping from its cage and clawing up your throat.

Anakin didn’t respond immediately, leaving you both in a suffocating silence. You felt his heart racing faster against your back, matching the beat of your own.

"Yes." He finally managed to whisper, voice breaking. "I love you, doll. Always have." His hand squeezed yours tightly, his thumb tracing slow circles on your palm.

“I want more.” He choked out. “and I know I shouldn’t.”

Anakin remained silent, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he processed his own confession.

"I don't fucking care." He finally said, his voice raw with emotion. "I want you, I've wanted you for years. And now that we're here... I can't stand the thought of not having you."

“Please say something.” He whispered, his forehead resting on the nape of my neck.

You let out a shaky breath, feeling your eyes welling up with tears of joy and relief. "I love you too, Anakin."

“I- um… I don’t-“ You stammered, turning over to look at him with tear stained cheeks. “I don’t want to be without you. I love you. I want to be yours. I want- I mean… Anakin I…”

He quickly scooped you into his arms to hold you tightly, cradling your head as you cried.

“Shhh. It’s alright doll.” He said, stifling his own emotions. “it’s okay. I will figure this out for us okay? I will.”

You sniffled. “Promise?”

"Promise." Anakin parroted back.

He held you tightly, rocking you both until you calmed down, and eventually, exhaustion caught up to you . You drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, feeling safer than you had ever felt before.

Lord Vader have mercy on my soul for the smut about to be unleashed on my page. This is a sweet little mushy thing… but my notes app is plagued with raunchy things that probably should’ve never left my brain.

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch @cherrylooney @star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit3corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

@aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn

@illiethefairy @bunnylovesani @offthethirlwall

@slutforhayden @ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi

@bobtheturmpetman29 @mortalheartache

@fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

@vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @rga11 @luvskywxlker

@angelsadmired @kaminokatie

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the tag list!

#star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars #anakin x you #sw anakin #darth vader #darth vader smut #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin #darth vader x you #darth vader x reader #vader #stepdad!anakin

[writers-potion]

How do I accurately include diversity, and not make it look like I’m just putting it in there for the sake of it?

Writing Diverse Characters - Things to Remember

Honestly, there's no definitive answer to this.

Your characters are people with clear goals, desires and a role to play in the plot. As long as they aren't just sitting there with little else but their race/gender/disability, etc. as their ONLY personality trait, at least you're on the right path.

As for representing a diverse character realistically, here are some things you can consider to get started.

Do's

RESEARCH. There are plenty of blogs/YT vids/websites that exist to help you! Meet people!

Get beta readers.

It doesn't have to be explicit. Racial identities become quite clear early on through the setting, name, and initial description(hair, eye/skin color, body shape, etc) without having to drum it into the readers each time. Gender diversity can be conveyed through the use of certain pronouns without awkward declarations.

Character first, diversity second. Please don't intentionally create a diverse character and then think about how you can push them into the cast. Have a working character, who happens to belong to a particular group.

Read works that have represented a group well. There are plenty of non-fiction works, movies and documentaries that capture the lives of people around the world with a good eye.

Use the correct terms/language

Include different types of diversity

Don'ts

Race/gender/diability is NOT a personality trait. Please. Telling me that you have a Korean girl tells me next to nothing about the character herself.

Using sterotypes. Now, it's all right if your character has a few sterotypical traits, but definitely not if sterotypes are the only thing they have.

Diversity is not a "shock factor". Suddenly revealing that a character is actually gay and has been in the closet all this time as a refresher so that it draws readers' attention? Not a good idea.

One diverse character does all. This can often be seen in female characters of slightly dated works where one woman will play the role of supportive mother, sister, femme fetale and sexy Barbie at the same time. Don't write a diverse character who basically does everything a diverse character can possibly be. All that it proves is that the writer is lazy.

Things I personally hate seeing:

Weird pronunciation of languages. As a Korean person, I always get turned off by works (mostly badly written fanfics, yes, I read those...) that try to transfer Korean dialogue directly onto the page without even checking for the correct way to spell them out. A similar example would be pinyin for Mandarin. Please, this makes the character sound stupid throughout...

Character sticking out almost painfully. If your character isn't from the region but have lived in it for a long time, what reason do they have not to blend in?

Relying on variety shows/dramas as reference. Media representation of diverse characters that are meant for entertainment is not the best source for authentic research. I die every time someone lists a number of Korean rom-coms they've watched for "research". IT DOES NOT COUNT.

As a last note, remember that there's no limit to the kind of characters a writer can writer. Accept that our job as writers is to step into other people's heads, not seeing things from one (our) perspective - and it is not going to be easy.

Hope this helps :)

#writers block #writing #writers and poets #creative writing #writers on tumblr #helping writers #let's write #creative writers #poets and writers #resources for writers #writerscommunity #writeblr #short story #fiction #writing practice #writing prompt #writing inspiration #writing advice #on writing #writing tips #writing community #writer #writers of tumblr #writers community #writers life #writer things #writing problems #writing process #writing questions

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the ball

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, nondescript mention of gagging (not related to self-image) in [III.iii], sexually charged 18+ interactions in middle to end of [III.iv]—minors dni, please stop at the end of the paragraph that begins "you repeat his words with sped up mockery"; you may resume at "you jut out your hip"

word count:  15.7k (of 38.8k)

story context:  everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons.  this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season. 

additional notes:  this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2!  she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits.  they have not yet watched queen charlotte.  the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note:  this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years.  :)  it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens.  additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years.  the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @stvrdustalexx @bedobeeeee @crazymar15 @kahhorri @mayalopes @benedictbridgertonss @athensflower @02wrldz @queerlavalier @merlslrem @pillsbury-doughgirl @lamourdure3ans and all who have read either/both sections one and two—thank you. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“you look like a princess, y/n!” hyacinth squeals in delight.

“i regret not being of age yet to attend balls,” gregory sighs.  “i would have been honored to ask you for your first dance.”

you beam at the youngest bridgertons with all the fondness in your heart.  judith, an elderly maid of number five, had attempted to dispel hyacinth and gregory from the room as your hair was done, but you had asked her to please allow them to stay.  the two kept you at ease throughout the foreign process, and their sweet sincerity kept you grounded amidst the anxiety that still floods your veins.

“you are both too kind.  and fear not; tomorrow morning we will have a ball all of our own,” you lean in for a whisper, them following suit to listen.  “and perhaps we will need the talents, and bravery, of a young sorceress and a young knight to save the guests from the intrusion of an unruly wyvern.”

“you promise?!” hyacinth and gregory yell at the same time.  you hold out your pinky finger, just as you used to do with your siblings, and the two young ones wrap their pinkies around yours.

“i promise.”

“you are all done, miss y/l/n,” says alice, placing the last pin into your hair.  she steps back and curtsies.  her formality towards you renders you uneasy; she treats you as above her but you are of the same world.  you school your facial features from showing your unease; you do not want to upset her or have her wrongly think that she has done something wrong.

“no need to call me ‘miss.’  i am simply y/n!”  you grin at alice.  “a friend.”

she smiles, albeit a bit sheepishly. 

“of course, y/n.  are you ready to see yourself?”

you shudder in a breath.  you had asked not to be prepared in front of a mirror.  to have seen your transformation so readily reflected at you at every point of this process—

you exhale frantically.  the maids and genevieve had graciously accommodated your wishes, both going so far as rearranging this room and her fitting room to avoid any lines of your sight with a potential reflection; you were, and are, utterly grateful.  

but i am unable to delay the inevitable any longer.

standing up and squaring your shoulders, you give alice a feeble nod.  she bows her head in response, a small, encouraging smile on her lips, and leads you to the mirror as hyacinth and gregory turn in their seats to watch you cross the room.  

it is just a dress.  it is just a tiara, and just some jewelry, and just some gloves, and just some shoes, and just a bit of makeup.  it is just you.  it is still you.  be the courageous person you are, y/n.

or—

just before you see even a miniscule bit of your reflection in that accursed mirror, you shut your eyes tight.

—be a coward.

you continue step by agonizing step, approximating where the mirror is, and shudder in another breath.

perhaps i am being too dramatic.  perhaps i can faint and feign illness.  perhaps i shall run away by way of the nearest window.  perhaps i—

“the mirror is to your left, y/n; whenever you are ready,” coaxes alice.

you exhale once more.

or perhaps, i should open my eyes.

and so you do.

oh.

“oh,” you say aloud.

the person you see in the gilded full-length mirror is, somehow, a complete stranger and entirely you.

the one time you’ve worn makeup before was for your elder sister’s wedding:  a bit of your mother’s rouge on your cheeks and lips to have some color to your otherwise dull face.  now, your cheekbones glow with a blush much more complimentary to your complexion than a mere red as your lips shine with a gossamer of a similar shade.  entirely new to you are the glimmering minerals on your eyelids that magically bring attention to your eyes and make them shine like starlight.

your eyebrows have been plucked (much to your initial pain but your current appreciation), maintaining their shape and fullness but now without strays.  

soft tendrils of curls frame your face, and your hair—normally worn down when not working—has been pulled back into a loose coiffure and styled with sprigs and small blooms, the crown of your head graced with a silver tiara.

“this,” violet smiled fondly when she first set the tiara on top of your head, “is the tiara i wore to my first ball after my presentation.  i had insisted on keeping it, thinking i could pass it on to my daughter when her first ball had come.  but daphne was resolute on having her own tiara, and eloise was resolute on not wearing any,” violet laughed, her eyes shining when they connected with yours, “i see now, though, perhaps it was always meant to be yours.”

“violet, i— i cannot wear this.  it is too— it’s too—”

sumptuous?  opulent?  regal?  

no.

well, yes, the tiara is all those things.  but those were not what had concerned you then.  it’s too—

“beautiful,” you admitted quietly.

something as beautiful as that surely does not belong on the head of someone like you.

“well,” violet smiled, “then you are merely proving my point, my dear.  it perfectly suits you.”

you hold out your hands, flare out your fingers, and stretch out your arms, examining the dark forest green of your long satin gloves, mesmerized that a muted color with such depth and richness could be achieved through dyes.

moving your hand, you touch one of the small rosewhite pearls adorning your earlobes and, with your other hand, touch the inky oblong pearl that shimmers violet, indigo, and green as it hangs from the thin, black velvet choker around your neck.

“my dear,” mama appeared in your doorway one evening as you wrote at your table, “do you require jewelry for your occasion?”

“oh.  i suppose i do?  i hadn’t given it much thought.”  jewelry had been the last thing on your mind of things that terrified you of the impending ball.

“well, if you have not been offered anything by the bridgerton family yet, i thought— i thought perhaps you might like these.”

she approached you, a small wooden box in her hand, and placed it on your table.  taking the box into your hands, you looked at it and then up at mama.  she smiled at you but something of her countenance seemed strained.  nervous.  you offered her a smile in an attempt to assuage whatever concerns preoccupied her mind and, turning back to the box, unclasped it open.

“these are the earrings and necklace i wore when i married your papa.  they were gifts from your grandmama that were gifts from her mama.  i had tried giving them to your sister when she was to be married, but she thought…  they are plain, nothing like what those fashionable people wear, i am certain; but if you have nothing else, i—”

you shot up from your seat, throwing your arms around your mama, feeling how she reeled from the ferocity of your sudden embrace, as you clutched onto the box of her wedding jewelry.

“they are beautiful, mama,” you said quietly but emphatically as the vehemence of your emotions tried to trap your words in your throat.  “they are the most beautiful things i have ever seen, and i am so— i am so honored to be bestowed with the blessing of wearing them, and of wearing them proudly.  thank you.”

you heard how mama sniffed her nose, and how she tried to hide it, as she gently rubbed your back, as she always had in your moments of vulnerability.

“i love you, my child.”

“i love you, mama.”

you then touch your exposed shoulders.  the neckline of your dress, nowhere near your neck, follows the curved peaks of your breasts to meet and form a small v-shape in the crevice of your bosom.  

“where is the chemise?” was the first thing you had said when you first tried on the gown at the modiste.

genevieve grinned.

“there is none.”

your jaw dropped.

“then what of a stay?  what sort of stay would be worn with this?”

turning slightly, and noting your rather bare upper arms in the process, you angle your exposed back towards the mirror.  another v-shape, its furthest point down a third of your bare spine.  

“my dear, both you and i know that you already know the answer to your inquiry.”

“oh, my good g—”

never, in your life, has the expanse of your upper body been so naked and on display than in this ball gown.

“i do not mean to doubt your artistry, genevieve; truly!, the dress is magnificent, but—” you turned to kathani, who had exclaimed and clapped with immense delight upon seeing you in the gown, “is this—— permissible?”

the viscountess had arched an eyebrow at you then.

“y/n y/l/n, concerned with the rules of society?  and of high society, at that?”

“no— no!” you yelled all too loudly as genevieve chortled and placed pins for final alterations into the dress.  “i just, i just do not want to embarrass you and your family, is all.”

you had not meant for your voice to come out so quiet and small.  the older women’s faces softened immediately.

“you could never embarrass us, y/n,” kathani stated with such tenderness.  then she smiled.  “you look beautiful.”

the off-white base layer of the dress feels luxurious against your skin, the fabric hugging your upper body, puffing out at the sleeves, and, from the underbust, flowing and falling into a cone silhouette for the skirt—but what truly awes you is the artistry of the outermost layer.  a cream translucent silk, the piña seda (you recall genevieve proudly naming it as) of the outermost layer glistens while you sway and turn your body, light shifting and transforming the ever beauty of the dress, the swish of the skirt moving like how waves are described in the passages of your books and in the reminiscing of your parents’ memories.  lined at the underbust begins the intricate thicket of embroidered foliage, painstakingly threaded with innumerable shades of greens and blues, a shimmering teal threaded throughout to gleam in tandem with the sheen of the fabric.  the embroidery of foliage then grows and thickens as it cascades down the middle of the dress and comes to an encircling end a few inches above and around the floor-length hem.  in the negative space of the piña seda are spread out, small ivory embroideries of floral motifs.  

it is a dress deserving of someone most beloved in titania’s garden court. 

“indeed,” genevieve affirmed, a smile on her lips akin to kathani’s.  “those in attendance will not be prepared.  you will look the most beautiful of all.”

and perhaps…

perhaps you should be unnerved by how different your dress will be from the others’ of the ton.  perhaps you should be unnerved by how easily you will stand out from the crowds.  perhaps you should be unnerved by the attention, the whispers, the stares you will inevitably receive with your dress, with your appearance, with your presence, with your very existence.  but, instead— 

“i do look like a princess,” you say finally.  quietly. 

you do look beautiful.

like you could belong amidst the ton.  

like you could belong with the bridgertons.  

like you could belong with him.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“are you anxious, y/n?”

you turn to gregory at your side and see the swell of worry in his eyes.

“what gives you that impression?”

“you are shaking terribly,” hyacinth comments from your other side, replacing her usual pluck and wit with a worry akin to her brother’s.  

the two had volunteered to escort you from the dressing room that you had been prepared in to the grand staircase of number five.  with their arms hooked around yours, gregory on your left and hyacinth on your right, the youngest bridgertons have been walking you down the corridor.  your heart aches with anguish:  you know you have failed when the children are the ones to care for the adult.

“i am sorry to have concerned you both.  yes, i— i am anxious.”

“it is reasonable to be anxious.  but there are a great many cakes at these balls, or so i’ve heard, so you can eat one, and then another, to help ease your nerves!”

“how is that of any help, gregory.”

“it is plenty of help!”

“to eat and eat when she is already uneasy?  the last time you were uneasy, you nearly—”

“do not recount that in front of y/n!”

“why not!”

“it is not— it is not proper!”  gregory’s voice jumps in pitch, causing a swift blush to form on the apples of his cheeks.  hyacinth snorts.

“why does your voice do that?”

“i do not know!  kate said it is natural for bo— for young men to experience such a thing!”

“aren’t young men meant to be tall?”

“i am an inch taller than you now!”

“you are not!”

“i am too!”

you laugh.  the youngest bridgertons halt their dispute and look at you. 

“i must say, your usual squabbling is keeping me much at ease,” and you offer a sympathetic smile to gregory.  “i am sorry that it seems to be at your expense, however.”

his eyes shine.

“you need not worry about me!  i am glad to see you smile.”

“i as well,” hyacinth adds.  you turn to her and see how her eyes shine too. 

“i am most grateful to you both for being at my side on such a night.”

“we are most grateful for you, y/n.”

“that is something, and probably the singular thing, hyacinth and i can agree upon.”

you plant soft kisses on the tops of their heads, just as mama and papa and your elder sister had done when you were their ages.  gregory and hyacinth nestle their heads into your upper arms and only part from you when the three of you reach the top of the first set of steps.  

“are you ready?” 

though you wish to say ‘no,’ you brace yourself with a deep inhale and nod.

your heart quickens with each step as time around you slows.  your mouth has gone dry, and your body feels entirely numb, sensation only returning to you when you feel hyacinth and gregory unhook their arms from yours.  turning your head, you see them stepping backwards, away from you, leaving you at the center of the landing to the rest of the grand staircase.  you face forward once more, and ahead, below, you see the gentlemen and ladies of bridgerton house, waiting for you, looking at you.  

you swallow. 

for the very first time, in your dress, by yourself, you take a step forward.

breathe, y/n.  shoulders back; tilt your chin up, but not too much; just as kathani had taught you.  and just, breathe.

but it is hard to breathe with all eyes on you.  with—

i must control myself.   i must not seek him out.  i must not seek out his face.  i must not seek out those o—

you step on the hem of your dress and feel yourself start to fall forward.  thankfully, god, for whatever reason, has blessed you with enough dexterity in this very moment, and you manage to catch yourself from tumbling down the steps as you hear gasps from above and below you.  you mumble an apology (you don’t know why; it is not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear) and offer everyone a smile.  upon seeing their relaxed shoulders and reassured expressions, you continue to descend the staircase.

stupid benedict.  distracting me in remembering how to walk, and how to breathe, and how to— 

oh.  

i am doing it again.

shit.

goddamnit, stupid benedict!

somehow, you reach the landing of number five’s entrance hall without any additional accidents and, approaching the bridgertons, immediately look to the viscountess.  as if knowing you seek her approval, kathani nods her head; a beam illuminates her countenance.  you feel yourself ease, your shoulders relaxing (that you promptly square again; you are, after all, pretending to be a lady for the night), your heart racing less, if only minutely, and manage a smile.  you feel someone take hold of your gloved hand and, turning to face the source, see violet gazing at you. 

“beautiful.”

it is all she says, but with such tenderness in her voice, it makes your heart swell.

“the importance of appearance,” rasps eloise, causing you to turn to her, “and the lengths gone to achieve so-called perfection of such, especially for those of feminine disposition, is an entirely antiquated, offensive concept that must be eradicated from our, and all, societies—— but you do, look, beautiful, y/n.”

you grin. 

“we’ll eradicate it together; and with help along the way, i am certain.”

when she responds in kind, you turn to the gentlemen, and, to your mortification, colin and anthony bow at you.  the high society etiquette directed towards you from your friends overwhelms you with an embarrassment that you cannot even begin to fathom; they haven’t performed such formalities towards you since your first meeting all those months ago.  but, in spite of your horror, the sincerity of their intentions, as well as their countenances, touches you deeply.

“madame delacroix and the maids have outdone themselves,” remarks anthony.  “as mother and eloise have said, you look beautiful, y/n.”

“indeed,” colin beams.  when he turns to benedict, however, his smile transforms into an expression befitting of a fairytale creature; one with mischievous intentions.  “what say you, brother?”

you follow his line of sight and connect with ocean eyes.  the flood of self-consciousness and the tempo of your heartbeats magnify hundredfold under his gaze, the butterflies within you fluttering the most violently they ever have, and you feel as though your entire body has been set ablaze.

anthony, with what looks like a smirk, nudges his brother with his elbow.  as if suddenly aware of where he is, benedict hastily bows at you and, returning his ocean eyes to yours, says,

“you look— well.”

you hear eloise snort.  turning your head towards her, you see she has completely sucked in her lips.  to her left, kathani smiles massively.  to kathani’s left, violet remains ever poised but with wide, sparkling eyes.  you still feel self-conscious but are infinitely amused by whatever is happening to the bridgertons and, with a playful smile on your lips, return your gaze to benedict.

“thank you, mr. bridgerton.  i had felt uneasy with an unnerved stomach earlier, but i am glad to know that my health appears to be in proper order.”

and you deeply curtsy at him. 

from above you hear the sweet giggles of the youngest bridgertons.  ahead, in your periphery, you see how anthony closes his eyes as he sucks in air through his nostrils and how colin, with an unabashed laugh, clasps his hand onto benedict’s shoulder.

“well!” anthony booms, attempting to control his smile on what ought to be an authoritative expression. “i believe we have a ball to commence.  shall you lead the way, viscountess?”

and with an expression both equal in authority and warmth, kathani declares,

“i shall.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you had grown ease of mind knowing that you would not be asked to dance.  not only were you a stranger to everyone in the ton aside from the bridgertons and penelope, you were also not handsome like the debutantes flitting about the room, swishing prettily in their gowns, strategically but delicately fluttering their eyes at a gentleman with which they wished to dance.  with anonymity and a plain face, you enjoyed the haven of people observing, snickering at the artifice and smiling at the sincerity.  kathani chatting with her guests.  anthony standing by her side.  penelope dancing with colin.  eloise hiding behind a plant.  violet beaming at her family.  (you tried to convince yourself that you had not noticed the absence of a particular person.)  your nerves have finally begun to calm, finding content in your station at the margins of the dance floor.

when colin bridgerton approaches you, hand outstretched in your direction, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“miss y/l/n, may you do me the honor?”

“i’m sorry, what?”

he laughs.

“will you dance with me?”

you gape at him.

“you’re mad.”

“my mind is perfectly intact.”

“this is unwise.”

“this is the best decision i have made this night.”

“i shall surely step on your toes.”

“i have worn my sturdiest shoes for the occasion.”

the corners of your mouth tug down into a moue at the third bridgerton’s stubborn charm.  his grin merely widens as your eyes narrow to slits at him.  penelope approaches from behind the beguiling imp and smiles warmly at you.

“it will be fun,” she encourages. “i promise.”

penelope!  no!

“et tu, brute?” you bemoan.

she shrugs.

