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fayes-fics · 3 months

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Friends & Family

Friends + Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Anthony has a very important question to ask, but the universe appears to be conspiring against him. Threequel. Set a year after the first fic in this series

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Public sexual acts, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, woman on top, back-to-back orgasm. Also, on a non-sexual front, all sorts of emotions and thwarted proposals.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: This is VERY, VERY belated request fill for the divine @colettebronte. She has had the patience of a saint as I have grappled with this request for many months. I hope this is worth the wait, but to be honest, after this delay, I'm not sure anything could be. Thank you to @sorryallonsy for betaing. Please enjoy <3

“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, what is this??”

There is an undignified yelp, and a spatula drops to the floor with a loud splat. Apparently, he didn't hear you come in.

“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me… And what is the full-name business all about?” he exclaims, spinning around, holding his hands aloft as if in a hostage situation. The sight is made even funnier by the fact he is wearing one of your novelty aprons, complete with floppy bunny ears.

You have walked in from afternoon coffee with old friends to find your kitchen in absolute disarray. Pots, pats on every surface, opened containers, the contents of your spice cupboard all pulled out and haphazardly dotted around. There is a large pile of reusable shopping bags with half-open veggies in and what looks like a sourdough loaf cut open and likely going stale next to the complete wrong knife for the job at hand. There is almost no worktop surface that is left unused or covered in some sticky-looking residue from god knows what.

“I said yes to you making dinner while I was out; I did not say you could conduct some kind of controlled explosion in my kitchen,” holding your hands up in exasperated resignation.

Frankly, it’s a mystery why he offered to make dinner in the first place; you have never seen the man so much as boil an egg in all the years you have known him. And certainly not in the twelve months you have loved him. His idea of cooking is usually stopping at Whole Foods to pick up a hot rotisserie chicken.

He walks towards you with that adorable puppy dog expression, his perennial get-out-of-jail-free card. You pick a fleck of what you think is broccoli from his hair as he reaches you.

“Points for effort?” he pouts, a tiny smile toying with the corners of his mouth, seeking forgiveness. You let him pull you into his arms and kiss your cheek. “Do you still love me?” he teases, pulling back to shoot you that perfect-toothed charming grin.

“I’ll love you even more if you tidy all this up,” you counter, raising an eyebrow as he chuckles. “Although I’m intrigued. You have never once made dinner since we’ve been dating; why now?”

“Well, I wanted to do something special…” he says pointedly, pulling away to switch off the hob when there is a slight burning smell in the air.

“What’s so special about today?” You frown.

“Really?” He spins around to look at you, a slight pout as you wrack your brains. “What happened on this date one year ago?”

Ohhh…

You feel bad you had completely not realised it. Exactly one year ago to this day, you got together after many years of combative flirting. Heart melting in your ribcage as you suddenly realise this is him attempting to cook an anniversary dinner for you.

“You secret romantic, you,” you murmur, contrition and affection burning inside as you can't help but seek his touch.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he jests as he pulls you into his arms again and kisses your temple. “I have a reputation to uphold….”

“Of course…” you giggle, resting your head on his shoulders as you sway together in the bombsite that was your kitchen. “And here was me thinking you would do something far more risqué…”

“Such as..?” he prompts, intrigued by where your thoughts have gone.

“Oh, I don't know….” you run your fingers into his lush hair, pressing into him. “Maybe take me back to that same penthouse your friend owns. Maybe make it to that overpriced sofa this time…” his eyes flash dark and dangerous, licking his lips, and you feel compelled to continue, “Maybe even that enormous bed. And the balcony….”

He groans gently as his mind no doubt fills with the same images as yours. “Fuckkkkkkk….” he rues, “I should have done that. I’m definitely no Gordon Ramsey….”

You laugh and run your hands up his biceps. “Maybe not. But I do have a suggestion…” you offer, dropping your voice a little smokier.

“Tell me…” Anthony rumbles, nudging your cheek until your lips brush, fingers digging into your flesh where he holds you.

“Let's work up an appetite and then order from our usual. Tidying up can wait…” you whisper, mouth ghosting over his, fingers opening the top button of his shirt and toying with the patch of chest hair.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

You squeal gently as he picks you up and strides towards your bedroom. The little navy velvet box burning a hole in his suit jacket pocket can wait for another day. Perhaps.

—

During a boring editorial meeting the following morning, your phone buzzes in your lap.

AB: Can you be at mine at 7pm tonight?

Y/N: Yes… but why?

AB: All will be revealed 😉

AB: Come hungry for delicious protein

Y/N: Filthy. I like it. 😉😛

AB: OMG NO! Not THAT. Bloody hell…

Y/N: Shame…

AB: Well, okay, maybe a bit of that. Afterwards. 😉

Y/N: *victory dance* 💃

AB: I love you, you filthy animal 😛😘

—

You walk into Anthony’s kitchen at precisely 7pm that evening to find some very posh-looking man in a bowtie pouring some wine into the good glasses. The ones you are too scared to use.

“What is all this?” Your curiosity piqued.

“Cooking was a disaster, so this is recompense,” Anthony greets you with a hug and a brief kiss on the lips.

He looks handsome in his usual crisp shirt, undone just enough at the chest to be distracting, and custom-tailored trousers that cling to him just right. It takes some effort to tear your eyes away from him, but when you do, you now see a smorgasbord of cheese on his expansive, pristine white marble kitchen island, with fruit, crackers and all manner of chutneys.

“Oooh, lovely. Fancy cheese and wine night?” you guess.

“Indeed,” he replies warmly. “Baxter here is a world-renowned expert on such things. He will be taking us on a cheese world tour paired with the very best wines.”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you,” you nod to the man, then crowd into Anthony again. “The anniversary of our first proper date?” you guess, kissing his jaw, enjoying the slight rasp of stubble there.

“The lady is learning…” he ribs genially, taking your hand and pulling you along to take a seat on one of the stools.

Baxter speaks engagingly and knowledgeable, and admittedly, every cheese and wine pairing is exquisite. Just a bite from each, but after 10 countries, you are a little tipsy, leaning into Anthony and shooting him goofy smiles, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheekily grabbing his thigh where the fabric pulls taut right over his quad muscle so temptingly. You want to climb into his lap and wrap around him.

After an hour, the man politely takes his leave, mentioning he has left some more “adventurous” choices in sealed boxes in the fridge.

“What does adventurous cheese mean?” you tipsily ponder after the man has left. “Do you think it's abseiled down a mountain?”

Anthony laughs accommodatingly at your goofiness, taking your hand and leading you outside onto the balcony. “I assume strong-flavoured maybe. But I’m quite sure it's all bravado,” he assures.

You lean on the railing, looking down upon the Thames below, all of London seeming reflected in its inky depths, a thousand lights twinkling in its choppy waves, like a sea of stars beneath you.

“I could never tire of this view,” you declare wistfully, a warmth behind your ribs as he crowds into your back, placing a light blanket around your shoulders.

“It is yours to enjoy for as long as it is mine,” he breathes into your hair, kissing your temple and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sway together gently in the breeze, your hands over his, pushing back into his warm body.

“I love you,” you say quietly, turning to nuzzle his cheek.

“I love you too,” he responds immediately, “and I have for so long now; it feels wrong when you are not with me,” his tone ardent, gentle. “Wait here….” he whispers, a waver in his voice that makes you pause.

You wait patiently as he slips back inside, the breeze dancing through your hair as you inhale deeply and soak in the city. Although you are high above street level, the sounds are still there, like a background hum. It’s as energising as the country air at his rural ancestral home in Kent, just in a different way—so vibrant and teeming with life.

Anthony seems to be gone for a while, so out of intrigue, you wander inside to the fridge, grab one of the containers Baxter left and take it back onto the balcony before he reappears. When you peel it open, you are taken aback by the smell. It's very pungent, even out in the open air.

“There is an important question I wa…” Anthony freezes mid-sentence. “Dear god, what is that smell?” he exclaims, his face scrunching violently.

“Oh, I think it's the cheese Baxter left.”

You swing the container around so it's right under his nose and watch him go white as a sheet and then double over to one side, dry heaving.

“That's disgusting!” He gags, quickly putting something small from his hand into his trouser pocket as he coughs roughly, almost bent double.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” you frown, bringing the container back to your own nose, closer than you had it before.

Then, a wave of nausea hits you, too. It smells of decay and bad feet and turns your stomach so violently that you have to grab the balcony railing to stop yourself from stumbling.

“Fuck that's terrible,” you stutter, trying hard to keep down the rich wines and cheeses you have already consumed.

“Throw it!” Anthony blurts, somewhat frantic.

“Where?” you panic, holding it away at arm's length, desperate to stay upwind of it.

“Off the fucking balcony! Fling it in the Thames! I can't even have that shit in my bins….” he yelps before another wretch doubles him over again.

Gripping the container, you fling the contents as hard as you can, watching the blob of cheese sail downwards in an arc for twelve storeys, hitting the river below with a distant but satisfying plop. You both stand there wheezing and gasping as you reseal the container immediately, fearful of any residual scent.

“Dear god, am I going to inadvertently ruin every one of these special evenings?” he grumbles under his breath, sounding more like a rhetorical question than anything.

You have no idea what he could mean, but you don’t have the capacity to ask - you have to run to the cloakroom as the mere olfactory flashback makes you nauseated.

When you reemerge ten minutes later, full of regret and needing toothpaste, you find him in his en suite bathroom in a similar fragile state. You both crawl into his bed feeling delicate, curling up foetal and holding hands across the expanse of the bed, him muttering apologies.

—

III

The following week, Anthony takes you back to the same restaurant where you had your second date, one year to the day later. Seeing the pattern in advance, you wear the beautiful little black dress he bought you recently. And you are pleased to make him temporarily tongue-tied when you slip off your coat to reveal it, whispering coquettishly in his ear that you are happy to skip dinner and return to his.

“Oh, we will,” he rumbles, a promissory note that lights a fire low in your belly.

After perusing the menu, you decide to order the same dish you had last time. You are certain everything is terrific, but you remember it being so delicious it had you making noises only Anthony usually can. Also, you are hoping for a complete repeat of the same night from a year ago. Memorably, it was the first time he managed to give you three orgasms in one night—you are very keen to repeat that.

But rather strangely, Anthony’s energy seems slightly off, almost nervous. You can only assume it's apprehension that this night does not go as the previous two attempts at anniversary celebrations have.

While you are sharing a delicious starter, a familiar face over the room at the bar catches your eye.

“Is that Benedict?” you frown, causing Anthony to twist in your booth and look.

“Probably,” he sighs.

You are nonplussed by his reaction, so you take it upon yourself to wave to him, to Anthony’s seeming chagrin.

When Benedict wanders over, you notice his shoulders are hunched, a shuffled gait. Not the usual mister sunshine he is.

“Hey Ben, everything okay?” you check as he pulls up nearby, hovering a little.

“I got dumped,” he exhales. “So I’m drowning my sorrows,” he explains, holding his whiskey tumbler aloft in a rueful toast.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you grimace, knowing he has been more unlucky in love than not, which seems a shame; he’s a sweet, good-looking man but often gets used, attracted to people who take advantage of his giving nature.

“Anyway, I don’t want to interrupt your dinner…” he placates modestly, glancing at his older brother, who seems to be brooding.

“Don't be silly, you can join us,” you beckon him into the booth.

“No, he can’t,” Anthony interjects.

You frown at him. “Why not? It’s just dinner,” you dispute.

“No, it’s not; it’s our anniversary,” Anthony argues before turning to Benedict. “Brother, I love you and all, but would you kindly fuck off?” Anthony grouses, gritting his teeth.

“Anthony!” You admonish. “Don’t be a dick!” You roll your eyes. “Ignore your grouchy brother, Ben; of course, you can join us,” you offer again, seeing the hesitancy but also the sadness tugging at the corner of his eyes that means you are worried about leaving him alone.

He acquiesces, and as he wanders across to the bar to grab his jacket and join you, you scowl at Anthony. “He’s just been dumped. You could be nicer,”

“I could… just not tonight,” he says, almost harangued.

You decide not to dwell on why he seems unduly hung up on this evening’s plans, being so particular, watching him seem to fiddle with an item in his jacket pocket, then look askance across the restaurant, defeated.

“Anthony, are you okay?” You check quietly as Benedict walks back over.

“Yeah, I just….” He sighs and finally meets your eye squarely with a tinge of sadness. “I had other plans for us tonight. Not babysitting…”

At one point during the main course, Benedict excuses himself to the bathroom. Anthony has been mostly monosyllabic, almost sulking, and you feel guilty; perhaps he did indeed have other ideas for the evening.

You shuffle around to lean into him and grab his hand, placing it high on your thigh under the table, the message unmistakable.

“We can still have our plans for later…” you whisper hotly into his ear.

He seems to perk up immediately, his hand grasping your flesh in a way that catches your breath. “You always know what to say to make me feel better…” he murmurs, at once playful and reverent.

“Touch me…” you whisper, the need for him an instant, tart taste in your mouth.

“Here, in the restaurant? With my brother coming back to join us any moment?” His tone is incredulous but unmistakably aroused.

“Yes…” you hiss, pushing his hand up higher to the junction of your thighs where you burn molten for him always.

He growls when he realises you have made another style choice, this one scandalous��no underwear.

“I’ll do more than that, you wonderful minx,” he huffs, pulling your thigh over his lap under the tablecloth. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy and presses his thumb over your clit. You gasp and grip the table hard, just as Benedict reappears.

It certainly does wonders for Anthony’s disposition, like he is a different man now. Chatting amiably to his brother as you subtly try not to look flustered, dripping silently into his palm as he holds still.

“Whatever you did to put this one in a better mood, thank you,” Benedict jests at one point.