“what is a ball without dancing?” penelope offers.  sweet innocence colors her voice, but the delighted glint in her eyes reveals her true duplicitous nature.  she knew exactly how to play the game of this conversation, no doubt a devious plot concocted between her and her beau.

you sigh.

“fine,” you huff, slapping your hand into colin’s palm.  “i would be honored, mr. bridgerton.”

the diabolical duo laughs at the sarcasm that drips from your words as colin leads you to the lineup on the dance floor.  

–

“how is the dance treating you, miss y/l/n?” 

“i hate you.” 

colin guffaws.  (you see in your periphery how heads shift towards him and how eyes narrow at you.  the partner you had just left looks at you with particular scrutiny.)

“if your hatred towards me is the cost of you enjoying the ball, then it is a burden i shall carry, and happily so.” 

“has anyone ever told you how infuriating you bridgertons are?” 

“no, but we very well know that we are,” he grins, “and we take immense pride in it.”

you groan, throwing your head back.  (you hear murmurs around you.  not ladylike.)

“are you truly not having fun?”  the gentleness in his voice makes you look back at him.  his expression is soft.  sad.  guilty.  “we can leave the lineup, if that is what you would like.” 

you consider his words and his offer.

“i am having fun,” you reply truthfully.  his eyes light up at that and your heart warms at the sight.  “it is just— being in a circumstance so wholly unfamiliar— it’s overwhelming, is all, i think.  but…” you feel a smile form on your lips, “knowing that you all—as infuriating as you bridgertons are—are here with me, by my side, wanting me to enjoy myself, wanting me to be happy, it makes all the overwhelming feeling worthwhile.  i am happy.  you all make me happy.”

colin doesn’t say anything.  he just stares at you as the two of you dance still.  you are about to inquire—

“i am grateful to call you my friend, y/n.  becoming your friend has been one of the greatest blessings to have been bestowed upon me and my family.”

you suck in a breath. 

as is becoming yours has been one of mine.

but another thought also lives in your mind.  so, on the exhale of your breath, you smirk.

“only second to falling in love with penelope, yes?”

he laughs, an uncharacteristic shy smile forming on his lips as he looks at his feet and then back at you, eyes shining incandescently.

“i hope you do not take offense to being second.”

“being second to penelope is truly, sincerely, still a victory in of itself.  you are very blessed, indeed, to be her premier.”

you did not think colin’s eyes could shine brighter than they had mere moments prior, but you suppose— no, you are certain that this is the effect that the love of penelope featherington has on the third eldest bridgerton:  the light in colin’s eyes is absolute radiance.

“‘very blessed’ is to put it very lightly.”

with unabashed grins, you and colin continue to dance.  you have to walk most of the steps, often keeping good on your promise and stepping on his toes, but your partner is deterred neither by your incompetence nor by his injuries.  the two of you laugh (drawing leers from the other guests, you notice but brush off) and end your dance with exaggerated flourishes of a curtsy and a bow to one another.

“you underestimate your dancing skills, miss y/l/n,” colin remarks with a beam.

“see if you feel the same after tending to your bruises, mr. bridgerton,” you beam back.

“colin bridgerton!”

you both whip your gazes to the call of colin’s name and see a man fastly, eagerly approaching.

“hastings!” 

hastings?  why does that sound familiar? 

colin and the absurdly handsome man embrace, smiles broad and sincere. 

“i was uncertain you would be joining us on this occasion.”

“we would have seen to arriving early, as we had intended, but augie is proving to be quite unpredictable with his tantrums as of late.”

“he must take after his uncles,” colin smirks with odd pride.  that makes the other man chuckle.

“unfortunately, it seems to be so.”

he then shifts his gaze onto you.  his expression is curious and— sweet?  kindly.  you feel yourself become rather self-conscious as you notice, in your periphery, colin assuming a posture of gentlemanliness.

“my apologies for my dreadful manners.  simon, this is miss y/n y/l/n.  y/n, this is simon basset.”

simon bows most graciously at you.

“good evening, miss y/l/n.  it is a true pleasure to finally meet you.  i am simon basset, daphne’s husband.”

daphne?  

as in daphne bridgerton?

you recall the day you and benedict toured the art gallery:  a portrait, a fairly recent one, it seemed, of a beautiful young woman and a beautiful young man—the duchess and the duke of hastings, the plaque read.

your jaw drops.

“you are the duke!”  you remember the etiquette kathani taught you.  “your grace!”  and you sloppily curtsy.

simon laughs.

“that is hardly necessary.  please, if you feel comfortable in doing so, call me simon.”

“yes— of course!, your— simon,” you compose yourself.  “and you may call me y/n; i would prefer it, actually.”

simon grins.

“then, y/n, may i have the honor of having your next dance?”

your jaw drops again, your composure completely falling away.  you look at simon, who is utterly amused by your reaction, and then to colin, who is utterly delighted by the turn of events, and back to simon.

“that is a mistake.”

that earns guffaws from both of the men.  (you feel stares falling upon them and, once again, scowls falling upon you.)  

“i am more than willing to make that discovery for myself, if you will allow it.”

you throw back your head (ignoring the additional glares shot your way) and, with a sigh, whip it back to look at simon with a fatigued, but earnest, smile.

“i shall allow it.”

colin bows his head at you, his grin having never left his countenance since the end of your dance together, and steps to the side as you place your hand into simon’s outstretched one and are led to the next lineup by the duke.

–

“has the duchess accompanied you to the ball this evening?”

“while it is poor courtesy to speak on behalf of my wife when she can speak for herself, i can say, with confidence, that she would much rather you call her daphne.”

“kathani had taught me your society’s etiquette in preparation for the ball, in the event it would be necessary,” you roll your eyes.  “while i find it all utterly ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary for me in particular, i want to honor the knowledge that my teacher has bestowed upon me as a way to honor her.”

simon grins.

“you are a dedicated student.  indeed, she is in attendance.  the last i had seen her, she was tending to benedict.”

your heart sinks.

oh no.

“tending to benedict?  is he unwell?  did something happen?  is he all right?”

you hear how your voice rises in pitch and grows louder and more frantic with each word.  (you try not to care for the stares that you feel on you.  they are not of importance right now——or ever.)

is that why i have not seen him all night?  because he is in poor condition?  shall i leave the ball?  shall i see where he is being tended to?  shall i—

“y/n?”

oh.  yes.  you were having a conversation with simon.

“sorry, what did you say?”

“i had said that i did not mean to worry you,” simon says sincerely, but there is something in his smile.  not suspicious, neither mocking nor teasing.  it is as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotion.  “i simply mean that she is speaking with him and— encouraging him, is all.”

you feel the entirety of your body, mind, heart, and soul ease; but now, you are perplexed.

“encouraging him?  whatever for?”

“i had not stayed with them long enough to hear the details of their conversation; i had sought you out rather immediately.”

“me!”

the dance had timed perfectly that upon receiving such information, you are forced to turn to another partner (who is unnerved to have you as a temporary companion).  when you reunite with simon, his chuckling has mostly subsided.

“indeed.  the viscount had encouraged me to ask you for a dance.  the viscountess then stated that you required the practice.”

“i—— am utterly lacking in words in how to respond to that.”

“if it is of any comfort to you, it was something i had already intended on doing.”

“that is, rather strange?”

he grins.

“i can see how that is so from your perspective, yes.  but from mine,” and it surprises you how suddenly simon’s countenance softens, “i had to find out for myself how wonderful this y/n y/l/n is to have so easily won the affections of all the bridgertons at number five.  daff and i, as well as francesca, were becoming quite jealous that we did not have the good fortune to spend time with you as the rest of the family has had.”

“the family has… spoken of me?”

“in these past months of knowing you, you have become their most beloved topic of conversation.  hyacinth and gregory idolize how resplendent of a storyteller you are.  eloise adores being challenged by your intellect.  colin aspires to your ferocity of quick wit.  kate cherishes every discussion you share together.  anthony reveres your unwavering resolve.  violet becomes overcome with delight at every recounting of a memory in which you are involved.  and benedict…”

you swallow.

“yes?” 

you hear how feeble and quiet your voice has become.  

“never stops speaking of you; so much so that it would be impossible to abridge what he loves in you.”

you shut your eyes closed at the words “he loves” and attempt to control the tears that threaten to flow at the word “you.”  

the love he has for you is not the love you have for him.

“i— i did not know that they held me in such high regard,” you whisper.

you flutter your eyes open, grateful that no tears have fallen, and are greeted by the gentlest of smiles from simon.  it assuages your soul.

“the highest of regards.  they care very deeply for you.”

“and i care very deeply for them,” you declare softly.  you then feel yourself break out into a smile.  “i cannot say the same for you, yet, but i can see it forthcoming.”

simon throws his head back with a loud laugh, your smile transforming into a large grin (as you ignore the scowls that fall upon you).  simon whips his head back to you, and he too wears a large grin.

“i am honored that you see the potential within me.”

with a final spin, you and simon release the other’s hand, ending the dance in a curtsy and a bow, both of your grins non-faltering.

“thank you for bestowing me the honor of dancing with you.”

you snort.  (you hear scoffs and other suppressed noises of disapproval.)

“i fail to see how much of an honor it is to have someone incessantly knock into you, but if such is your feeling,” you curtsy with much theatricality and, upon your rise, let out a sigh of relief.  “now, i shall retire to the margins once more.”

simon, once again, looks as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotions, but in it you detect— delight?  you narrow your eyes.

“what?”

“you are not meant for the margins, y/n; please forgive me,” and with that, simon bows, his smile still non-faltering, and turns to leave you in the middle of the dance floor.

you are about to call out his name, curious and agitated by his vagueness—

“y/n?”

you turn around to the familiar voice and are greeted by a smiling anthony.

“oh no.  are you going to ask me for the honor of having my next dance?”

the viscount looks as if he is about to howl with laughter and attempts to mask it, poorly, with his absurdly elated smile.

“is the idea of dancing with me truly so appalling?”

“the idea of dancing more is what i find so appalling.”

“i shan’t force you to do anything you do not want to do.”

“but how will your pride take it?”

this time anthony fully howls (earning looks of confusion at the host and their looks, predictably, turning to glares when they trace the impropriety back to you).

“i am always working on humbling myself,” he says, his expression softening.  “i assure you that i, as well as my pride, can manage your rejection if it means that you are happy.  you need not worry about my well-being.”

these damned bridgertons, and their damned charm, and their damned sincerity.

despite your internal accusations, you smile.  you offer your hand (hearing a gasp or a few around you), and beaming, anthony takes it.

–

“you look like a princess, y/n!”

the saccharine words of hyacinth echo in your mind.  with the transmutative magics of your fairy godmothers in mama, violet, kathani, genevieve, judith, alice, and the maids of bridgerton house, the impossible was made possible:  you look like a princess.  but it is not until this very moment, after descending a regal staircase, after entering this enchanting ball, after dancing with two dashing gentlemen and now a third, that you feel like a princess.  you recall how you and your siblings played imagination; how you often asked to be the princess; how you did it so often that mama sewed you a dress from scraps of fabric and papa crafted you a crown out of discarded branches and your elder sister announced you as princess y/n whenever you played and your younger sibling waltzed with you around the first floor of your home.  it makes you elated with childlike wonder how fortunate you are to be here and how lovely it is to be here, how strange and wonderful it is that imagination has become real life; as if it is all a wish for which you did not know you had wished, a wish that you did not know you had wanted to come true until it came true.

but—

“is there something on your mind, y/n?” you hear anthony ask, sometime after returning to him as your partner.  “you seem pensive.”

“ah, yes.  despite my gripes with you, and your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—”

“i gave you an option not to do so!”

“i am not finished speaking!”

he huffs out air through his nostrils, waiting with what seems to be a morsel of patience for you to continue.

“despite my gripes with you, your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—” anthony gives you a tired look that of an older sibling; you grin, “i am enjoying myself.  i just wish, i just wish my family could be here with me, to enjoy it too.”

anthony’s expression softens immediately, and it makes your heart tighten.  you know with what gravity, duty, and love he looks after the entirety of his family; you have witnessed it at every given second since becoming his friend.  if someone were to be with you as you navigate this pain, you are glad that it is anthony.

“we shall invite them to the next ball we host,” he declares.  your jaw drops.  “it was a lack of foresight on my part for not doing so for this occasion, and i shan’t make that error again.”

you try to do rough estimations of what costs that would entail for the bridgertons— dresses and coats and shoes and four to six sets of two abstained days of work at least.

“anthony, i cannot possibly ask you to—”

“you did not ask,” he grins.  “i offered.  and i do so wholeheartedly.  it shall not be a trouble for us, just strategic planning as kathani and i work the books.  and before you protest—” you frown, both disappointed and flattered that anthony could sense your retaliation, “it is something i—as well as the rest of the family, i am certain—wish to do.  if you won’t consider it for yourself and your family, then perhaps consider it as a gift to us selfish bridgertons.” 

that makes you laugh loudly as you feel tears form in your eyes (whispers of you be damned).  expression turning gentle once more, anthony continues,

“it would be an honor to finally meet your family.  if they are even an inkling like you, then they must be truly wonderful, indeed.”

with a small sniffle of your nose and all the gratitude in your heart, you smile.

“they are.  they are truly wonderful.  i love them so much.”

anthony smiles in return with a nod of his head.

“then it is settled.”

“you are a good brother, anthony.”

you have wondered often if that is something anthony knows.  while the bridgertons’ love for one another is apparent in all that they do and say and breathe, you haven’t heard them say very complimentary things to one another, particularly to the eldest.  it is typical of families to tease and to jest, you know that intimately, but you also know how important, then, it is to tell your family what you truly think of them, how you truly feel of them.  they ought to know just how much they are loved.

though his overall demeanor is composed and dignified, the softness in anthony’s eyes reveals his true emotion.

“and you are a good sibling, y/n.”

< their dance eventually comes to an end.  someone approaches them. >

“good evening, brother,” benedict turns his ocean eyes to you.  “good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.”

you vaguely hear something in your periphery.  you turn to it and see a brilliant grin lighting up the viscount’s countenance.

“huh?”

“i had said that the viscountess is calling me over to her.  i must pardon myself.”

“oh.  yes.  farewell, anthony.”

his grin broadens, dimples forming in his cheeks, and he bows.  you see how, as he brings himself upright, his eyes shift towards his brother, the delight in his grin never leaving but something in his eyes… softening?  before you can fully process it, he has turned and now walks towards kathani.

you turn back to benedict.

“i—— good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.  though, we have already greeted each other this night, just moments ago.”

“ah, yes— that—— that would be correct.  and— is… correct.”

he is anxious.  your heart aches at the sight, and you want to reach out and touch him, comfort him, ease whatever his concerns are—but you refrain.

benedict clears his throat.

“are you— are you enjoying yourself?”

while heavy by benedict’s current state, your heart cannot help but glow brighter at his question.

“yes, tremendously so.  the dancing has been plenty fun, despite how horrendous i am at it.”

that makes benedict laugh, and relief floods your body, mind, soul, and heart.  it is good to hear him laugh.  to see him smile.

“i do not think you are as horrendous as you think you are.  your form has been quite good.”

you cock your head, feeling the scrunch of your eyebrows and the smirk on your lips.

“you have been observing me?”

his jaw drops, his body stiffening again.  suddenly shy, he looks at his shoes and, with a cough, looks back up at you, and you attempt to hold in your gasp.

how.  

how is that, after all this time, he makes these butterflies within me flutter still.

“i— i do not have a clever diversion for that.  yes; yes, i have.  i suppose i have been building the— the courage within myself.”

“‘the courage’?  the courage for what?”

he swallows.

“to ask you to dance with me.”

oh.

“oh.”

he looks… he looks scared.  exposed.  vulnerable.

you feel them within yourself, too.

he offers his hand.

“may i dance with you, y/n?”

you place your hand in his.

“yes.  yes, you may, benedict.”

i am terrified of nothing else and would love nothing more than to dance with you.

benedict leads you to the floor, his ocean eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his.

the quartet starts up, and you detect how it is music for a waltz.  of all the dances you were taught, even you can admit that you were best at learning the waltz.  

…

you curtsy as he bows.  benedict places his hand on your waist, and you try not to elicit your gasp from feeling his touch.

< their dance commences.  they are silent.  a lot of staring and shit.

< notably, y/n is not cognizant of the ton’s perception of her while she dances with benedict as she had been with her previous partners.  it seems her sole focus in this moment is dancing with benedict, being with benedict.  her heart, mind, body, and soul is with him.

< y/n’s mind goes Rampant when benedict places his hand on her exposed shoulder. >

do not close your eyes, you reprimand yourself.  if you close your eyes, you will indulge.  you will indulge in this sensation.  in this touch.  in his touch.  in benedict’s bare hand on the expanse of your exposed skin.  in imagination.  in fantasies.  in thoughts.  in other thoughts on other parts of your body that you so, so very much want him to—

“i had not spoken properly.”

you try not to shudder a gasp upon hearing his voice.

“pardon?” you say, a bit breathless.  the dance calling for it, benedict twirls you, and you are now face to face again.

“earlier; when i had commented on your appearance, i had said you looked well.”

you snort, recalling the peculiar word choice, and that earns a smile from benedict.

“what i had meant to say is—“ he swallows, “you look beautiful, y/n.”

“i think,” you respond perhaps too swiftly, “that is testimony to genevieve’s skill and not to my appearance.”

“i think genevieve only enhances what is already there.”

you want to change, you don’t want to change— you do want to change the topic.  you cannot handle whatever— whatever benedict is insinuating.  the indecipherable, intense, attentive gaze of his ocean eyes on you.  it is so much; it is too much.

“she spoke of you.”

shit.  why did i say that?

his face immediately falls, ocean eyes transforming with it.

shit.

“genevieve spoke of me?  with you?  why?”

“kathani had accompanied me to the modiste, and i had shared with genevieve how i became acquainted with penelope and the bridgertons,” you half-truth.  “talking about the family, and then you, was a natural consequence.”

“what did she say?  about me?”

you try not to wince at the urgency in his voice.

“she shared how you and she had— an intimate and passionate acquaintance,” you divulge, using the words your friend had to describe the artists’ relationship.  perhaps you imagine the sensation, but you feel benedict wince as you dance.  “and that it was brief and no more.”

“she said that?  ‘brief and no more’?”

“indeed.”

he sighs.  you detect relief in the exhale, but perhaps you had, once again, imagined it.  you always had an active imagination; trying to bend what you perceive to what you wish was real.

“i see,” is all benedict says.

“do you care for her?” you inquire.  it is truly masochistic, what you are doing.  but you cannot help yourself.  it is something you often do when benedict is near.  when you and he are so close.

there is a small silence.

“i did.  at least, i think i did,” he shares. “i was hurt when our— acquaintance came to an end, but i was not heartbroken.  i had known nothing of heartbreak, not until—”

and he suddenly stops speaking, sucking in his lips.

“until?”

“nothing.  nevermind.  forget i had said anything,” he says all too quickly.  you laugh, and he scrunches his face in adorable disapproval at you.

“well, that only makes me the more curious, benedict!  the mystery of it, and your very clear blush, indicate it must have been quite the event.”

“i am not blushing!”

“you cannot lie about something i can literally see.”

“you are infuriating.”

“and what do you think you are?”

benedict just pouts at you, though you see the twinkle in his ocean eyes.  you want the twinkle to be of affection, but you will settle for amusement.  for friendship.  you take pride in how you can elicit this reaction out of him.  you take joy in how he can elicit this reaction out of you.  you love him, and you are grateful that is something you can say and know and feel.  even if he does not love you as you love him.

“the first time i felt heartbreak,” he begins, finally giving in.  you perk up in anticipation.  “was when— was when you had walked out of the house after i had crumpled the paper to the floor.”

you nearly stop in your tracks, halting your waltz with benedict entirely, until you find a way to recover and continue the steps with him.  he is looking intently at you, waiting for your response.  you inhale a breath and on the exhale say,

“oh.”

it is a pathetic response, but it is the only one you can muster at this moment.  breath has entirely left your lungs, your heart palpitates at a maddening rate, the lightning of benedict’s touch and proximity magnifying at every passing second.

“i had hurt you, this person whom i—” he swallows, “whom i care for, deeply and completely.  i was, and am, ashamed of my deed and the arrogant thoughts and beliefs that led me to do it.”

“i have long forgiven you for that, benedict.”

“it is something of which i am not deserving.”

“you cannot tell me what to think or do,” you challenge, arching an eyebrow at him to add levity to the conversation.  benedict smiles, despite himself, and it makes your body flood with relief and joy. 

“i would never dare.”

“as you shouldn’t,” you grin, then inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils.  “you need not flagellate yourself for what you did.  that accomplishes nothing, and guilt is entirely useless in the structures that be,” you say resolutely.  more softly, you continue.  “my forgiveness is something i gave you willingly because it is what i truly wanted.  because i knew, and know, how you wish to do better.  i see that in everything you do; in your art, in your character.  it is something i admire in you.”

benedict simply stares at you, his ocean eyes impossible to decipher again.  his gaze is overwhelming, but you refuse to break it.

“i was about to say how undeserving i am of your compassion,” he says, “but then swiftly realized you would have just admonished me.”

you laugh.

“you were correct in thinking so, yes.”

he looks at you still, his expression still impossible to decipher, but there is something soft about it.

“thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies within you flutter once more.

“and if you ever wish to discard your paper again,” you diverge from your feelings, “simply hand it to me.  i am always in need of more.”

he laughs fully, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight, and you feel the flutterings violently rage within.  perhaps diversion was not the wisest choice (or perhaps it was, if it meant that you were the one to make benedict laugh like that).

“i have gotten quite good at maximizing the amount of negative space on a sheet, but nothing would delight me more than to support your writing.”

“i am most grateful for your patronage, mr. bridgerton.”

benedict makes something of a gagging noise, and you snort loudly.

“you are making it strange with the master-servant relation, y/n.”

“ah, so you are learning,” you comment with a sagacious nod of approval.  it is now benedict’s turn to snort.

“what can i say?” he grins.  “i have the greatest of teachers.”

“they have done quite well; please give them my regards.”

“i shall.”

and with the music coming to an end, you turn to face one another, wide and wild smiles on your faces.  you curtsy as benedict bows.  

“may i fetch you a drink?” he inquires after you are both upright again.

“is alcohol served at these occasions?”

benedict laughs.