“I just had to give the old grouch a hug and his favourite toy to keep him entertained,” you joke back, him not realising exactly how true that is. Anthony’s fingers flex deep inside you at your cheeky riposte, and you can feel his smirk as you have to cough to hide your moan.

“Well, thank you,” Benedict smiles, “you bring things out in my brother I never thought I would see. So whatever magic trick you are pulling, keep doing it.”

Anthony’s fingers curl hard against your g spot, and you have to laugh loudly to not scream.

“She’s the very best brother,” Anthony replies, lips brushing your temple as he flicks his thumb teasingly over your clit. “I hope one day you find someone as special as she is,” he offers, his first sympathetic noise to his brother of the evening.

“I should be so lucky,” Benedict adds quietly, tone pensive, glancing at his phone as it lights up by his elbow.

Anthony withdraws from your pussy; you whimper mutely, feeling bereft but also relieved, not sure you can act any longer. You watch as he brings those fingers up to his mouth and sucks them decadently as Benedict is distracted by his phone.

“Thank you for dessert, my love,” he thrums into your ear, “and the show,” he adds cheekily, your clit and pussy clenching, denied, so very aroused.

“Take me home right now, Anthony!” Your order is through gritted teeth, quiet but brokering no argument.

And he does.

—

A tide of relief hits you as the door to his sleek penthouse clicks softly open; tossing aside your umbrella and slipping off your shoes in the fancy hallway. It's been a taxing work day; all you can think about is climbing into the shower, then curling up and watching something mindless until Anthony gets home.

“Y/n…”

An enticing but distant call in that familiar voice.

“Anthony?” you respond, puzzled. “I thought you would be out late tonight?” you add, wandering forward, trying to find the source.

“Change of plan….”

You cross the open-plan lounge area with its floor-to-ceiling view across the rooftops of London. It's been more than a year of dating, and still, you aren't entirely used to the sheer scale of his place compared to yours. It feels like it takes ages to get across just his living room.

“Where are you?” you frown, hands on hips. It sounds like he's likely in the bedroom.

“Follow the sound of my voice,” he entices, and yep, it's definitely from that direction.

However, when you wander in, the room is empty, the early evening sun blazing onto the soft, luxurious white duvet on his vast bed.

“Getting warmer,” he offers, quieter now, and you recognise his voice has an echo. He can only be in his en-suite bathroom.

You round the corner into that tastefully masculine room - all slate and birch - to be greeted by a sight that makes your lungs feel too tight.

There, in his sizeable sunken whirlpool tub, is one Anthony Bridgerton. Very naked and very wet. Standing so that the bubbling waterline hugs his hips—acres of toned torso, water droplets meandering down the washboard of his stomach and glistening in the thatch of hair across his chest. You bite your lips without even realising it, shifting your stance as you feel a ripple of excitement over your skin.

“Hello, Ms y/l/n,” he preens, knowing exactly how much the sight before you makes you tongue-tied and aroused.

“Hello…” you stutter back, eyes still feasting. “What is the CEO of Bridgerton Enterprises doing taking a bath at….” you glance down to check your watch, “... 5:25 pm on a Thursday?”

“It's a special occasion…” he smirks, wading towards the edge of the tub closest to you. “I thought a bath would be nice.”

You can't seem to look away from the wake of waves cresting his Adonis belt as he does so. The sight of something delicious just below the surface is almost hypnotic.

“My eyes are up here, you know,” he mocks gently, tongue literally in cheek, as you cut your gaze to his triumphant face.

“Wh… what special occasion?” you manage to stumble out.

“Surely you recall what happened on this night exactly twelve months ago?”

When you look nonplussed - frankly, you can barely remember your own name right now - he mock sighs.

“I surprised you on my way back from the airport?” he prompts.

“Oh!” you suddenly cotton on, “it's been a year since we exchanged keys!”

He nods, and a fetching beam breaks out across his face. “Ahhh, the lady remembereth,” he winks.

“So this is how you’re celebrating?” your eyes again drag covetously down his body.

“No, this is how WE are celebrating…” he corrects and gestures towards a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket at one corner of the tub, along with two long-stemmed flutes.

You can't help but match his grin now. “Well, I can’t find fault with that idea,” you admit, taking a step closer until you are at the edge of the tub surround.

“Hmm, I thought not,” he says silkily, closing the gap between you.

Grabbing the back of your neck with a firm hand, he draws you down into a deep, sensual kiss. His mouth claims yours. You shiver as warm water trickles down inside your top from the hand in your hair. He crowds into you, soaking your clothing with the press of his body as you kneel on the sunken tub surround.

“Oh no, this is all wet,” he feigns, tugging lightly at your sleeve, “you will just have to take it off.”

“Hmmm. I rather think that is your doing. How about you take it off?” you challenge, the banter between you never seeming to get old.

“Maybe I’ll just pull you into the water fully clothed?” he posits, raising an eyebrow.

You laugh and take a step back, revelling in his undivided attention as you strip for him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression hungry; the only sounds are his panted breath and the bubbles roiling in the tub. You are down to your underwear, a new matching lacy set, as if you knew, on some subconscious level, it was a special occasion, when he lunges forward and makes you squeal as he effortlessly picks you up and hauls you into the huge tub with him. The warm, effervescent water is a balm and tonic, making your skin tingle.

“What is the point of celebrating anything if it’s not an excuse to get naked?” he offers silkily, cupping your jaw with both palms, his wet thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones, then his lips are back, plundering, seeking, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands roam your skin, arranging so you are straddling his lap, his cock a solid press against your inner thigh.

This is indeed how you always want to celebrate every milestone of your relationship—with wonderful, sensual intimacy. Anthony pulls back from the kiss, and you stare into his rich eyes, blissfully tracing the lines of his face with fingertips as he easily unhooks your bra and pulls it gently over the rounds of your shoulders. This close-up and soaked, his face is all sharp contours and smooth, lightly tanned skin.

“You are too handsome,” your internal monologue spilling out with a light mewl as his thumbs brush your nipples.

“I love you too,” he chuckles drolly to make a point.

“Oh yes, that too,” you append with a playful pout. Then, a more sincere “I love you.”

“Wonderful to hear,” he rumbles into your ear as his hands slide underwater to tug down your underwear.

He pulls you deeper into his lap, your thighs pushed wide around his slender hips. His rigid cock nudges your slit promisingly, and you wait with bated breath for his much-wanted invasion. But he pauses, and you feel the curl of his smile against your cheekbone.

“Champagne?” he teases, holding still.

“Now?!” you splutter. “How about you get inside me first?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” he answers, wry and laconic.

Any witty riposte you may have dies on your lips as he surges into your body, knowing you need no warm-up, ready for him the minute you rounded the corner of the room.

“Happy key day,” he murmurs as your eyes flutter closed and you moan loudly, him nudging that spot that makes you so addicted to him.

“Happy key day,” your response is a ragged exhale as you adjust to his deep invasion.

Every time it still feels like the first, like it's just too good, and you just want to cling to him and be fucked into oblivion or fuck him into oblivion. A potent, heavy feeling inside that makes you crackle with energy and feel sated at the same time.

“Fuck me, Anthony,” you sigh into his wet hair, pushing closer into his embrace, voicing your exact desires.

“With pleasure.”

You squeak as his hands grasp tight around your waist and haul you up until just his tip is still inside you, then slams you back down, a curse falling from your lips as he does. His handling is slightly rough in a way that feels perfect, his teeth glancing your earlobe before he sucks it into his mouth and bites lightly.

Then it's a wondrous carnal dance, your joint noises echoing up the slate tiles as you fuck wantonly. Taking over at one point and gripping the edge of the oversized tub, you ride him for all your worth, chasing that feeling only he, his cock, has ever given you. So addictive ever since that very first night.

“I only ever want to fuck you, always…” the words tumbling from your lips unbidden, no filter between your thoughts and mouth as you spiral higher.

Even in the full throes of passion, his expression softens as you confess it.

“Forever?” something vulnerable in his panted tone as you rise and fall upon him.

“Forever, Anthony Bridgerton,” you vow, sensing his need to hear it, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders, pressing all of your being into him, wanting your bodies to be forged together somehow.

His thumb slips between your legs, and you cry out as he snags your clit perfectly, eyes rolling, feeling like a live wire.

“I need to feel it; please give it to me,” he implores desperately, thumb flicking almost violently over your engorged pearl.

It doesn't take much more, and you are fracturing around him. Crying his name, fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his shoulders as you reach that high, unable to stop slamming upon him as you flutter, your whole body spasming in pleasure but unwilling to stop. Him roaring his approval as you squeeze his cock tight, rippling around him.

“Please don't come,” you plead to him, “I need more, Anthony, more,” a wrecked sob, wanting to orgasm again. He snarls, his teeth on your cheekbone, his grip tightening around your hips, staving off his orgasm as best he can.

You grab his face and babble nonsense, saying you need his cock forever, strung out on the edge, almost a mania in your being, needing everything he can give. He pants harshly into your open-mouthed, sloppy kisses as you keep riding wound so tight like a coiled spring, wanting to be speared open by him always.

“Marry me!” he cries as you both reach that peak together, an explosion in both of your beings, feeling him come inside you harsh and deep, moaning your name like a prayer.

You collapse upon him, the bubbles of the jetted tub tickle your skin as you heave breaths, wracked and sated to your very core. A high like you have never known.

“Did you just…. propose?” you stutter as your brain comes back online, his cock still buried inside you.

“Shit…” he laments. “That was NOT how it was supposed to go! I had it all planned out!” he decries, burying his face into your shoulder where you still sit upon him.

“Anthony….” there are no other words, shock tying your tongue.

He pulls back and looks contrite. “Please allow me a do-over?” his face so beseeching.

Raw emotion and victory crest hard in your veins, and you can't help but banter with him - as you always have, as you always will, until death do you part now.

“No, Viscount Bridgerton,” you rag, holding his face, “No do-overs. You will just have to live with the fact you proposed to me as we came together….”

His face is a jumble of warring emotions as you realise you have kept him on tenterhooks about your answer.

“…And you will just have to accept that I said yes with you still inside me,” you add silkily.

A handsome grin claims his whole face, relief and devotion coursing through him. “We can’t tell anyone,” he whispers as you resurface from another kiss.

“Our little secret,” you smile back as he finally slips from your body.

—

“You know I might be the first-ever Viscountess with a garden flat in Zone 3,” you chuckle, sitting in matching fluffy robes on his balcony, the sky a riot of colour as the sun sets.

A few minutes before, he had gotten down on one knee and produced a little velvet box. You squealed and said yes again, watching transfixed as he pushed a flawless, elegant three-carat diamond onto your finger.

Anthony frowns deeply. “Err, no. You are moving in here with me,” he asserts loftily.

“I’m not selling my place!”

“You can rent it out!” he waves dismissively.

“Urgh, tenants. Hassle.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay, fine, then we can just use it to store all of my stuff you hate, alright?” he counters, catching your gaze with a fiery challenge. Your insides ablaze that your trademark flirtatious antagonism will always be there, even once you are married.

“Oh, Viscount Bridgerton, you have a deal…” you whisper coquettish and swing off of your lounger onto his, straddling him and sealing the pact with a kiss.

“I’m just so glad I could finally make it happen.”

You flip around and settle between his legs, your spine on his chest, lacing your hands together over your robe. “What do you mean?”

He barks a laugh you feel echo into your back. “So this is not the first time I have tried to propose to you. Remember that disastrous cooking? Attempt 1. Cheese night when we almost died? Attempt 2. Benedict interruptus? Attempt 3.” He holds up a hand before you, counting each on his fingers. “I almost gave up.”

You laugh and realise with hindsight how he seemed off kilter on those occasions, a soft ache behind your ribs in empathy. “I’m so glad you didn’t. Give up, that is,” you murmur, running your fingers over his lovingly once he lowers his hand back to your belly.

“I jest; I would never give up trying to make you my wife,” he pledges solemnly into your hair, kissing the shell of your ear. “And I hope you will never give up on me, as terrible of a husband as I will likely be….” he demures.

“I can do that, old friend…” you tease, a callback to that first night you got together.

“Less of the old,” he chides, immediately picking up your invitation, an exact repeat of your words to each other that first night you got together, heart melting as you realise he remembers the conversation word for word, too.

“I've known you my whole life, Anthony,” you continue, that conversation etched into your brain, turning back over in his arms. “You can't lie to me…”

“I never will,” he goes offscript, and you exchange laden looks. Then, a dangerous smirk takes over his face as he leans closer. “But you can handcuff me to our bed anytime,” he adds, a nod to the joke you made that night.

“You wish, you lucky fuck,” you respond, aping his line.

He grins widely and pulls back, handing you a champagne flute from the nearby lounger table.

“From old friends to new family…” he toasts, sincere and ardent, clinking his glass softly against yours.

“Friends and family…” you smile, your diamond ring afire in the setting sun, as you take a sip and pull him in for a blistering kiss.

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ginnsbaker · 6 hours

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (12/?)

Part Summary: You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.500+ | Warnings: Smut | Author's note: I honestly don't know what else to write in the summary without giving too much away, so without further ado… P.S. No cliffhangers this time ;)

A week after Thanksgiving, as the icy Maine wind whips across the tarmac at Rockland Airport, you find yourself holding a container of lobster cakes—your mother's way of sending a piece of home back with you. Despite her protests about you cutting your visit short, she spent last night in the kitchen, crafting your favorite dish, the smell of butter and ocean filling the house. “Eat these when you miss home,” she had said, pressing the container into your hands with a sad smile. The decision to leave early was anything but easy.