“champagne it is.”

he gives you one more bow, lingering a moment more with one more smile, before taking off to retrieve your drink.

you try to bite back your smile, but it’s entirely useless.  you twirl in your spot, feeling the swish of your dress in the spin, for you cannot help yourself.  you cannot help how much joy radiates off of you in this moment, how giddy you are.  it feels like a fairytale.  you look in the direction benedict took off and feel your smile widen.

it is dangerous what you are doing— indulging in this.  but you do not care.

this is undoubtedly the most wondrous night of your life.

“so you’re the pauper that the bridgertons have invited to their ball.”

you freeze.

“how else would you have been asked to dance by the host—the viscount and a bridgerton, nonetheless; his two brothers; and the elusive duke of hastings?  it is an endearing sight, really.”

her posse snickers.

“the bridgertons have always been so kind and thoughtful in that way, extending their hands to the less fortunate.  why they chose you, however, remains a mystery.  if it were a pretty face that appealed to them, i perhaps could have understood, but you are simple at best.”

“you are cressida cowper,” you state.

penelope and eloise had warned you about a cruel creature amongst the ton, and the young woman before you matches all of the criteria they had described:  icy platinum hair, draconian eyes, and a haughty disposition that ought to be reserved for the royals.

cressida daintily gasps and smiles at you with what seems to be all the mockery she can muster.  

“i see that my reputation precedes me!  though, only those of my standing can refer to me as such.  cannot have my name tainted by the mouths of the lowly.”

you feel the gazes of other guests on you.  you hear muffled sneers.

this is entertainment for them.

you should say something, stand up for yourself— against cressida, against her posse, against the ton— but you don’t.  you can’t.  your mouth has gone dry, your mind has gone silent, your body has gone numb.  you have never, ever felt more powerless.

“your dress— did the bridgertons pay for it?  of course they did.  pity, though, for their wealth to go to waste on such an offensive thing.  allow me to assist you—”

and she pours her drink onto you.

you try not to gasp at the chill of the liquid making contact with your skin.  looking down, you see a reddish purple stain seep into the cream fabric of your ball gown as it continues to travel downwards.

you hear cressida giggle.  you look up.

“better,” she simpers.  “beautiful at last.”

her posse sneers with delight.  the guests who had tried to suppress their laughs do nothing to hide their mirth now.  

this is entertainment for them.  my humiliation— it is entertainment for them.

you step into cressida’s space, eliciting a stunned gasp from her as the others follow suit, and shove your face as closely to hers as possible.

“if we were not in your domain, i would rip out your delicate hair and strike my hand across your pretty little face.  but i am a lady—not in blood nor in title, but in character.  and with your words and your deeds, you have shown just how utterly undeserving you are of such a title with your complete void of morals, compassion, and integrity.  i do not care what you think of me, cressida, or what drinks you pour on me because i can rest easy in my sleep and waking hours knowing with perfect certainty that i am nothing like you.  i bid you good night.”

and maintaining the ferocity of your glare on her horrified eyes, you muster up the most mocking, deep curtsy you can, turn, hitch up your skirt, and run away.  you cannot care for the booming silence from that creature and her posse, for the murmurs and glowers of the ton thrown your way.  you cannot take time to process what words a flutters-inducing voice snarls at cressida.  

no. 

you must simply run away, quickly and efficiently, because you refuse to give into these monsters’ satisfaction of seeing your tears.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

the cool air of the night whips your face as you run as far and as deep as you can into the gardens.  you curse your damned shoes, for they are slippery and nothing like your sturdy boots, and they make you realize even further how much you have fucked up in allowing yourself to get this far.  in allowing yourself to go to the ball, in allowing yourself to dance, in allowing yourself to fall in—

feeling your shoe catch on something, you fall forward and throw your hands out in front of you, your gloved palms digging into the bark of a tree trunk as you attempt to steady yourself.  you attempt to control the staggered rhythm of your breath, the sobs that choke out of your throat, the palpitations that threaten to collapse your heart.

why did i allow myself to get this far?

“y/n—”

you snap your gaze over to the call of your name as your stomach knots, somehow, even now, with flutterings upon hearing his voice.

“benedict, no— just— no,” you manage to croak out, stepping away from where he approaches.  you hold up your hand, as if it is a magical force that will push him away.  it does not.  “just go, please, just go.”

“i refuse to leave you, y/n, you are hurt—”

you cackle, sniffling the snot that tries to escape your nostrils.  you push your remaining hand off the tree and turn towards him.  

“hurt?  what gave you that impression?  is it the tears?  they are just water, benedict, they will dry.”

“this is not the time to jest!”

“then what do you want of me!”

“to allow me to help you!”

“why!  why do you care!  why do you care for some, some low status person like me!”

“that is not how i see you!”

“THAT IS WHAT I AM.”

he freezes.  you feel yourself clenching your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms through the satin of the gloves that were bought for you.

“you are the son of a viscountess, a brother to a viscount.  i wonder every day if my family will have enough food to eat at our one meal.  we—” you gesture between the two of you, “—are not of the same world.  and maybe, maybe it should have stayed that way.  to, to have stayed in our own worlds.  we should have stayed in our own worlds!”

“and is that what you want?” he shoots back.

“what?”  you snark.

“is that what you want?  for us to stay in our own worlds?”

you fall silent, words suddenly failing you, breath suddenly leaving you.  he huffs out a breath and continues.

“if that is what you want, i shall stay away from you.  i shall never bother you.  i shall never hurt you as i have.  we shall—” benedict swallows, “we shall forget each other.  if that is what you want, y/n, i shall give it to you.”

you do not respond to him.  you stare into him as he stares into you.

“is that what you want?”

you shake your head as you feel fresh tears rush to your eyes.

“then what do you want?” he softly asks.

you flutter your eyes closed and breathe in.  on your exhale, you open your eyes to the tear-blurry sight of benedict still looking at you with such tenderness in his ocean eyes.

“i want you,” you whisper.

you barely have time to process anything else when benedict surges forward and wraps his arms around you in a crushing embrace.  tears fall even harder than before as you cry into his chest and wrap your arms around him.

benedict pulls back from the embrace to look at you, to cup your cheek, to wipe away the tears that fall so quickly from your eyes.

“i want you, y/n.  i want to be yours.  i want to be in your world, i want our worlds to be one.  i want to go wherever you go.  i want to make you laugh and to make you smile every day and every night; i want to do everything with you.  i want to be with you, to share this life with you.  from the moment i met you, from the moment you intended to shake my hand, i have wanted nothing more than to share all the time i have on this earth with you.  i do not care for balls, i do not care for the ton, i care— i care for you, y/n.  these are not the circumstances in which i wanted to confess this, with you crying and us yelling at one another, but i must be true with you.  i—”

“benedict?”

“yes?”

“may i kiss you?”

benedict’s jaw drops and you laugh at his shock, sniffling your nose as you beam at him.  he quickly recovers, breaking out into the smile that has always made you flutter with butterflies, the smile that you always secretly hoped, dreamed, wished was reserved for you.  and you begin to think that, after all this time, perhaps it is.

“good god, please, yes—”

he barely completes his ‘yes’ when you jump forward to crash your lips into his.  benedict practically trips backwards with the force of your eager leap, the two of you laughing into your kiss at the messiness of it all, as he holds you both steady.

this is your first kiss.  you are so glad that it is benedict.  

and somewhere within you blooms the hope that he is your last first kiss.  

you have no idea what you’re doing, or what you should be doing, but you are far too much enjoying having benedict’s lips on yours, your hands on his cheeks, his hands on your waist, and your bodies pressing more and more into each other to give the slightest care.  and the smile you feel against yours makes you think that benedict doesn’t mind—at all.

you pull apart to breathe, but your lips do not move far from one another.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

“and i am sorry.”

“for loving me?”

you feel benedict jump back as he holds you, his face absolutely crestfallen, panic flooding his eyes, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when you giggle and peck his parted lips with yours.

“i’m teasing you, my love.”

benedict’s eyes soften but quickly glint with mischief.  you’re curious about the expression when you feel him tickling the sides of your waist.

“okay, okay!” you gasp with laughter as he tickles on. “i— i yield, i yield!”

benedict grins victoriously, his tickles fading into him softly rubbing circles on your waist.

“i am sorry for saying that is not how i see you, when you spoke of your social standing.  i had not meant it that way, but i understand now how it was understood, and i should not have said it as i did.  i know that i have lived a life of unfathomable ease with the wealth and circumstances into which i was born.  the privileges i hold are not things i had reflected on, really, until— until i met you.”

you soften at his earnestness, by the way he humbles himself before you.  but you cannot help the giddy mischief that bubbles from within.

“did you only reflect on your privileges as to win a femme’s favor?”

benedict’s jaw drops again, but you see how his ocean eyes shine with like-minded playfulness. 

“do you truly think so lowly of me?”

you grin.  

“perhaps.”

you feel benedict teasingly threaten his hands into tickling position onto your waist, and laughing, you shoo them away.  he grins and softens his gaze once more.

“what i wanted to say to you earlier is— i wish you did not speak of yourself so harshly.  as if you are unworthy of care from me because of your status.  i care for you, i love you, y/n,  as you are.  as you were, as you will be.  with all your circumstances, all your experiences, all your deeds, all your words, all your thoughts, all your feelings.  for your heart, for your mind, for your soul.  i love you because you are you, and i wish for you to see that, for you to see you as i see you.  as so many of us see you.”

“i— i do not know what to say.”

“you do not have to say anything; just to, if i may ask of you, seed my words into your heart and mind and soul and know them to be true, wholly and completely,” a playful smile forms on his lips.  “though, i must say, i am rather pleased with myself for rendering a writer with ferocious conviction speechless.”

you roll your eyes, but your voice is soft.

“you have had that effect on me for quite some time, benedict.”

benedict swallows and gently rubs circles onto your waist again.

“i love you, benedict.”

“i love you, too.”

< y/n and benedict, hand-in-hand, start to walk towards the house; they are taking their time. >

“are you certain you want to return the ball?” benedict inquires.  “we can stay here in the gardens and wait until the last of the guests have gone.”

you hum.

“i would like to dance.”

“ah, was there a gentleman or a lady who caught your eye, miss y/l/n?”

“oh, loads.  i hope it won’t make you terribly jealous, mr. bridgerton.”

“it will, but i shall simply stare at them maliciously if their hands are to roam.”

“yes, my form is reserved for your hands and your hands alone.”

you exchange grins.

“indeed.”

benedict nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, and you laugh.  he lifts his head and plants a soft kiss on your temple.

“are you certain?  i do not mean to doubt you or your wishes to dance.  we can dance out here, under the bright light of the moon.  i want you to feel content and safe.”

“i do feel content and safe.  with you.  with the family.  within myself.  i shan’t let the ton or cressida ruin my first ball.  though, the idea of dancing in the moonlight is quite enticing.  perhaps another night?”

“you have my word,”  and bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses your knuckles.  a serene silence falls between you two until benedict makes some sort of a noise in his throat, as if to clear his voice.

“i, uh, must say,” benedict begins, “your confrontation with cressida was, uh, quite— alluring.”

you stop, letting go of his hand, and stare at him.

“alluring?”

a delicious blush colors your love’s face.

“indeed.”

a newfound bravery blooms in you.

you step into his space, not breaking eye contact with his blown out pupils, the ocean of his eyes mere outlines.  you sneak your lips towards his ear and hear a soft whimper emit from his lips.

“is that something of interest to you, mr. bridgerton?” you murmur, your bottom lip barely grazing his earlobe.  you feel him shiver and inhale.  “when you see someone be put in their place?”

he exhales frantically.

“it is something of interest to me when— when you do it,” he admits, as if out of breath.  you smile, pressing your bottom lip softly into his earlobe.  he does nothing to hold back his moan as you do everything in your power to hold in yours.

“that is good to know,” and quickly rip away from him.  

in your step back, you take in benedict’s state—flustered, expectant, ruttish—and wink at him.  you turn and walk away at your leisure, putting on a performance of superiority as you hide your own arousal.

it is only a few moments later that you hear benedict follow you.

“you,” he says, voice still fraught with desire but full with love, “will be the death of me.”

you look back at him and grin.

“and what would you like me to put on your epitaph?”

“benedict bridgerton, he who, in life and in death, loves the best soul to have ever existed.”

you cannot help your giddy self and close the distance between the two of you once more, grabbing his face and pressing your smile into his.  benedict happily obliges as he places his hands at the low of your waist and pulls you closer into him.

< they get into it! 

< y/n takes off her gloves so that she can touch benedict; she is about to throw them on the ground. >

“wait—”

and he takes your gloves.

“hm?”

“your gloves.  they were costly to make,” benedict states as he stuffs them into the inside pockets of his jacket.  “i don’t want to be flippant in letting them be discarded to the ground.”

you gape at him.

“you concern yourself with the cost of my gloves?”

“why, yes, of course, it is something i—”

you clutch onto the lapels of benedict’s jacket and push him backward into a nearby hedge, his mouth now agape and his pupils dark with a desire you very much want to satisfy.

“i find your consideration quite alluring.”

in the midst of his apparent arousal, benedict giggles, and that makes you grin.

“what is it?”

“a hedge, y/n?  of all things to anchor me against?”

you roll your eyes.

“it was this, benedict, or the bark of a tree.”

“ah, so i should be grateful then.”

you repeat his words with sped up mockery, making him laugh and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the adorable way that is so very distinctly benedict, and you capture your love’s lips again to shut him up, smiling and laughing into the kiss.

…

“what do you want?”

“you.  whatever you want, benedict, i want it.  please.”

“are you certain?” he breathes into your ear.

“god, yes, benedict, please, yes.”

“then—”

benedict positions his head downward, burying his face into the crevice of your bosom, and before you can even begin to tease him for his absurdity, you feel the wetness of his tongue flat against the curvature of your right breast.  your gasp of surprise quickly transforms into an ungodly guttural wail, feeling yourself dig your fingernails into benedict’s back, arching into him to steady yourself, as he painstakingly drags the flat of his tongue from your right breast against the expanse of your exposed chest to the length of your right shoulder.  dazed and euphoric, you feel how benedict sneaks towards your ear, hovers it, panting ragged breaths,

“i’ve wanted to do that since you descended the stairs in that dress.  and—”

taking your left hand, benedict pushes your middle finger and forefinger fully into his mouth.  he methodically works his tongue against them as he guides your hand to pull and push in him, his blown out pupils never once leaving your intoxicated stare.  you feel the desperate urge to throw your head back at the incandescent eroticism that throbs from your fingertips to the rest of your body, but may god smite you if you willingly tear your eyes away from the divine sight of benedict’s almost oceanless eyes gaping into you as his gorgeous mouth sucks on your fingers.  just before you feel as though you are to fully blank out and ascend into the heavens, benedict rips your hand out of his mouth, the action creating an obscenely delicious ‘pop’ sound, and, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulls you back into him, your face finding respite just below his shoulder.

“i’ve wanted to do that since first drawing your hand.”

you laugh-cry into his jacket.

“shit, benedict.”

your love laughs and nudges his head into yours and rests it there as he softly rubs circles on your back with his thumb.

“please—” good god, breathe, “please remind me to ask you more frequently what you want.”

“did you enjoy it?”

“no, benedict, i quite plainly hated it.”

“i’d be glad to accept your critiques.”

“i know you would,” you smile into his jacket and, lifting your head, are greeted by your favorite sight:  benedict, with his soft smile and his gentle ocean eyes.

“i have never felt like that before,” you admit in a whisper.

“nor have i,” he whispers back.  that shocks you, and you must have made your reaction visible because benedict emits a laugh through his nose, soft smile and gentle ocean eyes unfaltering.

“but you have been with others before; you’ve had similar experiences, yes?”  

you had assumed that your exhilaration must have been, apart from it being benedict, rooted in your lack of experience in such things.

benedict brushes a loose strand of your hair away from your eyes and tucks it behind your ear, his hand moving down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing it.

“yes, but those were different.” 

you cock your head in response.  he smiles, as if it is apparent.

“because they are not you.”

the sweetness of benedict’s ocean eyes are quickly replaced with shock then delight and then you don’t know what because he closes them as you crash your lips into his.  whatever you had just felt before, you want it again.  you want benedict.  all of him.  and you want all of him to feel what you just had.

you lick his teeth, and granting your wish, benedict opens his mouth more, groaning, bringing his hands to the curvatures of your ass, pushing your bodies even closer together though no space left exists between the two of you.  you move your hand to the back of his head and, gripping a tuft of his hair, pull it roughly just as you capture his tongue with your mouth and suck hard.  the sounds that benedict produce in reaction are entirely inhuman, but you vaguely deduce he is trying to say your name, and you’ve never attended a concert but, my god, nothing will ever sound as harmonious as the symphony that is your name gutturally trapped in benedict’s throat.

continuing with the work you’ve done to undo benedict thus far, you take your other hand and start to rake it against his body, starting at the base of his throat, taking time and leisure to explore, lowering and pressing into his chest, wondering wildly what beauty exists behind his damned shirt, lowering and feeling the firmness of his stomach and trying not to completely undo yourself with the sinful, transcendent thoughts of putting your tongue there, lowering and lowering and touching something curious and unfamiliar and hard and—

when he pushes you off of him.

“benedict, i— i am so sorry,” you panic, “please, what did i—”

“no, no,” he swallows, “you did— you have nothing to apologize for, my love, you were— uh— you were doing quite——” he clears his throat, “you were doing quite well; very well, actually…”

you continue to frown, still concerned.

“then why are you so tottery?”

“because— because if we were to continue, i do not think— i know i would not last for— um, for very much longer.”

you jut out your hip, putting the knuckles of your fist on it, and furrow your eyebrows at him.

“benedict bridgerton, i still do not understand what you are trying to convey.  speak plainly.”

“we should stop.”

your jaw drops, as does your hand from your hip.

“why?” you practically whine.  you should be embarrassed by your desperation, but to be entirely frank, you couldn't care less.  benedict huffs out a laugh, still breathless, and, stepping towards you, lays a tender kiss on your forehead.

“as much as i would love for us to continue, i think being in the family gardens with a ball being held a few meters away is hardly an ideal location for the more— involved aspects of such activities.  the aspects i’d like to explain to you,” he takes another step into your space, lowering his voice to an unfamiliar but enrapturing gravel, “the aspects i’d like to show you.”

you swallow your whimper.

“i—— i would very much like that,” you manage.  and then you grin, “though, exploring such aspects in the family gardens sounds like it would be quite the adventure.  a calculated risk, if you will.”

the alluring tone of benedict’s voice is completely replaced with a giggle, and your grin broadens as you press even closer into him and nudge your nose against his.  benedict rests his forehead against yours and flutters his eyes closed.

“what did i do to have you love me back?” 

you flutter your eyes closed.

“you were you.  you are you.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< ahead, y/n sees kathani.  she makes the connection that kathani must have accompanied benedict as a chaperone so that y/n wouldn’t be “disgraced” by having a man by himself chase after her.  

< as the two approach the viscountess, kathani recognizes how disheveled y/n and benedict look and promptly fixes them to look more presentable. she takes some hedge leaves out of benedict’s hair. >

“i see that you are well, y/n?” inquires kathani.

“never better, actually.”

she laughs, a smile falling on her lips.

“i am sincerely glad to hear that.”

< they walk closer to bridgerton house. >

“you are fortunate that it was not anthony who volunteered to chaperone.  he would have not reacted well to his loved one being dishonored, as he would say, particularly on family grounds.”

“oh dear,” you say, nervous and suddenly self-conscious.  you do not want to be the target of the eldest bridgerton’s wrath.  “what have i done to dishonor—“

kathani laughs.

“i wasn’t referring to you, chellam.  i was referring to him,” and she juts her chin out at benedict.

“me!”

“anthony will be furious when he finds out that you have been— private,” she says, gesturing to his newly tidied appearance, “with y/n in the gardens.  not very gentlemanly of you.”

“he won’t find out!” benedict pauses. “he won’t find out— right, kate?”

kathani just makes a face of feigned deep thought and you chortle.

“kate!”

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict.”

“but what if it’s for love?” he implores.  he says it facetiously, but you feel with what conviction he exudes his true feeling.

kathani’s expression softens as she looks between you and benedict.  you offer a small nod and a smile, confirming her thoughts.  she beams at you but then narrows her eyes at benedict.  there is no heat to her gaze; she is, however, having the most sublime time making her brother-in-law squirm.

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict,” kathani repeats.  benedict groans, throwing his head back like a disgruntled child, and you belly laugh at him.  

“i hope you are ready for gregory to be your second,” she continues.

you almost double over as benedict snaps his head forward to look at his sister-in-law.

“gregory!”

“indeed.  it is a shame as well— anthony’s accustomed second being the one he has to duel,” she sighs dramatically.  “oh well.  colin will make a fine replacement.”

“this family is ridiculous,” you declare, grinning like mad.  “gregory seems a tad young, though.  what about eloise?  i am sure she would be a more than suitable second for benedict.”

“oh, i have no doubt,” grins back kathani, “but i would not dare involve a woman in the idiocy of men and their ludicrous concepts of honor.”

you and kathani laugh loudly, delighted by how much you are enjoying yourselves, untroubled by benedict’s moping.

“it has been wonderful being in love with you, benedict,” you state simply.  “it’s a pity that it has to come to an end so soon."

kathani snorts.  benedict stops in his tracks and gapes at you.

“you think i would lose the duel!”

“anthony is more stubborn; he would let it fuel his will to live.”

“i think you underestimate how much i love you and how that fuels my will to live.” 

you smile.  in your periphery, kathani smiles. despite his current displeasure with you, your love smiles.

“i suppose i do.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< upon returning to the ball, y/n, benedict, and kathani see how anthony and violet are ensuring that the cowpers are leaving.  before the family leaves, y/n approaches cressida. >

“i do hope to see you at another one of these events.  if you find a way, of course, not to have yourself kicked out.” 

and you curtsy.  you turn to your love, his mouth in a wide smile and ocean eyes sparkling, and offer him a wink. you hear the quartet start up. 

“i believe it is time for another round of dancing.  care to be my partner?” 

“i would love nothing more.”

< they dance.  it is sweet, silly, romantic, and delightful.  both y/n and benedict touch each other beyond what is considered proper, like hands laying too low on the waist or eliminating the space between their bodies, but they truly do not care.  their unabashed joy is abundantly evident to everyone in the ballroom, but they are only focused on one another.  they are in their own world.  they giggle, they grin; it is the happiness they both deserve.  

< they dance the next set.