You initially planned to stay five more days in Camden, but Leigh's radio silence prompted you to book a direct flight to Los Angeles. It was eating you up inside; you had to go back. The familiar dark screen of your phone kept you on edge; you hadn't expected Leigh to strictly follow through on her promise not to contact you. She had a way of doing the unexpected. Or maybe you've been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you underestimated how deeply she wanted you that night. And perhaps you've overestimated your own anger, believing it would even slightly lessen your feelings for her.

Sitting in the window seat with the whole row to yourself, you stare at your phone as the flight attendant's voice crackles over the intercom, signaling it's time to switch to airplane mode. Impulsively, you tap out a text to her.

Belated Happy Thanksgiving, Leigh. If you’re free tomorrow evening, maybe we could talk? Perhaps over dinner?

It’s straightforward, maybe too much so, but it’s sent before you can overthink it.

The flight attendant's voice fills the cabin once more, reminding everyone to switch their devices as the plane is about to take off. You comply, toggling the setting and sealing off any immediate replies. The engines roar to life, and as the plane ascends, you try to push away the knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

As you wait to fall asleep, you think about Leigh—whether she’s seen your message and what she might be feeling. You wonder about the time apart, recalling the old saying that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Or does it make it forget instead?

You touch down in L.A. just as the date ticks over to December 1st, the clock a little past midnight. The moment the plane reaches the gate, you grab your phone and switch off airplane mode. There's a message from your mom, checking in to see if you've landed safely, and you text her back to let her know you did. Suzie has also texted, saying Foreman called in sick and asking if you can cover at the clinic later. You shoot back a quick reply, saying you just landed, you'll catch some sleep, and might be in late in the morning.

But there’s nothing from Leigh. No text, no missed call, nothing to indicate she received your message or is interested in meeting.

You sigh and, without thinking, tap her name on the screen. The call goes through, and the phone rings as you make your way through the late-night crowd at LAX. It continues ringing, unanswered, until it finally clicks over to voicemail. You mutter a soft curse under your breath. Of course, she's not going to pick up—it's 12:30 in the morning. You consider sending a quick apology text but then reconsider, figuring you've already pushed enough boundaries by calling her this late.

Instead, you slide your phone back into your pocket and head toward baggage claim. You weave through the half-awake travelers and the sterile glow of the airport lights, finally spotting your suitcase trundling along the carousel. You heft it off and make your way through the automatic doors. You glance one more time at your phone, half hoping for a notification, but it's blank. With a sigh, you head for the exit, feeling the exhaustion settle in.

You check your inbox first thing in the morning, but there's still nothing from Leigh. You don't have time to overanalyze this again because you're already running late for work.

The whole day is swamped, with emergencies piling up alongside a packed schedule of immunizations and follow-ups. Suzie mistakenly booked an entire week's worth of scheduled vaccines for today, a Saturday. She explains that the clients requested to move their appointments to the weekend, adding, “We're closed on Sundays, so I thought today would work.”

You try to hide your frustration, not wanting to lay the blame on her. Your nerves are already frayed, and every hour that passes without a word from Leigh has you feeling more on edge. As you tend to your patients and give instructions to the staff, you feel the pressure building, a headache beginning to throb behind your eyes. The never-ending stream of clients leaves you with no time to catch your breath. Between each appointment, you plaster on a polite smile, but inside, you're counting down the minutes until you can check out of, well, everything.

As the clock hits seven, you can't take another minute. The clinic has been a madhouse since the doors opened. You barely glance at Suzie as you callously tell her, “Close early. I'm tired.” Without waiting for her response, you trudge straight to your office and slump into your chair, eyes closed against the harsh fluorescent lights. Resting your head back, you exhale slowly, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. The fatigue wraps itself around you like a fog, and for a moment, everything falls away.

A few minutes later, you hear a gentle knock. It's Suzie, standing in the doorway with a paper in her hand. Without opening your eyes, you mutter, “What is it?” Your irritation seeps through, but you’re too drained to rein it in.

Suzie hesitates before stepping into your office, her expression unreadable. She extends the paper towards you. “It's my resignation letter,” she says quietly.

Your eyes snap open, and the paper feels heavier than it should as you take it from her hands. You’ve been nothing short of awful to her all day, snapping at every turn.

“Is this about today?” you ask.

She gives you a small, weary smile and points to the date on the letter. “I wrote this last week, right after you left for Maine.”

You glance down at the letter and see that it’s dated exactly a week ago. “Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your vacation,” she says softly. “I know how much you needed that break. And honestly, you’ve got enough on your plate right now without me adding to it.”

You can feel the burn of frustration and shame behind your eyes. “You’ve been a rock here, Suzie. I don’t want you to go. Please reconsider.”

She shakes her head gently. “I’ve thought this through. It’s time. I care about this place, and about you, but I need to move on.”

You let out a long breath. “I see. Still, I'm sorry today was so rough,” you say, looking up at her wistfully. You try working your puppy eyes, and for a moment it seems effective as her expression softens into a frown.

But then she says, “It’s not the clinic or the work I do here. I got an offer for a research position; it's something I've always wanted to try.”

That makes you smile. If that’s the case, then you’re truly happy for her.

“I understand. I wish you hadn't felt the need to keep this to yourself, especially with everything else happening today,” you say, still clutching the paper tightly in your hand, crumpling it slightly.

Suzie shrugs. “I didn't want to add to your stress. Don’t worry, I’ll count the 30 days' notice from today, not the date on my resignation, so you have time to find someone to replace me.”

From that, you know her mind’s already made up. As you read her letter again, your eyes start to sting. You glance back up at her, your vision blurring. “Suzie, thank you,” you mumble thickly.

“Hey, it's okay,” she says gently. “I'm not leaving town. We can still grab lunch whenever. I know how glued to your desk you get, so I'll drag you out for a bite now and then.” You let out a shaky chuckle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“It's just—I’m going to miss you, and I don’t know how I'll replace you,” you say with a sniffle.

“Missing me is a given,” she says, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Actually, I might know someone interested in my job.”

Your ears perk up at that. Good help is hard to find these days, especially with more demands from applicants and a tight job market. “Who?” you ask, curious.

Suzie turns around as if she's going to leave without answering, but then she glances over her shoulder, her smirk widening. “Sara.”

A little while later, you catch Suzie just as she's finishing up in the lobby.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll lock up. You’ve done enough today,” you say, sending her home. She gives you a grateful smile, slings her bag over her shoulder, and wishes you a good night before heading out.

Finally alone, you take a moment to decompress. Clasping your hands behind your back, you stretch, trying to release the day's tension. A dull ache climbs up your spine, reminding you how tight your muscles are. Unable to hold the position for more than a few seconds, you relax, the discomfort too much to bear. It's hard to tell whether it's from the long-haul flight yesterday, your age creeping up on you, poor posture, or all of the above.

On a whim, you book a late-night yoga session at the Beautiful Beast, hoping to relieve the tightness in your back. It’s been a while since your last visit.

Afterward, you head to the small bathroom in your office to get ready. It's basic, not meant for much more than washing hands and changing scrubs, but it’s all you've got. Stripping off your day's clothes, you step into the shower, letting the hot water beat down on your back. The steam fills the tiny space, and the heat melts a bit of the stiffness away. After a quick rinse, you towel off and slip into your yoga gear. The stretchy fabric feels liberating after being in stiff work clothes all day. You roll up your yoga mat, tucked behind the office door, and switch off the bathroom light.

As you're about to head out of the clinic, you check your phone, hoping to see something from Leigh. There's nothing—she hasn’t even read your last message. The stonewalling feels all too familiar, and you're tired of it.

You slide into your car, letting out a weary sigh. As you start the engine, thoughts of Suzie's suggestion to hire Sara sneak back into your mind. You can't help but chortle at the idea—it’s so unexpected, almost comical, considering how you know Sara and her standing friends-with-benefits proposition. It feels far-fetched, and knowing Suzie, she was likely just teasing.

The drive to the fitness studio is as mechanical as it gets. You're hardly aware of the turns you take until you park in front of the building. You step out, mind still elsewhere, and open your car door—right into someone walking by.

“Ow!”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” you start to say, cutting yourself off when you see who it is.

Leigh, of all people, is rubbing her elbow, wincing. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a plain white shirt under a jacket, paired with simple black tights.

“See me? Lovely excuse,” she quips, her eyes fixed on her arm rather than you. Her expression is primed to unleash more frustration when she finally turns to meet the source of the blunder.

“I—” Leigh stops, visibly surprised to see you. Quickly, her face smooths into something more neutral. “Y/N. You…you really should watch it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Are you alright?”

She rubs her elbow once more, then nods slowly. “Just startled me a bit, but I’m fine.”

Once you both regain your bearings, you unconsciously begin rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, hesitating despite the things you’ve rehearsed in your head all week. Your text message inviting her to meet tonight lingers at the forefront of your mind. But before you can bring it up, Leigh catches you by surprise.

“So, you’re heading in for a class?” she asks casually, as if the last time you saw each other didn’t end with a kiss and a confrontation that put the aforementioned kiss on hold.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I am,” you reply. Then you remember Leigh doesn't work here anymore, but with her mother owning the place, it's no surprise to see her around occasionally.

Still, you ask, “How about you?”

“You mind if we walk while we talk?” Leigh suggests.

You nod, a little thrown off but managing to say, “Sure, just let me grab my stuff.”

She waits a few seconds as you gather your belongings, and then you both start walking toward the building. Leigh sets a brisk pace, always a step ahead, and you find yourself almost hurrying to keep up with her.

“I just got back to working here again,” she says after a beat.

Surprised, you ask, “Oh, how did that happen?”

“Long story,” she replies with a slight shrug, her eyes focused ahead.

Unsatisfied with her vague answer, your eyes drift to her lips. Memories of that last kiss flood back—their soft, velvety feel and that distinct taste that’s all hers, like fresh water after a long, grueling hike. It's a taste that's unmistakably Leigh, nothing else like it. As you walk together, you struggle to stay present. This isn’t at all how you pictured your reunion with her would go. Not by a long shot.

“Leigh,” you call out, stopping abruptly. Your voice comes out higher than intended, quivering a bit. You clear your throat and try again, “D-Did you get my text yesterday?”

Leigh glances back over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “No.”

The bluntness leaves you momentarily stunned. You wait for her to follow up, to ask about the text, but she doesn’t. As you both step into the Beautiful Beast studio, you start to ask if you can talk later, but Leigh gets there first.

“We can pick this up later, Y/N. We should really get to class,” she says, heading into the room full of waiting students without waiting for your answer.

You're left more stumped than ever. Last time, she was almost on her knees, begging for forgiveness. Now, she's acting like nothing happened. How did everything change so much in just a week? With a head full of questions and doubts, you roll out your yoga mat and try to focus on the practice ahead. You can't help but wonder if the kiss you shared with Leigh really happened or if it was just a mirage of your desires.

You struggle through some of the poses, wobbling and nearly toppling over more than once. Leigh, however, doesn't chide or correct you as she used to; she mostly leaves you alone, focusing instead on helping others who are struggling more than you. It makes you feel strangely isolated, even though you know she's just fulfilling her role as an instructor and there are plenty of beginners in tonight’s session.

As the hour winds down, Leigh's soft “Namaste” signals the end of the class. She bows gracefully to the students, and you don't waste a moment, rising immediately to make your way to her as she rolls up her mat.

“Leigh.”

“Hey,” she responds breathlessly, not looking up. Other students pass by, thanking her, and she responds with smiles and cheerful “see you next times.” You stand there, feeling awkward as you wait for a turn.

When the last person leaves, Leigh finally looks up at you. “What's up?” she asks.

You find yourself stuttering, still fixated on the text message. Feeling a bit pathetic about how much it’s affecting you, but you shake it off, remembering why you cut your visit to Camden short. It was because of this—because of her.

“Leigh, can we talk? About... you know, how we left things that night?”

Her face remains jarringly impartial as she wipes down her mat. “Talk? Here? Right now?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I don't mean right this second,” you clarify, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. Are you the only one feeling like you're on a tightrope?

“You haven't had dinner yet, right?” You try to sound nonchalant too, but it's a struggle.

She looks around the emptying studio as if she needs a moment to consider. After a few beats, she nods. “Sure, why not? I’ll just change and meet you out front.”

You can't help but smile, mainly out of relief that she said yes. “Great, see you in a minute,” you say, realizing you need to change into drier clothes too.

Fifteen minutes later, Leigh steps out, looking refreshed as if she didn't just burn through a few hundred calories leading a rigorous yoga session. She's wearing a cozy gray sweater and cargo pants, a much more laid-back look compared to your jeans and cardigan.

As she draws near, she tilts her head slightly and says, “I actually brought a car. Have you thought of where we're going to get dinner?”

You scramble to think of a suitable place. In-N-Out pops into your head—quick, easy, but completely wrong for the kind of talk you need to have. You can't imagine hashing out your feelings under the harsh lights of a fast food place, over burgers and fries.

“Um,” you stammer, looking around like inspiration might hit you in the face.

“How about we head to your apartment?” Leigh suggests out of nowhere. “It's closer, and we could grab some drive-thru on the way.”

You blink at her suggestion, surprised she'd even consider it after everything that went down last time at your place.

“There's only one parking spot,” you say blankly. “And the street has no parking after 10 p.m.”

Leigh seems unfazed, offering a quick solution. “Then we’ll just take your car. I can leave mine here.”

Your nerves flare at the thought of having her back in your apartment. Your tongue feels heavy, and you can't think of a single reason to tell her why it’s a bad idea.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Let's do that.”

You head to your car together, fumbling with the keys as you unlock it. Leigh slips into the passenger seat, and you take a deep breath before starting the engine. You pull into a drive-thru of In-N-Out and Leigh scrolls through her phone, picking out what to order.