< after her and benedict’s third dance together, y/n makes eye contact with violet, who is at the margins of the dancefloor, eyes wide with joy. >

“as much as i love dancing with you, my love,” you beam, “i think i am in need of a new partner.”

< y/n approaches violet and with a bow asks her for the honor of being her next dance. though delighted, violet remarks how she is too old, and y/n says that the youngsters can learn a thing or two from her wisdom and skill. >

“we would need permission from the host,” offers violet.

“from anthony!  you birthed him!  you granted him permission to exist!”

that makes violet laugh.

< violet agrees, and they walk hand in hand to the dance floor.  in this dance, y/n and violet are partnered, benedict partnered with penelope, kathani partnered with anthony. >

…

“you’ve told each other."

“has anyone remarked how keenly insightful you are, violet bridgerton?"

“no,” the dowager replies with twinkling eyes, “but it is something of which i am well aware, and take great pride in.  i am happy for you both.”

“i am so glad to have your approval.”

“oh tosh!  as if a mother’s approval or disapproval can get in the way of real, true love.”

“perhaps so, but it is affirming to have the blessing from someone you so dearly love in a matter such as this.”

“you make it easy to love you, my dear.”

< the dance calls for a switch in partners.  y/n becomes partnered with penelope, and violet becomes partnered with benedict. >

“thank you, pen.”

“whatever for?”

“for bumping into me at the markets.”

penelope laughs.

“accidents are quite good, are they not?”

“i despise them, actually,” you declare with a grin.

< penelope reveals that benedict shared with her why he was not seen for the first three dances of the night. >

your jaw drops, and penelope merely titters in response.

“is that why i didn’t see him!  because he was lurking in the crowds to prevent men from approaching me?”

“it has been my discovery that the bridgerton brothers do not handle their jealousies well.”

“do you think gregory shall be the same?”

“oh, i am entirely certain.  he shall likely be the worst of all.”

the two of you snort as you are sent back to your partners, penelope with benedict and you with violet.

“and what has you and penelope in such giggles?”

“making barbs at your sons.”

violet laughs.

“they make it awfully easy to do so, do they not?”

< the dance comes to an end.  violet plants a soft kiss on y/n’s head.

< turning, y/n connects eyes with benedict who wears an incandescently happy expression. >

how could you not see it before?  how in love he is with you.

< tired but elated, y/n takes a break from dancing.  she reunites with the rest of the bridgertons at the ball.  y/n finally meets daphne, who remarks that she has heard so much about y/n.  eloise shares how the family wished to check in on y/n when she had returned to the ball to see that she was well; in a rare smile rather than a smirk, eloise shares that, upon seeing her dance and dance again with benedict, that she looked quite well indeed. at some point in the conversation with the bridgertons, y/n inquires when she can meet francesca.

< time passes, and joy is had amongst the bridgertons, penelope, simon, and y/n.  y/n cannot believe her happiness.

< the last dance is called.  benedict approaches y/n. >

“may i have the honor of being your final dance of the night?"

“you aren’t tired of me yet?”

“i shall never tire of you, y/n.”

upon taking your hand, benedict twirls you once then twice as he leads you towards the dance floor.  giggling and grinning, you decide to do the same to him, causing him to giggle and grin right along with you.

< they dance a fourth time. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the guests have made their leave from the bridgerton ball.  colin, eloise, and violet have gone to their respective bedchambers.  

< anthony, benedict, kathani, and y/n walk up the steps of the grand staircase. anthony has his hand clamped on benedict’s forearm and pulls him up the steps with particular determination and quiet fury. >

“i know where i sleep, brother!  i have slept there since we were children!”

“i am well aware of that, benedict, and i am also well aware of how you— roam when enticed.”

benedict looks at anthony, to you (you just shrug as you look on at the exchange with excitement), and back to anthony.

“do you people really think so little of me!”

“i do not think little of you, brother, i just know you.”

benedict’s shock deepens incredulously, though you see the smile underscoring it all.

“i am a man of honor!  i am a gentleman!”

“yes, as am i, as is colin, as was father; all bridgerton men are, and all bridgerton men are idiots around the persons for whom they have affections.  now, go into your bedchamber,” anthony finishes as he shoves his younger brother into the room.

“you are a nightmare!” you hear your love shout from within.

“and you are to stay here for the remainder of the night!” he shouts back, leaning forward to grab the knob to benedict’s bedchamber and pulling the door shut with a loud thud.  he turns to kathani, composure returning to his senses. 

“my dearest, may you call samuel and lawrence, please?  i shall have samuel stationed here and lawrence stationed outside benedict’s window.  they will be paid double their wage for these extemporary responsibilities.”

you laugh with your whole stomach and feel tears sting your eyes.  you have no concern in hiding your howls until you remember hyacinth and gregory are asleep and promptly clamp your hand over your mouth.  your hand succeeds in muffling your laughter, but marginally.

kathani rolls her eyes at her husband and deeply sighs.

“i shall,” she replies, smiling at her love’s antics.

pleased with her answer, anthony right about turns at benedict’s door, places his hands behind his back, and stands up tall, taking his temporary duty as guard with the utmost gravity.  something then eases in his posture, and he turns to you.

“i hope you have enjoyed your night, y/n.”

your heart swells.

“it was wondrous, anthony.  thank you.”

he beams, brilliant delight in his eyes.

“i wish you good rest.”

and with a bow of his head, anthony turns away from you and assumes his station once more, gravity and perfect posture and all.

the viscountess turns to you, her smile having softened, and says, “let me escort you back to your bedchamber.  i shall help you prepare for bed.”

–

“despite his many flaws,” kathani says with all amusement and fondness in her voice as she removes the pins from your hair, “anthony is, indeed, a man of honor and honesty.”

“i never had my doubts, but—” you snort, “that has certainly proved it.”

“it is because he thinks so highly of you,” she shares, looking at you in the mirror.  you turn around in your seat and connect with her eyes, eyes that are filled with so much warmth.  “he cares deeply for you, y/n.  anthony is only that overbearing and overly protective when it comes to his family, and he sees you as our family.  we all do.”

you suck in air through your nostrils, feeling the swell of your heart.  how did you get so fortunate as to be so loved by this family?  

though, you detect something in kathani.  her words are sincere, of that you are not doubtful, but they do not seem complete.  it is as if she wants to say more, if the blossoming twinkle in her eyes is indicative of anything.  but kathani does not elaborate.  

instead, she picks up the brush on the vanity and gently brushes your hair.  it reminds you of when your elder sister used to brush your hair before bedtime.  you close your eyes, humming.

“i see you all as my family, too.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the next morning, late morning.  the dining room. >

“you are infernal,” benedict deadpans to anthony, staring at his brother and taking his seat next to you.

“you are incorrigible; i was correct,” anthony responds, his eyes not leaving his paper.

“correct about what, brother?” hyacinth asks.

despite their current rivalry, benedict and anthony both freeze.  kate speaks on their behalf.

“your eldest had deemed it necessary to have lawrence stationed outside below benedict’s bedchamber window in the early morn and was proved correct in doing so; your second eldest had attempted to escape by way of that route.”

“stationed outside his window?  why would that be necessary?” gregory inquires.  he turns to benedict.  “and why were you trying to leave through your window?” 

in his periphery, benedict sees you whipping your head.  you seem to have suddenly found some interest in the painting on the wall faced away from the current scene.  he notices how you hide your smile behind your fist and how you attempt to suppress the convulsions of your laughter.  kate, on the other hand, unapologetically laughs.

“i am certain you will learn in due time, gregory.  it is something of a tradition, it seems.”

“will i get to participate in this tradition?” hyacinth enthuses.

“NO!” benedict and anthony shout in tandem.  they look at each other, and the elder gives a ‘see!’ face to the younger.  benedict just rolls his eyes.  

his eyes eventually land back on you:  you have now totally hidden your face in your hands with elbows perched on the table for support, any attempts at hiding your laughter now entirely gone.  your entire body vibrates as you somehow squeak and guffaw into the palms of your hands.

“ugh, why do adults always speak in such vague statements!” hyacinth grumbles as she slumps in her chair and crosses her arms.  she then suddenly shoots back up and looks at you.  “y/n, you only speak in riddles when we play!  may we play now?”

“yes!  may we play now?” gregory pipes up.

“please!” the two youngest plead in tandem.  benedict looks to you, and wiping away your hands to reveal your face red from laughter, you say,

“i would be— i would be delighted to do so,” you take sharp breaths in between attempts at controlling your laughter.  “perhaps—” you full on snort, and it makes benedict break out into a grin, “—perhaps, after the young sorceress and— and the young knight slay the wyvern, they— they will save the— the—” you laugh hard again, “the princess, captive and forlorn in her tower.”

gregory and hyacinth shout their joy and take off from the table.  

“you haven’t been excu!— oh, nevermind,” anthony grumbles in an uncanny, childlike resemblance to his youngest sibling.

benedict watches as you use your forefingers to swipe at the corners of your e/c eyes, fits of laughter still bubbling out of your mouth.

i love her, and she loves me, he thinks in awe.  it has been on repeat in his mind since you confessed to one another in the gardens just the night prior.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“your lordship,” you giggle still as you look at anthony, and benedict snickers, “may i be excused to play make-believe with your youngest siblings?”

anthony rolls his eyes with much theatricality, but his smile at you is sincere.

“you are not my sibling,” he states, but benedict catches how his elder brother quickly glances at him with eyes that say ‘yet,’ “you need not my permission, but yes, you may.”

you bow your head in dramatic gratitude, causing kate to titter and anthony to look to the ceiling, and you lift yourself up from your seat.

before you follow after his siblings, benedict reaches out and gently takes your hand.  you look at him, and he feels how his stomach flutters when his blue eyes makes contact with your e/c.  just as it did the first time, just as it did every time after.

benedict feels you softly rub three circles on his hand.  he softly rubs four circles on yours.

“good day, princess,” you say with a wink at your love, slowly slipping your hand away from his and then turning to walk out of the dining room.  benedict stares at you as you leave.

i love her, and she loves me.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“when do you intend on proposing, brother?” anthony smirks as he puts his teacup to his lips.

benedict smiles, looking off at where your laughter is heard. 

“later this afternoon.”  

anthony chokes on his tea, and kate, patting her coughing husband’s back, arches an eyebrow at her brother-in-law, amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“without a ring?” 

benedict turns to look at the couple and grins.  

“who said i don’t have a ring?”

“you are joking,” anthony says matter-of-factly.  “we all are excited at the prospects of y/n officially joining this family, but you just confessed your love for one another not even twelve hours ago.  we are still breaking fast!  there were guards at your door and your window!  how could you have already procured a ring?”

benedict smiles, digging into his pocket.

“i do not jest, brother.”

and, with pride, he holds up a thin band made of twisted paper.

“now, if you will excuse me,” benedict announces, lifting himself out of his seat, giving a kiss to the top of kate’s head, and ruffling anthony’s hair.  “i must be going.”

“and where are you off?” anthony demands as he straightens out his hair.

“do you think i am going to propose to y/n without asking her family’s permission first?  would not be very gentlemanly of me if i did.”

“how do you know where she lives!”

“that is what you were asking penelope last night,” kate answers.  anthony looks at his wife, incredulous and in awe.  benedict grins.

“exactly so, sister.  i’ve always known you held all the intelligence between you two.  i would have seen to it sooner, but—” 

an image of e/c eyes and ink-stained hands flashes in his mind, the flutterings in his stomach intensifying.  butterflies— that is what he will paint next, he decides.  

after he finishes his portrait of you.

“—i was held captive in my tower.”

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #penelope featherington #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton #colin bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #violet bridgerton

[malina-33]

Femme Like You - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Summary: You are the new tour manager for Arctic Monkeys during The Car era. You are practically the only girl in the team, also younger than the rest (27 y.o.), so your skills are immediately called into question. In particular, by the frontman who is not used to being led by a woman.

Word count: 10,2k

Warnings: swearing, emotional swing (is it even a warning?), kind of voyeurism (slight), age gap

A/N: Dear friends, hi!! I know, I know that I've promised you to update the fic every 3 weeks, and the disappeared for 1.5 months, but I spontaneously found a job, so there was very little time. But the chapter is much longer and with some interesting collaborations ;) I'll hope you enjoy them!

And write down what do you think if I make a description of not only the whole work, but also the chapter before each new part? Or is it better to keep the intrigue till the end?

In any case, I look forward to your feedback, it's soooo much important for me. I won't promise to return before the end of September, but I'll do my best not to delay. I already have an interesting plot for the next chapters, you should like it💔

*guys, English isn't my first language so if I have (and I know I have lol) any grammar/logic mistakes don't hesitate to tell me :)

The first week after meeting with the group flew by unnoticed. You dealt with the documentation, understanding how necessary it is, no matter how much you hated it, phoned the representatives of Ashton Gate stadium, made sure that everything was okay and confirmed the presence of the group and even tried to check the weather since the gig would be held outside. However, it turned out to be a little more difficult with the transport company. Apparently, James forgot to warn them about the temporary removal of his duties, so you had to spend time clarifying the situation and explaining who you are. It seemed that your hands-on approach was excessive, because you were trying to control everything in one time, but only due to the feeling of extra responsibility.

Steven, as promised, sent the contacts of the guys and important people from the technical crew, so now your phone had the names of Jamie Cook, Nick O'Malley, Matthew Helders and Alex "dickhead" Turner among others. 19 years old you would definitely envy yourself. So when you got a message while cooking pasta for dinner on Saturday night, you already knew it was from the drummer and not from an anonymous online scammer.

Matthew Helders: "good evening, Miss Y/S! I hope you aren't busy. We'll wait you on the soundcheck on Monday at 2 pm in Domino, need your advice :)"

You almost overcooked Carbonara bacon rereading the message. "Do they really need my advice?" you whispered, furrowing your brows "About what?". But the only answer was:

You: "Sure! Do I need to take some 12% cider?"

Matthew Helders: "you better not show up without a package lol"

Immediately followed by:

Matthew Helders: "just kidding! We are waiting only for you, but in the company of cider it will be even better)"

You chuckled, surprised at how quickly Matt went from formal Miss at the beginning of the conversation to smiles and lols at the end. To tell the truth, you still didn't fully understand how to behave with them. On the one hand, you are their manager and have a certain influence, as well as subordination. Steven and James don't have it, although they are "higher" in position, but they've been friends for half of a life, and you are a completely new person. On the other hand, in this area there is no place for strict formalities, especially since the guys don't look like those who would comply with them. After all they were big kids no matter how mature and pretentious they could look on stage, and you clearly felt it. Maybe your company will help them to relax even more, so there won't be any awkwardness and you will naturally find an edge where all of you will feel comfortable and which no one will cross.

With those thoughts, Carbonara and Rosé you spent your Saturday night watching your favorite series "La Piovra". You got used to such calm and quiet evenings. The era of parties until the morning has passed in the university years, and it’s not that you don’t go to clubs now, it’s just that the older you become the better you began to appreciate moments of silence. Not to be bored alone with yourself is the most valuable skill that you have acquired in your life. Having lived first with your parents for a long time, then getting married early at the age of 20 and having lived with your husband for 3 years, you were essentially not left alone with yourself. Having discovered over time that you feel absolutely nothing for the person whom you said "yes" to in the registry office, you were horrified and frightened to say at least. You thought that you get married once for a lifetime, but it turned out that happy endings exist only in fairy tales. That period of despondency, depression and eventual deepening into work gave its results. Major labels began to notice you, inviting you to musical projects with famous bands such as Maneskin. You worked with them for 1.5 years, leaving after their heyday at the Eurovision, realizing that you can’t give them more. That was your second decision to leave, but unlike the divorce, it didn't bring you much suffering. You understood that you and the group gave each other a lot, and although the parting was bitter, everyone understood that it was necessary. You still remained friends with the guys and periodically wrote off to meet. You planned to go to their concert, but couldn't find the time. And after your assignment to the Monkeys it became even more harder to shedule.

After the divorce you didn't have a serious relationship, instead you had a dream job, money, a car, a country house and even a corgi Grapes. You weren't afraid of the future, loved the time in seclusion and found inner peace by meditating on the production of cider, which was your unusual but very tasty hobby. Were you fully happy, though? Wouldn't you like to cross the threshold of the house and be met not by a dog's barking, but by a warm kiss on the forehead and a quiet "how was your day"? You probably wanted to, but it was hard to admit, especially considering that the fear of intimacy sat somewhere deep inside, not letting you forget the disappointment that you experienced when you removed the engagement ring from your finger. Although you remained friends who didn't hold evil against each other, the bitterness of your marriage was almost impossible to remove from the memories.

But for now, your head has been occupied by the sudden question of where to put Grapes for the duration of the tour...

Monday morning was sunny and peaceful, you woke up in a surprisingly good mood, put on your make-up, put on your favorite lime flared jeans, loaded a case of apple drink from the basemеnt into the car, patted Grapes and drove off to the studio. The road took about an hour, so during this time you managed to phone your father. You haven't talked much lately due to your workload, and now was almost the only time of the day when you were relatively free. You put the speaker phone mode, listening to the slightly hoarse voice of the man, without being distracted from the road.

"Hello my dear! How are you?"

"Hi daddy, I'm fine, going to work right now"

"My busy bee, James has already told me about your progress" you could hear him chuckle, coughing a little. You could only guess what Ford said to your father, because you spoke to him only once in these 2 weeks, when you recalled him after meeting with the group. And not that your story was very colorful. Therefore, the guys or Steven contacted him, and from this point of view, you couldn't imagine what they possibly come up with towards you.

"He assured me the boys liked you"

"Oh, really?" you said on the exhale, squeezing your hands on the steering wheel tightly.

"Yes, James is pleased with you. Well done, babe!" you melted under his words. It felt like you were a little girl again who drew a family picture that was hung on the refrigerator, even though mom and dad looked like monsters.

"Thank you daddy, I'm very happy to be with them actually"

"Of course, in such a company of men. Should I be jealous? 'Cause I looked through their photos on the Internet" dad said proudly, to which you burst out laughing, stopping at a traffic light.

"Dad, c'mon, no! They're too old for me" you laughed.

"10 years are not a big deal. Anyway, your choice. Just don't forget to eat please, I know how tough you work now. Otherwise you'll get drunk on your cider. God, how did you even manage to get into this alcohol sphere..." the man groaned in prostration. You rolled your eyes, but still smiled without answering. You got used to your father's fast flow of different thoughts.

"And don't roll your eyes, little naughty one! I care about you. So if they hurt you, you know who to call, right?"

"Oi, who will offend whom first" you retorted defiantly.

"Okay okay, I won't interrupt anymore. Kiss Grapes for me. I love you"

"And I love you very much, hello mom"

"I'll pass it on, bye!"

You turned off the call, fully focusing on the road. After talking with your parents, you always felt warm in your soul, so up to the studio you didn't leave a smile when you sang songs from the radio under your breath.

You arrived exactly at 2 o'clock, as agreed with Matt, but when you saw a few more cars in the parking lot in addition to the familiar Cadillac, you realized that the guys had been here for a long time. You must have looked a little ridiculous in a business suit and heels and a wooden box under your arm, but you didn't have other choice. Holding the car key in your mouth and trying to press the button at the same time, you clumsily closed the trunk with your leg. A purse was still dangling somewhere on your shoulder, and sunglasses had slipped from head to the bridge of your nose. "Must be an amazing picture to observe" you thought tiredly "Oh, if only Matt were here".

But before you had time to think about it, you heard a soft laugh behind you. You turned around sharply, noticing the frontman smoking alone near the entrance. You spat the key into the box, finally pressing the right button, and shouted

"And how long do you look?"

"I came exactly at the most interesting moment" man smiled, taking a puff.

You heavily crossed the entire parking lot, approaching him. Turner, having finished smoking a cigarette and throwing it into a nearby trash can, silently took the box from your hands.

"Hi, Y/N" he greeted you wheezing nicotine in the lungs.

"Hi," you frowened a little, but slowly added "Alex".

Calling him by his first name was... Unusual. A week ago the appeal to him was exclusively Mr. Turner, but today he was the first to break this line. "Well, apparently, we will both have problems with the boundaries of what is acceptable" bitterly flashed through your thoughts.

You both entered the building - Alex with a box in front, you behind holding the door. The way was silent. You wanted to say something to break this crystal quietness of his, but by the time you mustered up the courage, you stopped at the door 13A. The vocalist pushed it with his left shoulder, squeezing the alcohol forward, and you trotted along.

As soon as you and Alex entered the sound studio, you were immediately greeted with whistling and loud hooting.

"Look who's here, Miss Y/N"

"Hi, guys! I'm here with gifts as promised" you smiled broadly.

Alex at this time put the box on the table and immediately took one bottle for himself.

You noticed that there were Tyler and Tom in the studio as well, so you mentally praised yourself for taking bottles with a margin. You didn't know them personally yet, but was willing to change it. Turner introduced you to the men, and surprisingly you didn't hear his usual sneer in the voice.

"So, welcome Y/N Y/S, she's our manager for the summer before America starts and James gets back"

"Happy to finally meet you!" you were the first to extend your hand to Tyler, which he shook gently, smiling affably, and then to Tom. But he intercepted your hand, kissing your knuckles and making you laugh.

"Mutually, Miss" Rowley said enchanted.

"And she makes her own awesome cider, get one" Matt ordered businesslike, raising his voice from behind the drum kit.

"Yeah, there is enough for everyone, don't hesitate to take"

Evidently you arrived during the break, and before that they had already rehearsed a bit. You were wondering what kind of advice they need from you. The thought that they just needed cider you pushed back with a grin. But Alex, as if reading your thoughts, leisurely started speaking leaning on the table and holding a drink.

"Well, thanks for the cider, but that's not what we called you for. Since you're such a big fan of My Propeller, we discussed it here and decided that it's possible to put one on the set list for a couple of times. So listen to how it sounds, maybe have some ideas or whatevah" he was trying to sound casual, not attaching importance to his words for you.

"I'll do my best!" you almost jumped from such news.

Jamie chuckled audibly, running his fingers over the guitar. You sat down on the couch as Matt tapped the rhythm with his sticks and the melody began.

Seductive. The first association that came to your mind when you heard the intro of this song. It was your favorite from Humbug for sure and one of the band's all time favorites. Alex never told in any interview what was the secret of the lyrics, and probably that was the reason it attracted you even more. The guys played it selflessly, as if there hadn't been those decades that they hadn't performed it. You liked how they gave themselves to the process, even if it was just a rehearsal. They were in simple t-shirts and Matt was proudly wearing pineapple shorts, but you could swear, a real concert was unfolding right in front of you.

When Alex started singing you tried to hide the goosebumps as best as you could, but it hardly worked out well. His voice flowed melodically, not betraying a hint of wheezing or breaking, which could arise due to the age. He closed his eyes, tightly gripping the microphone stand, and moved his feet to the beat, slightly ridiculous, but at the same time gracefully. Throughout the song, you didn’t take your eyes off the group for a minute, sometimes singing along to the words, pulling the last syllable of

 Coax me out my law

And have a spin of my propeller

When the song ended, you clapped and Nick even made a mock bow.

“I don’t know how objective my assessment will be, because apart from the words of delight I have nothing to add” you honestly admitted. It seemed to you that you heard Alex's quiet "As I said", but Matt was quick to interrupt him asking you "Actually, we have already decided to play it in Bristol, but the question is where to chip in. We'll definitely not start with this one, and the outro is already completed, so..."

You thought a little, trying to understand what motives My Propeller reminds you of, and then the penny dropped.

"Pretty Visitors!" you exclaimed louder than you should have because your words echoed through the silent studio.

"Smooth interlude from Pretty Visitors, yeah, not bad actually" Alex quickly developed your idea, turning to Matt, as if asking "Do you mind?", but the drummer only closed his eyes approvingly. It seemed that they didn't need any words at all, they could understand each other with guitar riffs and drum brakes. Their connection, it was amazing, honed to automatism for past 20 years. They were like scientists in a chemistry lab mixing potions together in an attempt to make a new elixir. It was magic to come true and watching this process was so intimate that you involuntarily felt the heat on your cheeks, as if you were engaged in voyeurism.

***

The hours in the studio flew by. Fortunately for you, the guys decided to surprise fans with the return of Mardy Bum which will be the opener. The exact setlist for Bristol was confirmed at the end of the rehearsal, bringing back Teddy Picker and The View From The Afternoon as well. So looking at the perfect 21 songs, you could only imagine what they would save for London. Originally you were going to visit their concert in your hometown, you bought tickets as soon as sales were announced, but after James's call you easily gave the ticket to a friend, saying that you had won a jackpot.

Tom and Tyler have already left and the five of you are left. You were sitting on a soft chair, moved from the corner of the room, and the guys opposite on the sofas. The boys had laid down their guitars and you were leding a peaceful conversation about life, since the studio rental time ended only in an hour. You told them about your career in the industry, Maneskin and the part time projects you've been working on lately, omitting the details of your divorce because you thought it was too early for them to immerse themselves in such personal aspects of your life.

"By the way, Vic is your big fan and Alex in particular" you giggled, remembering the way drunk Maneskin bassist told you that she would like to sleep with Turner. Those were the carefree times of your youth you warmly remembered.

"Really?" Matt raised his eyebrows as he sipped his seemingly endless bottle of cider "You still have their contacts, right?"

"Yeah, sure, we even text each other occasionally" you quipped.

"And you didn't say you were working with us?" Heldres was surprised.

"Actually, somehow it didn't seem possible" you lowered your gaze, "I mean what would it look like? "Hey guys, look who's here, I now manage the Monkeys btw?" - so what?"

You could tell by the Cheshire smile on Matt's bristly face that this was exactly how he thought.

"Oh no, Matthew, don't you-"

"Oh yes, darling, dial FaceTime, you'll show them our doll" the man neighed, turning to Alex, who had been sitting quietly on the couch until this moment, and fidgeted in place after the suggestion.

"For God's sake, Matt, what a kindergarten behavior" the vocalist howled irritably, rolling his eyes, "I don't even remember their names".

The idea of making fun of Turner a little for the morning case with the box and taking revenge seemed to you unexpectedly delightful. Your hand automatically sank into your pants pocket, deftly pulling it out into the light and finding the right WhatsApp chat.

"Don't worry, you just have to say hi to Vic, I'm sure you'll be fine" you sang sweetly, glancing slyly at Matt, who chuckled approvingly, glad that you supported his idea.

Alex only cursed at this and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it. Either from nerves, or putting his hair in order before the call.

You moved from your seat to the couch between Alex and Matt, gesturing for Nick and Jamie to join. You put your hand in front of you so only your face was visible in the camera frame, waiting for one of the guys to take the call. It might have been a little ill-advised to call like this without warning on a workday evening, but anyway it was already too late, as the beeps trailed in a string of sounds. You hoped that they didn't have a concert today, in any other case, one of them would definitely pick up the phone from you. And by a happy coincidence, it was Vic who ended up on your screen.

"What the hell, Miss Boogie, are you really occasionally calling after all this time of silence?" despite Victoria de Angelis's accusatory words, she sounded playful. She was a little disheveled and with a bright blush on her face. People were walking randomly with the string interruptions in the background. Apparently, the guys were at the soundcheck at one of the venues, and Vic recently finished playing.

Four pairs of eyes openly stared at you with undisguised interest after hearing the nickname, demanding an answer, but you just mouthed "later".

"Awww, sweetheart, and I'm happy to hear you again too!" you said with an ironic smile.

 "I have a lot of news for you, and I will definitely call you in private soon"

"Are you not alone? Who's with you?" the girl even moved closer to the camera in an attempt to see something.

"Well, I have a little surprise for you. Actually four surprises, but one of them you'll find really special" you said conspiratorially, looking around at the guys who were still out of the picture. Alex sat to your right, trying to portray the most distant look, as if everything that was happening was nothing more than baby talk for him.

"Darling, if you have a group orgy without me, then I will be offended and drop the call" the bassist said threateningly, wiping her forehead with a towel that was hung on her shoulder.

You just burst out laughing "Ok ok, I'm not languishing you anymore. I hope you're ready. Boys, say hi to Vics" and you finally moved the camera further so that Matt, Nick and Jamie, who were sitting to your left, got into the camera frame, Alex's appearance you saved for a dessert.

The musician's reaction exceeded all your expectations. At first she narrowed her eyes, bringing the phone even closer to face, and then she widened them with a loud squeal, jumping up from her seat.

"What the hell, Y/N! What the actual fuck, you're a shitty mutherfucker!!!" she covered her mouth with her hand, chaotically moving the phone in different directions. Apparently, other members of the group came running to her scream, as you heard the voice of Damiano asking what happened.

"What happened?" she repeated "The fucking Arctic Monkeys are sitting next to Y/N!" answering a question off-camera and stabilizing the phone. Now you could clearly see the vocalist leaning over her shoulder, Thomas to the side and Ethan slightly behind.

Finally, the men next to you decided to introduce themselves "Hey, guys, what's new?" Matt said smiling to the camera, Jamie and Nick just waved their hands in a friendly manner.

"Oh my God, what's going on" Vic, still dumbfounded, spoke with a face of complete amazement. Damiano, who quickly figured out the whole situation and realized that Vic was unlikely to be able to communicate normally now, carefully took the phone from her hands.

"Hi, Y/N, long time no see! Hi, boys, how fresh you are" the frontman winked. The words "for your age" were suggested mutely, but David left them behind the scenes. The men next to you just laughed quietly at this remark and saluted the Italian boy.

"Vic, that's not all yet, look who's next to me" wanting to finally finish off your friend, you moved the camera to the side, revealing Alex's presence, who was already sitting with a polite smile on his face, leaning on the sofa armrest.

"Hi, love" Turner murmured hoarsely, turning on his usual charisma. You were surprised how quickly he went from "fuck off everyone" to his stage persona. Indeed, a skill acquired over the years.

De Angelis, after looking at the camera for just a second, squealed even harder than the first time, which you even grimaced a little, because in a quiet studio it sounded deafening.

The camera was still held by Damiano, but the girl in the frame could be seen doubled over, holding back cries of happiness. Her guys just laughed out loud at this, knowing full well what a strong fan of Alex she was.

"Y/N, I'm going to fucking kill you, I'll strap your ass so you can't sit still for another week, what are you doing to me?" Vic didn't let go of expressions, which made the men next to you shamelessly laugh, even Turner smiled predatoryly.

"Holy shit, you're real" the girl muttered in one breath.

Her adoration entertained Alex. Celebrities fangirling celebrities wasn't an unknown story for Alex, so the way Vic behaved didn't annoy him, but brought a feeling of sincere pleasure from what was happening.

"It would be strange if I wasn't, mhm?" the man grunted, changing the position - now he rested elbows on his knees, bringing the face closer to your phone. You could smell his light apple scent from the cider you both drank and the cigarette halo that soaked into all of the frontman's clothes.

Damiano finally decided to take control over the situation by turning the camera completely on himself.

"So, Y/N, if you wanted to surprise Vic, then you succeeded 100%! But we are now at soundcheck, and we don't have much time, and she" nodding towards the bassist "still needs to be brought to her senses. We were extremely happy to hear from you, babe. Call us when you are free and tell us everything in detail. Miss you very much!"

"Guys, me too! Love ya, see you at Glasto!"

"Wait! Take a screenshot!" Vic's desperate exclamation came from Damiano's left side.

He made a focused face, looking for the right buttons, while you and the men simultaneously smiled at the camera.

"Send it to the chat" you asked, ending the call and blowing a virtual kiss. You obviously cut off Vic's "I love you" without being entirely sure it was addressed to you.

The studio immediately froze in deafening silence. You put your phone down on the coffee table, still smiling.

"That was a real buzz, they're cute" Matt said leaning back on the couch. The mood of the guys clearly improved by this little conversation. You were glad that you could somehow diversify their evening after a productive and exhausting day. Even Alex stopped keeping his always compressed lips and frowning eyebrows.

"So, Miss Boogie, right?" Jamie began slyly, reminding you of your infamous nickname.

An approving "ooooo" reverberated around the room, from which you hid behind your palms.

"Damn, I was hoping you'd forget" you muttered from your hiding place.

"C'mon, we're intrigued already" Nick reached out to you through Matt, gently taking your hands away from your face.

Jamie suddenly started chanting your name, encouraging you to reveal this terrible secret, and Matt whistled as if Sheffield FC had just scored a goal.

"God, okay, just shut up please" you gave up.

The four men took more comfortable positions in anticipation of your story.

"In fact, there is nothing special in this story, it's just stupid. When Maneskin was approved for Eurovision, we went to celebrate, how can we not. It was in Milan. We got very drunk in a bar and went for a walk around the city. It was about 3 in the morning, and to entertain ourselves we played Truth or Dare. The most banal thing that could be, but nothing better came to mind. And I chose Dare, 'cause everyone else only cowardly told their secrets. So Vic asked me to dance for a minute on the street to any song that a passerby would name. Well, since at such time you are unlikely to meet any adequate passerby, we only found a beggar in the square. I don’t know how old he was, but the first song that he remembered was Boogie Wonderland" at this point you made a dramatic pause, "so yes, I had to dance to this song at night in front of other poor people who came up to us. Since then they call me Miss Boogie. Everyone is satisfied now, having fun, huh?"

You intentionally crossed your arms in insult, surreptitiously watching the laughing band.

"I bet there's a video" Matt said cheekily.

"Yes, there is, but you'll never see it!" you retorted quickly, glaring at the drummer.

"Your hot cheeks make me want to see this video even more" Nick teased tapping Matt on the shoulder.

"You know what," Alex suddenly announced, "choose any song you want. We play it, and you show the video"

You could swear your jaw was somewhere on the floor.

"Woah, did you decide to go all-in?" Matt asked, also not expecting such a generous offer "Be careful, otherwise you will have to play a Taylor Swift song"

"Ouch, why do you think I like her?"

"Who doesn't like her?"

"Your truth" you nodded approvingly.

"I meant our song. We'll perform it at the concert" Turner interrupted your dialogue, looking at you testily from under his eyelashes.

There was a slight silence, which you broke with a heavy sigh.

"Wow, okay, this is getting interesting" you muttered, leaning back on the couch like Helders had done earlier. The three men to your left looked at each other in surprise, waiting for an answer, while you've been thinking, looking at the frontman.

"Certain Romance," you easily stated, "I want this one"

"Your wish is my command, Miss Boogie," he joked without any hint of smile, standing up "you guys remember how to play it, don't you?"

The guys looked at each other dumbfounded, unable to find words for such a drastic change in the behavior of the vocalist, but after a discordant series of affirmative nods, they received a condescending smile from him.

"Well, that's great, there's still time to rehearse. I propose Sheffield!" Alex said solemnly, thrusting his hands into the pockets.

"Al, ru ok?" Matt raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"All right, man" Turner said artificially.

"This house is a circus indeed" swirled through your head. Alex's behavior was defiant. Emerging into conflict. Literally a minute ago everything was peace and quiet, and now he, like a proud peacock, was arranging a show for you at the level of a cheap soap opera.

"No, but seriously, let's even organize a lottery, since Y/N has such an influence on the setlist" Alex didn't let up.

"Come on, pipe down, you suggested it yourself" Nick intervened carefully, not wanting to stir up the smoldering coals of the conflict.

"And I think all of you are into this idea, aren't you?" Turner didn't raise his low, heavily accented baritone, but the underlying toxicity in his tone was evident, "oh, even better, let's ask our Italian friends for advice! Let's get their opinion and her video as well".

"Alexander, smoke?" you stood up decisively from the couch, grabbing your purse and phlegmatically glancing at the wooden cider box you'd probably have to leave in the studio. But you couldn’t leave the guys in such an atmosphere, so out of courtesy you promised to return again.

"Y/N, no problem, see you before Bristol! Send the screen to our group, 'cause I'm getting jealous for these Italians" Matt gave you an encouraging wink in the end, and you certainly promised to do it tonight.

"They'll kill each other"

"He doesn't stand a chance"

Jamie and Matt said at the same time as the door closed behind you.

Alex imposingly walked ahead, not hurrying anywhere. He politely said goodbye to the security guard, noting that the rental period had already come to an end. Almost bowing, he opened the door to the street for you, artificially gallantly holding it with his hand, still making a show from every gesture, which for some reason made you feel disgusted. You were counting on working with middle-aged men, accomplished musicians, but it feels like you are talking to teenagers.

Damp cold air from the river hit your red cheeks, which made you wrap yourself in a jacket more tightly. Alex took out a pack of Marlboro, offering you one, but nodding to himself, removed it, remembering your words a week ago practically at the same place.

"Well?" he said with a cigarette in his mouth, lighting the filter.

The sky was overcast with a milky haze of fog, which wasn't uncommon for these places, a weak wind was blowing, but not a single sound from the road was heard, which made you hear sparks from ignited tobacco hiss like champagne bubbles, falling on the asphalt.

Alex exhaled noisily, squinting at you with his eyes. His face was faintly lit by the flame of a cigarette, but even in such low light, it was noticeable that his gaze was completely blank. "Amazingly indifferent and deep eyes at the same time. It's impossible to tell anything from them" you thought. Or maybe he was like this only with unpleasant people to him, who you apparently were. You can’t even imagine the way these eyes changed on stage "Where are you real, Alexander?". But instead of asking this, you just threw your head back, tiredly closing your eyelids, showing with your whole appearance how absurd the situation is.

"Alex," there wasn't any visible point to call him Mr. Turner even though you were annoyed "I thought we made a deal, didn't we?"

"Really? When?" his voice sounded even more affected than in the studio, despite the fact that now the man spoke rather quietly and slowly. Or maybe even a whisper would be loud in this ringing silence.

"I just don't understand what the problem is" you continued, as if you didn't hear his words.

"I don't see it either, Miss Y/S"

You raised your eyebrows high as you asked a silent question, which made Alex smirk slightly. Taking a puff, he began to explain to you with the intonation of a parent teaching a child not to put his fingers in the socket.

"Listen, I won't hide it, you brought some chaos to our tour. This is different from your direct duties though - to solve all the problems on our way. But you're a stranger who stirred up our peace and foundation. I was initially against this idea, but James left me no choice. You are undoubtedly an educated young lady, and probably from a moral point of view, I sound like a scoundrel now-"

"You sound unprofessional, Alex. You only make me feel contempt, and I don't care about any moral side"

The frontman looked at you from under his brows, taking out a second cigarette in a row from the pack, waiting for a further reaction, but inside you was a frozen magma that didn't want to break out, muffled by self-esteem. For now.

His words contradicted his behavior. In the morning he carries your boxes and asks for a song advice, and in the evening he gives out this shit. If women's logic is ridiculed by society, then men do not have it at all.

“You know what, when James offered me this job, I was damn excited and proud that I would be working with a team like yours. I was on a cloud nine. But you, Alex, you're just a spoiled boy in the body of a 37-year-old man who hasn't overplayed his ambitions and thinks that his subtle nature is so fragile to understand that you need to hide behind the facade of an asshole so that normal people with good intentions don't crawl into your soul. You are cowardly and arrogant!"

You were breathing heavily, and the words "fool fool fool" stretched on repeat in a red line behind your eyes.

You didn't even understand how they escaped from your lips, absolutely thoughtlessly. You even instinctively wanted to raise a hand to cover your mouth, but pulled yourself back in time, deciding to play to the end. Show after show.

Alex hadn't raised a cigarette to his face during your tirade, so that the wick was almost dead in his fingers. You intensively looked at each other without stopping, and at some point it seemed to you that fear flashed in his pupils. Fear of the revealed truth. However, they were covered with a thick veil of indifference to what was happening in a second, and he finally took the last puff, throwing the butt right on the road.

"Miss Y/S, it seems that you have to go" the musician said unemotionally.

You took one last burning look at his features and, without saying a word, turned around towards your car. How ironic, a week ago you left each other in roughly the same sequence of activities - studio, cider, parking lot, but under completely different circumstances.

Slamming the door shut, you sharply revved, not bothering to warm up the engine, and drove out of the parking lot with a clang of tires. Burning tears of resentment gushed from your eyes, covering the already foggy road in front, but you didn't pay attention.

Your cooperation has just begun, and you have already swept on an emotional swing. Only in the morning you were driving in a car towards the sun and rejoicing at the warm words of your dad, and in the evening you return home, wiping the salty paths with the back of your hand from your face.

You were never embarrassed by tears, you cried out almost all of them during a divorce, but if they dripped from your eyes today, then there was a reason for that. Your parents taught you that after rain there is always a rainbow, after tears there is always peace of mind, you need to be able to live through any emotions in order to turn them into your power later.

***

You haven't seen the boys since that evening until today's early departure for Bristol. Of course, you communicated on all sorts of organizational issues during this time and there was no visible tension, especially since they didn't hear about your quarrel with Alex. You were more than sure that he would not tell his friends about that incident. This is what infringes on him, and therefore makes him weaker, which he couldn't allow.

All these days you have wondered what was the reason for such a sharp behavior, however you couldn't really delve into yourself. Why exactly you were crying - from resentment, overstrain or just an emotional outburst, it was also difficult to understand. Perhaps all together. Over the past month, from your first conversation with Ford to recent events, your life has changed 180 degrees, so it's no surprise that your psyche gave a little glitch.

You've comforted yourself with routines though — setting Grapes up with a friend until your next visit to London, inviting your parents over for dinner to tell you all the details, packing your suitcase for the tour, checking out all the technical stuff, and almost forgetting what kind of adventure you're packing for.

And now, without any idea of the nearest future, you were sitting in a black Mercedes Sprinter between Marcus and James Kerr, Ben was in the passenger seat in front, Steven was riding with the group in the bus. It was only 8 am, you were sleepy, only at the last moment you didn’t forget to remove eye patches before going out, you didn’t even put on makeup, so you sat in the wide sunglasses, even though the sun wasn't visible through the tinted windows of the car.

It seemed that everyone was relaxed, easily communicated with each other and knew exactly what each would do upon arrival at the venue. Unlike you. The schedule was pretty clear - check-in at the hotel, lunch, departure for the soundcheck and then free time for the management and the band, but very busy time for the technicians. Of all this, the most sensible thing was to drink plenty of wine at dinner and walk around the rest of the day in a relaxed state of mind, but those were only pitiful thoughts of creeping fear. Deep inside you were sure that everything would be fine, it couldn’t be otherwise, because even if you didn’t know how to do this or that task, the guys knew their duties, and they physically couldn’t play the concert badly.

"Hey, Y/N, you kinda took working with us too seriously" Marcus snapped you out of your thoughts with his mocking tone.

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, turning to him.

He touched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and chuckled. It took you another couple of seconds to figure out what he meant, so he took advantage of your confusion to explain "you now going to wear glasses in the dark as well?"

The reference to Alex was read transparently, so you imperceptibly flinched and pointedly removed them, as if not wanting to be associated with him at all.

"No, no, I just didn't have time to do my make up" you honestly admitted, shrugging your shoulders ingenuously.

"Oh, I'm sorry, we-" the guy looked around at all the passengers, "we don't understand this here"

You laughed slightly, at the same time relaxing, and asked him a question that had been of interest to you for a long time.

"Why don't you have women in the team? I mean at all"

Instead of Marcus, Ben decided to answer from the front seat, apparently as the eldest among you.

“It didn’t happen on purpose, but later it became kind of unspoken rule. We are here like on the fishing, you know? We leave our wives, spend time within our male company, it’s like an alternative branch of your life, you do quality work here, you feel needed, while no one owe you nothing and you feel absolutely free in your actions, understanding thoroughly those who are around you"

"Are you aware that this is how a normal team should work, regardless of gender? It sounds somehow sexist. Am I really embarrassing you in actions?" you smiled slyly, anticipating the denouement.

"Actually, besides you, we have 3 other women in the team.." Marcus embarrassingly chipped in.

"Guys, don't bother yourself with excuses, I knew who I was messing with" you laughed, crossing your legs. Marcus looked at you dumbfounded, but said nothing, and James just chuckled softly at the window.

"Well, if you knew that, then you also should know about our tradition, right, guys?" Ben began in a conspiratorial tone, exchanging glances with the guys.

"Um, about what?" you arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

"The newbie is signed up for the after-party. Tonight is your first concert, and after that we go to the bar, the drinks are off you! We're equal here" Ben imperturbably continued to scan your reaction with a fox-eye, waiting for an answer. It's not that you're greedy or unable to pay, but to buy drinks for the whole team...

And as if ahead of your question, the man added "enough management and the band".

As if it changed the essence. But you couldn't refuse, so you mumbled something affirmative, getting a roar of male hoarse laughter in response, and starting to laugh at yourself. You appreciated in people, especially males, this ability - to make a woman laugh. In a time of constant change and stress, finding someone who will make you forget about it was very important.