You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

The takeout is spread across your dining table, a small feast that Leigh ordered for the two of you. Boxes of fries, nuggets, and burgers crowd the surface, enough to feed a group. You barely nibble on a fry while Leigh is already finishing her cheeseburger, wiping her fingers with a napkin and eyeing the remaining food.

“You weren’t hungry, huh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess not,” you reply, wiping away the residual salt from your fingers.

Leigh takes a sip of her drink, washing down the last bite before looking at you with purpose. “Mind if I go first?” she asks.

You narrow your eyes. So, she's eager to dive right in. “Sure, go ahead,” you say. You observe Leigh closely for the first time in what feels like ages. Concealer cakes beneath her eyes, settling into the natural wrinkles there. She’s still undeniably beautiful, but there's a tiredness to her now that’s hard to miss. Her cheeks, usually lifted by her prominent cheekbones, seem hollowed out more than usual.

“I guess I want to start by saying that I'm…” Leigh trails off, her eyes darting around as if the right words might be hidden among the packets of ketchup and silverware. “...a horrible person.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she cuts you off smoothly.

“No, listen. You were right. I ignore you out of nowhere. I take advantage of your kindness. And it’s not just you—I’ve been doing this with everyone around me for a while now. I haven't cared about what others think or feel because I was focused on being true to myself, always playing the ‘dead husband’ card. I’ve taken everyone's patience and understanding for granted, and I’m really, really sorry.”

You sit back, stunned. The whole evening, you'd braced for a different kind of conversation. You expected Leigh to say the kiss was a mistake—just a result of nerves or a lapse in judgment driven by jealousy. You had been so sure she'd shut you down, just like all the other times.

“You're sorry?” The words slip out unbidden, tinged with surprise and skepticism.

“Yeah,” she says, looking you square in the eye. “I know it's hard to believe, but I really am sorry for how I've treated you.”

It’s going well—too well. Your mind struggles to accept it, but your heart?

“I thought you were going to say that night was a mistake. That the kiss meant nothing,” you whisper so faintly, almost as if you don't want her to hear.

“It kept me up for nights,” Leigh replies just as softly, “and that doesn’t usually happen to me over a simple kiss.”

Your heart soars.

She doesn’t regret it. She’s sorry. This is all going too well.

“It was on my mind the whole time, even when I was all the way across the country,” you whisper wantonly.

The corners of Leigh’s lips twitch upward, and you can't tell if it's a good sign. Her saying she’s just as affected blinds you to any other cues that might suggest otherwise.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Leigh says darkly, leaning back into her chair with a weary slump. “Because I’m done living in half-truths and half-realities. I can’t handle any more surprises.”

You feel a flash of confusion, trying to stitch together what Leigh might say next. She knows about your cheesy alter-ego on her advice column, the details of your past with Matt. But half-truths? What does she mean by that?

Leigh meets your gaze, and there’s something about her stare that tells you she’s coming apart, yet she's clenching every muscle to keep herself intact. You want to reach across the table, to offer a touch that might steady her, but her hands are hidden, clenched in her lap beneath the table. Her shoulders hunch, making her seem smaller, as if she's trying to fold into herself.

“Leigh, just tell me,” you urge, though not impatiently.

She exhales slowly, the breath you hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I broke up with Danny,” she finally says, and for a brief, absurd moment, relief washes over you.

That's…it?

Your smile starts to form, naive in its inception, but it’s quickly stifled as Leigh’s voice drops lower, and her next words cut through the nascent joy.

“And then he said something I didn't think could drive the dagger Matt left in my heart any deeper,” she says slowly, like she’s having a hard time dragging every syllable.

Leigh takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling deliberately. “He told me he was pretty involved when you and Matt got together. That you first knew him as Nick, and he helped Matt reach out to you.”

Your heart sinks. You had almost forgotten that night with Danny when you discovered his real identity and how he fit into everything. He'd begged you to keep quiet, and in his desperation, you agreed—not because he pleaded, but because you believed Leigh was happy with him. It wasn’t your secret to reveal, not then.

You've known this all along and never said a word. Your throat tightens as panic sets in, your heart racing with the implications of having kept this from Leigh. Guilt pricks at you, cold and sharp.

“I…” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard, thinking, This is it, this is how I lose her.

“I didn’t think it was my place to say anything,” you say. “I thought you were happy with him. I didn’t want to be the one to—”

“Y/N,” Leigh interjects softly. Her tone stops you cold—it's not angry, just… defeated. Which, somehow, feels worse. She looks down, twisting a napkin between her fingers. “I’m telling you this because I’m finding out that secrets can be just as hard to handle as loss.”

You nod absentmindedly, still processing, and move to clear the table in a daze. Wrapping up the leftover food, you tuck it into the fridge. The mundane task doesn't ease the tightness in your chest, but it gives your hands something to do.

“You’re not upset I didn’t tell you?” you ask, like you can’t believe you’ll come out of this conversation unscathed.

Leigh takes her time to answer. With your focus on tidying up, you miss the way her hands ball into fists. When she finally speaks, her voice has a steely edge for the first time this evening.

“At first, I was livid, of course. But Danny bore the brunt of it. He claimed he wanted me, but he was never on my side. If he were, he would’ve never helped Matt cheat on me.”

You finish tucking the last container into the fridge and lean back against the counter, your eyes on Leigh. She's staring out the window. How is it that she’s telling you these things, yet it still feels like she’s not revealing anything at all?

“I should’ve told you sooner,” you say softly. “I’m sorry.”

Leigh gets up and walks toward you. She stops so close that your breath catches. You remember the last time she was this near, how the world blurred, and how hard it was to think clearly. You can see the way her jaw tightens as she takes a breath.

“It wasn’t your secret to tell,” she says.

“But—” you start to say, though the thought fizzles out as she steps even closer.

“You're okay in that regard,” she murmurs, her voice low.

In that regard?

You want to ask what she means, but Leigh shuffles nearer still, her eyes searching your face. She's so close now that you can see the faint reflection of the kitchen light in her eyes, specs of yellow in darkened green. It’s nothing short of dazzling.

“Do you forgive me for last time?” she asks quietly.

A lump forms in your throat, and all you can think about is how desperately you don't want to mess this up. You had forgiven her long before stepping onto a plane back to Maine. It happened as soon as you let her walk away that night, but you just couldn't accept how easy it was.

You nod, unable to trust your ability to speak.

Leigh's eyes soften as she watches you. Her fingertips brush against your jaw, her touch feather-light.

“Is it okay if I kiss you, then?” she asks, both careful and seductive.

Your resounding yes comes in the form of you closing the gap, your lips meeting hers like an arrow striking its target. Leigh’s arms wrap around your shoulders instinctively, her fingers brushing the back of your neck, and you pull her in even tighter, deepening the kiss. Her breath mingles with yours as she sighs softly against your mouth, and it’s only then that when you feel all of her that Los Angeles starts to feel like a second home.

There are still questions, an unending list that always surfaces around Leigh, but they evaporate one by one when her tongue flicks out, seeking entrance. You surrender, lips parting, allowing her to taste you. The kiss grows with a messy urgency in seconds. Her hands roam down your back, gripping tightly as she presses in, as if trying to melt into you. You draw her nearer, your chests flush together as the kiss becomes wet and breathless.

Your apartment is silent except for your soft pants and the slick sounds of your lips meeting. Doubts about your ability to please a woman creep in after such a long hiatus. But before these thoughts can take hold, Leigh takes charge. She grabs your hips and gently guides you backward toward the bedroom, cutting off any chance for you to slow things down.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to slip your cardigan off your shoulders and whisper, her breath warm against your lips, “Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

It seems almost unfair for her to pose that question while simultaneously moving to your neck, drawing a soft groan from you. Her teeth gently graze a sensitive spot just below your clavicle, applying pressure that promises to leave a mark, then soothing it with her tongue.

Leigh smirks when she feels you struggle for breath, much less for words. Your knees buckle slightly, but she holds you up with a firm grip, guiding you back until you bump against the edge of the bed.

You know you're on the verge of something that might change everything, but right now, you're entirely Leigh's. There's no space to consider the implications, to remember that she was Matt's grieving widow just months ago. Right now, she's just the girl who holds your attention completely, the one who couldn't get rid of you even if she tried.

Leigh tumbles with you onto the bed, her thighs straddling your hips. With practiced ease, she removes her shirt and bra all at once, leaving her bare above you. The sight strips you of any last coherent thought. She isn’t the image of perfection peddled in glossy and well-curated social feeds; her body is beautifully real. Her tits look heavy and asymmetrical, round as grapefruit; her nipples pinkish-brown, pebbled and inviting. There’s a soft fold in her belly, and an overwhelming desire washes over you to kiss it. You think you might die just from looking at her.

You look up at Leigh and tell her, reverently, “You’re so devastatingly beautiful.”

Leigh's cheeks flush as she tries to hide her smile behind her hair. “You don't have to tell me that,” she whispers. “You already got me into your bed.”

You chuckle, nerves still humming under the surface. “You were just as beautiful when devouring a cheeseburger.” Both of you laugh, the sound light and easy, allowing some of the thick sexual energy to dissipate slightly.

You find yourself relaxing just enough to admit, “I'm not sure how to touch you right, but I want to make you feel good.”

“Just do whatever feels good for you,” she suggests, her expression softening further.

You scrunch your face a little at her, letting out a small chuckle. “That’s the thing—I haven't been getting much action myself.”

Leigh’s smile spreads wider into something mischievous and you swallow dryly at the sight. She shifts off your lap and settles at your side, propping herself up on one arm to look down at you. “Let me help you with that,” she murmurs, her voice low.

You're no longer smiling, feeling your face flush as you ask, “What do you have in mind?”

Instead of answering, Leigh’s fingers trace down to the button of your pants, deftly unfastening it. She gently scratches the skin beneath with her fingernail before sliding the zipper down. You watch as she bites her lip at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear before glancing back up at you. Her pupils are wide, the deep green of her irises barely visible in the surrounding darkness.

“Take them off,” she instructs softly.

You swallow heavily and do as she says, trying not to cover yourself despite feeling incredibly vulnerable. You haven't been naked in front of anyone in so long, and you're embarrassed by how exposed and wet you are right now.

Leigh watches you closely, and you can see the desire burning in her gaze. With her free hand, she reaches for you, her touch gentle, coaxing your thighs open as she trails her fingers up your inner thigh. You draw a sharp breath and close your eyes, expecting her fingers to graze your wetness next.

But Leigh surprises you—and herself—by guiding your right hand just below your navel, her fingers warm and sure on your wrist. Her times with Danny were about dominating and taking, but with you, she wants to give, to watch, to soak up every moan, every breathy reaction, every shiver. She wants to see you take pleasure for yourself, deriving her own pleasure from it.

“Start there,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. “Tease yourself.”

Your hand hovers there, and she gives a slight nod of encouragement. As her touch slips away, you begin to explore the softness of your own skin, tracing light circles below your belly button. You utter a soft, “Fuck,” when your fingertips graze your slick, discovering just how turned on you really are. The filthy noises it creates make you whimper.

Leigh watches you hungrily. “You should be doing this more often,” she murmurs, eyes tracing the movement of your fingers now glistening with your own arousal. “You're so fucking hot. It's such a shame.”

The sound of her voice makes you arch your back further, hips bucking as you start a wide circular motion against your clit. Exerting every ounce of control not to come right away, you focus on the sensation of Leigh's eyes on you and the stimulation from your own fingers. You want to hold out, to let her watch you teeter on the edge. Your teeth dig into your lower lip, trying to curb the wave of pleasure building inside you.

Leigh's voice is a soothing command, whispering, “That's it, be patient. Don't rush it.”

“Fuck, Leigh, I’m—” Your words die in your throat as she lifts your shirt slowly, exposing your nipple to the cool air for a brief moment before her mouth engulfs it. The sensation of her sucking, then laving your nipple with her tongue, circling it, mimicking the motion you're doing on your clit, sends a jolt through you. Little flicks of her tongue to the tip of your nipple drive you crazy, and you gasp, your body responding eagerly to her touch.

Your rhythm stutters as she discards her pants and panties in one swift motion, leaving her gloriously bare. The sight of her naked body ignites a strong wave of desire to touch her instead, but Leigh pins you with a warning glare, silently telling you not to stop.

She straddles one of your legs, and you gasp when you feel her warm, wet pussy against your knee as she starts rocking against it. You position your leg to give her better leverage, and she starts sliding against you, her tits bouncing with each motion. Leigh's sucking on your nipple becomes sloppier, more frantic, until she can no longer concentrate and releases it with a wet pop.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N—”

Leigh’s face contorts in pleasure as her drenched folds meet your thigh over and over, sweat dripping down between her breasts from the strain of holding herself up above you. The sight of her fucking herself against your leg is nothing short of mesmerizing. You increase the movements of your fingers, rubbing harshly at your clit as you watch Leigh, her breath coming in short gasps. Her eyes flutter closed, and a soft moan escapes her lips. The sound drives you wild, and you curve your spine, lifting your hips to meet your own hand.

Sex with anyone else has never felt this good before, and she hasn’t even properly touched you yet. It’s intoxicating, the way she takes her pleasure and gives it to you all at once. You’re lost in the haze of it all: the smell of Leigh’s arousal, her sweat-soaked skin, the sight of her tits bouncing and her face flushed with desire.

With your free hand, you grab the back of Leigh's head, guiding her down towards you. “C-Come here,” you manage to say, your voice breaking with need.

Leigh obeys, her mouth meeting yours in a frenzied kiss. You swallow each other's moans, the taste of her lips sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. It's this simple, sweet connection of lips that utterly dissolves all your defenses.