The rest of the road was spent in the same good mood, and these conversations did help you to forget about your anxiety due to upcoming events. Upon arrival, all the management team and the band settled in the hotel. As James promise, you've been given a private suite overlooking the most beautiful park in the city center. But due to an unknown coincidence, you lived not on the same floor with the attendants, but through the door from the group.

Matt carried your things to your room and you agreed to meet for lunch in 20 minutes.

Since you were able to miraculously did a make up even in the car, thanks to the sensitive driving, now you decided to change into more presentable clothes in which you will be at the concert.

Without changing the habit of choosing clothes carefully and for a long time, you took off your hot sweatshirt, remaining in only sweatpants and starting to go through the whole suitcase in search of those things that would match your mood. You had a couple of looks planned, but today's unexpectedly warm weather changed your plans a little, so you confidently took out a black leather skirt and a white blouse.

A piece of matter fit all your forms perfectly, so you were satisfied with the choice, spinning in front of the mirror by the bed. The black bodice harmonized perfectly with the skirt, and the crazy idea of ​​staying only in it, without putting on anything, flashed through your head like a bullet, but flew out just as quickly as soon as you heard the muffled thud of heels on the carpet outside the door and a muttered "Jamie?" at your door followed by a knock. You hysterically shouted "No!" exactly at the moment when the door opened without a click.

"Shit, Y/N!" Alex, not having time to properly enter your room, but having clearly noticed you in a compromising way, abruptly recoiled, remaining in the corridor, but not completely closing the door so that he could hear you, but not see.

"God! What a mess" you pleaded, rushing to the door. You stuck out only your head, meeting the eyes of the musician, who was discomposedly staring at you point-blank.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Why are you naked?"

You asked at the same time, shouting over each other.

"This is my room! And I'm not naked!"

"Where's Jamie? I thought he was at 312" Turner asked, a little bewildered, clearly embarrassed.

"I have no idea where Jamie is. How did you even get in?" you were still half-dressed, hiding most of your body behind a wooden door.

"I knocked, but it turned out that it was not slammed at all"

"What the fuck? Maybe Matt didn't close when he left," you muttered more to yourself. You clearly saw the question “What did Matt do here?” that arose in Alex’s head, but which he never voiced. Clearly realizing that the dialogue could not be continued in this form, you abruptly switched the subject, trying to tear his eyes from your neck.

 "I was changing for dinner anyway, so see you there" you sharply slammed the door in front of him, not wanting to go into details, and tiredly leaned your head against the wooden surface from the inside.

"Crazy" you heard quiet along with receding soft steps.

It was your only meaningful conversation with the singer, since that evening. You understood that it couldn’t go on like this for a long time, but at the moment you didn’t have any ideas how to fix the situation. So you just finally put on the look you chose, after checking that the door was locked, then decided to add a black headband, and being satisfied with your appearance, went downstairs.

After lunch, the whole team went to the stadium, where the technicians had already set up half of the equipment. The guys immediately went to the sound check, and you and Steven went to meet Ashton Gate management. It seemed like there was still plenty of time before the concert, and you thought you would have a few more chances to double-check everything, but in the turmoil that was going on behind the scenes, this turned out to be impossible.

To be honest, you were overwhelmed by what was happening. The soft music, people around, the sun rays moving towards the sunset - this whole scene that was unfolding before you as you unexpectedly stepped onto the empty stage a few minutes before the crowd was let into the stadium looked surreal and incredibly familiar, as if you had been here many times before. The noise and chaos behind you contrasted with the tranquility in front of your eyes. The empty space that was about to be filled with a crowd in just a few minutes brought both excitement and serenity. These were the moments that seemed unreal, but made life worth living.

***

The show was about to start, and you stood next to the dark staircase, where the guys from the dressing room were soon to come up. Leaning on the railing, you nervously twirled a lock of hair around your finger. You went through all the items on the checklist in your head, checking off each one mentally, but something still bothered you.

Alex.

Your unfinished conversations and evasive behavior were weighing on you. You felt guilty, knowing that as his manager, you had behaved tactlessly, driven by emotions. It ate at you from the inside. You decided that you would talk to him today, apologize and put this issue to rest once and for all.

Suddenly you noticed a flickering light from the security, which meant that the group is entering the stage, and you turned sharply, both wanting and fearing to see them. As always, looking luxurious, these four men made their way up to the platform, remaining unnoticed by the audience.

"Good luck, guys! I'm buzzing as hell honestly" you tried to sound confident, but your voice trembled on the last word.

"Miss Y/S, is it just me or are you worried about us?" Nick lightly touched your shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

"Well, it's my first time with you" realizing how ambiguous that sounded, you interrupted yourself with a laugh.

"Oh, you'll love it, babe" Matt mimicked a voice from a cheap adult movie, tossing a stick in the air. It seemed like he could find the right words in any situation, and in the future, you would highly appreciate this skill.

All this time, you were glancing at Alex out of the corner of your eye, trying to read his emotions, but he calmly adjusted the folds on his unchanging dark blue jacket and stretched his neck with turns left and right. Seeing that the guys had moved a little away from you, you looked at your watch, estimating that you had 5 minutes maximum, and whispered to yourself "now or never".

"Alex!" you called him out loudly, trying to outshout the crowd "I wanted to talk, I know it's not the most appropriate time, but-"

"Y/N, forgive me, okay," the man unexpectedly began, barely approaching you. For the first time, you saw genuine excitement in his eyes, here, in the darkness of the backstage area of a 30,000-seat stadium. For some reason, only now you clearly feel the difference in height between you two. He looked down at you patronizingly. Maybe it was because of his heels or the knot of nerves in your stomach that made you feel so small in your attempt to hide from his penetrating gaze.

"I've been a complete jerk and acted childish from the very beginning. You didn't do anything to deserve such treatment. I don't want our tension to affect the group and our work in any way, so I admit my guilt"

You stood in shock, slightly opening your mouth. You absolutely did not expect such a turn of events, so your entire improvised speech evaporated from your mind instantly. He suddenly smiled softly, raising an eyebrow, as if asking 'well, what now?' Still not believing what you heard, you nodded your head almost automatically.

"Y-yes, you were a jerk indeed. But I also didn't behave entirely correctly, my first impression wasn't great either," you sighed in frustration, recalling your memories, "I suggest we start over, huh? Hi, my name is Y/N, I'm your new tour manager, nice to meet you" and to confirm your words, you gracefully extended your hand to him.

"Nice to meet you too, I'm Alex Turner, sort of singing here," he shook your hand with an energetic movement. His palm was dry and steady, causing a pleasant warmth throughout your body, "just business then?"

"Just business indeed. And a little bit of music" you said, more relaxed, smiling with all 32 teeth, still holding onto his hand.

"Deal, Miss Y/S"

For a moment, the roar of fans faded away for you, and you only saw the outlines of his pupils in the semi-darkness and his fingers firmly holding yours. However, your fragile moment was promptly ruined by-

"Al, c'mon!" Jamie impatiently called, and your hand felt the gusts of wind instead of calloused skin of the frontman. You watched him walk away in his waddle manner, as he suddenly turned and shouted, winking "By the way, nice lace".

 It took you a couple of seconds to understand what was said, and when the meaning of his words reached you, you exclaimed in indignation "You, motherfucker!" almost stomping your foot, but your cry was lost in the wild roar of the crowd, as the guys were already on stage.

It was a miraculous sight. Four men made people go into ecstasy just with their appearance - this is the phenomenon of the Beatles, and they were proof that rock and roll is alive. As long as they are alive. Every strum on the guitar strings, every touch of the lips to the microphone, every drumstick strike, every hair flip was special in their performance, they themselves were special.

You were fascinated, to say the least. When the performance came to the last song before the encore, Body Paint, one of your favorite songs from the album, that was definitely made to be played live, you were out of words. The whole song built you up to the climax, to the outro that every time was a pure jamming and improvisation. And you literally exploded in ecstasy when Alex started walking around the stage, unable to stand still from the knocking down energy. He closed his eyes in languor, biting his lips, screaming, throwing out his arms, and you couldn't take your eyes off. You weren't dancing or jumping, you were inseparably watching his every movement, arms folded across your chest. Your mouth was agape against your will, and your eyes eagerly punched a hole in the frontman. This is a unique performance, it's something that is hard to explain without feeling it for yourself. You were made up of his music, you literally felt these waves inside your veins, your brain wasn't able to comprehend what was happening, it was like a catharsis for all of you. And you definitely didn't want to be saved.

Suddenly Alex turned his head to your side, continuing to play some divine riff outlining the Van Gogh fields on the guitar strings. His hair was tousled, shirt unbuttoned, but his jacket fitted perfectly. He rested his eyes on your figure, smiling with one corner of his lips, and you looked at each other for good seven seconds which felt like eternity. You were sure that everything was clear in your eyes, and even if he stood next to you and heard you, you wouldn't be able to utter a word.

What you definitely didn't expect when your eye contact was broken and Alex walked to another side of the stage, that tears would involuntarily flow from your eyes. "What the hell..." you wondered aloud, quickly removing the salty tracks from your cheeks. In fact, you perfectly understood why you were crying. From a sense of greatness. The greatness of music, human synergy and the power of unity. It was too much for you, too strong emotions to bear. It was excellent, it was the taste of life, thanks to which you still were here. "God, if you exist, bless this band, they are saints" although it sounded ridiculous and naive, you seriously were ready to pray for the talent of these guys, for the ability to make other people feel alive. You were in your place, you did everything right, you were cruising the victory. Today he convinced you.

As soon as the last chords of "RU Mine?" were played and the bows to the fans were taken, the men disappeared from the deafening roar behind the dark curtains of backstage. Their hair stuck to their sweat faces, and a distinct masculine smell was coming from their shirts. The guys passed by you with exhausted smiles, unable to utter a word from fatigue, and disappeared into the darkness of the corridors.

You didn't know what to do right now. According to your understanding, your job didn't end with pre-concert organization, there were also post-concert tasks to be done. But you were so lost in emotions that you felt like you were drifting away from an anaphylactic shock.

Unexpectedly, Tyler came to you as he was the last one to come off the stage. He fraternally put a hand on your shoulder, tousling your hair with his heavy palm.

"Well, with the initiation into our hell, sweetheart. How're you?"

"Thrilled, and I want more!" you declared confidently, matching his quick pace that was pulling you further away from the frenzy of the crowd.

"Well, don't doubt that, it's just the beginning" he charmingly smiled, and you couldn't help but mirror his expression.

"Now we're going to celebrate, and you're coming with us" it sounded so authoritative that even if you wanted to object, you immediately closed your mouth, nodding in agreement. "Besides, seems like you need to unwind" you remembered.

You left the stadium only an hour later, apparently, it was a normal time for the guys to "recover". You'd made several jokes about one woman waiting for seven men and received offended and teasing looks in return. You got into the same Mercedes you arrived in that morning, and the driver took you to one of Bristol's typical English pubs that the guys loved so much.

You didn't understand their fondness for these quaint places where the sofa upholstery hadn't changed along with the owner. There were so many modern bars in the city, any of which the band could afford to rent entirely, but they paid tribute to traditions, obviously cherishing memories of their lively youth when they started playing their first concerts in similar places. Such a return to their roots after the thousands-capacity stadiums grounded them well. And the warm nostalgia, slipping across the Guinness glasses every time, was a corner of genuine joy for the guys, the only true luxury they possessed.

And overall, you didn't care where to spend money or on what. After all today's events, which felt like a whole month, you didn't mind anymore. In the morning, you looked at your apple orchard in the early mist of suburban London, then stood half-naked in a five-star hotel room in front of a world-renowned music star, and now, in the evening, you huddled next to him on an old leather couch under a red velvet chandelier, drinking a B-52.

Glasses, shots and colorful bottles flashed in front of your eyes like a kaleidoscope. Your head was spinning from the amount of alcohol, and your cheeks hurt from laughter.

"My dear mates, I propose a toast to Miss Y/S and her first concert with us! I don't know if she understands where she has ended up, but we'll make sure she has a great time with us, right, guys? To Y/N!" Matt solemnly proclaimed, rising from the table, and 8 hands, pouring drinks onto each other, reached towards the center of the table to clink glasses.

"Guys, thank you for this opportunity, thanks to James for his unplanned vacation, thanks to Steven and Marcus-" although the latter wasn't here, you decided to thank him as he had been providing you with all kinds of help during these weeks, "for their support and adaptation, and of course, to you Monkeys, for accepting me. I do like your crazy Monkey house" you joked, but it didn't negate the truth. Despite all the past disagreements with the lead singer, you felt that you were still doing everything right. And even if you hadn't gone on this adventure today, you would still feel grateful to fate for such an opportunity to be at the center of life.

"Glad to hear that," Jamie chuckled ironically, "as they say, welcome aboard"

And with these words, you all whistled, and Tom even shouted like a saloon girl from the Wild West. Your evening, or rather the night, continued until 3 am, fortunately there was no concert the next day, so you could at least sleep in a bit. You looked in horror at the amount you had drunk, trying to estimate how long it would take to recover the contents of your wallet. But you had consumed so much gin and tonic that the only thing that really worried you was how to walk straight for at least 2 meters to the bar to pay for it all.

"Drinks on me!" you declared with a mischievous smile to the group as you headed towards the bar counter.

"What, for everyone?" Matt playfully refined.

"Well, yeah," you didn't have the energy to realize his surprise, but he also didn't have the energy to argue with you, "that's no problem".

And thus, the following events spun in your head like a foggy whirlpool. Here you were finally breathing in the fresh air of the street, tilting your head towards the purple sky, then you were half-lying on someone's shoulder in the black minivan, and finally for no reason you were walking barefoot on a soft hotel carpet, but there were no shoes in your hands as well.

You didn't have any memories of walking into your room either. But in the moment, the feeling of soft snow-white hotel sheets flooded your body with long-awaited bliss. You instantly fell into the arms of Morpheus, only on the verge of consciousness noticing that someone took off the headband from your hair, which had been squeezing your head tightly, and silently closed the door.

You may be too drunk to remember each of your actions clearly, but you definitely wouldn't mistake the familiar scent of cigarettes in the room.

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

A/N: Oh, so much has happened in one chapter, and this is just the beginning of the tour... I decided to tell the background of Y/N for a better understanding of her actions. What do you think, maybe you want more of "Italian friends" in the work? Whose line do you want to read in more detail? Share your emotions, it is incredibly valuable to me that someone reads this work actually!

xo🤍

Taglist: @missbabyjay @rentskenobi @findmeincorneliastreet @indierockgirrl here it is!

*if you want to be removed or added to the taglist, feel free to ask me!

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #am7 tour #the car era #am7 era #alex turner fanfic #matt helders #the car #alex turner fic #alex turner imagine #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfiction #femme like you fanfic #nick o malley #jamie cook #maneskin #vic de angelis #damiano david

[orion-nottson]

devil’s in the details | tfp!megatron x reader

A/N: i have tfp megatron brain rot. like i know he’s cray cray and deluded, but literally so am i we’re made for each other he’s mine

also this obvi deviates from canon, bc there is no way on god’s green earth that dreadwing and starscream could coexist semi-peacefully.

also, please be warned that i haven’t written transformers fanfic since i was like 14 💀💀 fought for my LIFE with the terminology (had to check my old WATTPAD stories to find some vocab 💀)

summary: lord megatron propositions you. it’s a rather bold request.

content: SMUT, 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, femme!cybertronian!reader, seeker!reader, sticky sexual interfacing, breeding kink, wee lil bit of choking, technically boss/employee relationship, power dynamic (it gets semi-resolved), implied past relationship/thought unrequited love, average decepticon emotional constipation, business arrangement procreation

word count: 6,367

~ * ~ * ~

The Decepticon warship lingers somewhere over the southern pole of Earth, resulting in a dramatic decrease in temperature, even with the efficiency of Cybertronian technology. You shift your wings for the umpteenth time, armor plates releasing air to alleviate the discomforting chill that’s started to bother you. Of course, it was far from being so cold that you needed to worry about your core temperature, but you are a Seeker from Vos, and Vos was always warm.

The thought makes your wings tremble again, so you hurry yourself to your quarters with a bit more haste.

It wouldn’t suddenly be warm and tropical, but at least you’d be able to curl up and shiver in privacy. Recharge sounds particularly nice too, considering you’ve been up for several cycles trying to appease Lord Megatron’s endless demands. Inwardly, you roll your optics— There seems to be nothing you can do that would satisfy him.

The corridor finally breaks into the wing that houses Decepticon high command, where yours and your fellow officers reside. Your room is down almost the entire expanse of the hall, the turn right before where Megatron’s personal habsuite lies. From where you’re walking, you can spot the sleek, black metal door. A chill runs up your back struts, and your processor convinces you it’s from the icy cold that’s overtaken the Nemesis.

“Curse this inhospitable, organic planet.” Muttering to yourself dissuades you from also blaming your Master, who was no help either, if you were to be honest. He could shove his “not wanting to expend precious Energon on unnecessary heating” decree up his tail pipe.

You resign yourself to some rather cold nights for the foreseeable future. Perhaps... If you played your cards right, as the humans say, you could convince Soundwave to pilot the ship north. Maybe somewhere near Hawaii...

A sharp, gravelly voice from behind you calls your name, and you spin around to see your Lord and Master a ways down the corridor from you. Immediately bringing yourself to attention, you straighten your back struts and bow politely.

“My liege.” You say, thanking Primus you’ve become so accustomed to Megatron’s thunderous shouts that you no longer jump, let alone flinch, when they occur. The silver mech strides up to you easily, displaying all the strength of a warrior in the confidence of his steps.

“Retiring to your quarters?” He asks austerely, as if he’s ever concerned himself with your whereabouts, let alone personal routine. Unease creeps up on you, so you shift on the thrusters of your peds and cross your servos over your chassis. Wings fluttering, you reply slowly, “Well, yes.”

“Allow me to accompany you there.” The silver mech says brightly, and it’s such an absurdly peculiar request for both the mech saying it and the situation at hand. You instinctively snort a laugh.

“I do believe I know the way to my own habsuite, my Lord.” You say before you can stop the words from coming out, and immediately regret them once they do. You meet Megatron’s hard stare sheepishly, wings dropping timorously. Forgetting your place in the grand scheme of things is not wise amongst the Decepticon ranks.

To your utter shock, you’re not met with a vicious reprimand and instead Megatron grins— this wickedly suave thing— and purrs, “Humor me.”

And all you can say is, “Of course.”

Megatron hums appreciatively, brushing past you as he takes the lead, like he always does. You step in time behind him, nearly colliding into his back struts when he suddenly halts, and you stumble backwards a few steps. The looming mech pivots, glancing down at you with a quizzical expression in his glowing optics.

“Seekers are a rare breed, yes?” Lord Megatron asks, and whatever game he’s begun to play with you genuinely stumps any reasoning you attempt. Opening your mouth, your optics dart over his face, trying to decode whatever message your Master is sending and coming up empty. 

“Er... Yes, my liege? Even before the war, Vos was not a populous city-state. There are probably... even less now.” You reply cautiously, becoming very put off as Megatron takes a step towards you. He looks as impassive as ever, though you’re beginning to see a very curious appraising expression overtaking his faceplates. It begins with the upcurve of his mouth, derma pulled into the most wolfish grin you’ve ever seen on the mech.

Utterly bizarre. Your processors want to reset because this Megatron is starting to look like the studly gladiator of Kaon you’d hear be lasciviously giggled about, not the ruthless, merciless tyrant he’s supposed to be.

“I have a rather... avant-garde proposition for you, my most loyal Seeker.” Megatron purrs, his servos clasped easily behind him as you’ve seen him too many times before, often when he schemes. He’s also talking to you as if this is casual, expected business of him; matter-of-fact and cordial, with his usual cool drawl.

Before you can reply, Megatron turns sharply once more and begins walking down the corridor, stopping after a few steps when he realizes you hadn’t started with him. He turns his helm to look back at you, this time there’s this strangely unreadable expression on his faceplates.

“Follow me.” He says simply, and without a second thought, you do.

Even though you’re a Seeker with naturally long legs, his pedsteps are even longer strides, so you have to exert some effort in keeping up with Megatron. It adds to the growing franticness that’s begun to bubble up inside your chassis. 

While not exactly fear, though that’s certainly part of it, you’ve been a Decepticon and aboard the Nemesis under Megatron’s direct command long enough to know that when he becomes cryptic, it means trouble. Or at least a command that you’d rather not be the one to deal with. Bluntly asking what the frag he’s on about wouldn’t be the best course of action, but you know that he likes you enough not to offline you immediately if you did.

So you do.

“My Lord, what exactly are you asking of me?” You inquire, noting with slight abject horror as Megatron approaches the door to your quarters and types in your lock code with ease. Of course, he is the leader after all. Instead of answering your question, he makes you feel even more uneasy by throwing you a mysteriously sultry look and quipping, “Let me have you if only for a breem. Or longer should I entertain you.”

You catch the flash of his ruby optics, their intentions indiscernible, and then he disappears into your habsuite like it’s his own.

There’s something to it, an itch of a thought that’s begun to decipher the puzzle and put together the pieces. Lately, Megatron has been far more... involved with you, more eager at your presence, and it was blatantly obvious that he grew quite miffed when others got too close. It was no secret to anyone— From Soundwave and Starscream to a lowly technician— that Megatron had an optic for you (many did, frankly) and thus he was quite possessive of your wiles and charms as well.

This line of thought leads you to step into your room, slowly and evenly as if it’s unmarked territory and not the quarters that were assigned to you millennia ago.

“Lord Megatron...” You trail off, catching his stare just as he sets your old null ray back on your weapons rack, where most of your old, dismantled, and prized tools are located. Your null ray had been a favorite, until some blasted Autobot blew out the important bits that kept it working. That had stung, and even eons later you still curse that specific Autobot to the Pits.

Megatron flexes his claws, and with a flourish he clasps his servos behind him once again. His red optics scan the entirety of your quarters, lingering on your berth until they come back to rest on you. His gaze is equal parts unnerving and fascinating, as if he’s deconstructing you armor by armor, stripping you down until he’s watched your spark pulse.

His optics, like twin red suns, center you at their universes, and you feel oddly... flattered at their amorous disposition.