A keening moan escapes you as Leigh slides a finger inside you, pushing deep to the third knuckle, causing your head to tip back and break the kiss as the tightness in your belly becomes too much. “Leigh, can I—” Your voice is a mere whisper, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

Leigh's eyes meet yours, and she nods vigorously, her breath coming in short gasps. “Yes, come. Come with me.”

It's too much—the sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s all too much. With a final, shuddering whine, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and releasing as you ride out the intense pleasure. Moments later, Leigh follows, her body shaking as she comes, her moans mingling with yours. Leigh’s face is a picture of bliss, her eyes half-closed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. You try to memorize it before she collapses on top of you, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and satisfied sighs.

Blindly, you stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath, feeling Leigh's hot puffs of air tickle your neck as she catches hers. Slowly, you circle your arms around her waist, keeping her on top of you, acutely aware of every point where your skin meets hers, the warmth spreading between you.

You bury your nose in her hair and breathe in deeply. This act feels more intimate than anything you had done moments ago. The simple closeness, the quiet afterglow, the way you can actually feel her heart beating steadily against your chest.

Minutes pass in comfortable silence, your thumb tracing lazy patterns on her back. Her breathing gradually evens out, each exhale growing softer and deeper. Realizing she's fallen asleep, a contented smile spreads across your face. You press a gentle kiss to her temple, letting your lips linger there for a moment. Carefully, you reach for the covers and draw them over both of you. You hold her close until your own eyelids grow heavy, and you drift off to sleep as well.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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moremaybank · 1 year

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aaa i love your writing! i thought of 22 with JJ, it sounds too cute 🫣 anyway, thank u for considering it and happy 4/20!!!

"i'll be gentle, baby. don't worry."

warnings 18+, unprotected sex, overstimulation, (sort of) oral sex

author's note very, very late but happy belated 4/20 to you too, my love!

prompt list (requests closed) / jj masterlist

You whimper for what feels like the umpteenth time as JJ's cock nudges into the very depths of you. He's so close, so deep, while he thrusts his cock inside you. Your cunt is sore, having cum for him a few times already, but JJ just keeps going.

Your grip on his biceps strengthens as you brace yourself for what's to come. The overstimulation is already so overpowering, but you can't help yourself. You wrap yourself around your boyfriend like a koala as he pours his heart out to you with his actions.

"J, you're so fucking big, stretching me so wide," you whine, feeling him nudge his way to the depths of you. His cock is right up against your cervix, nudging and pushing at it with every thrust. "Can't take it."

"You can take it," he assures you. JJ's quick to press a kiss to the nape of your neck, "I'll be gentle, baby, Don't worry."

"I can't."

"You can, pretty girl. 'M gonna make you feel so good, I promise. Be my good girl," he coos, nuzzling your cheek with his nose. JJ's fingers press into the seam of your lips. "Suck for me."

Your tongue licks and sucks at them, getting them nice and wet like he wants you to. He draws them back and places them on your clit, massaging it with soothing motions. You shiver as your breath hitches, the stimulation making your toes curl.

"Oh my god, J. Too much, too good." Your walls close in on him, clamping down as you fast-approach your climax.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight. You gonna cum for me?"

You nod as best as you can, your eyes shutting closed as you feel yourself teeter on the tightrope.

You're right there.

JJ bottoms out completely, now losing himself inside you. "Look at me, baby," he pleads. "Tell me you're gonna cum for me."

Your eyes open, locking in on his beautiful ones, and your hands slide up to his face. You kiss him slowly, with all your feelings for him and all the might you can muster up. A moan emits from your throat, and JJ swallows it.

"Gonna cum, J," you mumble, your lips brushing against his.

The intimacy pushes you both over your edge, and JJ's forehead presses against yours. You feel his shuddering breath fan against your swollen lips as he cums, and he lets out a slight whimper when his seed fills you for the last time.

You both feel like you're on fire, the pleasure buzzing through your veins and radiating off your skin.

JJ pulls out, and you wince, feeling the aching loss of his cock after filling you up for so long. His body slides down the mattress, and his palms find the insides of your trembling thighs. His lips graze over your folds, and he licks at your entrance, then through your folds up to your clit. He kisses the sensitive nub, and a cry slips past your lips.

"JJ," you beg. "No more. P-please."

"Shhh," he coaxes you, leaving a trail of wet kisses around and over your fluttering cunt. "Let me kiss it better, mama."

jj tag list (join here!): @pankowperfection @oncasette @taintedxkisses @maybankslover @goldenroutledge @penny4yourthoughts @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @maybank-archives @whoisdrewstarkey @mvybanks @aliyahsomerhalder @dreamingwithrafe @vigilanteshitposting @poppet05 @saturnband @adoreyouusugar @rosie-cameron @f4ll-for-you @rafesdirtyslut @slytheringirlthatkillpeople @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @venomwh0re @jjmaybankisbae @enhypens-hoe @pankhoeforlife @cecesrings @wildflwrdarlin @loverofdrewstarkey @cumbuckett @insanelycrazyanddelusional @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @glen-powells @papillonoirsworld @em0-b0ysworld @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptherecs @veescorneroftheworld @maybanksbabe @sarah5462

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ohwhataniight · 6 days

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(Belated) Calm - @calaisreno

I've been craving to participate in the May Prompts thing but life has been absolutely hectic, so I decided to choose one prompt and write something instead of attempting to fill them everyday. Hope that's okay. I'm so grateful for everyone who has been gifting their gems to this beautiful fandom. The past week has been incredible, reading all your stunning works!

Calm - Andante, andante

It finally happens on their holiday. John has practically dragged Sherlock to the seaside with a plan to supervise his sleep schedule and meal intake, uninterrupted from cases or landladies for a long weekend. John had expected Sherlock to spend the biggest part of their trip sulking, but instead he spends the first day running around Rosie who’s learning to walk and keeps stumbling on the unforgiving sand. So far he has airplane-fed her three meals in a way that makes the process looks deceivingly effortless, and he has even kneeled by her side barefoot, in his white linen shirt end rolled-up trousers, and built ornate sand castles for her - he has even let her indulge in the scandalous pleasure of sitting flat on her diapered bum on them right after he’s finished, shrieking while reducing his elaborate creations into ruins. Hell, he even smiled and clapped throughout.

John has watched the two of them fondly through the day and interrupted them only for sunscreen and hydration breaks which, if he’s entirely honest with himself, proved to be entirely unnecessary. Sherlock is a diligent caretaker, and John’s cheeks are starting to hurt from all that smiling he can’t help but allow on his face.

It’s currently dark and they’re walking on the beach side by side, their feet leaving four parallel lines of marks on the sand. Rosie is sleeping soundly in her baby carrier that’s strapped on Sherlock’s chest, and John can’t help but feel just a tiny bit jealous of his daughter, rested peacefully like that in Sherlock’s arms, probably calmed by the sound of his heartbeat. The beach is empty aside from a group of Gen-Zers sitting far away around a bonfire, their laughter and songs distant and mingling with the music coming muffled from the hotel across the street. He recognizes some tacky ballads and an alarming amount of ABBA songs, but he doesn’t really mind. The soft, salty breeze is caressing their cheeks and the stars are shining brightly on the velvet blanket of the sky that is draped above them, the horizon too dark to be able to tell it apart from the sea.

John remembers a moment from years ago, when they had been in the middle of a case and Sherlock had casually commented on the beauty of the starlight as they were walking alongside each other in the grimy alleys of London. He can’t really fathom how they have arrived to this point, walking silently on the sand, electricity hovering between them, after everything they’ve been through, both together and apart. He recalls the moments that have filled their day, the meals they’ve shared, the peekaboos they’ve entertained Rosie with, the goofiness and the attention and the care. He recalls the angles of Sherlock’s pale body as he walked into the glistening sea, the litheness of his limbs, the wet locks of dark hair plastered on his head, dripping water on his freckled clavicles.

“If she’s getting too heavy for you you can hand her to me, y’know,” he says in a lowered voice, breaking the silence that was buzzing loudly in his ears.

“Nonsense,” Sherlock whispers with a grimace that’s illuminated by the pale moonlight that bathes his face from a flattering angle. “She’ll wake up if we move her, and we all know how hard it was to get her to sleep”.

John chuckles softly. “After seeing you lulling her to sleep with Despacito of all things, knowing that it’s her favourite song, I feel the urge to apologize for all the times I’ve called you a heartless git.”

“If you look in the past without the rose-tinted glasses that have clouded your vision today, John, I’ve been a heartless git.”

John stops walking, and Sherlock does too after a couple of steps, turning around and facing him. “Not anymore.”

“No,” a hint of a smile appears on the detective’s face. “Not anymore.”

Before being able to fully realize what he’s doing and stop himself from doing it, John has extended his hand and pull Sherlock’s bigger one into it. Sherlock suddenly looks breathless, flustered, and John takes the liberty of tentatively carressing the back of Sherlock’s hand, the heel, the knuckles with his thumb. “Thank you,” he mouths, himself surprised by how much he’s feeling. “For behaving. For taking care of Rosie. For... for everything.”

“Of course, John.” Sherlock squeezes his hand, then shifts their entangled fingers so that his index and middle finger are resting on John’s wrist. John feels his muscles tensing at the invasiveness - and the cliche nature - of the gesture, but then again, wasn’t it himself who took Sherlock’s hand into his own, who softly caressed the sun-kissed skin?

“Don’t,” he murmurs.

“Why?” Sherlock whispers back. Rosie is snoring softly, still rested against his chest, and John is feeling as if there is no one in the world other than them, nothing exists but their warm breaths intermingling, the calm rise and fall of the daughter-shaped bundle between them, and the flickering of falling stars above their heads.

“Because you don’t need to,” John exhales.

He can’t recall who leans in first, but their first kiss tastes of salt and the fruity rum-based cocktail they shared earlier at the beach bar, sipping with pink straws from inside a pineapple. He can finally taste Sherlock, and the sensation takes over his whole body, making his knees buckle. They soon break the kiss, breathless, given that the sleeping bundle of Rosie is standing between them. Still, everything about it feels chaste. John throws his arms around the two people he loves the most in his life, holding them close, never willing to let them go, feeling the symphony of heartbeats vibrate through their bodies. He presses his lips softly on his daughter’s forehead and Rosie shifts, only to immediately drift back to sleep, curled up in their embrace.

#sherlock holmes #johnlock #bbc sherlock #john watson #sherlock #johnlock fic #queer #johnlock fanfiction #fanfiction #mayprompts2024 #may prompts 2024 #sherlock x john

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elysianeclipxe · 1 year

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a lonely bed is a cold bed | enhypen jay

warnings: talk about nightmares, scared reader, boyfriend!jay

genre/au: fluff, maybe a little angst

prompts: "the bed is cold without you" and "i'll see you in my dreams"

word count: 1.1k

summary: nightmares suck, so here comes a sleepy clingy jay to ease your mind

sidenote: happy belated birthday jay!!! i hope you all like reading this and keep loving this man. he deserves so much love and support since we stan respectful men like mr park jongseong. literally just a 10 outta 10, omg i love you. here's part 2 <33

It's one of those nights again where your thoughts are keeping you up right after being roused from another nightmare. Time and time again, it just seems to be happening more often these days. You're tired and just want some needed sleep but no matter how hard you try, those images continue to flash in your mind when you close your eyes. "Guess it's another sleepless night for me," you whisper, slowly slipping out of bed and placing a light kiss on Jay's head before heading downstairs.

You head straight for the fridge to get some milk for your milk and cookies. Classic. Maybe eating something light might help you lull yourself to sleep, if not, then you'll likely read a random book and let boredom hit you.

Man, Jay sure is lucky to be able to sleep. i could be screaming my lungs out and he'd think i was the alarm or something, AHHH I WANNA BE LIKE THAT TOO

"Stupid nightmares and your shitty scenarios that freak me out. Oh come on! Where are the cookies.. right, cupboards!" You pull one of the cupboards open and squint your eyes, hands searching for the cookies you so desperately needed at that moment. Your hand stops moving when the thought pops into your head, "I swear if Jay placed those cookies on the top shelf again, he's gotta stop doing this."

Doing the logical thing, you head over to turn the lights on and– "AHHHHHHHH!! JEEZ JAY!" Figure hunched over and hand over your heart you try to ease your heart after that jumpscare from your own boyfriend. "What in the world are you doing? Last I checked, you were sleeping soundly UPSTAIRS."

Jay, in his adorable sleepy state, walks over to wrap his arms around your waist and lean his head against yours. You return the hug and instantly feel his warmth slowly surrounding you. "Woke up and saw you weren't there. I couldn’t go back to sleep… the bed is cold without you. (yawns) Decided to just look for you." He mumbles into your hair, grabbing your hands to fiddle with your fingers. "Why'd you leave me?"

Your eyes soften at his words.. When it came to Jay, he was quite a quick sleeper, and a heavy one at that. Everyone who knows him knew that when it came to sleep he would not budge and would always take it seriously. Sleep over people was the case sometimes. But for some reason, that case never really applied to you. In fact, he often refused to sleep without you in his arms, he was such a cuddlebug. No con in that though.

"I didn't mean to, I just couldn't fall back to sleep. I'm sorry baby." You pout at him feeling a little bad that he woke up just because of that. But my gosh does your boyfriend look so cute in this half asleep state. Clothes filled with wrinkles, cheek squished against your head, and hair all over the place from moving too much whilst asleep. Would it be so bad to just take a quick picture of him to set as your wallpaper? Hmmm, choices… “I’ll be back in a bit, don't worry. You can go ahead.”

He shakes his head and tightens his hold on you. “Don’ wanna, I’ll wait for you instead.” You try to convince him but every idea is shot down with a shake of his head and a grumble of an annoyed “no”.