“It is no secret that I have watched you for some time.” Megatron starts, tilting his helm as he becomes pensive. You nod dumbly, hardly processing a word he’s saying. Megatron takes a single step towards you, looming like a shadow. In the dim lighting of your room, his silver armor catches all the chiaroscuro, his violet accents hued to black. Only his glowing, fiery optics remain bright. He continues.

“I admit,—” Megatron drawls your name deliciously, “— That I have found myself... captivated by your beauty. Entranced by your prowess, both in battle and mind.”

“I...” Your vents hitch, wings shivering at the praise. Blinking rapidly to ensure this isn’t some monumentally vivid dream, you clear your intake and say, “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, my Lord.”

Megatron laughs, that slight chuckle that sounds halfway between his engines roaring and something genuine that comes from the spark. The silver mech’s rolls his shoulders, armor hissing as it releases air. Wildly, he confesses something you never would have expected from him, “I believe myself bewitched.”

His servos have clasped themselves into fists at his sides, and briefly you wonder if he’s angry with you, then his entire frame relaxes like he’s decompressing after a long spar with Dreadwing.

“Tell me, my little Seeker, why have you denied yourself of me for so long?” Megatron asks it like a tease, like he’s some boon to be revered or a sacred sword to be wielded. Heat rises beneath your armor plating, and your processors race kilometers a nanosecond to find a suitable answer. Or at least one that doesn’t make you sound like some lovesick femmeling.

You couldn’t lie and say you had no... feelings for your Master, who was as handsome and dark as he was powerful and cunning. Megatron was once a gladiator of Kaon, and gladiators on Cybertron were what you had often admired, marveling at their strength, drive, and raw spark. Megatron had been no different, though you also found his commanding presence and impressive intellect to be even more attractive.

That was really why you’d joined the Decepticon cause all those millennia ago; Drawn to your Master’s fight to bring equality to the rigid castes and to seize control of the Energon supply to better disperse it by his charismatic allure.

And somehow, Megatron knew all of this.

“It would have been insubordination if I acted upon my... desires.” You reply, crossing your arms over your ample chassis with a shrug. Megatron matches your collected temperament with a hum, staring down at you with unreadable red optics.

“Indeed. Though I wish you’d had disobeyed, my little Seeker.” Megatron purrs, taking a step towards you that closes the space between your frames and boxes you in. His EM field magnifies the atmosphere around you, tingling at the periphery of yours.

“M-My liege?” You gape, faceplates feeling hot as metal left in direct sunlight. He chuckles, and sinfully the tip of his glossa runs over his pointed denta. Your spark skips a beat, owlishly watching 

“If I had known sooner that you wanted me as direly as I did you, then this song and dance would have concluded vorns ago.” Megatron growls, optics flashing with not anger, but lust. He takes another step, and you’re speechless.

“That being said, I am patient. I have no qualms with how long we have waited, nor will I if you choose to wait longer.” One of the tyrant’s long, clawed digits clicks at the bottom of your chin, tilting your face upwards. His touch is delicate, like you’d break if he pushed too hard. Honestly, you probably would if he did. Part of you wants to see him try.

“What did you want to ask of me?” You whisper, optics fluttering until they stay half-lidded and dewy under the carnal scrutiny of your Lord. Megatron grins, a sliver of sharp denta flashing in the lowlights of your habsuite. He takes a final step towards you, a half-shuffle that does well to close the gap between your frames, the air warming from the work of your combined engines. You hope he feels the way your spark races, hope he feels the heat emanating from your core.

“Give me an heir, carry a sparkling of my code and stand beside me as my queen.” With each word, laden with desire until it shows in his optics that drip with lust, Megatron has you against the wall of your habsuite, one servo tracing the sleek edge of your wing.

It’s entirely intoxicating, and against your better judgment and all remaining reason— and mostly because you haven’t had a good, hard frag in ages— you moan.

It’s a soft, angelic sound that barely catches on the audials, but it makes Megatron grin like a shark. You gasp, affronted, optics flickering, “My liege!”

“Have I offended you?” He breathes, and suddenly his mouth is against your neck cables, each word leaving the softest of kisses on your Energon lines. Your resolve nearly crumbles entirely, each brush of his dermas like a shot of high grade to the systems. You sigh, vents hissing, and place one servo on his chassis. Beneath the broad expanse of silver armor, his engines rumble like thunder on the horizon. It makes you pulse with need.

“No.” You whisper, wanting to sing as Megatron kisses the slope of your jaw, then pecks the side of your mouth, agape with shock. He pulls back, the heat of him evaporating as soon as he’s once again standing at his full height. You tremble, not from the cold, but from his absence. 

It’s not something you’d ever given much thought about, your feelings towards your Lord and Master, but it’s something that’s come rushing back. All the suppressed thoughts, the dashed dreams, the impossible futures... They come back to you and leave you weak in the knee joints, cooling fans whirring from the memories of the fantasies you’d entertained when you’d had long midnights alone.

“What say you then?” Megatron’s stare is hard, unshaking and fully serious. He wants to have a sparkling with you, wants you to bear him an heir— He wants you as his queen and equal, to stand beside him and lead the Decepticon cause. The expression on his face is a cross between a wild animal, wanting to ravage you the nanosecond you say Yes, and the warlord with enough resolve and self-restraint to accept if you say No.

It’s all so much at once. Eons of time made up in just a single question. Details and technicalities will have to be conferred over later, as for now you’re content with the conditions as-is.

“Well... You are a handsome mech, my liege.” You reply, teasing him by placing a chaste kiss directly on the Decepticon insignia on his chassis. He doesn’t say anything, only his engine rumbles more audibly. You look up at him and salaciously imply with a coy smirk, “I do believe we’d make a fine clutch of sparklings.”

And then you find yourself swept up into his arms, back struts and wings pressed against the wall, your Lord’s hips slotted perfectly against yours. The more base urges inside you squeal, your Seeker coding nearly overtaking you and having you present to him like a turbofox in heat.

Not one to be outdone, Megatron quips, “And you are quite the striking femme— Shall I ravage you against the wall or your berth?”

You laugh, cut off only when Megatron captures your dermas in his, drowning you in the roughness of a mech starved of Energon. He kisses like he owns the practice and has made it an artform; Dragging your dermas with his, glossa invading your mouth, denta nipping dangerously close to sensitive nodes and wiring. You moan and gasp, coming to the realization that one of your servos grips his wrist and the other is flat against his chassis.

You shutter your optics, reveling in Megatron’s power and dominance, wanting so desperately for him to devour you. The warmth blossoms, spreading throughout your core until you feel charges pulse at your interface panels that have you whimpering.

After what feels like vorns, Megatron parts and your dermas unlock with a metallic pop. Megatron’s mouth ghosts over yours, and he hums as he repeats himself, “Berth or wall, little Seeker?”

“The berth, my liege.” You urge breathlessly, a delighted sound escaping you as Megatron heaves you from the wall and carries you to your desired destination. He isn’t gentle when he deposits you on your berth, doesn’t mind the wings, so you hiss when your back struts connect with the metal beneath you. Megatron manages to keep himself between the smooth metal of your thighs as he hitches one knee up onto the berth.

“I wonder,” Megatron stops to kiss you deeply once more, making your processors spin, “If this is an auspicious position for conception.”

A bite to the dermas stifles your wanton moan. Your Lord may not be fully aware of it yet, but each mention of being sparked, of bearing his heirs, has your more base urges spiraling out of control. While Vos was not populated by many Seekers, the need to breed is more hardwired into the programming than most other frame types. His words act like fuel to the fire.

“O-Oh— I can only hope.” You gasp, your whimpering cries smothered by Megatron’s dermas in yet another bruising, brusque kiss. This time, he lingers, slows down as if he savors the taste of you on his glossa. Your servos grip his shoulders, smoothing along his breadth before your pointed digits grip at the armor panels high on his back. Megatron responds most enjoyably, using one servo to anchor himself above you and the other to caress down your body.

His servo travels from the curve of your waist, talons scratching at your paint, down to the slope of your hip where it rests heavy and warm on the junction of your thigh. He teases the sharp point of his thumb digit on the transformation seam nearest your interface panels, causing you to arch your back struts like a cat. Megatron uses this opportunity to settle a servo on the low of your back struts, where he pinches at the sensitive nodes at the bases of your wings. That makes you cry out, your cooling fans whirring loudly as a charge builds up deep inside you. 

You’ve never been this close to an overload so quickly before, though you’ve had many sleepless nights built up to bring you to this moment. And Megatron proves his expertise in the berth, past rumors and gossip proven to hold more truth than you once thought. 

Your entire frame feels electrified, your lower body feels like it’s on fire, the heat centered gloriously on your interfacing parts. Particularly your valve and anterior node, which feel wet and pulse beneath the panel with each of your sparkbeats.

“You react so gratifyingly.” Megatron purrs, his gravelly drawl like fine high grade on the audials, uncharacteristically sweet and sensual. He glances down at your interface panels, where your glowing transfluid is beginning to seep out along the seams. With a devious grin, Megatron meets your gaze just as he presses his thumb digit to your overheated panel.

“Megatron!” You cry his name, forsaking honorifics, and nearly overloading on the spot. Almost unconsciously, you send a command and your valve panel slides open, revealing your weeping slit and throbbing anterior node. You cry out again when Megatron wastes no time and starts tight, small circles on the sensitive bundle of mesh wire and circuitry.

“Beautiful.” He hums, quickening his pace on your anterior node as he notices sparks fly as your charge builds. You grip his back, claws digging at his silver armor and leaving scratches in his already worn paint. Megatron leans in, steals your dermas in a kiss, keeps circling your wet node, and just as you see warnings for an imminent overload— He stops.

The charge doesn’t die, but it decreases to a staticky tingle, and you part from the kiss, scandalized that he’s prevented your overload. You gape at Megatron, giving him a glare that could rival the World Destroyer’s himself. He only offers you a sly look.

“My liege.” This time you growl the title past grit denta, bucking your hips against your Master’s still servo. He hums, your anger meaning nothing to him, though indulging you by brushing two digits along the transfluid-soaked mesh of your valve. You gasp, optics blowing wide as he pushes them in, mindful of his sharp claws, stretching you wonderfully.

There’s a slight burn at first, pain sensors sending alerts, alleviated as your frame adjusts to accommodate his thick talons. Megatron eases his digits back until they are almost out completely, then sinks them back in. Your knees come up, peds shaking as you hook them behind his back struts.

“Patience, my dear,” Megatron kisses your neck cables, “Is a virtue.”

And like he had your anterior node, he works your valve slowly, steadily building the charge that buzzes all the pleasure centers in your frame. Warnings for an overload screen your vision again, this time your optics flicker as it grows closer. Staccato vents escape your intake, fans skipping cycles and hitching, encouraging Megatron to go faster, digits plunging in and out of your valve with sopping, moist noises. The room smells like interface; the tinny tang of transfluid, the almost-burnt smell of metal-on-metal friction.

You moan, this time a long keen that crackles in your audials, and Megatron responds with the first pleasured sound you’ve heard from him: A low, throaty groan that he practically strangles in his intake like he doesn’t want it to escape.

“M-My liege, plea-please.” You whine, writhing, bucking your hips even as Megatron’s servo relinquishes your wings in order to still them. You sob, systems on the fritz as the charge crackles, your overload closing in due to Megatron’s working servo and digits. He laughs again, the breathy one that you adore, and surprisingly heeds your plea.

“I want you like this when you take my spike.” Megatron hisses, doubling his pace and making you scream. The wet squelch of your mesh grows louder, and with each thrust of his servo, his knuckle joint brushes your throbbing anterior node, whiting out your optics.

“I want you disheveled.” The tyrant presses close to you, tightening the cyclic thrusts of his digits, biting at the base of your neck cables. Your helm lolls to the side, voice crackling in constant whines as you squeeze your optics shut. He growls, sharp denta piercing an Energon line close to your shoulder armor, the pain mixing with pleasure and having you singing.

“I want you desperate.” Megatron snarls like an Earthen beast, the gruffness of his voice matching the hot stretch of your valve. Transfluid soaks the inner seams and mechanisms of your thighs, spilling onto your berth below. Megatron drags his dermas to yours, his glossa hot and heady as he shoves it in your mouth and dominates the kiss. You moan against him, gripping him tight and hearing the sound of metal screech as its torn.

The silver mech groans, low and rough, breaking the kiss and allowing his helm to fall besides yours. To the cables and wires of your neck, he leaves open-mouth kisses, condensation hot from his vents, then pulls himself up to your audials and whispers harshly:

“I want you as mine.”

The last word is punctuated by a hard push of his digits and his thumb squashing your anterior node, and your overload hits you like a system crash. You wail, wings fluttering and hitting the berth with metallic clangs as your body seizes, the charge overtaking your processors. Pleasure like molten lava consumes your frame, transfluid squirting out onto Megatron’s forearm like paint.

The overload lasts eons, like some supernova of a dying star. Your legs lock, armor plating shivering, wings hitched high and scraping against your berth.  Maybe this is what death is, you think illogically, Maybe I’ve joined with the Allspark.

“Beautiful.” Megatron breathes again, his optics glowing in awe, “Positively beautiful.”

It takes a click for your processor to compute what he said, then another for your optics to blink back on. Coolant tears leak out the corners, blurring your vision. Your mouth gapes, dermas damp with condensation, your cooling fans whirring in loud in your audials. The grip you have on Megatron loosens, servos slipping until they fall upon his shoulders.

The charge in your valve mesh and anterior node quivers and bounces, and you realize with a pleasant tremble that Megatron’s digits are still firmly inside you.

“Megatron.” You coo his name, “Megatron.”

He says yours back, like all you’ve done and are doing is exchanging designations in a routine meeting and it reminds you of a time when things were simpler between the two of you. It’s been eons since Megatron’s seen you the way his ruby red optics gaze upon you now, eons more since you’ve felt seen.

War has made you both volatile, too tough and too angry to do anything else but fight, and fight some more. But here, in the privacy of your berth, blanketed by the secrecy of darkness: War can’t touch you. Nothing can.

“How I have yearned for you...” Megatron cups your faceplates, his servo cool against your overheated frame. You smile, still hazy from your overload and the lingering sensation of his other servo very much connected carnally to you, feeling like you’ve overdone yourself on too much high grade. 

A switch flips inside you, the one that reminds you’re no fainting femme, but one that asks and will take regardless. You are a Seeker, after all— It’s in your code to want offspring.

“Give me a sparkling, my Lord.” Even though your voice wavers, it still sounds like an immutable command. The contemplative look on Megatron’s face morphs into the devilish one, and he snarls, removing his digits from your core. A thin line of gooey transfluid stretches between you and his servo, until Megatron brings it to his mouth and his glossa licks along the length of his digits. His optics narrow in as he hums.

“You presume you can command me.” And yet he obeys again, his interface panel unlatching with a hiss. His spike emerges, a long, thick one that fills in sections, ribbed along its length. Glowing transfluid oozes in droplets from its tip, rolling down the underside of his spike. Your jaw drops, both in want and slight alarm— Megatron is a large mech, you should have better anticipated a large spike.

“Know this, dearest: I will take you, ruin you, fill you up until my code takes.” Megatron promises, lining his bobbing spike up with your throbbing valve. He then grabs your hips, propping them up for a better angle. You quiver, writhing on your berth and bracing your servos on his forearms. His armor is hot under your touch, and your claws dig into the smooth of his paint. Then you match his stare, licking your dermas.

“Frag me like you mean it.”

Megatron suddenly thrusts his spike into you and you wail, unforgiving of your smaller stature. The delicate mesh and sensitive wires give and mold around the hot rod of his pulsing length, forming a slick suction around your lover. He groans, easing back then thrusting in with earnest. Your thighs tremble as you take him, each rimmed circlet of his spike passing into you, dragging deliciously on your valve’s walls.

It’s a tight fight, even with being loosened by Megatron’s thick digits. The transformation seams on your hips and thighs stretch, soft whirs and clicks as your frame adjusts to take him. He’s the biggest you’ve ever had, and the strongest too. The power in his hips drives you up the berth, and he pulls you back down.

You can’t meet his thrusts, but you try and buck your hips in time with him, erratic at first. Megatron’s servos are locked on you, guiding you when your movements skip or miss. All the pleasure centers in your frame are alight, charges sparking and fritzing along your circuitry. Another overload builds, a hot, deep bubbling in your core.

With each thrust of his spike, your valve squelches, the mesh slick and hot with transfluid. More drips down your legs, your aft, onto the berth, leaving everything tacky. Megatron hits a particularly sensitive node deep inside you, one you didn’t even know was there, and you keen. Coolant tears prick at your vision again, escaping the corners and rolling off your faceplates. 

“How badly do you want it?” Megatron seethes, and you could mistake his lust for anger. He seizes your neck cables, dangerous talons threatening Energon lines, as he demands, “How badly do you want me?”

“Desperately.” You wheeze, optics whiting out as Megatron squeezes your neck cables just so as he gives you a series of particularly rough thrusts. Your peds tighten on his back, urging him deeper. Your Master vents, harsh and hot, his engine rumbling loud in his chassis.

“You will look...” Megatron chokes on a groan,”... Excellent with a trine at your hip.”

That makes you whine, Seeker coding squealing and preening at the thought. A trine. Three little sparklings just like their carrier. You’d delight in carrying them in your gestation chamber, wanting to see yourself change and swell to accommodate them.

“I want... I want,” Your voice cuts out, broken by a sob, and you can only manage a tight, “I want that!”

“Good.” Megatron pistons his hips like a jackhammer, his rhythm not breaking once. Powerful thrusts meet the wet heat of your core, the tops of his thigh armor clanking loudly against your legs. The overload warnings start appearing once again. Megatron hisses when your valve tightens around his length, and it prompts him to pick up the pace.

“You are so pretty.” He growls, leaning in to recapture your dermas with his. As he kisses, he doubles his speed and the strength behind it. You moan and sob into his mouth, servos gripping him by the back of the helm. His glossa battles with yours, his sharp denta nicking you more than once. Then he switches to kissing you deeply, soulfully, like he’s found salvation in your dermas.

It’s as you’re so viscerally connected to Megatron that the heat in your core reaches a boiling point, the slow-building electricity coming to its peak. Your valve walls spasm, the giving mesh convulsing in the telltale sign of your overload on the horizon.

Somehow accomplishing it, Megatron kisses you deeper, his faceplates flush and hot against yours. A particularly hard grind of his spike on the sensitive nodes of your valve has you gasping into the silver mech’s mouth. Your optics squeeze shut, you feel like your core is about to explode with heat—

Your second overload hits, just as spectacular and wonderful as the first. Electrified charges bounce between the mesh of your valve and Megatron’s throbbing spike, transfluid soaking him and yourself once again. It’s only after your audials tingle that you realize you’ve screamed loudly enough to reset them. Your systems crash, processors overheated and cooling fans hitching and trembling. With a hiss and a long grunt, Megatron follows you over the edge as well.

Warmth blooms in your core, pleasure nodes and receptors picking up the hot liquid feel of Megatron’s transfluid deep inside you. It comes out in spurts, and he rides his overload by continuing to push into you. As your optics come back online, you catch him hunching over you, ceasing his thrusts in favor of pressing as close as he can, spike still weeping transfluid and coating your inside walls.

Megatron hisses and groans, his frame shivering just once as he finishes, lazily bucking his hips thrice to empty himself completely. He doesn’t disengage his spike, leaving it to soften in your overworked valve. You can’t feel your peds, not after the overload you just experienced, and your entire frame shudders when he nips at your neck cables once again.

For a while, he hovers above you, his EM field embracing your frame. Softly, your servos caress his upper back struts, the tips of your digits dancing along his seams. His servos finally release your hips, revealing he’s left shallow dents in your armor. No matter, you’d wear them proudly. 

“Do you have fiber cloths in your refresher?” Megatron asks, breaking the comfortable silence, his vocal processor crackling only slightly. A twitch of the helm is the best “Yes” you can offer, and brutally Megatron parts from you, drawing a soft whimper as his spike and warmth leave you. The thought of sliding your interface panel back on crosses your mind, but your anterior node and valve are still throbbing so tenderly you can’t will yourself to do it.

You hadn’t realized you closed your optics until Megatron’s approaching pedsteps makes you open them again. He stands before your sprawled, ruined frame, a sheer fiber cloth in his servo, reaching to clean you. Silently, he wipes up the glowing transfluid that’s stained your berth, then moves to clean what’s left on your body.

For a long few moments, the sounds of your cooling fans cycling down, wings softly scraping on your berth, and Megatron’s movements fill your habsuite. At some point, you hear the distinct click of Megatron’s interface panel closing and you tilt your helm up to see him putting his spike away. Also distinctly, the slight burn of soreness as Megatron wipes your exposed valve of excess transfluid.

You’d need to wash regardless, but it’s the thought that counts.

“That was...” And you have no words. Your voice sounds distant and far away, like you’re listening to yourself whisper from miles away. Megatron hums to fill your silence, then you hear the muffled sound of the cloth being discarded somewhere in your room.

“May I join you for the night?” Your Lord’s question is far more polite than it needs to be, considering the circumstances, but it’s 

“Of course.” Your answer is quick and sure, marked by the tremendous effort you put in to roll onto your side, even though you still can’t quite feel your legs. You watch Megatron around your berth and sit at your side. He stretches, silver armor plates shifting and whirring back into place, the length of his back struts revealing his hidden Energon lines.

Then he swings his peds up and lays beside you like it’s the most normal action he’s ever done. Though you do have to scoot over until your wings stick out past the edge.

“I would like for this to be a repeated venture,” Megatron teases after he settles himself, “And if you will accept, for this to be continued past a successful newspark creation.”

He glances at you out the corner of his optic, its glow dimmed. You smile.

He’s never been one for grand romantic gestures, never one to speak about softer, kinder things like “love” or “sparkbonding”. It’s unbecoming of him, the Leader of the Decepticons, former gladiator of Kaon, dark Lord and powerful Master. You don’t know if he’d ever pose the actual question, or if it will remain as nebulous, vague riddles and coded phrases for you to decipher and analyze. It isn’t in Lord Megatron’s making to be tender— At least not in the explicit regards.

“I want nothing less for the sire of my offspring.” You reply, your frame curling around the curve of his chassis, servo finding the same spot it always had: Right above his insignia, above his spark. His engine rumbles evenly, the steady drumming could bring you to power down, though you’re kept awake by the pleasant ache between your legs, the chill of the Nemesis, and the pride in bearing your Lord an heir. 