AHHHHHHHHHHH he’s so fricking adorable, what did I do to deserve him

Even though you knew he would much rather stay awake a whole day with you than sleep without you, it wouldn’t be healthy for him. So, you cave. A sigh leaves your lips, “fine, then let’s head back to bed you big baby.”

Jay’s head shoots up and he pulls away to look at you, “really?”

“Yes really. I already feel bad for waking you up, I’d rather not have you stay awake any longer because of me.” He grins at you and gently takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers with his. He seemed a lot more awake than earlier but you could tell he was still tired. That slow drag of his feet, a few more yawns, and the comfortable silence between you two.

Once both of you reach your bedroom he immediately gets under the blankets awaiting you to join him. But you just look at him with that hesitant look. So he opens his arms and smiles. It’s like he’s telling you to trust him and that you do. He wraps his arms around you once again and stares at you, “wanna talk about it?” Do you?

I want to, I really want to but I also don’t. It’s not worth thinking about again, I’m sorry

You shake your head and bury your head into his chest, mumbling a “sorry” to him. He chuckles and gently runs his fingers through your hair. “No need to apologise angel, if you don’t wanna talk about it then I’ll respect that.” And he meant that, you just know it.

“Don’ wanna go back to sleep Jay. What if I dream of it again? It’s all I’ve been dreaming about lately.” Jay can feel his heart break as you whimper and shake at the thought of that dream. He feels bad and frowns seeing you cuddle yourself closer to him. What you dreamt of must’ve really scared you.

So he tells you something to put you at ease. The only thing he could think of, although cringey. “I can’t promise that you won’t dream of it again. But if it does happen then I’ll.. I’ll magically appear in your dream and fight it off. I’ll protect you from whatever it is and keep you safe in my arms like how I’m doing right now. That I can promise.”

You slowly lift your head and stare at him before kissing him. You felt at ease from his words, like he lifted this heavy weight from your shoulders. Of course he knew how to help you, he always did. “Thank you, I mean it.” You whisper against his lips.

You can feel him grin. He tucks your head under his chin and places light kisses on the crown of your head. So full of love, this moment. Just the two of you in bed in the comfort of the other. So pure and it only makes you so grateful to have him as yours.

“Jay?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, angel. Sleep well, and I’ll see you in your dreams.”

Comments, likes, and reblogs are much appreciated <33

#astrid writes🌸#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enha fluff #enha #enha x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen jay #park jongseong #jay x reader #park jay #jay imagines #jay fluff #park jongseong x reader #enhypen headcanons

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ordowrites · 13 days

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cw: smut, mdni, minors dni, light Dom/sub, pet names (sir, darling, baby, princess), afab reader, oral, orgasm delay/denial, established relationship, undernegotiated kink. not sfw, s/mut. diluc your vision is not intended to be misused. positive degradation ("s/lut"), praise (good girl).

happy belated birthday diluc

You barely had the chance to greet him when he's already pulling you into his office and closing the door behind him, irritation written on his face. The recent merchant had been troublesome, you could tell by his agitated expression. If only he were less polite...

"Are you alright?" you ask before he pulls you into a rough kiss, the coarse fabric of his gloves touch your bare thighs and you groan slightly. He's running hot. "Annoying-"

Before you can get your question out, he maneuvers you to sit on his messy desk, legs apart and a warm finger running across your already wet slit.

"Diluc-" He hushes you as he repeats his action, watching in delight as you buck against him. "Mmf, my darling-"

"Stop talking." he grunts. Oh, he's mad - mad. You wonder what happened, or at least try to when your panties are ripped off and you're spread bare for him. He looks at you with an expression you'd never seen before - feral, wild, one wrong move and the beast comes out. "Be a good girl for me." Oh that did something in you, the words going straight to your cunt.

With that, he's between your legs, tongue and mouth work as if there would be no other chance. He gently sucks at your clit, he'd removed his gloves at some point and slips a finger inside of you. He slurps and sucks, groaning in need at your taste, the way your hole clenches around his single digit. You can't help but rub a bit but another hand keeps you still.

As you grow closer to orgasm, your moans and whines growing louder as your hands tug at his hair.

"Diluc," you moan. "Ah - Archons."

"Good - what a good little slut for me." he groans, nudging his nose against your clit, before gently sucking on it. You clench around his finger, so horribly close - and he pulls away. "You get to cum when I say you do." The growl and his expression of narrowed eyes, and hand at your chest pinning you down is enough to have you shuddering in need.

"Y-yes, sir." You can't help but respond - all of these words turning you on worse than before. He bends down, gripping your face and kisses you as you gently grind against his clothed erection.

"Tell me what you want." Diluc orders and you whimper. He's being mean. "Precious, use your words." You like this side of him.

"Please," you whimper as he bends down and kisses and bites your neck, hands touching you everywhere ans knowing every area that has you moaning and bucking for him to touch you where you want.

"Please what?" He prompts, pulling away and you silently delight in the wild look he has.

"Please, sir, fuck me."

"What a good girl, asking so politely. How can I say no?" You help him fumble with his pants, looking hungrily at his cock the moment its free. He rubs its head along your soaked slit, delighting in how your eyes widen and how you buck, trying to get him to put it where you want it.

You don't have to ask him twice to put it in - he slowly goes in, he isn't merciless, and once to the hilt, you're clinging to him. At first, Diluc sets a slow pace to make sure you're comfortable and begins to move a bit faster.

Moans and whimpers as escape you as your arms wrap around his shoulders again - half for getting he's fucking you in his office. His cock hits that part inside of you that has you crying out loudly, pushing back, and scratching.

Diluc groans as he feels you clench around him.

"C'mon then." he growls, his teeth digging into your neck and that's all it takes for you to come undone, clenching around his cock. It takes him a few more thrusts for him to cum inside of you, thick ropes of cum filling you up. "Such a good girl." He murmurs. Diluc captures your lips with his, his fingers working at your sore cunt - warmth teasing your clit and you pull away from the kiss with a whimper as you grind a bit. "Such a good, needy girl for me."

"Ha - Diluc, please -" you whine. You're not sure you can go again but when you meet his eyes, your breath catches in your throat.

"We're done when I say we are, princess." All you can do is moan, bucking against his intruding fingers.

#diluc #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc x y/n #diluc x fem!reader #genshin x reader #diluc imagines #genshin imagines #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #ordo.txt #ordo.text #mine.txt

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mrsarnasdelicious · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 10 (Belated)

Theseus Scamander - Gentle Sex / Domestic Bliss

Randomised Character/Person - Prompt from this list

"I want you so bad, my love." Theseus crowds you into the bedroom. "Then take me." You cooe. He chuckles, leaning in to kiss you, sensually and open mouthedly. You moan and meet his tongue with your own.

You begin to undo his tie.

"Are you eager for me, beautiful?" Theseus purrs, between two hungry kisses. "I always am." You cooe. "I am sure you are, always wet for me. Always so ready for my cock." He growls.

His lips move to your neck, kissing up to your ear. "I can already smell how needy you are for me." His hand goes to your skirt. You try to brush his hand away. "Now now, what is that, keeping me at bay? Coy woman of mine." Theseus growls. "Not so fast." You whisper.

Theseus laughs and picks you up.

He throws you on the bed and crawls on top of you. He kisses you greedily and you both moan. "I am going to make you feel so good." Theseus whispers into your mouth. "I am going to make you cum so much. I will not stop until you beg me to." He promises.

With a flick of his wand, your clothes vanish, banished to the laundry hamper. "Not fair." You scoff. "Was your wand in your pocket?" Theseus taunts. "No." You reply, pointing your own wand at him. His clothes disappear, too.

"Better?" Theseus chuckles. "Much." You cooe.

"You like what you see?" He purrs. "Like the look of my muscles and my cock?" His voice is a teasing purr. "Of course I do." You whisper, skimming your hands over his muscles. Then you slowly grab him by his cock. "Oh yeah, baby, touch me like that." Theseus groans. You give him a languid jerk and Theseus moans. "Such skilled hands you have." He praises.

He leans down to kiss you sensually and you moan back at him. His tongue licks into your mouth and you give him another slow jerk.

Theseus begins to thrust into your grip.

"Oh... oh yes, my love, hmm, so good to me. So good for me." He grunts. "Would you like me to touch you in return?" He purrs. "Yes please." You cooe. "Tell me what you want." He taunts. "Do you want me to make you cum? Do you want me to fuck you?" He growls. "Yes, please." You repeat. "Please what. What should I do first?" Theseus murmurs.

For a moment you can't manage to reply.

"Make me cum first." You whisper, giving him another jerk. "Use your words." Theseus says, but it is a feebly command. He is almost fully focussed on your hand on his cock. You titter a giggle and kiss up his jaw. "Please make me cum first, husband." You cooe. Theseus chuckles huskily. "Very well, because you asked so sweetly." He purrs.

His hand slides down to the heat between your thighs. You sigh and close your eyes. "So beautiful." Theseus whispers, placing butterfly kisses along your chin. You whine softly and finally he brushes gently over your clit. "You feel so puffy already. Are you that needy for me." He murmurs, nipping along your jaw. You whimper.

Your whimpers turn into moans as he begins to genuinly rub you. "Those are the sounds I like." Theseus chuckles. You roll your pelvis into his touch. "So good." You whisper. "That's right, enjoy me, my love." Theseus purrs, his touch slow and steady. You close your eyes and surrender to the feeling.

Slowly your spine starts to fill with sparks of lightning. Your moans grow a little more untampered and wet arousal slowly leaks from your core. "You are getting so wet. You must be close." Theseus knows you very well by now. "Yes, I am." You affirm, your voice a shallow whisper. "I'll make you cum." Theseus assures you.

He rubs you a little more steady, but does not increase the pressure.

The tension inside you comes to its apex. You arch your back, moaning loudly. Theseus caresses you through it, peering down on you. "You are so beautiful when you cum." He rasps, his voice husky with need.

#theseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #callum turner #fantastic beasts #wizarding world #smut under the cut

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rftwfic · 2 months

Text

wonderful and huge, painful and small

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale

Summary:

Admittedly, Stiles had been driving too fast. The adrenaline running through him had made his foot heavier on the gas pedal than usual, Derek’s desperate face still fresh in his mind as he’d thrown Eli at him and begged him to run.

The first of my belated Febuwump 2024 prompt fills.

Read it on AO3

#sterek #derek x stiles #febuwump 2024 #febuwump day 19

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redvelvetnat · 1 year

Text

the me that you have made

natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary : natasha is a big player in the world of illegal art trade. you’re the detective they sent undercover to take her down. no one expected you to fall in love, abandon your mission, and run away with her.

disclaimer : 18+, strong language, semi-public sex, strap-on use, dirty talk (praise + degradation + pet names), implied criminal activity (by the summary, not so much in the fic), mentions of lingerie.

author’s note : gif source. here’s a drabble ig, i struggled over this for months because i couldn't write a decent plot then i decided i don't have to force myself to make everything i write into 4k word fics. this piece of work is not to be copied or translated anywhere. thank you for reading!!! comments and reblogs appreciated.

“God, this view - amazing isn’t it?”

Maybe if you didn’t know Natasha as well as you do, the words would feel less filthy as they leave her swollen lips. But there’s no other word to describe the feeling of her too-eager hands or the sound of the moan that unhitches from your tired throat.

From where you stand on the balcony, skin adorned with the imprint of the metal railing, entire buildings kneel obediently at your feet and the remnants of the evening sun begin to dissipate behind them. Hightown is beautiful at this time of day - or any time, really. But she’s not talking about the city, you know her better than that.

“Oh, Hightown could never compare to you, my love.” She breathes against your ear, as if you needed any confirmation from her.

The innocent, young detective you used to be washes away with the arousal that floods down your thighs. You don't bother to mourn that version of yourself, she never would have been able to stomach the sort of luxury you know now - the kind that brings you over the edge of your penthouse balcony, half-naked, and filled to the brim with your girlfriend's thick silicone cock.

The music that floats up from downstairs is faint and only stands as an irritating reminder of the auction she was meant to be hosting nearly fifteen minutes ago. There's a collection of suits she keeps docked at the bottom of the stairs who, you're sure, are awaiting her belated return with displeasure.

She doesn't care. The smile is already etched into her face as she slithers a calloused palm up the length of your naked back and buries it in the roots of your hair, pulling delightedly and watching as you unfold underneath her. "Just like that, baby." She coos, pulling tighter at the hair she has clutched in her fist.

Your voice crumples when you call her name into the dusk air, the arm you've flung behind you to scratch wantonly at her clothed abdomen does little but spur her on. Her hips pick up their pace until you're almost sure she'll split you in half.

"What is it, honey?" She starts, "Having trouble keeping up? Do you need me to slow down, angel?" She's mocking you, you realize. She wouldn't dare slow down when the brutal pace she's set makes you writhe and whimper the way you do. Your legs strain against the dress she only bothered to pull halfway down your thighs.

"You're getting close, I can feel it. You gonna make a big mess for me, baby? Walk around my party with your own cum leaking down your thighs?" You're nodding before you have the chance to stop yourself - to which question, you're not sure, but the enthusiasm is there, nonetheless.

A part of you wishes she'd stop talking, if only to prolong the orgasm that begins to sneak up on you quickly. The other part of you is too eager to cum for her to care about how quick you are to do so. The feeling you've been fighting rolls in and nestles deep in your stomach, tightening there.

"Please, Tasha."

She doesn't - or, rather, can't - fight the satisfied groan that rises in her chest. She's always admired the way you submit to her; feeding off the desperation that glints in your eyes and the way she never has to prompt you to beg. You just do it, for her, because you want to.

Her hand finally falls from your hair, only to wrap around your throat where she uses the grip she establishes there as leverage to hold your back against her chest. "Show me how pretty you look when you cum, angel."

Your scream is just barely drowned out by the drum of generic pop music and traffic. Your nails sink into her skin and she grunts at the pain, mouthing sloppily at your shoulder. The tears that roll down your cheeks communicate to her the staticky pleasure that washes over you.

"So good, baby." She encourages, helping you down with the same calculated rhythm she's come to know all too well, "So fucking good." Gentle kisses liter up the nape of your neck until she seals the entire affair with a kiss.

Your strength comes back just enough to stagger away from her on shaky legs and follow as she bounds into the unlit apartment. If the risk of punishment wasn't so severe, you'd tell her to wipe that stupid fucking smirk off her face but you'd rather avoid being bent over her lap and sent into her party with welts across your ass.

Barely recovered, you manage to shimmy the dress back over your shoulders and attempt to straighten it out. Your eyes flicker up just in time for Natasha to emerge from the bathroom, tucking the freshly-cleaned strap into her dress slacks with a cocky smile.

Before you know it, she's leaning in to plant a kiss to your tear-stained cheek. "You're so pretty when you cry." Heat creeps up the skin of your neck as you thank her in an embarrassed squeak. "You'll clean up and meet me downstairs?" It comes out as more of an order than a question.

"Or..." You muse, strategically ducking into the bathroom where she won't be able to see the smirk that sparks across your lips, "I could stay here and wait for you. I have something very red and very lacy for you to unwrap when you get back."

She stops to think about it, you can tell by the silence that suddenly engulfs the room. Like the business woman she's always been, she weighs her options carefully.

She loathes the idea of showing up without her favorite piece of arm candy at her side, that much she knows for sure. But the reward of finding you at the end of the night - splayed across the bed in that ruby-red garter belt she has yet to see you in - could be satisfactory enough to make up for it.

Really, it comes down to how much she thinks it's worth to have the instant gratification of watching her business partners drool over the sight of you in the dress she’d just had hanging from your thighs.

"Ten minutes." It's worth a lot, apparently. "Don't make me come back here and get you."

The bedroom door clicks as it shuts, and again when she reopens it, "I'll make it worth your while, baby." You can hear the smile in her voice and laugh as the door closes one final time and she doesn't bother circling back to check that you've agreed.

You'll obey her. You always do.

#rvn : sydwrites #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut

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aquagirl1978 · 5 months

Text

Scratch - Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader

A/N: Day 5 of my 12 Days of Christmas event.

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader

Prompt: Happy Belated Birthday Gilbert I had to sneak this one in during his birthday month

Word Count: 532

Tags: fluff

The winter solstice was the shortest day of the year. Some believed that the winter soltice’s lack of sunlight was caused by monsters who stole the sun away. Others saw the solstice as an opportunity to create good in the face of evil. To be born on the winter solstice was considered spiritually significant, as those born on that day were believed to be imbued with unique qualities such as wisdom and intuition.

It was also on this day that Gilbert von Obsidian entered this world.

Gilbert greeted you with a smile. A smile so blissful, so beautiful it stole your breath away. A smile you hoped would greet you every day for the rest of your life.

“...hi…” you mouthed, your voice stolen along with your breath.

Light laughter filled the room. Joyful and childlike, it was a sound you hoped Gilbert would never cease to make. He lifted his hand to your face, sweeping damp bangs from your forehead. His hand fell to your shoulder and down your bare arm, his thumb tracing the bite marks he left on your skin earlier that evening.

You shivered at his touch. Not from pain – your skin wasn’t still too sore – but the painful pleasure of his earlier bites remained on your skin like a fading memory.

His hand fell further to your waist. Wrapped in sheets, your soft skin was denied the pleasure of his touch. He tugged on the sheet, his fingers digging in through the thin fabric as he pulled your body closer to you, seeking your warmth.

It couldn’t have been long that you were asleep; you were still coming down from your euphoric high as he held you tightly. Throwing your arms around his shoulders, your fingers ghosted where you left your mark on his skin. Pressing your cheek against his bare chest, you smiled when you heard his steady heartbeat. The sign that he was alive.

“Happy Birthday, Gil,” you whispered as you dragged your hand down his spine, resting on the small of his back. “I hope it was a good birthday.”

“It wasn’t bad,” he replied with a wry smile.

Pressing your body closer to his, you looked up into his face, your heart in awe of his beauty without his eyepatch.

“I hope you’ll let me celebrate your birthday with you next year.”

He brushed a kiss upon your forehead, his lips smiling against your skin. “Little rabbit, you are the only one allowed to celebrate my birthday.”

Cupping his cheek in the palm of your hand, you brought your mouth to his, pressing another birthday kiss on his lips.

And with another kiss came another birthday wish for your love.

Let me love you, my Gilbert. Let me remind you every year, every birthday, how loved you are. Let me make your birthday a happy day. One you grow to look forward to. One you could look back on and recall happy memories.

My gift to you today and everyday is my love. If loving the villain means I am a sinner, then let me be a sinner for the rest of my days. Because nothing else matters.

Nothing else matters but Gilbert.

Tagging: @gilbertvonobsidian @redheadkittys @alixennial @rhodolitesroseforclavis @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @chaosangel767 @queengiuliettafirstlady @queen-dahlia @ikehoe @ikemen-writer @talfollowingstuff @kpop-and-otome @kisara-16 @altairring @lucyw260 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira @yarnnerdally @crypticbibliophile @scorchieart @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @melodiousramblings @wendolrea @aceuuuu @randonauticrap @aria-chikage @nightghoul381 @judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu

#12 days of christmas #ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #gilbert von obsidian #ikepri gilbert #ikemen gilbert #ikepri fanfic #ikemen fanfic #otome #otome games #otome fanfic

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perhaps-in-anotherdream · 10 months

Text

[CN] Victor’s Enthrallment Date (Eng Translation)

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 着迷之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡

[Additional warning]: y'know the entire date is not spice-themed, but the steamy part is borderline explicit and highly not recommended if you don’t qualify for the 17+ age rating (CN server). so, the call is yours~ :>

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

─

【Subbed Video】

[Heads-up]: Read the transcript for reading, of course! But for the life of me, PLEASE DO WATCH THE VIDEO!! YOU DO NOT WANNA MISS WU LEI’S GODLY VOICE ACTING AKSJSJSDGFG!! (also, again excuse my real-time reactions 🤪)

youtube

───────

【Transcript Version】

【Chapter 1】

MC: AHHHHH, it’s collapsing, it’s collapsing!

Before my eyes is a landslide. I find myself teetering on the edge of a cliff and can only exert all my strength to flail my hands, seeking something to “hold onto.”

Just as I’m about to reach for the vine dangling at the cliff's edge, the form of a mountain beneath my feet unexpectedly crumbles. The swaying vine slips through my fingers in an instant…

MC: HELP ME!!

System Voice: “Attempt to advance failed. Game over.”

MC: Aw…

A red prompt appears before my eyes as the moving seat beneath me slowly returns to its original position. The game sequence I just experienced vividly replays in my mind.

In order to design a puzzle-themed variety show, I’ve dragged Victor to the amusement park to find inspiration together.

After checking in at several attractions in a row, I noticed a VR game experience not far away while he went to buy drinks. Intrigued, I decided to give it a try.

Much to my surprise, the game turned out to be extremely thrilling. Combined with the hyper-realistic graphics and the seamless integration of the seat’s motion, I had completely forgotten that I was playing a game…

Before I can snap back to my senses, my head suddenly feels a sensation of weightlessness, and in an instant, the lively and joyful atmosphere of the amusement park returns to my vision.

Victor looks at me with a complex expression while holding the VR goggles. Behind him, a crowd of children has gathered, their gazes fixed upon me as well.

MC: Huh? What’s going on?

Victor: Even from a distance, I could hear a certain someone screaming wildly. You scared the kids.

Victor: In the time it took for me to buy the drinks, where did you venture off to?

MC: Don’t even ask. The sequence of events unfolded so rapidly that there wasn’t even a moment to pause...

Unable to contain my eagerness, I leap off the seat and hug his arm, launching into an episode of “complaint.”

Victor silently listens for a while and arches an eyebrow.

Victor: Was it that brilliant?

Victor: But what I saw just now was a certain dummy baring her fangs and brandishing her claws on the chair.

MC: …

Only when I visualize the scene from the perspective of the onlookers do I realize why I had been mobbed, and I feel embarrassed with a sense of belated awareness.

Victor hands me my drink and pinches my flushed face, an amused smile cresting on his own.

Victor: Only a dummy can be so engrossed when playing games.

Victor: Why not just close your eyes if you were so scared?

MC: But then you’d lose the purpose of playing VR games!

MC: Playing games is about confronting your fears head-on!

Victor: If that’s how it is, why don’t you let go and stop clinging onto someone like this?

Reluctantly, I slightly loosen my grip around his arm and lift my head to look around. My eyes land on an area we haven’t explored yet.

MC: Victor, let’s go and take a look over there later!

Victor: You’re up for playing more?

MC: Absolutely! With the infusion of your love-filled drink, I’m now fully revived!

I beam at him, but Victor doesn’t seem to be moved by my “sugar-coated bullets.”

Victor: We’ve been playing all day, but did it actually help with your show?

MC: Hmm… it’s still too early to ask that question!

MC: Inspiration always needs some time to manifest. Let’s focus on experiencing more things for now.

Victor: I see that you’re just using a pretext to play and satisfy your personal desires.

MC: It’s not purely about satisfying my “personal desires.” I mean, I brought CEO Victor along to play together, didn’t I?

Victor: Submit the first draft of the proposal to me next week, and let me assess the outcomes of your creative process.

MC: But…

Victor: If not, I won’t accompany you on your next trip to collect materials.

Despite saying so, Victor’s footsteps don’t pause, and he is already holding my hand to walk toward the game attractions.

MC: I’ll definitely hand it in next week!

Even though time is tight, considering the relatively higher price at stake here, I still clench my fists to express my resolve to him.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 2】

In the blink of an eye, the agreed-upon day has arrived. I rap on the door of Victor’s office, carrying the first draft of the puzzle-themed variety show.

He takes the documents from me. But instead of immediately diving into reading them, he lifts his gaze and studies me intently for a moment.

Victor: The dark circles under your eyes are nearly matching those of a panda, and your face is also drooping.

Victor: What? All the playing over the weekend was of no good?

MC: There’s definitely some value in gathering inspiration, but I can’t help but feel that there’s still something missing…

MC: Maybe CEO Victor can help me by reviewing and providing suggestions?

Victor skims through it briefly and suddenly breaks into a smile.

Victor: It surpasses my expectations, to some extent.

Victor: “Hiding key information within the visuals of a VR game” and “using secret cues during an indoor roller coaster journey” - it seems like you’ve still come up with some useful ideas from it.

MC: I’m just wondering whether these little tricks can be employed repeatedly.

MC: After all, it’s a puzzle game. I want each guest to have a sense of participation and enable them to play a role.

Taking a brief pause, Victor closes my documents.

Victor: I remember you saying before that this is a sort of simple variety show, and you just need to follow the script for arrangement.

Victor: Are you reconsidering your decision now?

MC: Hehe, I’ve seen how others have been able to build a brand with their variety shows, so I wanted to experiment with it too.

MC: I want to create the kind of game that is so addictive that people find themselves unable to break away, ensuring a permanently lasting impact!

–

[Tidbits]: The phrase MC uses here is “欲罢不能” (yù bà bù néng). It conveys the idea of being addicted to something, a sense of strong desire or compelling fascination; you’re so deeply engrossed or captivated by something (/or rather someone) that you find yourself unable to break away. Remember this phrase because it is the key theme of this date and mentioned several times + one of the core themes for Victor x MC~ ❣️

–

Victor: How would you define something as “addictive to the point of being unable to break away from”?

MC: It should be something fascinating, challenging, and you won’t get tired of it no matter how many times you’ve turned it over.

MC: Just like… the attitude you have toward your work and cooking!

A smile forms on my face as I lift my head, and sure enough, I meet his speechless expression.

Victor: Don’t you already have a clear concept? Just benchmark it against something you find “addictive to the point of being unable to break away from.”

MC: Something that I find…

I cock my head and ruminate for a while.

I like plenty of things, but there are also quite a few that instantly fade away after a “three-minute passion.”

But when the standard is set for something “addictive to the point of being unable to break away from,” most things would probably not make the cut.

And the first thing that comes to mind for that standard is the man right in front of me.

Smiling, I take a few steps forward and grab his hand, swaying it.

MC: For that, I still need CEO Victor’s cooperation.

MC: You’re right. I must thoroughly study the thing I find “addictive to the point of being unable to break away from.”

Victor stares at me, and after a moment, he sets the documents down and stands up.

Victor: Sure, but this is your task. You can’t disrupt someone else’s work and rest.

MC: No worries!

Victor: Great. I’m clocking out now.

MC: Hm?

I subconsciously turn my head and glance at the wall clock, then look at him while puffing out my cheeks.

MC: There are still two minutes until the work hours end!

Victor: Are you this precise when it comes to arriving late for work?

MC: …T-this is a completely different matter!

MC: What happened to being “addicted to work to the point of being unable to break away”?

Victor: I never said that. And if you think so, then it seems like you still don’t know me well enough.

Seeing Victor really going to fetch his coat, I pout my lips and follow along.

MC: You’re leaving so early today. Do you have something planned for after getting home?

Victor: The ingredients I ordered for you will arrive shortly, so I need to head back early to get them prepared.

Victor: If you want to work overtime on my behalf, I don’t have any objections.

The moment I hear it’s about me, I immediately set aside my earlier dissatisfaction and hastily latch onto his arm.

MC: No need for overtime, no need!

MC: What’s a chef without his diner cheering him on! Come on, come on, let’s go home!