~ * ~ * ~

epilogue

Your berth is too small, much too small, for two Cybertronians attempting to recharge upon it. Megatron keeps an arm wrapped under and around you to prevent you from falling off, your frame halfway atop his. One of your servos rests under your helm, the other lazily traces invisible shapes on his broad chassis. Both of your EM fields mingle, the waves pulsing to each other in rhythm.

Earthen hours have passed since your coupling, and though you’re tired, you find yourself unable to slip into recharge.

“My Lord?” You catch his attention, Megatron optics flickering back as he pulls himself from the onset of recharge. Part of you regrets keeping him awake— Primus only knows how many sleepless nights your leader subjects himself to— and the other part of you quietly marvels at how he was nearly dozing in your arms. What show of trust is as great as that?

“If I am to carry, this means the Decepticon cause loses one of its strongest warriors—” You sigh happily as the warlord shifts so that his servo rubs your wings, tenderly caressing sensitive transformation seams and Energon lines. What more you wanted to say dies on your glossa, too caught up in the tender display of affection your Lord gives you.

“A temporary hindrance.” Megatron rumbles, shuttering his optics once again and stating, “The Decepticons will prevail.”

It falls quiet, fully so for a handful of clicks until you pipe up again.

“... And, we will need protoforms. And transitionary metals and alloys. And start the process of distilling Energon into low-grade, sparkling-safe—”

Megatron silences you with a deep kiss, one that has you purring in delight and cupping his faceplates. He lingers on your dermas for a few beats, his EM field heavy and warm on yours, lulling you closer to recharge. Megatron parts, settling down on his back struts, his frame creaking and hissing air as he relaxes. Then he sighs:

“We will discuss technicalities in the morning.”

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp megatron #megatron #megatron x reader #megatron x you #megatron x femme #megatron x cybertronian reader #cybertronian reader #femme reader

[planetflorxa]

Trash Magic

CW: Hyper-femm reader, Mommy kink, Lesbian sex, Choking, ass slapping. Spitting, Squirting, name calling just once though, scissoring, overstimulation, oral reader receiving.

a/n: ALL RACES ARE WELCOME! The picture is just for the shoes. just realized most of my fanfics and wips have have mommy kinks….That says a lot about me. I also have a dina fanfic that’s almost done it’ll probably come out s week after this on so stay tuned.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Your friends hated it. They hated the way you always had to sit on her lap when you guys would hang out together. They hate how you two would excuse yourselves to your bedroom and all they could hear was a loud banging against the wall. They wish they would get away from it but they lived with you. They’re just happy Abby doesn’t live there because they’d never get sleep with the way you two are always touching, But they were lucky because abby was on a trip and wasn’t set to get back until a week from today. So it’ll just be you and your friends. Well that’s what they thought anyways.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

“Draw 8” your friend casey told you. You guys were all sat around the coffee table seated on the floor playing games and drinking. “NO” you said laughing which caused your friends to laugh with you. “That’s cheating why does uno have a custom card.” You said bouncing up. “I’m gonna go get something to eat shuffle the cards and let’s play stacks” “NOO youre such a baby” Your other friend jess said “Oh well” You said scurrying to the kitchen. “Nobody told casey to cheat that was so unfair” you said as you went on your mission to go get snacks

You were in your own world looking through cabinets to something to eat so much so you didn’t hear your friends talking to someone at the door and on top of that you didn’t hear them ring the bell. “Who’s at the door guys” you said walking to the door seeing your girlfriend come into view before they could even tell you. “ABBY WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” you said running up and hugging her almost missing how your friends rolled their eyes in disgust almost. “Hi princess, I’ve missed you” She said grabbing under your ass so she can lift you up “You’re not supposed to get back for like 2 more days” You said kissing her cheek “I’m got bored and i missed you so much” “Really?” you giggled as she walked you to your couch to sit down with you on her lap facing her. You almost got lost talking to her before you remembered your friends.

“Oh sorry guys” you said getting off abbys lap much to her dismay but she still kept a hand on your thigh. “Abby how about you play cards with us” you said awkwardly looking between your friends and her. “Please do much better than going in the room” casey said “For real you guys are so loud” jess chimed in which caused abby to blush a little turning away from you guys. “Okay enough let’s just play” you and abby both took your seats around the table just like the other two.

You guys played for around 10 minutes before you realized they were straight up targeting abby. “First me now Abby what the fuck” you said throwing you cards on the table. “What are you talking about now y/n” jess said throwing his cards on the table as well. “You guys just made her draw 15” you huffed getting up “this is why customs cards are BULLSHIT well me and abby are gonna go watch a movie” you said reaching for her hand so she could stand up with you

“NO GOD PLEASE NO” casey screamed dramatically. You just ignored her “casey please stop it nothings gonna happen just a movie okay” you said grabbing abby’s hand and walking towards your room

You lied

“Ahhhh mommy fuckkkk~” you screamed on your knees back arched the side of your face pushed against the pillow so you can breathe while she used your hands for leverage to pound into you hard. “Take it princess f-fuck i know you can” she let go of your hands instead grabbing the fat of your hips pace not faltering “Do you like the way i fuck you? You like how deep mommy’s going or you want more” you couldn’t breathe she WAS fucking so deep aimed straight at your sweet spot and she knew that. You were gushing and creaming all around her and she was so hypnotized by it. She couldn’t stop herself from going faster

Before she could think she was spitting in your asshole she then start rubbing it in with her thumb before pushing it in. “a-abby it hu-” she didn’t let you finish before smacking your ass once, twice and then three each time you squealed louder and louder. She took her thumb out your ass grabbed you by your hair to bring you closer to her then switched from your hair than throat choking you as you bended backwards. “What did you call me” she said in a stern voice “I-i’m-fuck i’m sorry” you whimpered out “Okay so what’s my name” she said not letting her hand loosen on your throat or not stop the assaulting pace she had on your pussy.

“Mommy” “that’s right fuckkk~ look at how much of a good girl you are for me” she said letting you go placing her hands back on your hips. “I want you to cum all over me okay princess” “mhm” you said barely even able to keep yourself up “words baby” Abby said whist pushing herself deeper “Aahh- yes yes okay” abby’s hasn’t fucked you in what feels like forever with each drag of her dick it felt like heaven on earth. It felt like eating your favorite meal for the first time. She fucks you so good and so deep making you cream over and over again like the only think on her mind was making you cum and it was. “Mommy i’m gonna come” you said as steady as possible.

You’re voice was probably the most steady think on you right now. Your brain was just filled with you cumming, your legs and arms were shaking from the stimulation definitely not steady and plus you were sweating all over. But she listened you and heard you. She snakes her hand over to play with your clit to make you cum faster and to make it more powerful. “Fuckkkkk mommy” You moaned coming undone squirting all over her pelvis and lower torso “Shhh it’s okay princess” she said fucking you through it trying to make it last as long as possible. It sounded so disgusting the splashing of your cunt. The sound of your moans and abby’s heavy breathing everything about this moment was so erotic she couldn’t help but to keep this going.

She stepped away from you once she worked you down. She had you flip over so you were on your back and you were looking forward to the Aftercare she always seems to bring but on boy were you wrong. Abby slipped the strap off taking her underwear and shorts off rubbing the slick that accumulated from her fucking you across her throbbing cunt. She then went up to you on the bed slotting your legs in between each others placing her pussy on yours. “FUCK ABBY NO NO IM SENSITIVE PLEASE” “shut up bitch” tears starting brimming in your eyes the pleasure was so painful but you didn’t want it to go away your toes were curling as she rubbed her pussy across yours your slick making it so easy for her or slide across you.

You were cumming quicker than you wanted to but abby wasn’t gonna stop until she came so you tried your best to hold yours in. ”fuck y/n your pussy’s so warm” She moaned. You couldn’t even respond to her you just laid there and took it back arching your arms reaching out for her. You couldn’t stop the screams from comming out you wanted to cum so bad you just need her to say those words and your prayers were answered. “Fuck y/n i’m cumming” she moaned so loud and you quickly followed her. Abby’s body was twitching on top of yours she was shaking from not being able to use your body in forever if felt like it was too much almost. “Fuck princess you’re such a good girl” She said looking down at your trembling figure that was covered in sweat that gave your skin a glow. Your eyes were filled with tears as you looked up at her she wanted so much to give you a break but she couldn’t get enough.

Abby untangled your legs from each other she then placed both your legs on her shoulders. “Mommy i can’t” you said pushing her head away before she could even come into contact with your cunt. You knew deep down you couldn’t take anymore so why were you so achy down there. You wanted her to give it to you over and over and over again probably until you passed out. She licked a long stripe up from your clenching hole to your swollen clit before going in a suckling on it. “f-FUCKK ab-Mommy i’m gonna cum” you felt like a slut but the thoughts didn’t linger too long because you were cumming fast and hard but that’s doesn’t mean abby was gonna stop she wasn’t doing it for you she was just addicted to the way you tasted but she knew she had to stop though. She give you a few more licks and slurps cursing herself for not having the heart to keep going.

“How do you feel princess” she said rubbing your head and laying beside you “Tired” you mumbled “Let’s get you cleaned up then you can go to sleep okay”

“okay mommy”

#lesbian #abby anderson #tlou x reader #TLOU #Khywrites #abby anderson x reader #abby smut #mommy #tlou smut #wlw smut

[misslu999]

I really love reading all those genshin fanfics with Fontaine’s characters but sometimes, as a french, I am a bit trigger by the way some people write wrongly some french words… I saw a « Mon chéri » to designate a female reader…

Here a free french lesson:

Mon - is a masculine pronoun

So when you say « Mon chéri » it’s toward a male character

If you want to designate a girl you have to use the female pronoun : Ma

And so the full sentence is « Ma chériE »

Do not forget to put the « E » at the end because it’s a girl for a guy, no need to.

And if you want to designate severate persons:

- You use the pronoun : Mes

You can use it to definite both girls/boys/girls and boys /Any genders together!

BUT

Be careful if you want to say « Mes chéris »

You will need to put the E if it’s a group of girls : « Mes chéries »

If It’s a group of boys and girls do not put the E Because the male win so just write: « Mes chéris »

If you want to use it for the pronoun « Them » feel free use any versions.

Well everything I said works for any genders, and are masculine word so you don’t use the Ma.

To conclude:

MA : Female Pronoun - Use only to designate a female word or person.

Examples: Ma fleur (My flower), Ma princesse (My princess), Ma choupette (My little One? There isn’t a real translation but it’s a sweet french nickname you can say to your lover), Ma moitié (My half), Ma copine(My girlfriend), Ma femme (My wife, My woman)…

The word my Ma moitié works to designate any gender.

MON: Male Pronoun - Use to designate a male word or person. Is the most utilisate!

Examples: Mon coeur (my heart or sweetheart), Mon amour (My love), Mon ange (My angel), Mon bébé (my baby), Mon sucre d’orge (My candy… but it’s like ma choupette doesn’t have a real translation), Mon choupinet (My little one?), Mon copain (My boyfriend), Mon homme/Mon Mari (My man/My husband)

All those words are usable to designate any gender expect for Mon copain/Mon homme/Mon mari

MES: Them pronoun or to designate severate persons or stuffs !

Examples: Mes amours (My loves), Mes princesses (My princess), Mes copains (My boyfriends), Mes copines (My girlfriends)…

Do not forget to put the « S » at the end of each word!

[Update] - (forgot to say it..) MON/MA/MES are possessive pronouns! So you only use them to say something for yourself !

Examples: J’aime ma copine (I love my girlfriend)/ Ce sont mes amis (Those are my friends)/ Je lis mon livre (I read my book)

You can also use the word « Petit » (little) between the pronoun and the word, personally I find it a bit more romantic and sweet to use like: Mon petit coeur (My Little heart), Mon petit ange (My little angel), Ma petitE fleur (My little flower), Ma petit(e)-ami(e)(My girfriend/boyfriend), Mon petit sucre d’orge, Mes petits coeurs (My little hearts)…

French is hard to use so if you have any questions or doubts about a french word you want to use while writing please feel free to ask me ! I am always willing to help!

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #fontaine #fanfic #french lesson #no one asked #couple french nicknames #couple nicknames #How to speak french?

[assmaster-8000]

also i cannot fathom that i have to say this... in... a QUEER FANDOM... ABOUT A QUEER GAME.... MADE BY Q'UEER PEO OPLE.... BUT TAG THE READER APPROPRIATELY IN YOUR FICS/!! PLEASE IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH PLEASE ITS JUST DECENCY

please! not everyone uses she/her pronouns! it's NOT THE NORM! (that in itself also leads to a whole spiel of homophobia transphobia and racism ive seen happen in other similar fandoms) WHEN YOU PUBLISH YOUR WORKS PUBLICLY FOR PUBLIC ENTERTAINMENT THE BARE MINIMUM IS APPROPRIATE TAGGING SO PEOPLE KNOW WHAT THEYRE GETTING INTO!!!! WE ARE FULL OF ALL TYPES OF QUEER PEOPLE. the dysphoria people can feel at seeing the unsolicited and incorrect reference to their anatomy or identity is real like no one should be stumbling through your fanfic like lesbian helen keller through a fish market. doesn't mean you can't write afab/femme reader i mean go right ahead dawg do what you gotta do for your enjoyment but some of us... are not... femme or female... hence we cannot share in your enjoyment due to this yknow very distinct difference in our identity and it would be NICE to have prior indication so we can scroll away and protect our peace

#touchstarved game #touchstarved #touchstarved ais #touchstarved leander #touchstarved mhin #touchstarved kuras #touchstarved vere #im begging you guys what is this wattpad??? #it's. it's?? ive scrolled through the recesses of tumblr and it's so surprising how much of it i find #obviously doesn't apply to all writers and if it doesn't ggo figure #also yes i do acknowledge not all femme people use she her and not all she her users are automatically femme #and i would like to say yknow good for yourself really identity is a tricky thing but its most generalized statement #for the most common recurring factors i notice #*mostly jesus christ

[plutoccult]

NO ME QUEDA MAS

pairing: hajime iwaizumi x female reader

description: iwaizumi’s wedding day was a day you dreaded for many years. now that the day had finally come, you regret never telling him how you feel.

word count: 1.6k

also available to read on my ao3 here

author’s note: finally, a new theme! i’m on an angst GRIND, you guys. been feeling really unhinged lately thanks to my girl @intorder for giving me fuel for angst, who also beta read this hurt piece. oddly enough, my life has been pretty good lately, so idk why i thought to write this. i’ve never written for iwaizumi before, but he came to mind first when i thought of this idea. this was definitely inspired by that one scene in 13 going on 30, but i made it hurt even more. i hope i did iwaizumi justice, and i hope you all enjoy without crying?

tags: @toorubobatea @intorder @dragon-slayer5 @jeanboyjean @femme-lune @darthferbert @kob3nie @thelazyhuevito @multi-fandom-fanfic @sterieshinso @kiiyomei @chrybdcsm @alienlatteinspace @abonbonblr @luverofutoshi @p3ritwinkle @juuzou13

taglist form here

“well? how do i look?”

iwaizumi turned around to face you as he showed off his suit. you couldn’t believe he was actually getting married today, and that the person he was marrying wasn’t you. it was hellish to shove your feelings down your throat for decades, especially when your friendship suffered god knows how many miles apart.

a part of you died the day he returned from california. you were so thrilled to see him, missing him so, but your heart shattered the second you saw he brought a girl with him. it was even worse when iwaizumi spoke to you about her, saying he felt like he knew she was the girl he would marry the second he saw her. you wanted to be that girl, and maybe you could’ve if you simply spoke up. after all, everyone always teased you two about ending up together growing up.

“you look great, iwa.” you force a smile. it wasn’t a lie, he was the most handsome man you’d ever seen, standing so proud and tall in his suit. not a single scratch or crease on his shoes nor any signs of wear in his jacket. as much as it pained you to see it, iwaizumi had grown up.

“you think so?” he asked, checking himself out in the mirror, scanning for any flaws in his outfit. “i could’ve sworn i saw lint on the back of my jacket.”

“oh, i can get it.” you offer. iwaizumi immediately said “yes, please” and “thank you” before you stood up to help him. his back faced you, shoulders as strong as ever, making this all the more difficult for you. if you were his bride, you probably wouldn’t be seeing him like this right now. it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, after all.

“how come your groomsmen aren’t up here helping you?” you ask, cursing yourself in your head for being so nosy.

“i’m sure you can understand i didn’t want oikawa up my ass before i go down there.” iwaizumi chuckled. you force yourself to copy his laughter, pretending as if you found this so hilarious. if oikawa were here, you wouldn’t be ridden with temptation right now. only he could stop you from saying things you knew you’d regret.

“i guess i should feel special then, huh?” you question. “be the first to see you like this…”

“mhm.” he replied, you see him nod in the mirror. “special privileges for my best friend.”

you felt your stomach tie up in knots as he said that. best friend. that’s all you were, that’s all you ever allowed yourself to be. it could’ve been you waiting for him at the altar, but instead you’re helping him get prepared to marry another woman, ready to beg him to run away with you.

you pretend to inspect the back of his jacket, knowing there wasn’t any lint anyway. it was absolutely flawless, just like him. this was torture for you, and you couldn’t stand another second longer.

“listen, iwa…” you begin to say. “i should tell you something before you go down there.”

“oh?” iwaizumi turned around to face you. you felt as if his eyes were piercing through your soul, making your heart race faster than it was before. “what is it?”

“i, um…” you hesitate. was it too late to go back? yes, yes it was. “i think you’re marrying the wrong girl today.”

“huh?” he furrowed his eyebrows.

“i mean, i think you should be marrying me instead.” you blurt out.

“y/n, what are you talking about?” iwaizumi questioned. this couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening right as he was about to get married.

“i’m in love with you, iwa. i love you.” you admit, your heart racing upon your confession. you should feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders, but something heavy still lingered on top of you.

“no…” he shook his head. iwaizumi had rejected the possibility a long time ago. even if he loved you just as long as you loved him, you were just too late.

“yes. i am.” you say.

“you’re saying this now?” he asked you. it almost made him want to laugh. life was just so funny, he thought to himself. why couldn’t you have said this before? why did you wait until he was about to get married? if things were different, iwaizumi would be reacting to this much differently right now.

“i know i should’ve told you before you went to california—“

“should’ve? i wanted you to!” iwaizumi interrupted you, much to your shock. “everyone said you were going to before i left! i just figured they were just messing with me afterwards…”

you remember telling oikawa how you felt about iwaizumi, it was his idea to tell him before iwaizumi left for california. you had it all planned out in your head, but as you stood there at the airport, you couldn’t find the words anymore. you chickened out, cursing yourself on the way home and the days that would come. it only made you feel worse when iwaizumi found someone.

what you didn’t know was that he expected your confession that day. you should’ve known oikawa would run his mouth. he always meant well, always hoping you’d end up with iwaizumi, but look at you now, a delusional fool.

“i was going to, iwa. i just got scared…” you confess to him. “if i could go back to that day, i’d do it differently.”

“well, you can’t turn back time, y/n. it’s too late.” he said coldly, almost like a stab to the heart.

“why not?” you ask, desperately clinging onto your delusions.

“i moved on.” iwaizumi replied. he might as well be twisting a knife, even if he was merely speaking the truth. “we've both gone down different paths, we both made choices, and this is what i’m choosing.”

“i just thought…” you began to say, but fall silent.

“just thought what?” he asked, raising his voice. “that i’d give up everything i’ve built for a last minute confession? one that i gave up on waiting for years ago?”

you don’t say anything. what was there to say? it was exactly what that sick part of you deep down expected. how stupid of you to think he would drop everything just because you finally had the courage to confess your feelings. if there wasn’t a whole wedding waiting to happen, maybe iwaizumi would change his mind.

you look away in shame. even if you didn’t speak your thoughts aloud, you still felt disgusted now that the reality of your confession hit you. you were terrible to think this way. not just a terrible person, but a terrible friend too. it was unfair to expect such a tall order out of him, especially now.

“my family’s down there, my soon-to-be in-law’s are down there.” iwaizumi said. “we care about each other, you know?”

“i know.” you say quietly as you bite your lip.

“y/n, you…” he let out a sigh. “you don't always get the dream house… but you get awfully close.”

you look up to meet his eyes, tears streaming down your face. to him, you were always the dream house. if only you had known that before, you thought. iwaizumi felt ridden with guilt rejecting you like this, and it didn’t help that you were crying your eyes out.

“please don't cry, y/n.” he begged you.

“what? no, i'll be fine, i promise.” you force out a laugh, no matter how much it killed you. you saw the look in iwaizumi’s eyes. he knew you weren’t truly okay, but he also knew that you were letting him go. it was the right thing to do.

“y/n…”

“it’s okay. i'm fine.” you wipe away your tears, trying your best to be strong. “i'm just crying because i'm happy. i want you to be so, so happy.”

you did, you wanted him to be happy. even if it wasn’t with you, you owed him the ability to be happy. it was the least you could do while you still had some of your dignity left.

“i love you, iwa.” you barely get the words out. “you… you're my best friend.”

you see iwaizumi’s eyes well up with tears, a rare sight to see. only you could produce such a reaction out of him. only you would truly have his heart forever, but life doesn’t always work out the way you want it to. it was just the way things go.

“i should go. everybody’s waiting for you.” you say, on your way out the door.

“y/n, i...” you stop in your tracks, waiting for what he’d say next, and it only crushed you even more. “i've always loved you.”

overwhelmed, you walk out of the room in tears, ready to bolt out of the venue without another thought. oikawa found you on your way out, asking what was wrong and where you were going, but when he saw mascara running down your face, he knew exactly what happened, and he knew he should’ve been there to stop it.

you insist to oikawa that he tell iwaizumi you were sorry before you finally left the venue. you couldn’t stand to be there a second longer, you just had to get out of here. as you head to your car, you hear the beginning of the wedding march play. the sound brought you to your knees as you violently sobbed. if this was rock bottom, then you finally reached it.

as much as you wanted to cry there forever, you force yourself to get up, finally finding the strength to get into your car. you didn’t know where you were headed, but you knew you had to drive off somewhere far away from here. if only you could just turn back time.

© plutoccult / 310802. please do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my content in or outside of tumblr. reblogs are appreciated <3

#haikyuu #haikyu #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyu x female reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #hajime iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x female reader #hajime iwaizumi x female reader #iwaizumi x female reader #iwaizumi hajime #hajime iwaizumi #pluto writes 📝 #gif divider by cafekitsune