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 3】

Back at home, Victor tidies up briefly and carries the delivery box into the kitchen. Curiosity piqued, I tag along to find out what he’s up to.

He takes out the ice bags from the box, revealing a row of fresh sea urchins.

The memories of the last experience of eating sea urchins surface in my mind, and I can’t help but break into a knowing smile––

–

──── [Flashback Begins] ────

Victor had asked me to help taste a new dish, which turned out to be an extraordinarily pretty sea urchin salad.

I took a big mouthful with anticipation, but something didn’t feel quite right. So, I took another taste.

Victor: How is it?

MC: Hmm… it’s not quite how I imagined it to be?

As I pondered the source of bitterness, I shifted my gaze to Victor. His demeanor remained composed, except for the unwavering stare locked onto my face.

I swiftly adjusted my expression and decided to give it another try.

MC: It must be that my eating technique wasn’t right. I’ll have another taste!

Victor: Hold on.

Victor took my fork and tasted a bit himself, knitting his brows into a frown. Then, he picked up the plate and stood up.

Victor: Don’t eat this. Let me prepare something else for you.

──── [Flashback Ends] ────

–

Since then, we haven’t brought up this rare “Waterloo defeat” again. But little did I realize that he was still carrying hard feelings about it.

Victor notices my teasing grin that I’m unable to suppress and lets out an imperceptible sigh.

Victor: Just say whatever you want to say.

MC: It looks like Chef Victor is becoming more and more resilient after each setback.

Victor: I just don’t accept bad reviews.

MC: That’s not an attitude you used to have before, despite all the negative reviews Souvenir had?!

Victor: When a certain someone who usually goes around controlling other people’s reviews gives negative feedback, it’s genuinely a bad review.

After Victor finishes speaking, he puts on his apron and prepares to clean the sea urchins. I naturally take the apron strings from behind him and tie them up.

MC: It wasn’t that bad. I guess maybe the ingredients weren’t fresh enough that time? Or maybe… there was some kind of clash with how it paired with the caviar.

Victor: You don’t need to make excuses for me. I’ve already found the reason.

Victor: Help me with sampling the dish again today.

MC: Sure! Let me help as your Sous Chef too!

Victor assigns the task of selecting and washing the vegetables to me, while he focuses on processing the sea urchins.

Since there isn’t much for me to do, I covertly watch him as he works and notice some differences when preparing the sauce.

MC: Did you change the recipe for the sauce?

Victor: Hmm, it will enhance the freshness this way.

Victor: Try it and see.

He scoops up some sea urchin with a small spoon, dips it in the sauce, and feeds it to me.

The silky texture, complemented by the refreshing sweetness of the seasoning, instantly makes my eyes widen.

MC: It’s so yummy!

MC: Sure enough, Mr. Victor’s culinary skills are beyond question!

Craving for more, I lick my lips to savor the lingering taste and catch a glimpse of Victor’s lips curling up as well. He seems to be in a good mood.

I can’t help but snicker inwardly. This man has quite a competitive spirit in this particular matter.

MC: See, I was right, wasn’t I? You really are “into” cooking.

MC: You always have a knack for finding ways to eliminate imperfections, just like collecting materials and leveling up in a game.

Victor: Indeed, and it’s all because we have a gluttonous “Big Boss” at home.

Victor: You eat when you’re in a good mood, and you eat when you’re in a bad mood–– bringing me new challenges every day.

I can’t help but laugh mischievously as I watch his relaxed side profile. Then, taking a piece of seaweed from beside him, I begin chewing on it.

MC: Hearing you put it that way, I suddenly feel like incorporating a cooking segment would be a good idea.

Victor: Will you be able to have secret cues while cooking too?

MC: Absolutely! Cooking can bring you so much insight!

Victor: Like what?

MC: For instance, right now, I believe I know what truly is the thing that you’re addicted to the point of being unable to break away from.

I raise my head and make eyes at him. Victor glances at me briefly before diverting his gaze and letting out a soft chuckle.

Victor: Turns out that a certain dummy isn’t always a dummy; she becomes smarter after eating something.

MC: Hehe, looks like I guessed it correctly.

I brazenly lift myself on my toes and ruffle his hair. Then, I swiftly dart inside the house like a wisp of smoke before he can charge me with his stare.

Victor: Where are you off to?

MC: I’ll tidy up the dining table first and roll out the red carpet for today’s feast~

Victor: …childish.

I pull a face at him and elatedly set the table with the cutlery.

I’ll let him off for his teasing today. After all, I’m not the only one who is “childish.”

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 4】

After having our fill of eating and drinking, with the spirit of “studying,” I launch a two-player game.

The game requires two players to cooperate in searching for the treasure. The character I’ve chosen is blindfolded, so the screen appears pitch-black for me.

On the other hand, Victor’s screen displays textual instructions, and he needs to guide my actions at the right times.

MC: But if it stays pitch-black like this, even if we manage to locate the treasure, I won’t know, will I?

Victor: There ought to be some special hints; let’s keep moving forward for now.

MC: Hang on, my gamepad just vibrated! Oops, it seems like I bumped into a wall again…

Victor: …try moving a bit to the right.

After fumbling around in the darkness again for who knows how long, a glimmer of light suddenly appears on the screen. I try to control the character to crouch, and sure enough, it shows that the treasure has been obtained.

MC: We’ve found it!

MC: Although it took quite some time… we still have a great tacit understanding, don’t we!

Victor: Not too bad, we were quicker than when I usually have to accompany a certain dummy to find directions.

I grunt several times, shift to the side, and lean into his arms while holding the game console.

MC: I think this gameplay could be quite fitting for the show, you know.

MC: It challenges the players’ tacit understanding and has a decent level of complexity. Plus, watching people getting confused and disoriented and bumping into walls would be quite hilarious.

MC: CEO Victor, what do you think?

Victor: If you’re not concerned about the recording duration, it can be given a try.

MC: If players are blindfolded during the game, we need to take safety issues into account too…

MC: I wonder if it might be better with a slightly smaller space?

As I speak, I observe the room before me, and suddenly, an idea strikes me.

Due to a last-minute notice about a meeting, Victor casually placed the tie he had taken off on a chair nearby before leaving the house early in the morning, without having time to put it away.

I run over to pick up the tie and randomly grab a toy of Pudding’s from the coffee table. Then, I stuff it into Victor’s hands and promptly position myself in the corner of the room.

Victor: What are you up to now?

MC: I want to try it myself.

MC: Let’s treat this toy as the “treasure.” Blindfold me first, and then you can guide me to find it.

MC: We’ll keep the range within this room. How’s that?

Victor sighs and walks over, taking the tie from me. He then helps me tie it around the back of my head.

Victor: You certainly know how to make the most of what you have.

MC: Hehe, this extent is just perfect.

MC: You can hide the treasure now.

I hear Victor’s footsteps gradually move farther away, and then, a soft “click” sound follows. The light on the other end of the fabric vanishes entirely.

MC: D-Did you just turn off the lights?

Victor: Scared?

MC: No, not at all. I’m just feeling a bit out of sorts, is all.

Victor: That’s good, then.

Victor: I remember a certain someone saying that playing games is about confronting your fears head-on. Looks like you haven’t debunked your claim yet.

I try my best to identify the direction his voice is coming from and defiantly crane my neck towards it.

MC: I’m very familiar with this “map.” So, maybe I won’t need your help anytime soon.

Victor: Is that so? In that case, I shall wait and see.

I initially thought it wouldn’t be difficult in a room I’m so familiar with. But once my vision is blocked, things turn out to be not as simple as I assumed.

I walk to the left for a bit. According to my memory, I should be somewhere near the sofa. However, when I reach out to feel it, it’s not the soft texture I expected.

MC: Huh? What is this… the bookshelf?

Victor: Walk five more steps to the left, and you’ll reach the sofa.

MC: Is it this way?

Skeptically, I walk a few more steps and feel a hard object obstructing my feet. I slowly crouch down to touch it and realize it’s actually a cold glass surface.

MC: This is the coffee table! How could you trick me!

MC: I suspect you’re a mole sent by the opposing team, deliberately leading me to go around in circles.

Pouting, I complain as I keep spinning around, trying to locate where Victor is–– until I hear a soft chuckle drifting from behind me.

As soon as I turn around, without a chance to say a word, I find myself being pulled into someone’s arms.

Victor: Alright, the game is over.

MC: Hold on, where’s my treasure?

Victor: Right there by your feet.

MC: Are you serious? Then let me pick it up.

Just as I’m about to crouch down, he pulls me back, locking me firmly in the confines of his arms.

Victor: Still don’t believe me?

Victor: In any case, every time you win something, you just always have to pounce on me to show off.

Victor: I’m just helping you skip an unnecessary step.

I prod him gently as a form of protest, but my lips can’t resist curling up into a smile.

MC: You know everything about me to a T. How is this even fair?

Victor: No matter how thrilling a game is, if played for long enough, it’s only expected that you will figure out the patterns–– let alone a certain dummy.

MC: Then, would you still find it fascinating?

Victor: Don’t you know that answer already?

A warm breath teases my ear, and I can feel someone gently tracing his fingertips across my neck.

The mild itch and tingling sensation remind me that he has already proven his answer to me a long time ago.

It’s the prolonged kisses, the embraces to hold the other with all our might, and the marks born out of uncontrollable emotions that we leave behind on each other…

It’s a feeling of immersion and dependence, just like an addiction.

The temperature on my cheeks ascends rapidly from the passionate memories. I want to shake my head to regain clarity, but someone holds it in place, preventing me from moving.

Victor: Your face is so flushed. Looks like you’ve remembered something.

MC: You’re so cheeky…

MC: I just want to hear it from you directly.

A peal of soft laughter glides from my ear down to my jaw, finally settling at the corner of my lips, in sync with my breathing.

Victor: You know how to make demands; that’s good.

Victor: Well, I’ll only say it just this once.

Victor: It’s just like you said. What I’m addicted to the point of being unable to break away from will forever be fascinating to me and will always be worth the challenge.

Victor: No matter how much time passes, I’ll never grow weary.

A stream of satisfaction surges from the depths of my heart, and I subconsciously nuzzle my cheek against the palm of his hand.

Victor: Satisfied?

MC: Not yet.

MC: Words alone won’t suffice; you must prove it with action.

I reach out my fingers to touch him, exploring his soft muscles and tracing my way to the solid collarbones. Skillfully, I find the gap between his tie knot and hook my finger into it.

It’s akin to a signal; with just a gentle pull, I can get hold of my “treasure.”

Fervent kisses instantly catch my breath, leaving me with no choice but to swallow the provocation I have yet to put into action.

The layer of darkness, which is deeper than usual, overwhelms all my senses and draws them to rush toward the area that is being plundered. I can no longer maintain my original posture, my knees give away, and I lunge directly at the person who has started it all.

My impact seems to have knocked him over, causing him to tumble and end up sitting down somewhere, which grants me a momentary interval.

Lowering my head, I breathe desperately, my breaths coming in gasps. He gently pats the back of my head, his deep voice melding into my ragged breaths.

Victor: Do you want me to give you some time?

MC: What…?

Victor: To make the changes in the first draft of your show.

MC: …I’m off work now!

I haphazardly reach out my hand, intending to give him a punch. But I find my wrist swiftly being caught in mid-air, foiling my attempt.

Victor: Good. So, starting from this moment on, forget about your show for the time being.

Victor: Be more focused.

—

Without waiting for my explanation, the hand at the back of my head gently exerts force, sending me back into his arms again.

The soft touch of his lips makes my heart itch. I can’t help myself from lifting my head and craving more.

The pain I expect doesn’t arrive, and I don’t know whether it will or not. Subconsciously, I tighten my grip on the tie in my hand, taking the initiative to deepen the kiss.

Wet and sultry; just like the rain outside the window which has started pouring who knows when.

An array of grotesque light spots dance before my eyes, and a slight sensation of dizziness causes everything around me to appear as if it’s melting away.

His fingers thread themselves into my hair. Unable to withstand any longer, the velvety tie succumbs to the intimate caressing against my ears and temples, eventually sliding down loosely.

–

[Tidbits]: the phrase used here is so fascinating– “耳鬓厮磨” (ěrbìn sīmó). the phrase itself literally means “(one’s) ear rubbing (the other’s) hair at the temple),” which generally dictates a very personal and intimate moment shared between lovers, BUT, it specifically refers to the lovers being childhood playmates. yeah, way to shove in knives oh-so-delicately 🤡

–

The sudden intrusion of light makes me uncomfortably close my eyes, but the person in front of me doesn’t give me the slightest opportunity to evade his presence.

His warm breaths caress my eyelids, and I’m overcome with a sensation as if my entire body is being kissed.

The delicate and closely woven incessant licks and kisses have long shattered my willpower, and at this moment, the person in front of me consumes all of my senses.

Each time I respond to his teasing advances, I’m answered with even heavier and deeper breaths from him.

My eyes slowly open, and I gaze into the moist and profound depths of his gaze. Even amidst the darkness of the night, I know that, from beginning to end, those eyes have always held me.

I have received his proof and also garnered deeper insights into my own heart.

He is the “treasure” I’ve yearned to find countless times throughout my journey of exploration and moving forward.

Even if everything remains unchanged forever, I’m willing to continue this pursuit relentlessly.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

[Anika’s Ramblings]

────

#🫠👁️👄👁️😵‍💫🔥❤️#i love them so much akdjdjdhd they’re just so ajdjdkhbkhdgh #even though they keep calling me out as single in every existent and nonexistent languages lmao but #THEY ARE JUST SO OLD MARRIED COUPLE 😩😩 I'LL TAKE THE VICTOR x MC DOSAGE THREE TIMES A DAY EVERY DAY THANK YOU.#mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice #恋与制作人 #李泽言 #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc translations

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